Pretty When You Cry
Pretty When You Cry
Tangerine x f!reader
cross-posted on ao3
summary: Tangerine has a tendency of dropping back into your life at the most unexpected times. An incredibly frustrating habit, considering your efforts to forget him after you woke up to find him gone the first time you slept with him. No matter how hard you try to let him go - and how hard he tries to avoid his own feelings - something always brings the two of you back to each other.
word count: 6.3k
warnings: canon-typical violence, no use of y/n, smut (minors DNI), p in v sex, vaginal fingering, unprotected sex, dirty talk, excessive use of the word fuck, porn with a little plot
a/n: this started out as an idea I had been sitting on for a while, but I gave up fighting the itch in my brain to write for Tangerine. I may take the concept and expand on the story with a series, but for now enjoy some good ol' smut.
You step into the warm night air, the loud music of the club becoming muted by the walls. Your head spins as you lean against the brick. You’re burning up and the fresh air is a pleasant change from the thick, hot air inside. Sighing, you pull out a box of cigarettes and place one between your lips. You fumble with the lighter for a moment before you light the cigarette. You don’t usually smoke, but fuck you were feeling stressed. You’d finally agreed to go out with your coworker Carter, who’d been pestering you for a date for a while now. You thought it might be a good way to get your mind off of someone else. Unfortunately, you hadn’t expected him to bring you to a loud-ass club for a first date.
As you take a drag, the smoke swirls inside your lungs, making you feel light and dizzy. You tilt your head back against the wall and close your eyes as you exhale the musty cloud of smoke. You could feel the edge melting away from your nerves.
“Those things will kill you, ya know.” A familiar voice appears beside you.
“Fuck!” you jump, dropping the cigarette on the ground. You look up to see an even more familiar pair of eyes. Tangerine stands before you, arms crossed as he fixes you with a look that you don't recognize. He’s uncharacteristically dressed down tonight, wearing only dark gray slacks with a white button-up, the sleeves already rolled up. You try not to let your gaze linger on his tattooed arms. Why is he here? You were doing your absolute best to get him off your fucking mind, and yet here he is.
“What the fuck brings you here?” He slurs. The smell of alcohol on his breath is strong and it catches you by surprise. You’ve never really seen him drunk. Not like this, at least.
“I could ask you the same fucking thing,” you shoot back. He has a lot of audacity to show up here. You would be shocked at his ability to track you down had you not known just who he was. He has his ways, not to mention an incredibly frustrating tendency to end up in the same places as you.
“I thought you didn’t smoke,” he asks with a quirk of his brow.
“I don’t,” you reply flatly.
“Then what was that?” He points to the still-smoking cigarette you dropped.
“A distraction, maybe,” you mumble, leaning your head back against the wall. “You’re drunk, Tan, drunker than me.”
Tangerine laughs and runs a hand through his slick curls. “What are you runnin’ from, love?” His demeanor softens and he turns to lean on the wall beside you. Even now you still feel so small under his gaze.
“Oh fuck off,” you groan back. He chuckles again and you feel agitation stir within you.
“Where’s your boyfriend?” He really is drunker than you.
“Why do you have so many fucking questions?” you snap. “And he’s not my boyfriend.”
“Got another?” He motions to the cigarette on the ground.
“What happened to ‘those things will kill you’,” you mock his words from earlier as you pull another from the box for him.
“You might not smoke, love,” He says in a low voice as he places the cigarette between his lips, “but you know that isn’t the case for me.” He dips down slightly so you can light it for him, something you’ve done many times before. The close proximity of his face to yours sets off alarms in your brain. As you flick the lighter, his eyes shift up to yours and his cerulean gaze bores into you, making your skin prickle as you stand under his large frame. When the cigarette is finally lit, he straightens back up to lean on the wall. You watch as he takes a long drag before taking the cigarette between his ring-clad fingers and exhaling the smoke. Silence fills the space between you, only the sound of the music thumping inside can be heard. After a moment, you push yourself off of the wall and turn to walk back inside, trying not to stumble as you make your way to the door.
“Where are you going?” you feel his large hand wrap around your wrist and pull you back towards him.
“Well, you made me drop my cigarette, Tangerine. I don’t have any reason to be out here now,” you tell him, refusing to look at him. “Carter is probably wondering where I am anyway.”
“Don’t.” The tone of his voice causes you to falter. It’s unfamiliar, something you can't place. Not quite demanding, but not quite begging.
“I’m just going inside,” you huff and pull your wrist from his grip. Just as you turn to walk away again, his arm wraps around you and pulls you to his chest. You reach for his biceps to steady yourself. “Tan. You’re drunk,” you whispered.
“So are you.” His voice is raspy in your ear. You hesitate for a moment as you search his face. You couldn’t do this again, but god damn was it difficult to pull yourself away. Ultimately, you follow your better judgment as your hands come up to his chest and gently push him from you. He stays silent, watching as you turn back towards the door and head inside. The blaring music takes over once again as you push through the bodies and to the bar. Tangerine’s words echo in your mind as you take a seat. You sigh.
“Can I get you anything?” The bartender asks, snapping you out of your thoughts.
“Double vodka cran.” He nods and busies himself with your drink.
“Don’t you think you’ve had enough?” Tangerine’s voice comes from behind you. You roll your eyes.
“You think you can go five minutes without questioning my decisions?” you retort. Tangerine chuckles again, taking the seat next to you. “I’m trying to fucking enjoy myself.” He doesn’t reply, instead ordering himself a drink when the bartender brings yours over.
“Hey!” Oh fuck. You hear Carter’s voice and look up to see him getting up from a table and heading in your direction. Running into Tangerine on your little smoke break has caused you to nearly forget that you even came here with him and you feel a bit guilty as he approaches the bar. “I thought I’d lost you for a moment th-” He stops when he notices Tangerine. “Is he bothering you?”
“No, we were just talking. I know him. It’s fine.” you wave your hand dismissively and take a sip of your drink, feeling the alcohol burn your throat.
“Yeah I know you do, he’s the fuckin’ asshole from the party.” Of course he remembers, Tangerine wasn’t even supposed to be there that night. He and Lemon had barged back into your life again, asking you to help sneak them into some fancy party that your job was catering for. You’d dressed them up as waiters and gotten them inside to do god knows what. Carter was none the wiser, assuming they were simply extra hands hired for the event. Until, of course, Tangerine’s inability to keep his mouth shut nearly started a fight with Carter.
“C’mon, let’s go,” Carter says, putting a hand on your back. The gesture sends icicles up your spine and you fight the urge to recoil under his touch.
“What? No, I said it was fine.” You look up at him, furrowing your brow a bit.
“And I said let’s go, don’t make this difficult.” He says harshly. What the fuck.
“Excuse me?” you set your drink down.
“She doesn’t want to go,” By now Tangerine is standing up and putting himself between the two of you. Carter scoffs and rolls his eyes, taking your wrist in his hand.
“Fuck off,” he hisses at Tangerine. You try to snatch your wrist back, but his grip is stronger than you expected.
“I don’t have to go anywhere with you!” You’re raising your voice now. You can feel Tangerine’s anger brewing without even looking at him. He’s practicing excellent restraint right now, but you know him well enough to feel the anger rolling off of him.
“Listen,” Carter starts, “I’m not going to sit here and let you whore around with every dude at this bar.” Before you can even fully register what he said, Tangerine’s fist is colliding with his jaw, knocking him back.
You stand up, your barstool falling over as you back away from the two men. Carter puts a hand to his jaw, looking up angrily at Tangerine before rushing forward and slamming him against the bar. Tangerine’s arm hits the drinks and sends them to shatter on the floor.
Carter draws back and punches Tangerine in the face, his other hand holding onto Tangerine’s collar. Tangerine grabs Carter’s shoulders, slamming his forehead into the other man’s nose. The sudden impact causes Carter to stumble back and Tangerine takes the opportunity to shift their position so that he’s the one holding Carter against the bar. His knuckles are white as he grips Carter’s shirt, his curls breaking loose from their slicked-back position and falling in his face as he rears back and punches him again. He punches him a third time, and a fourth, and a fifth…
“Tangerine! Stop, that’s enough!” you yell. By now people had noticed the fight. Two men quickly approach the three of you. Shit. One of them reaches Tangerine, who was now on his seventh punch, and pulls him off of Carter. The other one grabs Carter off the bar, his face bruised and bloody. You follow them as they drag the angry, panting men to the door.
“God dammit!” Carter yells as he recovers from being thrown outside. He lunges for Tangerine, who’s already prepared to catch Carter’s weight. He pivots them around, pinning Carter against the brick, his forearm pressing into his neck.
“Unless you’re not particularly fond of havin’ your arms attached to the rest of ya, I’d fuck right off if I were you,” he threatens in a low voice. He holds him there silently for a moment more, eyes wide and burning, waiting for a chance to make good on his threat. Carter finally nods, shoving Tangerine off of him and gathering himself up.
“He’s fuckin’ crazy,” he says looking at you. “Fuck both of you.” He throws his hands up as he backs away for a moment, then turns to leave.
Tangerine watches him round the corner, waiting until he’s completely out of sight before turning back to you.
You aren’t even sure how to process what just happened and you fight the tears threatening to well up in your eyes because you’re drunk and this isn’t how your night was supposed to go.
“Are you alright, love?” Tangerine asks, hands grabbing your face gently. His thumb strokes over your cheekbone as he searches your eyes and gives you a slight once-over. You close your eyes and nod. “Let’s get out of here.” He wraps his arm around your shoulder, pulling you close to him as he leads you off toward his car without a glance back.
“I’m not mad,” you break the silence as you sit in the passenger seat of his car. He clenches his fists around the thin steering wheel, sobered by the fight and rush of adrenaline.
“I wasn’t going to let him get away with sayin’ some shit like that to you,” he says, not taking his eyes off the road.
“I know,” you say softly.
“Why’d you even agree to go out with that prick anyway?”
“I’d never heard him say anything like that before. He’s always so nice at work, or at least he seemed like it. He’d been interested for a while, but I kept brushing him off. I don’t know, it didn’t seem smart to go out with my coworker.” You know that part is a lie and you’re not sure if Tangerine sees through it because he doesn’t respond. “I finally just agreed because…” you pause, not wanting to tell him that the reason you agreed to go out with Carter was because you would have done anything to get Tangerine out of your brain, “it doesn’t matter.”
He looks over at you, an unreadable expression on his face. “Well darling, you have absolutely awful taste in men,” he finally says in a playful tone that makes you laugh for the first time tonight.
“Do you think you could stop at a gas station? I need a drink or something,” You feel the fog beginning to clear from your head and you really don’t want to face the impending headache.
“Yeah, of course. Could use a pack of smokes anyway, rather than bummin’ ‘em off of you,” He says as he searches for a place to stop.
The hum of the engine comes to an abrupt stop and Tangerine pulls the keys from the ignition. He looks over at you. “You comin’?” He asks. You nod and give him a small smile before he exits the vehicle. Neon lights dance across the damp pavement and draw your attention to the flickering sign above the convenience store as you step out. You're surprised at the number of people at the store at such a late hour, and the way they lean against their cars and eye Tangerine suspiciously gives you an unsettled feeling. He looks rather disheveled and it doesn’t help that his knuckles are bloody and busted. You look like a mess as well you’re sure and there’s a bruise forming on your arm where Carter grabbed you. The jingle of a tiny bell snaps you out of your thoughts and you see that Tangerine is holding the door for you. You mumble a low “sorry” and he continues inside. The cool air hits you as you follow him quietly.
You head for the drinks in the back and swing open the cooler door. The chill air feels good on your flushed face and you take it in for a moment, taking a deep breath in your attempt to gather yourself. You settle on some flavored water. Closing the door, you make your way through the fluorescently lit aisles, back to Tangerine’s side. Your head is still swimming from the drinks but you can feel sobriety reaching through. You stand silently beside him in line until you hear someone clear their throat behind you. When you turn to look, a man is looking Tangerine up and down with a suspicious look. You know he’s noticed the bruise on your arm and the way your makeup has started to run.
“Are you good?” He asks quietly, trying not to draw Tangerine’s attention. He hears him anyway, but before he can open his mouth with a snarky reply, you answer.
“Yeah, I am now,” you say softly, leaning a bit closer to Tangerine as you shift your gaze up to him and offer a smile. He feels a swell of pride in his chest at your words, thankful that you beat him to speaking, since he would’ve just told the guy to fuck off and mind his business.
The two of you reach the front of the line and Tangerine takes your water from you, placing it on the counter. You observe the way he moves as he talks to the cashier, his gold pendant glinting against his chest almost obscenely, the way his muscles shift under his buttoned shirt as he reaches into his pocket for his wallet, how the lines around his eyes crinkle when he smiles and -
“You coming, love?” He asks you, pocketing a pack of Marlboro Reds and handing you your water as he reaches for the door handle.
“Yeah, sorry,” you say and follow him out, hoping you don't appear as flustered as you feel. You don't see the beginnings of a smirk playing on his lips. You are once again greeted by the humid air but you don’t mind. There’s a lack of words between the two of you after what happened tonight and you can’t seem to tell if it’s good or bad. It frustrates you that you struggle so much to read him. What’s even more frustrating than that is how much it seems to get under your skin that you can’t. Since when did you care about trying to read people? Since you ended up in sketchy gas stations at almost four in the morning with a contract killer, you remind yourself.
“You’re being awfully quiet, darling.” Tangerine’s words catch you off guard as he starts the car again.
“I just… don’t have anything to say,” you shrug, watching him fumble with the radio. It’s true. You were desperate to get your mind off of him, but the night took an unexpected turn and now you're here. With him. He doesn’t say anything, instead opting to switch off the radio and turn around to back out of the parking space.
The city lights pass by in blurry gleams of color. There is truly no calm here, you think as life still bustles about despite the time of night. Your mind wanders back to Tangerine. The way he found his way to you still tonight. You know that none of it would have happened if he hadn't shown up, but you're glad nonetheless. Carter wasn't someone you wanted around, and truthfully you were never interested in him. You know, that despite being unwilling to actually admit it to yourself, a part of you hoped Tangerine would be jealous. You also know that given the circumstances, whatever it was you felt for Tangerine, wasn't realistic. It was stupid and you knew it.
“Shit,” Tangerine’s voice snaps you out of your thoughts and you look away from the window, "missed the bloody exit." The green of the exit sign illuminates his face as you pass under it, almost taunting him.
“Maybe you should pay more attention when you're driving,” you tease. He looks at you but doesn’t speak. It’s quiet the rest of the way back to your apartment.
Tangerine pulls into a parking spot and turns off the car. You begin to thank him for the ride, expecting him to simply drop you off, but he gets out and heads towards the stairs.
“Walking me to the door? How sweet,” you say teasingly as you step out of the car.
“Jus' wanna make sure you're safe,” he mutters, looking past you. You only nod, understanding what he doesn't say.
When you unlock the door, you stand quietly for a moment, not sure if he intends to leave or come inside. He looks at you with an unreadable expression before speaking.
“I guess I should be off then, I’m sure Lemon’s probably wonderin’ where the fuck I am right now.” You feel a twinge of disappointment but you nod, knowing it's best if he leaves.
“Thank you, for, well, you know. You didn’t have to do that.”
“It’s always a pleasure havin’ the opportunity to rough some bastard up a bit,” he jests.
“Of course it is. Goodnight Tangerine, thanks for getting me home.” You smile and shut the door the moment he turns to walk away, not wanting to watch him leave for another time.
You stand there with your hands on the door for a minute, your mind reeling with the events of the night as a flood of emotion hits you. First, a wave of affection for Tangerine, the way he leapt to your defense without a second thought. A pang of sadness follows, knowing you have fallen for a man with walls so high you’d never manage to scale them, a dangerously unhinged man that fell out of the fucking sky and right into your life. Then finally, anger washes over you. Anger for showing up tonight, when you just wanted to move on. Anger for leaving you to wake up alone after you fucked him, for making you fall in love with him all while knowing he’d keep you an arm’s length away. Anger that despite all of this, he just keeps showing back up in your life. In your heated frenzy, you reach for the door handle, hoping to catch him before he drives away, fully prepared to tell him off. You swing the door open but are taken completely by surprise to see Tangerine standing on the other side. He seems surprised too, not expecting you to fling open the door while he stood there still.
“You been standing there like a fucking dickhead this entire time?” You ask, crossing your arms. He gives you a defeated look.
“Couldn’t bring myself to fuckin’ knock. Couldn’t bring myself to just fuckin’ walk away either.” You watch him for a moment before deciding he’s being sincere and step aside to usher him in.
“Why’d you even fucking show up tonight, Tan?” You demand, closing the door behind him. He exhales deeply, his back still to you.
“I had no intention of showin’ up. I knew you were out with that tosser and the fuckin’ bottle got the best of me, darling. Next thing I know I’m gettin’ in the fuckin’ car because I couldn’t stand to think about you with that prick for one more fuckin’ second.” He finally turns to face you. His raw honesty is something new to you, usually, you’re left trying to piece what little bit he gives you together like some fucked up emotional jigsaw.
“I should’ve never agreed to go out with him,” you admit, meeting his eyes. “I just,” you draw in a breath, “I couldn’t get you off of my goddamn mind. I thought if I went out with him, then it’d take my mind off of you.” Tangerine’s lips press into a thin line, the crease between his brows deepening as they knit together.
“And,” you say, taking a step forward, “there was a part of me that thought maybe,” you swallow thickly, embarrassment creeping up on you, “that maybe you’d be jealous, even.”
“Oh you’re playing a very dangerous game, sweetheart,” Tangerine murmurs, his demeanor shifting. “You’d be smart to move on, forget me and find someone perfectly ordinary bloke instead.” You stare up at him as he moves in closer to you. “But you’re too fuckin’ stubborn, you’d rather nearly get your coworker killed to try and fuckin’ get at me.” There’s a sinister edge to his voice that sends a shiver up your spine and you wonder if you should’ve even admitted that to him.
He grabs your chin with one hand and looks at you through half-lidded eyes. Your pulse quickens, but your anger hasn’t completely dissipated.
“You’re the one who fuckin’ left in the middle of the night after you fucked me,” you spit back. His grip tightens and you swear you see the end of his mustache twitch.
“I did you a fuckin’ favor,” he hisses and lets you go. “You’ve got no business gettin’ tangled up with some fucked up bastard like me.”
“So why do you keep showing back up? Why haven’t you fucked off for good then? You said I’m stubborn but you won’t let me move on.” You’re starting to raise your voice now, your emotions running hot. Everything you’ve felt since he walked into the little cafe you work at on that ordinary fucking Wednesday afternoon is now bubbling up to the surface. You turn from him, walking away toward the living area of your apartment but he catches your wrist, gently.
“Because it turns out I just can’t get you the fuck off my mind either, love.” Your stomach is in knots, somehow both fluttering and sinking at the same time. “And maybe the thought of some fuckin’ arsehole takin’ you home ate me the fuck up.” You stare at him, feeling weak under his burning stare. Emotion flashes across his face and he looks down in contemplation.
“I fuckin’ love you, alright?” He chokes out. You step closer to him again to close the distance. “Is that what you wanted to hear? That you’ve fucked right with my head? Got me showin’ up to clubs off my fuckin’ face because the thought of anyone else havin’ ya makes me wanna put a bullet right through their skull.”
Your mouth is on his the second he stops speaking. His surprise fades quickly as his lips start to move against yours and you take him in. He tastes like vodka and cigarettes. He drops your wrist and wraps his arm around your waist. Your thoughts are consumed by him as you feel his tongue glide across your lower lip. Without a second thought, you let him in and your hands reach up to tangle in his curls. You run your tongue along the back of his teeth and he groans into your mouth. You wince slightly when he pulls away and trails his lips down your jaw.
“You make me fuckin’ insane, you know that?” He says between kisses.
“Show me,” you say breathlessly, biting back a moan when he nips the skin of your neck.
He doesn’t waste a second backing you up to the couch. You collapse onto the cushiony fabric below the moment you feel it hit the back of your calves, pulling Tangerine down with you. He’s still leaving marks along your neck so you grab his face and redirect him to kiss you again, his mustache tickling your nose. Your hand ghosts over the bulge in his trousers and his hips buck into the palm of your hand. The sound he makes is so pretty it sends a flood of arousal straight between your legs.
He pulls away again and looks at you, lips wet and glistening. His hand reaches the waistband of your pants and he meets your gaze in search of approval. You give him his answer by grinding your hips against his hand.
“You’re eager, darling,” he says as he slips his hand below the elastic, “but I’m taking my time with you.” He runs a ringed finger through your folds. “Fuckin’ hell you’re already so wet for me baby.” You bite your lip and lift your hips in an attempt to remove your pants. He swats your hands away and pulls them down for you, followed by your panties, tossing them both aside. He sits back on the couch, drinking in the sight of you.
“Fuckin’ gorgeous thing you are,” he swears as he returns his attention to your cunt, gliding his fingers through your slick and gathering the wetness on them. His thumb rubs a tight circle around your clit and you instinctively try to press your thighs together. He grabs one of your thighs with his free hand and forces them apart, holding them in place with his forearm. His ring and middle fingers plunge into you, the sudden intrusion making you gasp.
“Ah- Fuck, Tan-” You whimper as he curls his fingers inside of you, feeling the pleasure beginning to pool inside of you. He lowers himself so that he’s kneeling on the floor in front of the couch. He bites at the inside of your thigh, working his way down to your soaked heat as his fingers still pump deliciously in and out of you.
“You look so fuckin’ divine with my fingers inside you, love, need to taste you,” he mutters against your skin. Your hand flies to tangle in his curls when you feel his breath against your exposed cunt. He licks a single, flat-tongued stripe up your entrance stopping to swirl his tongue around the sensitive bundle of nerves. His fingers are still working your pussy and you tighten your grip in his hair. He grunts when you tug on his curls, the vibration sending a shiver through you and causing you to buck your hips in response. His fingers dig into your thighs as he holds them apart still, fighting against your efforts to squeeze them shut.
You feel your orgasm building up, chasing the sensation as you fuck yourself on his thick fingers.
“Feels so good baby, gonna cum,” you manage between breaths, his fingers repeatedly pressing into your g-spot. He hums against your clit and the coil snaps. Your orgasm washes over you and you feel your walls spasm and tighten around his fingers. He doesn’t relent, still sucking and swirling his tongue around your clit, his fingers working you through the orgasm until you’re twitching from overstimulation.
He pulls away, lips still glistening as he sits back and brings his fingers to his mouth to lick your juices off of them. You watch him, mesmerized at the sight. Then, he moves back to the couch, caging you underneath him as he shoves his fingers into your mouth. He watches you through lidded eyes as you swirl your tongue around them, tasting the metal of his rings.
“Fuckin’ hell,” he pants, removing his fingers. His pupils are blown and his hair is a tousled mess of curls, he looks so goddamn beautiful that it sends a sudden wave of affection through you, causing you to reach up to touch his cheek. He leans into your touch, dipping back down to catch your lips. His tongue slips back into your mouth and you feel his cock press against your thigh. You grind your hips up, reaching for his belt at the same time.
“Want you to fuck me,” you whisper as you break the kiss. He curses and pulls away to finish the job for you, discarding his belt and kicking off his trousers. He works at the buttons of his shirt languidly before shrugging it off and tossing it aside as well. You take the chance to pull your shirt over your head and unclasp your bra, letting it fall to the floor as Tangerine looks back up at you. He’s left in his briefs, his cock straining against the fabric as he moves to you once again. You reach for the elastic, freeing his cock and wrapping your fingers around him. He’s hot and heavy in your hand as you pump the velvety skin.
“Thought you wanted me inside, darlin’,” he grunts as your hands glide over him.
“Yes, need you.” You lean back onto the couch cushions, your legs spread. He kicks off his briefs and hovers over you, propping himself up on one elbow, the other hand taking his cock to line up with your entrance. He drops his head down to your ear, a growl vibrating through his chest as he bottoms out inside of you. The mild sting of him stretching you sends a surge of pleasure through you.
“Fuck, missed how you felt around my cock, love,” he huffs out.
“So good, baby,” you moan, throwing your head back. The feeling of being filled by him is almost overwhelming. It doesn’t take long for him to find a steady pace, dragging his cock along your slick walls. You hook your legs around his waist and pull him to you. He growls when you dig your heels into his back, needing to feel him deeper.
His rhythm picks up and he sinks back down, taking your nipple into his mouth. You gasp as he nips the sensitive skin, then swirls his tongue around it soothingly. Your hand finds purchase once more in his hair, the other clawing at his back as he splits you open on his cock, sinking into you repeatedly. He releases your nipple and licks a stripe between your breasts.
“Tangerine,” you cry out his name when the blunt head of his cock hits your g-spot. “Fuck right there.”
“Look at you, my little fuckin’ cock-drunk slut,” he groans between thrusts. Suddenly you feel something cold hitting you in the face and you see his pendant dangling in front of you. It slaps obscenely against your cheek with every rut of his hips. You tilt your chin up, looking at Tangerine through your lashes as you take the gold charm between your teeth with a gentle tug on the chain. The gesture alone is enough to send him into a frenzy and he reaches a brutal pace, pistoning into you as he chases his own orgasm.
“You gonna come for me again, sweetheart?” He rasps, “I’m close.” He adds, reaching between the two of you to massage your clit. You choke back a moan, writhing beneath him. You manage to nod and he hits your g-spot again. Your back arches up from the cushions, your chest pressed to his.
“That’s it, pretty, come on my cock. Wanna feel you squeezin’ me.” His words send you over the edge, your orgasm crashing into you blindingly. Your pussy clenches around his length and his name spills from your lips like a prayer as your walls flutter around him. His hips still rut into you at an unrelenting pace through your orgasm.
You feel his cock twitch and know he’s not far behind you.
“Want you to cum inside me,” you breathe. His head snaps up to look at you, eyes wide and pupils blown with pleasure.
“Bloody hell,” he pants, “you’re fuckin’ filthy. Wantin’ me to fill you up, love.” His hips falter. “Anything you want. Anything for you.” He thrusts again, reaching even deeper this time. His mouth finds your shoulder and he bites down hard as he cums. You feel his cock twitching, painting your insides with his cum.
He collapses onto your chest after he empties himself, panting heavy breaths. You feel his heart hammering in his chest against your own. You lay in silence, your mind reeling as your breaths echo inside the room. After a moment he peels himself away from you, his gaze devotional as he takes in the state of you. Breath ragged, your chest heaving as his cum leaks from you.
“Why don’t we move to the bed, yeah?” He says, getting up and slipping his briefs back on. You hum in agreement, feeling completely blissed out. He disappears into the bathroom and you sit up, spotting his discarded shirt laying across the coffee table. You reach for it, pulling it over your shoulders and buttoning it halfway before heading into your bedroom.
Tangerine returns from the bathroom, coming into your room and stopping when he sees you sitting in his shirt. You smile at him from the bed, still feeling a bit like a tingly pile of jello. Affection blooms in his chest, a feeling that terrifies him each time it creeps up. He knows you deserve better than this, his entire lifestyle posing a risk to you. He really should just fuck off for good.
You watch Tangerine move to the bed, scooting over to him as he flops down beside you. He turns his head to look at you, and you take his hand, kissing his busted knuckles.
“You know, I didn’t tell you earlier,” you start. “I mean, you probably already knew.” He looks at you quizzically. “That I love you, too,” you finish.
“Yeah, I know, love.” He smiles, closing his eyes and pulling you to him.
Excessive amounts of sweat on your body wake you up but a weight on your torso stops you from sitting up. You look down, just able to make out Tangerine’s head on your stomach and his arm draped across your body. You feel a wave of relief to find that he’s still here with you. It’s barely light outside but you can’t go back to sleep so you slide out from under Tangerine’s grip. He stirs slightly, grabs a pillow, and rolls onto his stomach with his brow furrowed and curls flying wildly about. You’re still soaked in sweat from the heat of Tangerine’s body pressed up against you all night and your hair is a filthy mess so you decide to take a shower.
You start the water and peek out of the bathroom to make sure he’s still asleep. You’re relieved to see he hasn’t moved so you close the door and step into the small shower. The hot water erases the grimy feeling of sweat and oil but you’re annoyed as thoughts from the previous night creep into your mind. You should probably be angry but you’re only slightly annoyed, which comes as no surprise. How can you be angry thinking about how he kissed his way down your body, how his teeth grazed the skin of your neck as he sank his cock into you, your name pouring from his lips as he spilled into you. Then you remember what he said before.
He loved you. You didn’t even know if he meant it. He didn’t leave this time, so that had to mean something, right? You couldn’t have expected the night to turn out the way it did, but it was certainly full of surprises.
You stay in the shower until the water runs cold and forces you out. You wrap a towel around yourself and exit the bathroom. When you step back into your room, Tangerine is nowhere to be found, and your heart plummets. But before you can dwell on it too much, you hear a loud noise in the kitchen. Startled, you quickly head to investigate.
“Mornin’ sweetheart,” Tangerine greets you, standing at the stove with a frying pan in his hand. “How do you like your eggs?” The scene before you feels very domestic. His pants hang low on his hips, and he is very noticeably without a shirt. The sight of him in your kitchen, with messy curls and a dumb grin spreading across his face, makes your stomach flip.
You can’t help the smile that creeps onto your own face. Maybe, just maybe, he meant it after all.
More Posts from Shewantsvengeance and Others
little bitch - cs55
summary: yn piastri and carlos sainz absolutely hate each other. carlos thinks she’s immature, yn calls him a little bitch on social media. they also kiss every now and then. PART TWO
word count: over 10k + social media posts
folkie radio: guys this fic is my baby okay 🥲🥲 please take care of it i spent like two weeks writing it. FEEDBACK IS ENCOURAGED AND APPRECIATED !!
MASTERLIST | MY PATREON
2023 SEASON
liked by oscarpiastri, landonorris and 87,635 others
ynpiastri that’s my optimistic little brother cry about it 😚 see y’all after the break
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username1 LAJSIA SO MESSY
username2 yn really said you will NAWT mess with my little brother
lilyzneimer Love you forever 😂
↳ ynpiastri ilysm
username3 the sainz - piastri drama just spiced this season up
mclaren That’s our boy 🧡
username4 carlos sainz and yn piastri fighting on the internet and oscar is just 🧍
username5 the fact that daniel ricciardo and pierre gasly liked yn’s tweet too 😭
landonorris Stop fighting people on the internet please
↳username1 HELP HIS BESTIES ARE FIGHTING
↳ ynpiastri never 😤
oscarpiastri When nobody got me I know my messy sister got me
↳ username2 I LOVE THEM SM
↳ yourinstagram HE SAID NO PICKLES !!
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"You didn't have to tweet that," Oscar said, giving you a look from his seat.
You were currently traveling from Belgium to Monaco in McLaren's private jet after the race weekend, and the main topic of the day was your little message to Carlos Sainz after his statement about your brother.
"Osc, he's being a petty bitch," you shrugged, "He keeps blaming you for what happened on the track and we all know it was his fault."
"Lando, can you help me out please?" Oscar looked at his teammate, who was immersed on his phone as a way to avoid the conversation.
"Oh no, don't put me in the middle of this," Lando shook his head, "I have enough PR issues myself."
"We know you're siding with your bestie anyways," you said, making him roll his eyes.
This dynamic was nothing new. Lando and Carlos Sainz were best friends, and so were Lando and you. The issue? You couldn't stand Carlos at all, and Lando was always in the middle of your bickering.
Oscar sighed, rubbing his temples as he glanced out of the window. "Look, I appreciate you standing up for me, but sometimes it's better to let things slide. Engaging with him on social media only adds fuel to the fire."
He had a point. Deep down you knew it, however, your were short tempered and protective towards your loved ones, so it was natural that you took the chance to come for Sainz's neck when he gave you a reason to.
"I get it, Osc. I just can't stand seeing him drag your name through the mud when you're not even at fault," you stressed, "You're my little brother, I'll always get protective, you know?"
"I know, and I appreciate you having my back," Oscar said, softening his tone. "But it's not worth it. Like you said, I'm not engaging with whatever he's saying so there's no point of starting stuff."
"He started it, I'm just finishing it," you shrugged, and Oscar gave you a pointed look, you were older than him, but he was definitely more mature than you. "Fine, I'll try to hold back next time," you sighed, leaning back in your seat.
Lando finally looked up from his phone, a smirk on his face. "See, that wasn't too hard, was it? Now, can we all be friends?"
"If that includes Sainz then no, we can't,"
You could never be friends with Carlos Sainz. That was literally impossible.
For starters, you were pretty sure he didn't even know your name, he was always too full of himself to even acknowledge those around him.
And lastly, he was a bitch to your brother on and off track.
"I just, I would really like for you two to get along," Lando said and you immediately rolled your eyes at his words, "You're both important to me, and it sucks being caught in the middle. Plus I don't even understand why do you dislike him so much."
You knew the real reason why you disliked him so much, you perfectly did. However, that was a subject that you decided to ignore every single time.
"Honestly? I find him arrogant. He always acts like he's the center of the universe. He never takes responsibility for his actions and always tries to shift the blame onto others. It's frustrating to watch."
Lando sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I get it, but you have to understand, Carlos is actually a good guy once you get to know him. He's passionate and competitive, sure, but he's also loyal and a great friend."
"I get that he's like your hero or something," you teased, "But it's not going to happen, Lando. I don't think I'll ever like Carlos, and I really wish you’d stop pushing the subject."
"Look, you don't have to be his best friend or something," Oscar intervened, "Just promise me you won't punch him when you see him in the paddock after the summer break."
"No promises."
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liked by lilymhe, landonorris and 105,726 others
ynpiastri a weekend in monaco with some of my favorite people 🤍 back to race cars soooon (love being a nepo sister)
tagged: oscarpiastri, lilyzneimer, alexandrasaintmleux, landonorris
view all 2,011 comments
username1 SLAAAY
username2 ahhhh lily x oscar content thank u yn
francisca.cgomes having major fomo rn, love you all babies 🥲
↳ ynpiastri get over hereeeee
username3 she has the dream life
charles_leclerc Stop stealing my girlfriend from me thank you
↳ ynpiastri never
↳ alexandrasaintmleux We’re like this 👩❤️💋👩
↳ charles_leclerc Don’t do this to me
lilyzneimer 🤍
oscarpiastri I think you just invented the term “nepo sister”
↳ ynpiastri and i’m too iconic for that
───────── ౨ৎ ─────────
Going to Jimmy'z the last day of the summer break was a tradition among the drivers at this point.
You looked forward to it, for you, nothing could beat a night of loud music, drinks and friends. You thought that was the reason you got along with Lando and quickly became best friends.
“Ready to tear up the dance floor?” Lando shouted over the music, giving you smirk
“Always!” you replied, grabbing his hand and dragging him towards the center of the action, Oscar and Lily being their introvert selves decided to stay at the table with some of your friends.
After a few songs, you returned to the table to catch your breath and order another round of drinks.
Oscar looked up from his conversation with Lily and smiled as you approached.
“Having fun?” he asked.
“Absolutely,” you replied, taking a seat next to him. “You two should join us on the dance floor.”
Lily laughed softly. “Maybe later. Right now, we’re enjoying people-watching.”
“Suit yourselves,” you said, shrugging, "I'm going to the bar, does anyone want anything?"
Oscar shook his head. "No, thanks. I'm good."
"I'll have another gin and tonic," Lily said, giving you a warm smile.
"Got it," you replied, turning towards the bar.
As you made your way through the crowded club, you found an open spot at the bar and flagged down the bartender. As you waited for your drinks, you felt someone step up beside you. Glancing to your left, you saw the last person you wanted to run into tonight... or ever.
Carlos Sainz was standing there with what you called his "resting bitch face" and acting like he owned the place.
You knew chances of him being at Jimmy'z for the last day of the summer break were high and you had decided earlier that you were just going to ignore him for the night if you ever ran into him. After all, you were there to have fun, not to get into a confrontation. But you were known for being short-tempered, a stark contrast to your brother's laid-back demeanor.
When you heard Carlos order his drink without so much as a “please,” you couldn't help but call him out.
"Whiskey, neat," he ordered, his tone clipped and lacking any form of politeness, his Spanish accent that you found absolutely irritating coming through.
“A 'please' would be nice, you know,” you interjected.
Carlos turned to you, his brow furrowing. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me,” you replied coolly. “It's not hard to be polite.”
"Do I know you?" Carlos stared at you for a moment before recognition dawned. “Oh you're Piastri's sister, aren't you?”
“That I am,” you confirmed, your tone equally cold.
“Figures," Carlos scoffed, shaking his head, "You’re the one who sent me that lovely message on Twitter.”
“You deserved every word,” you replied, crossing your arms.
“Did I now?” Carlos leaned closer, his expression hardening. “You don't even know the whole story. You just assume I'm the bad guy because of Oscar."
“I know enough,” you shot back. “I know you never take responsibility for your actions. You always blame someone else.”
“And what about you?," Carlos’s jaw tightened, "Hiding behind your keyboard, throwing insults. That's real mature.”
“Someone had to say it,” you replied, refusing to back down. “You can't just go around acting like you're untouchable.”
“And you can't go around thinking you're some kind of vigilante,” Carlos retorted. “Can't your little brother handle things himself?.”
“Maybe if you weren't such a jerk, people wouldn't have to call you out,” you snapped, feeling your temper flare.
Carlos sighed, clearly frustrated. “Look, I don't have time for this. Just stay out of my way, alright?”
“Gladly,” you replied, turning away from him.
When you rejoined your friends, they noticed your tense expression. Lando shot you a questioning look, but you just shook your head.
"Ask you bestie," you simply said and Lando threw his head back in frustration, once again, he was in the middle of his two best friends tension.
“I’ll talk to him," Lando said, sipping on his drink.
"Don't bother, he's a bitch."
Later that night, Lando found Carlos near the dancefloor chatting with some friends. He pulled him aside, needing to get to the bottom of the latest incident.
“What happened with YN now?” Lando asked, trying to keep his tone casual.
Carlos shrugged before speaking, “I was minding my own business, ordering a drink, and she just came at me."
“And?” Lando raised an eyebrow.
“And she’s just so immature and arrogant,” Carlos continued, “She’s always ready to pick a fight over the smallest things. It’s embarrassing.”
Lando shook his head. “Look, Carlos, YN is protective of Oscar. She sees you two butting heads and she gets defensive. It’s not ideal, but it’s not like she’s completely unreasonable.”
“Well, she sure seems unreasonable to me," Carlos crossed his arms, "I don’t know how you deal with it.”
Lando sighed. “She’s my friend, and so are you. I wish you two could just get along, but I know that’s asking a lot. Just... try to give her a bit of slack, alright? She’s not a bad person.”
"She's insufferable."
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ynpiastri has added to their stories
carlossainz55 replied to your story
liked by alexandrasaintmleux, oscarpiastri and 168,373 others
ynpiastri little bitches everywhere, always a pleasure monza
tagged: landonorris, charles_leclerc
view all 2,769 comments
username1 HEEEELP
username2 she’s so messy we needed this 😭
lilyzneimer I can’t wait to hear this rant in person
↳ username1 LET ME INNNNN
username3 IS THIS CARLOS SHADEEEE
username4 not her adding the radio message
landonorris I would like to be excluded from this narrative
↳ ynpiastri scared of your boyfriend??
↳ username2 THEY’RE SO TALKING ABOUT CARLOS 😭
charles_leclerc Did you call me a little bitch?
↳ ynpiastri you’re literally the only ferrari i like..
↳ username3 she really hates carlos i’m screaming
───────── ౨ৎ ─────────
The Ferrari hospitality was the last place you wanted to be during a Grand Prix, the mere thought of it being the place where Sainz (or as you liked to call him, the little bitch), was most likely to be kept you away from it.
However, Alex told you to meet her there after the Qualifying so you could leave together for dinner. Oscar and Lando already left with the rest of the team, so you had no choice but to wait for your friend.
"Looking for someone, hermosa?" your eyes immediately rolled without even turning around to see who was speaking, the thick Spanish accent that you despised filling your ears.
"Not for you, that's for sure," you said, not even bothering to face him.
"Are you sure? Because this is not the McLaren garage, did your little bro finally kick you out or something?"
"Sainz," you retorted sharply, finally turning to face him, "Shouldn't you be busy making excuses for your next mediocre performance on track?"
"Ah, always so angry, Piastri," he chuckled, unfazed by your hostility, "Maybe you're just frustrated because you're not getting enough attention. I could help with that."
"I don't need or want anything from you," you shot back, your voice laced with irritation.
Carlos leaned casually against a nearby wall, his smirk widening. "Come on, hermosa, you know you've got a temper. Maybe you just need to let off some steam."
Hermosa, the word he used often when he wanted to get to your skin. When you first heard it, you had no idea of what it meant. You were never good at learning Spanish growing up. But after a quick google translation search you found out that it meant beautiful. And for some reason you felt like throwing up.
"Believe me, Sainz, you're the last person I'd ever turn to," you replied icily, folding your arms across your chest, "And don't call me that."
He chuckled again, seemingly enjoying your discomfort. You wondered how Lando could be friends with him when he was nothing but an arrogant little bitch, and you cursed Alexandra for taking so long to get her stuff from hospitality.
"I hope you know that you have some serious issues, Sainz," you said, your patience wearing thin as his cocky stare weighted on you.
"Issues? Me?," Carlos raised an eyebrow, clearly entertained by your anger, "I think you're the one with the problem, querida. Like I said, maybe you need to get laid. I could help you with that, your brother won't find out."
Your eyes narrowed, your blood boiled to the point where you could feel your skin burning up. If it wasn't for the all the people around, you swore you could've punched him.
You took a step closer to him, your voice dropping to a deadly whisper. "I hope your car sets itself on fire so you're not able to race tomorrow."
Carlos's smirk only widened, he was well aware that he got into your skin and he enjoyed every minute of it. Before he could respond, Alex finally appeared, her eyes flicking between the two of you with a mix of curiosity and concern.
"Ready to go?" she asked, sensing the tension.
"More than ready," you replied, shooting Carlos one last glare before turning to leave with Alex.
The next day, news spread quickly through the paddock that Carlos' car had suffered a mechanical failure during the warm-up, rendering him unable to compete in the Qatar Grand Prix. Meanwhile, Oscar had won the Sprint and finished P2 in the race.
Karma got that little bitch, you thought to yourself
───────── ౨ৎ ─────────
INSTAGTAM
liked by oscarpiastri, logansargeant and 181,544 others
ynpiastri season over and out. super proud of you, rookie of the year @/oscarpiastri 🥹
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username1 i’m going to miss this season sm
username2 proud sisssss
mclaren One for the books 🧡
username3 thank you for fighting sainz online all season long bestie
landonorris Little Oscar is all grown up now
↳ ynpiastri don’t say that i’ll cry
lilyzneimer 🫶🫶🫶
username4 highlight of the season was the piastri - sainz beef
↳ username1 not for lando 😭
oscarpiastri Thank you for always supporting me (creating drama online and all) Love you so much ❤️
↳ ynpiastri that’s what big sisters are for
───────── ౨ৎ ─────────
The end of the 2023 season was a blur of celebrations, laughter, and champagne showers. Oscar had closed off the season as the Rookie of the Year and you couldn't be more proud of him, you were grateful you got to be by his side through it.
And of course, with the end of the season a celebration at Jimmy'z was in order, all drivers, their girlfriends and friends pulling up to Monaco for one last night of partying before the winter break.
You had stuck close to Lando and Oscar for most of the evening, since it was a special occasion, you decided not to hold back with your drinking and have as much fun as you wanted, Lando being your partner in crime as always.
So by 2 a.m, you were pretty drunk, not to the point where you couldn't stand on your own feet, but drunk enough to make a couple of bad decisions.
With that thought on your mind, you decided that it was time to find your brother or best friend and call it a night. But for some reason, both of them were nowhere to be found.
Stumbling through the crowded dance floor, you made your way toward the back of the club, hoping to spot them. The alleyway was dark and you couldn't see a single thing, but they weren't definitely back there.
"Fancy seeing you here, hermosa," a voice behind drawled, almost making you jump.
"What the actual fuck!" you said, holding a hand to your chest.
Of course it was fucking Carlos Sainz, once again
"You scared the hell out of me!" you snapped, narrowing your eyes at him, "Do you hide in dark alleyways like a creep all the time?"
"Slow down, hermosa, why are you so angry all the time?" his Spanish accent was thicker than usual, a clear sign that he was as tipsy as you were.
"I'm not in the mood for your games tonight," you retorted, trying to brush past him.
"Relax, I'm not here to cause trouble," he said, blocking your path with an easy grace. "Though you do seem to find me wherever you go."
"Only because you insist on being everywhere I am," you shot back, folding your arms over your chest.
"Or maybe you just can't resist my charm," he teased, leaning casually against the wall.
"Charm? Is that what you call it?" you scoffed, "More like arrogance and an inflated ego."
"Arrogance? No. Confidence? Absolutely," he replied with a smirk, "And I think you secretly like it."
"You're delusional," you muttered, feeling the alcohol clouding your judgment. "I can't stand you."
"Is that so?" he said, stepping closer. "Because you seem pretty invested in this conversation for someone who supposedly hates me."
True
"Maybe because you won't let me leave," you said, your voice rising in frustration.
"Or maybe because you've spent the entire season trying to get my attention by being rude to me and blasting me on social media, calling me a little bitch and all."
"I was defending Oscar," you snapped. "You kept messing with him on track. Someone had to call you out."
Carlos shook his head, his cocky smirk even bigger now. "It was never about Oscar, and you know it."
"God, I hate you," you said, ready to walk away but he blocked your way one more time.
"No, you don't," he replied, a knowing smile on his lips. "You just hate that you can't help but get all hot and bothered whenever I'm around."
"You're really are such a little bitch," you spat, but even as the words left your mouth, you felt a strange thrill.
"And you're a firecracker, Piastri. That's what makes this so fun."
"You're so full of yourself," you retorted, but the words lacked their usual bite. The alcohol was making it hard to keep up your defenses, and Carlos's close proximity was doing strange things to your resolve.
"Maybe," he conceded, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. "But I think you like it more than you let on."
Before you could argue back, Carlos took another step closer, his body almost pressing against yours. The tension between you crackled like electricity, and despite your best efforts, you found yourself unable to pull away.
"You're infuriating," you muttered, your heart pounding in your chest.
"And you," he said, his breath warm against your ear, "are insufferable."
Without another word, he closed the gap between you, capturing your lips in a fierce, almost desperate kiss. It was a collision of anger, frustration, and undeniable chemistry, and you couldn't help but respond in kind.
Your hands found their way to his hair, fingers tangling in the soft strands as you kissed him back with equal fervor. His hands roamed down your back, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you.
What the hell was happening?
For a moment, all the animosity, all the bickering, melted away. It was messy, it was intense, and it was everything you hadn't realized you wanted.
When you finally pulled away, breathless and dazed, you could see the same mix of surprise and desire reflected in Carlos' eyes.
Before either of you could say anything, you were interrupted by Lando's voice calling out your name. You quickly stepped back, putting some distance between you and Carlos as Lando approached, a curious look on his face.
"Everything okay here?" Lando asked, glancing between the two of you.
"Just fine," you replied, giving Carlos a final, challenging look. "Just fine."
Carlos nodded, his smirk returning. "See you around, Piastri."
───────── ౨ৎ ─────────
texts between lando and yn
texts between carlos and lando
───────── ౨ৎ ─────────
2024 SEASON
Formula 1 was back and in full swing. And with that your "nepo sister" privileges, which included traveling with Oscar for races came back too.
You were excited for this season, Oscar was no longer a rookie and he had a lot to prove, and you couldn't wait to see him rise to the challenge.
In addition to that, this season was going to be extra interesting, since the news of your least favorite driver on the grid (or at least the one you swore you hated) being replaced by Lewis Hamilton in Ferrari were announced a few weeks prior.
"Did you hear the news?" Oscar asked, making his way to you.
"What news?" you replied, setting down your coffee cup.
"Lewis Hamilton is moving to Ferrari next season," Oscar said, watching your reaction closely.
Your eyes widened in surprise. "Wait, what? So the little bitch is out?"
Oscar nodded. "Yeah, it's going to be an interesting season."
Carlos Sainz was both a source of irritation and inexplicable attraction. You had tried to push the memory of that kiss at Jimmy'z to the back of your mind all winter long, but you just couldn't stop thinking about it.
Plus, Lando was firm on his mission of making wither of you confess that apparently you "liked each other", which made ignoring the whole situation even harder.
You just hoped that he would keep it chill this season, not bothering either you or Oscar so you could just pretend he didn't exist.
With that thought on your mind, you made your way back to the hotel. You spent the day exploring around Bahrain with Oscar and Lando, and now you were ready to unwind in your room. The boys deciding to spend a few more hours walking around before heading back.
Once in the lobby, you stepped into the elevator, pressing the button for your floor. Just as the doors were about to close, a familiar hand slipped in, forcing them open.
Carlos Sainz stepped inside, his ever-present smirk firmly in place.
Speak of the devil and he shall appear, they say.
"Not going to say hello, querida?" he said after a few seconds of complete silence from you, leaning against the elevator wall.
"Carlos. Still popping up where you're least wanted, I see," you rolled your eyes, folding your arms over your chest.
"Missed you too, Piastri," he chuckled, pushing off the wall to stand closer you, "How was your break?"
"Great, thanks for asking," you replied coolly. "Did you enjoy yours, planning how to be a pain to other drivers this season too?"
"Is that really how you want to start our first conversation of the season?" Carlos raised an eyebrow, "I though we've left that in the past, specially after what happened at the end of last year."
You tensed at his statement. More than once during the break, you wondered if he remembered what happened that night. He was as drunk was you were, if not more, so you convinced yourself that he had forgotten about it.
"I don't remember much from that night. Must have been the champagne."
Carlos leaned in slightly, his voice low and teasing. "Oh, I think you remember perfectly well. Especially the kiss."
Your heart skipped a beat, but you kept your expression neutral. "I have no idea what you're talking about."
"Playing dumb doesn't suit you," he said with a chuckle. "But fine, we'll pretend it never happened. For now."
"Good," you replied sharply. "Because I have no intention of discussing it."
"Maybe you're playing dumb because you want me to kiss you again," Carlos teased, making you throw your head back in frustration.
"I'd rather choke on my own spit, little bitch,"
"Ahh, missed hearing that," Carlos said, his tone cocky and satisfied with your frustration. You mentally cursed the elevator for taking so long to get to your fucking floor.
"You know what? I hope you don't find a seat for next season at all. You act like a total peacock when everyone knows you're basically unemployed right now," you spitted out before you could even think twice.
Carlos raised an eyebrow, his expression momentarily serious. "Low blow, Piastri. Even for you."
You held his gaze defiantly, refusing to back down. "Just stating the obvious."
The elevator finally dinged, announcing your floor, and you stepped out swiftly, eager to end the conversation before it could escalate further.
Carlos Sainz had a way of getting under your skin like no one else, and the season had only just begun.
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liked by landonorris, pierregasly and 186,379 others
ynpiastri and we’re back 🏁 i promise to make this season drama free
tagged: landonorris, lilyzneimer, oscarpiastri
view all 3,177 comments
username1 ICON IS BACKKKK
username2 nooo we need you to keep dragging sainz
mclaren Our favorite nepo sister 🧡
↳ ynpiastri that’s meeee
username3 yn always gives us lily x oscar content bless her
charles_leclerc What if I need you to fight someone from the grid for me?
↳ ynpiastri you know there’s one person i would gladly drag through the mood
↳ username1 HER HATRED FOR CARLOS LIVES
lilyzneimer love youuu✨
oscarpiastri Cute picture of me and Lily, thank u sis
↳ ynpiastri i’m just here for my babies 🫡
landonorris I know your reasons
↳ ynpiastri you’re so strange sometimes
───────── ౨ৎ ─────────
───────── ౨ৎ ─────────
It was a sunny day in Melbourne, and the paddock was buzzing with excitement. The Australian Grand Prix was always a favorite, and this year was no exception.
You felt good to be back home, you always felt proud when you saw Oscar on the track, but seeing him racing in your home country was something even more special.
Carlos was also back from his emergency surgery and ready to race again. And even though you would never admit it out loud, you were relieved to see him back and healthy. The news of his appendicitis had shocked you more than you’d expected, and you’d found yourself genuinely concerned about his wellbeing.
I'm just being a decent human being, you tried to convince yourself, It would be really scary if that happened to Oscar or Lando.
Walking through the paddock, you looked for a familiar face to hang out with before it was time for the track action to start, spotting Lando's back talking to someone you couldn't quite identify, you decided to approach him.
As you got closer, Lando shifted slightly, revealing the person he was talking to, Carlos.
He looked well, a healthy glow back in his cheeks, his smile easy and relaxed. He was wearing his team gear, the Ferrari red suiting him perfectly. His dark hair was slightly tousled, and despite the casual setting, he looked effortlessly handsome for someone who had a major surgery just two weeks ago.
Your stomach did a little flip. You hated to admit it, but lately your hatred towards Carlos had cooled down. Maybe it was the memory of that kiss, seeing him vulnerable after his surgery or the fact that he had been decent to Oscar so far. You couldn't deny that there was something about him that made you feel… softer.
However, you decided to ignore those thoughts and feelings every time they got to your head, because at the end of the day, there was no way he could ever feel or think the same way. It was better to keep hating each other.
Lando noticed you approaching and gave you a teasing grin. "Hey, YN! Look who’s back from the dead!"
Carlos turned to face you, his eyes lighting up when he saw you. "Hey, Piastri," he greeted with a warm smile. "Back to your home turf, huh?"
"Yeah," you replied, trying to keep your tone casual despite the flutter in your chest. "It feels good to be back."
Lando gave Carlos a pat on the shoulder. "I'll catch up with you later, mate," he said, winking at you before walking away, leaving the two of you alone.
You stood there for a moment, awkward silence filling the air. Maybe he was still tired from what he had been through, but he didn't show any signs of cockiness or wanting to annoy you this time.
"You look well," you finally said, your voice softer than usual. "I'm glad you're back."
Carlos chuckled, his eyes twinkling. "I heard you were worried about me."
"Don't let it go to your head," you replied quickly, though the usual bite in your tone was missing. You felt a bit embarrassed that he knew, "I’m just being a decent human being."
"Of course," Carlos said, his voice nonchalant, "Decent human being, sure."
"I’m serious," you insisted, though your voice lacked the usual edge. "But I am glad you’re okay. It must have been scary."
Carlos’s expression softened. "It was. But I had good doctors, and I’m ready to race again. Thanks for worrying."
There was silence again, and you noticed that this was the first time you and Carlos had an interaction that didn't include biting each other's heads off.
It felt nice.
"Well," you said after a minute of silence, "don’t expect me to go easy on you just because you had surgery. You're still on my watch."
"Wouldn’t have it any other way," Carlos smirked, "But for the record, it’s nice to see you care, even if you won’t admit it."
"Don't push your luck, Sainz," you warned, but there was a hint of playfulness in your voice.
"I wouldn't dare, Piastri."
"I should get going," you said, pointing towards the McLaren hospitality, "Good luck out there."
As you turned to walk away, Carlos's voice stopped you in your tracks.
You glanced back at him, eyebrows raised in question.
"You know, this is the first time you don't call me a little bitch," Carlos said, a small playing on his face.
"What, you miss it already? Does it turn you own?"
"Maybe a little," Carlos chuckled, "Keeps things interesting."
You shook your head, trying to hide the smile that threatened to spread across your face.
"Well, good luck out there, little bitch."
You didn't wait to see his reaction, but you knew he was grinning from ear to ear.
Later that day, Carlos crossed the finish line first and won the Australian Grand Prix, sending the crowd into a frenzy. You watched as Carlos celebrated on the podium, spraying champagne with Lando and Charles and holding up the winner's trophy with pride.
You swore you played it cool, but everyone around you noticed the huge smile on your face.
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liked by oscarpiastri, lilyhme and 197,637 others
ynpiastri you’ll always find your way back hoooome 🎶
tagged: landonorris, charles_leclerc, oscarpiastri, nicolepiastri
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username1 AUSSIE QUEEN
username2 omfg included a picture of sainz win??
↳ username1 how pissed do you think she was bc he won in australia
↳ username3 i love that she didn’t tag him tho 😭
alexandrasaintmleux Mama piastri >> 🫶
↳ ynpiastri our real queen
lilyzneimer the third pic is my faveeee
username4 surprised that she didn’t blur carlos in the podium pic
landonorris Please don’t make me do a shoey ever again
↳ username2 OMFG I NEED TO SEE THAT
↳ oscarpiastri Aussie traditions mate
↳ ynpiastri cry baby
carlossainz55 started following you
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ynpiastri has added to their stories
carlossainz55 replied to your story
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"You're not my best friend," Lando said, sitting on the plush couch of your hotel room, watching as you put a sweatshirt on, "You've been replaced with an alien or an evil twin, there's no way you're YN Piastri."
"Can you quit being dramatic," you rolled your eyes at him, "It's no big deal."
"You're grabbing sushi with Carlos Sainz," he stressed, moving his hands to emphasize, "You hate Carlos Sainz, it's been an issue for me for the last year because both of you force me to pick sides and I have to make sure you don't kill each other. And now you're suddenly going on dates."
"This is not a date," you protested, "Don't even say that out loud, it's gross."
"Then what is it? Because he asked you out and you said yes, that's literally a date."
You didn't give him a reply right away, hiding behind your your busy hands as you pretended to adjust your sweatshirt.
Truth was, you didn’t have an answer, at least not one that made sense. You couldn't blame Lando for thinking you've been replaced with someone else, because you'd never accept anything from Carlos last year, let alone willingly grab dinner with him.
But here you were, about to head out to meet him.
"I just want free dinner," you shrugged, "And he offered to buy it, so I'm taking advantage of it."
"Sure, free dinner," Lando gave you a skeptical look, crossing his arms, "Because you’ve never had other options for free dinner before, right? Your brother is rich, he could buy you whatever you want."
You huffed, trying to sound annoyed but feeling a bit defensive. "It's just sushi, Lando. Stop making it a big deal."
"You know, it's okay if you like him," he said, his tone genuine. "I mean, I get why you're hesitant, but it's fine to have feelings for someone, even if it's Carlos Sainz."
"Are you out of your mind?" you immediately said, your voice sharper than intended, "We're talking about the little bitch, what on earth makes you think that I could have feelings for him other than disgust and irritation."
"I don't know, maybe the fact that you're getting ready to get dinner with him, or that you were on the edge of your seat worrying the entire time he was recovering from the surgery, or the time I almost caught you kiss-"
"God, just shut up," you interrupted him, "Oscar would understand. He knows I'm never going to get all lovey-dovey over Carlos."
"Oscar might buy whatever you tell him," Lando raised an eyebrow, "But that doesn't mean you're being honest with yourself. It's not the end of the world to admit you might have a crush."
"I do not have a crush on him," you insisted, your cheeks heating up. "It's just... complicated."
"Complicated how?" Lando pressed, leaning forward. "Because from where I'm sitting, it looks pretty straightforward. You’re intrigued by him, he’s intrigued by you, and you both can’t seem to stay away from each other."
You let his words sink in, Lando might be a year younger than you, and often perceived as a carefree guy who didn't have a serious bone in his body. But in reality, he was a very wise person who understood the complexities of situations better than most.
That was one of the reasons why he was your best friend.
"Look, it’s not that simple," you sighed, rubbing your temples, "We have history, and not the good kind. I don't trust him, and I don’t think he trusts me either. We're just… trying to be civil for once."
"That's good," Lando stood up from the couch, sitting beside you and wrapping an arm around your shoulders, "Honestly I was tired of dealing with your constant bickering, if you didn't kiss and make up on your own, I was going to lock you up in a closet until you resolved it."
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liked by carlossainz55, landonorris and 201,633 others
ynpiastri just decent human being things
view all 3,988 comments
username1 BESTIEEEE
username2 THIS LOOKS LIKE A DATE
alexandrasaintmleux I just texted you !!!
↳ username1 LET ME INNNN
f1gossip 👀
username3 CARLOS SAINZ ???
↳ username1 girl no way they hate each other
↳ username2 he’s in the likes tho 😭
landonorris IM FREEEEE WORST EXPERIENCE OF MY LIFEEEE
↳ username1 wtfffff
oscarpiastri Answer my texts right now please
↳ username1 IM SCREAMING
↳ username2 OSCAR 😩
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After a nice dinner and a couple of drinks, you and Carlos walked back to the hotel. The sushi had been surprisingly good, and the conversation… surprisingly pleasant.
The bickering between you was still present, but this time it wasn't harsh or spiteful, it was playful and and light-hearted. The tension that usually accompanied your interactions had lessened, and you actually acted friendly towards each other.
"I still can't believe you made me try that weird seaweed thing," you said, bumping your shoulder against his as you walked.
"You loved it, admit it," Carlos chuckled.
"Maybe a little," you conceded with a small smile, "How did you know this place anyways?"
"I like reading restaurant reviews online," he shrugged, "It's a random hobby of mine, and I'm going to need those in case I don't have a job next year."
You paused, his words sinking in. Carlos joked about it, but you knew the uncertainty of his future in Formula 1 must be horrible. The sport is cutthroat, and the thought of not finding a seat to race must be weighing on him heavily. It made you think about Oscar, and how that could happen to him too.
"I'm sorry for saying that I hope you don't find a seat next season," you blurted out, feeling a pang of guilt. "You're right, that was low, even for me."
"Are you really apologizing, Piastri?" he teased, "First you cared about my health, now you apologize. What's next? You'll stop calling me a little bitch?"
You rolled your eyes, but there was no malice behind it. "Don't push your luck, Sainz. Just take the apology and run with it."
"Alright, I'll take it," Carlos laughed, a genuine sound that made your heart skip a beat, "You must be praying I stay just so you have an excuse to argue with me, aren't you?"
"Don't flatter yourself," you shot back, grinning. "I can argue with anyone."
"But you like arguing with me the most," he said, his voice softening.
You didn't reply, the truth in his words making your heart race. From the corner of your eye, you saw the satisfied grin on his face.
Soon enough you reached the hotel lobby, and once you walked through the doors you spotted Charles and Alexandra by the reception desk.
"Well, well, well, what do we have here?" Charles called out, drawing the attention of Alex, who looked at you with raised eyebrows.
"Just coming back from dinner," you replied, trying to keep your tone casual. "What are you two up to?"
"We were just about to head up," Alexandra said, linking her arm with Charles's. "How was dinner?"
"Surprisingly good," Carlos said, glancing at you with a smirk.
Charles raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. "This is new. You two actually getting along?"
"Don't get used to it," you said, rolling your eyes. "I just wanted free dinner."
"Right," Charles said, not convinced. "Well, we're heading up, you coming?"
You all piled into the elevator, the small space filled with a mix of comfortable silence and light conversation. When the elevator reached your floor, you stepped out, Carlos following close behind.
"Goodnight, guys," Alex called out as the elevator doors closed, giving you a look that screamed 'TEXT ME ASAP'
Carlos walked you to your room, the hallway dimly lit and quiet. As you walked side by side, the occasional brush of his arm against yours sent small shivers down your spine.
"So, the only reason you agreed to come with me tonight was because you wanted free dinner?" Carlos asked once you reached your room.
"Exactly, what else do you think would make me want to spend an evening with you?"
Carlos chuckled, leaning against the wall beside your door. "I don't know, maybe my charming personality and good looks?"
"Charming?" you raised your eyebrows at him, "You're literally the most annoying person I know."
"Likewise, Piastri," Carlos shot back, his smirk widening, "But here we are, aren't we?"
"You really think you're that special, don't you?" you said, rolling your eyes.
"I know I am, querida," Carlos replied, stepping closer. "And you can't get enough of me."
You looked away from him, his stare suddenly becoming overwhelming. He was really close, as close as he was the night you kissed at Jimmy'z, and even thinking about it has your neck crawling away in sweat.
"See? You can't even deny it." Carlos grinned, his eyes locking onto yours again, his voice dropping an octave as he took another step closer.
"Don't get any ideas," you warned, but your heart was racing, and you were sure he could hear it.
"I can't help it," he said softly, his face now inches from yours. "You bring out the best in me, Piastri."
"I still hate you," you whispered, your breath hitching as he leaned in even closer.
"No, you don't," Carlos whispered back, his lips brushing against yours.
Before you could protest, he closed the distance and kissed you. It was gentle at first, tentative, as if he was giving you a chance to pull away. But when you didn't, the kiss deepened, becoming more intense and filled with a raw passion that took your breath away.
Your hands found their way to his shoulders, gripping tightly as you kissed him back, losing yourself in the moment. His arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you even closer.
When you finally pulled away, both of you were breathless, a small smile playing on Carlos's lips.
"Goodnight, Piastri," he whispered, his voice husky.
Unable to move from your spot, you watched him walk through the corridor and disappear into the elevator doors, your mind still blurry about what happened just seconds ago.
You were fucked.
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A playlist full of pop classics played as you got ready for Lando's millionth win celebration.
He took the win at the Miami Grand Prix and the next following days were full of partying and champagne. You were beyond happy for him, and willing to put up with his multiple celebrations of his well deserved win.
This time, the setting was not that over the top, just a casual dinner at his place in Monaco with his close friends.
"Can I come in?" you heard after a knock on Oscar's guest bedroom, the place where you stayed when visiting Monaco.
"Sure," you replied, quickly meeting with your brother's figure.
Oscar entered the room, a casual grin on his face. He glanced around before his eyes settled on you. "Are you almost ready?"
"Yeah," you replied, adjusting an earring. "I hope this is Lando's last celebration, I can't keep up anymore.
"He's definitely on a roll," Oscar chuckled, "You know, Carlos is going to be there."
"I know," you said, looking away from him for a moment and trying to keep your tone nonchalant.
"You do?" Oscar raised a eyebrow.
"He's Lando's best friend, Osc, it's obvious he'll be there."
Oscar nodded slowly, a knowing smile playing on his lips. "Right, of course. But you two have been getting close lately, haven't you? You didn't even come for his neck after Miami, and you always do that."
You sighed, knowing where this conversation was heading. There was no denying that there was something between you and Carlos, your friends might not know about the times you've kissed, but they definitely noticed the shift in your behavior towards each other.
You found yourself enjoying his company, looking forward to catch a glimpse of him every weekend and craving his touch. You don't know if he feels the same way, but the way he looks at you and finds ways to get you alone tells you he does.
Admitting this to Oscar felt like crossing a line, even though he had always encouraged you to be open about your feelings.
"We're just… getting along better. That's all," you muttered, "And you asked me to behave on social media this season, I'm trying to do that."
"That's bullshit, YN," Oscar shook his head, a teasing smile forming on his lips, "Come on, admit it. Maybe the real reason you didn't attack him this time is because you like him."
"Oscar, we're not having this conversation," you quickly became defensive, "I don't know why everyone insist on something that's far from the truth. I don't like Sainz."
"Sis, it's okay if you like him," Oscar said, his tone gentle but insistent. "You don't have to hide it from me."
You looked away, feeling conflicted. Ever since you first met Carlos, there was something about him that intrigued you, however, you were too caught up in convincing yourself that he would never see you as more than his brand new rival's sister. Things getting worse when his incidents with Oscar on track started and you took that as an opportunity to be reckless to him.
It was a self defense mechanism for your own feelings.
"It's complicated, okay?" you said, feeling vulnerable but knowing you could trust him, "We spent last year coming from each other's necks all the time, but now he's nice to me and I am too, we spend time together, we kiss. But at the same time, I feel like I can't trust him, that he's going to switch to little bitch mode again and I'll end up feeling stupid for potentially catching feelings."
"Holy shit you've kissed!" Oscar said, his eyes widening, "Lando was right all along."
"Oh god, I shouldn't have said anything," you threw your head back in frustration.
"Sorry, sorry," he put his hands up in defense, "But It's okay to feel confused. You can talk to me, you know. I'm your brother, and I just want you to be happy. I can tell that this is really bothering you."
You sighed, sitting down on the edge of the bed. "I just don't know what to do, Osc. One minute I think I might actually like him, and the next I'm terrified of getting hurt."
"Look, I know Carlos can be intense on track, but off track? He's a good guy," Oscar sat beside you, putting an arm around your shoulders, "When he's not trying to push me off the track, he's really supportive and a nice guy. There's a reason why Lando adores him. Plus, maybe he's figuring things out too."
You leaned into Oscar's side, grateful for his comforting presence. "Do you really think so?"
"Yeah, I do," Oscar nodded reassuringly. "And you deserve to give yourself a chance at happiness. If Carlos could make you happy, then why not see where it goes?"
"When did you become so wise?" you teased, giving him a small smile, "You're supposed to be my annoying little brother who picks his nose and runs around the house."
"Hey, I can be wise when I want to be," Oscar chuckled, giving you a playful shove, "But don't worry, I'll always be your annoying little brother, nose-picking and all."
You laughed, feeling some of the tension ease from your shoulders. "Thanks, Osc. I needed this."
"Anytime, sis," Oscar said warmly, giving you a quick hug. "Now, come on. Lando is probably drunk already and we haven't made it to his house yet."
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liked by carlossainz55, alexandrasaintmleux and 215,726 others
ynpiastri the rumors are true: lando norris keeps celebrating his miami win even tho it’s been a week
view all 3,967 comments
username1 so iconic tbh
username2 EXCUSE ME MISS IS THAT CARLOS SAINZ IN THE LAST PIC ??
↳ username1 i thought they hated each other 😭
danielricciardo 🙌
alexandrasaintmleux 👀 I see you
↳ ynpiastri and i don’t see you over her which means your boyfriend sucks for not bringing you
↳ charles_leclerc …..
landonorris IM V DRVNK OMG
↳ username3 i love him 😭😭😭😩
username4 carlos sainz and yn piastri the ultimate enemies to lovers lowkey
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You're not sure how it happened, but Carlos' arm laid casually in the back of your chair as you chatted with those around you. His fingers gently brushed your bare shoulder from time to time, his thigh pressed to yours under the table.
Maybe it was the couple glasses of champagne you both had, you're not sure. But you definitely didn't want to move from your spot.
No one dared to say anything about it, but your friends had teasing grins at the sight. You knew you'll have to deal with them later, but you decided to ignore it for the night.
"Alright, I think I'm calling it a night," Oscar said as he got up from his chair, Lando immediately booed, "Are you coming, YN?"
You looked at him with raised eyebrows, you definitely didn't want to leave yet, feeling too comfortable in Carlos' presence. In addition to that, you haven't had a chance to get him alone, and that was enough to not want the night to end.
After a minute of silence from you, Carlos spoke up, "I can give her a ride home if she doesn't want to leave yet," he offered, his voice smooth and nonchalant.
"Oh, a private chauffeur service now, Carlos? How fancy," Max teased from across the table, making the entire group laugh.
Oscar hesitated, glancing between you and Carlos, his protective instincts kicking in. "Are you okay with that, YN?"
"Yeah, I'm okay with it," you met Oscar's eyes and nodded, "Or I can just crash here, Lando is too drunk to notice anyway, don't want to cause much trouble."
"It's really no trouble," he insisted, his hand still resting gently on your shoulder. "I'll make sure you get home safely."
Oscar seemed to relax a bit, though you could tell he was still a little uneasy. "Alright then. Just... be careful, okay?"
"Don't worry, Osc," you replied, standing up and giving him a quick hug. "I'll see you tomorrow."
As Oscar left, the group continued to tease and laugh. You always enjoyed when the drivers were in a casual setting like this one, where they could forget about competition and teams and just hang out and have fun.
You stayed glued to Carlos the entire time, getting even closer as the night went on, you could feel your eyelids getting heavy, so you laid your head on his shoulder.
"You're falling asleep on me, hermosa," Carlos whispered to you, not moving your head from its place.
"I'm not," you protested, but at the same time you did a yawn escaped your mouth, which made Carlos laugh.
"Come on let's get you home," Carlos offered you his hand.
You took Carlos' hand, not even thinking twice about it. As you both stood to leave, your friends couldn't resist one last round of teasing.
"No funny business, Carlos," Charles called out, grinning widely. You couldn't help but roll your eyes at him. "We have Oscar on speed dial."
"Yeah, don't make me come after you, that's also my sister," Lando added, too drunk to even make sense.
You laughed, waving goodbye to everyone as you and Carlos made your way out. The cool night air was refreshing as you walked to his car, your hand still in his.
The drive to Oscar's place was quiet but comfortable. Carlos kept one hand on the wheel, the other resting on the center console close to you. You found yourself stealing glances at him, admiring the way the streetlights played over his features.
At one point, Carlos glanced over and caught you staring. "You're staring," he said, a smirk playing on his lips.
You felt your cheeks heat up but didn't look away. "Maybe I am," you replied, a teasing edge in your voice. "You have a problem with that?"
"Not at all, Piastri. Not at all."
When you arrived at Oscar's place, Carlos parked the car but you made no move to get out. The silence stretched between you, heavy with unspoken words and lingering tension.
"Are you ready to stop pretending we hate each other?" Carlos asked suddenly, his voice low and earnest. "Because I am."
His words hung in the air, causing your heart to skip a beat. The intensity in his gaze made it clear he wasn't playing around or teasing you. He was being real and serious.
You took a deep breath, your eyes locking onto his. "Yeah, I am."
Your heart pounded in your chest as you closed the distance between you, your lips meeting his in a kiss. His hand cupped your cheek, pulling you closer as his lips moved against yours with a mix of tenderness and hunger. The world outside the car ceased to exist, and all that mattered was the way his kiss made you feel.
Carlos' other hand found its way to the back of your neck, deepening the kiss as he pressed you closer. Your hands tangled in his hair, holding on as if letting go meant losing this moment forever.
When you finally pulled away, both of you were breathless, your foreheads resting against each other as you tried to catch your breath. Carlos' eyes searched yours, a satisfied smile playing on his lips.
"But… I'm not ready to stop calling you a little bitch, though."
TREAT ME LIKE A SLUT
Pairing: JJ Maybank × AFAB(she/her) reader
Summary: the title says it all
WARNINGS: SMUT, dirty and unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap kids), dirty talk
A/N: English is not my first language, sorry if you spot any mistake! Hope you like it xx
As you were dancing with your friend around the beach bonfire, you felt JJ’s gaze on your body. He couldn’t take his eyes away from your perfect body in this tiny bikini, moving to the rhythm of the music.
You and JJ were neither friends nor lovers, only sex buddies. You slept with him since a couple of months now. It was the only interaction you guys really had. No conversation or anything, only sex. It all started when you both met at a surf competition, disputing for the first place. You won and it pissed JJ off. He was being a dick to you, and your short temper and anger issues couldn’t handle the rudeness he showed you. So, you blew him off. Stubborn like you both were, neither one of you would let go of this fight. But your cockiness was the last straw for him. He ended up grabbing your wrist to guide you in the Twinkie. Once inside the van, JJ pinned you against the door. “You think you’re so smart, uh?” and with a smirk on his face, he kissed you hard.
JJ’s gaze was burning your body, and you couldn’t help but smile at the thought of his hard dick at the sight of your ass shaking in this particular bikini who, you knew, drove him mad.
When your eyes met, you winked at him and you felt his stare becoming darker. He smirked before walking up to you. Your stomach dropped thinking about the trouble that was waiting for you.
You felt a large arm encircle your waist and pulling you away from the crowd. Before you could realize, you found yourself alone with JJ on the other side of the beach.
He didn’t say a single word before kissing you harshly and cupping your buttcheeks with his big hands. You melt in the kiss, your tongues now dancing together. He slapped your ass roughly and you felt his cold rings marking you, making you moan in the kiss. You hated to admit it but you were already soaked. This man drove you crazy, and just by looking at you, he made you dripping wet. You didn’t want to admit it, your pride was too big for that. But he knew damn well the effect he had on you. And you knew damn well the effect you had on him.
You pulled away from the kiss, “God you’re so impatient” you said with a cocky smile. He pulled your salty hair hardly causing you to whimper, “You’re the one who’ve been waiting for me to fuck you all night long”.
With his free hand, he brushed your hard nipple though your bikini top, before grabbing your entire tit. He let go of your hair, placing his hand on your waist, pulling you closer.
He leaned into your ear and whispered, “Tell me what you want princess”.
You shivered, “Treat me like a slut, J”.
You could feel his dick twitch in his pants at your words.
He didn’t wait another second before taking your bikini top off. He then proceeded to lay you on the sand before placing himself between your legs, on top of you.
He licked your hard nipple, sucking and nibbling it while playing with the other one with his hand. You were sopping your bikini bottom. You groaned as the sensation was too good. You needed more. You wriggled your pelvis against his covered erection to feel any kind of friction but he stopped you with his hard grip on your thigh.
“Can’t wait for my cock to fill you up hm?”
He flipped you over and pulled your waist up so that your ass was raised up. He could see how wet you were through the fabric of your swimwear.
He slightly touched your core, making you moan and jiggle your ass for more. He spanked you hard once again, his rings sharped the pain and pleasure of it. You let out a heavy whinge, making him smile.
“You’re such a slut for me, Y/N”.
He then pulled downed your panties, revealing your inflated and damp pussy.
“Look at you, already so wet and I’ve barely even touched you”. He spanked you another time before letting his hand heads toward your drenched cunt. He started running his fingers up and down your core before slowly circling your clit. Your breathing was jerky while you were shaking your ass to feel more of it. JJ slapped your ass with his free hand before grabbing your thigh so tightly that a bruise will form tomorrow morning. He inserted two fingers inside your vagina, making you moan loudly.
“J, please…”
“Please what, sweetheart?”
His fingers curled inside you, causing you to moan one more time.
“Fucking fuck me J”
He laughed and removed his fingers leaving you empty.
He turned you over so you could face him before placing his two fingers in front of your mouth.
“Suck”.
You did as he told. You could taste yourself, sucking them clean, looking at him in his eyes, his erection twitching as he watched you. Once you’re finished, you withdraw his fingers out of your mouth with a loud sucking sound, leaving a fine trickle of drool leaked from the corner of your mouth.
You heard him whisper, “fuck…”.
A satisfaction smirk marked your face.
He took off his clothes, leaving his proudly erected penis finally break free. You were impressed by the size of it. Even though it’s not the first time that you saw it, it seems bigger and more swollen.
He lined himself at your entrance, and pushed his cock in without a warning. He immediately started pounding into you, his balls clapping against your juicy ass, leaving you no time to adjust to his size. You let out a loud porn moan escape, while little tears flowed out of the corner of your eyes since the pain relieved your puffy pussy.
“Fuck J!” you moaned.
JJ lifted your legs up on his shoulders so he could go deeper, still pounding into you.
You arched your back, your eyes rolled in the back of your head. You tugged his hair, making him growl.
“You like that, you slut?”
Fuck. You did like that. A lot.
“Harder JJ, ..please” you managed to say between two moans.
J sped up his pace, hammering harder into you. His hand went down to your clit, massaging it while fucking you roughly, while the other went around your throat, chocking you.
You could feel your orgasm building up, your toes curling and your moans getting louder. J could feel your walls clenched around his dick.
“Go ahead, cum on my cock baby”.
His poundings were rougher, deeper while you two orgasmed at the same time, his cum filling you in.
After you both catch your breath, he withdrew from you, leaving you an emptiness sensation.
“Open your mouth and stick your tongue out”.
You did, looking at him in his eyes and he spat on it. He then put his ringed thumb on it, closing your mouth with his finger underneath your chin. You sucked his thumb out and swallowed his saliva while never breaking the eye contact between you two.
He chuckled slyly and gave you a light, but condescending slap on the cheek,
“Little dirty bitch I love to fuck”.
Damon Albarn at Malta Festival Poznan in Poland! It made my…life ,
headphones are not enough i need to fuck at least two of the band members
it’s never over ✴︎ cl16
genre: childhood friends to friends with benefits to lovers (a mouthful), smut, humor, Fluffff!!!!, several references to 70’s music,
word count: 12.9k
You must have lost the plot along the way, because pretending to date your childhood best friend was not on your 2023 bingo card. (Neither was the fact that things are looking a lot more real as time passes.)
nsfw warnings under the cut!
18+ because... handjob (f receiving), penetrative sex, semi public sex, praise central, size kink
auds here… hi hi hi!!! you’ve no idea how much i missed writing posting and interacting w u guys. thank u for all the love & follows i’ve gotten in my periods of mia. more things soon i promise ty for ur patience love love love u allll 🌟🤎🤠💋 this is my love letter to fic tropes. i feared if it was too long i’d lose the plot somehow so i had to condense it. i truly hope u all like it :) will try & reopen reqs sometime soon to get inspo kicking
It’s later than late. The lights are strobing purple and blue, the “let’s get you even drunker than you are” headache inducing kind. The floor is crowded, swelling with teenagers who are probably too young to get in, drunk off cheap aperol and watered-down tequila shots. You’re balancing yourself on a barstool, one hand busy wrapped around a slim glass, the other clawing your miniskirt lower because the air bites at your legs.
“Another voddy Red Bull!” You’re slurring, mind spinning almost as fast as your vision. You almost drop your empty glass in your rush to look for another one—but right as it slips clumsily out of your fingers, it’s caught.
Charles, your cocktail’s knight in armor and yours just as well, is eighteen. His hair is light brown and long, but not draping over his eyes like before. You know before because you’ve never not known before—Charles has been your best friend since you were five.
Snoopy, he says, voice steady and calm in your ear. His frame is still lanky but he’s tall and his grip on your shoulders is enough to quell the yelling. You pout. Get me another voddy red, you plead. Charlie, it’s my birthday. He smiles to himself, knowing your vision’s too cloudy to see him and your mind’s too bogged to remember any of this. You’d already slipped up and told two bouncers you were seventeen and not eighteen, like your poorly-Photoshopped ID suggested; Charles had to keep you in check, lest you or your friends end up kicked out of the club.
A song booms in through the speakers and your eyes widen with recognition. Charles doesn’t anticipate your reaction fast enough, affording only a stumble backwards when you attempt to leave the barstool to dance. He swears under his breath, mind recounting the five previous dance sessions that left you exhausted and out of breath earlier.
I’ll get you a vodka Red Bull if you sit down, he tells you. He enunciates because, twelve years later, you still can’t wrap your mind around his thick European accent. Sit down.
Alriiiight! You hoot, throwing two fists up in the air. Customary for many bartenders on nights as busy as this one, a free shot is thrust into your vacant hand and you cheer loudly, much to Charles’ chagrin. With whatever malice the eighteen-year-old can muster, he casts the bartender a dirty look before turning to face you again, worried. He places a hand on your shoulder and watches, half-anxious and half-endeared, you take the shot and visibly grimace at the raw taste. Fuck. It’s gin I think, you sputter. Charles presses: You okay?
More than, you holler, smiling. I am officially seventeeee—
The bartender’s eyebrows furrow, the thirty-something businessman in the adjacent stool turns to look—so Charles has no choice but to shut you up, leaning in and pressing his lips to yours before you can seal your fate.
Your eyes widen briefly, and when Charles feels the passed seconds are sufficient, he pulls away. You stare, eyes hazy, at the pretty boy you’ve had feelings for since you turned fourteen, and lean in to kiss him again.
—
Pascale is hosting her weekly Sunday brunch at the Leclerc residence, all French windows and wide kitchens and bowls of fruit. As always, your place is at the kitchen island picking at plates to taste test them. Bonjour, Arthur drawls when he walks in. He turns to Pascale. Mum. Then you. Snoopy.
You halt biting into your forkful of arugula and turn toward the younger Leclerc, eyebrows raised. “What’d you just call me?”
“Snoopy,” he says simply. He’s beside Pascale, one arm wrapped around her affectionately. “Or, Snoops, if you like that. Yes?”
“Who told you about that nickname?”
“Lorenzo.”
“Hasn’t been in use since your voice was cracking every sentence.”
“Tête de noeud.” Pascale swats his arm and he yelps, so you resume your arugula with satisfaction.
Charles is late for reasons he did not disclose, but everyone is used to it. The open kitchen door stretches into the front yard, where the table is set up and Lorenzo is setting the places. You know that although you usually expect a few more relatives, today’s just for the family—and you, but you’re basically family.
“How is Paris?” Arthur asks, licking hummus off a spoon opposite you. Your position is reminiscent of how you spent afternoons after school with Charles before, and the memory strikes a chord in you. Strange nostalgia, fondness.
“It’s fine.”
“Oh really?” He laughs in-between nibbles of carrot.
“I got an offer for a higher position,” you relent. Pascale calls you both, and you get up and walk toward the yard to sit down. “If you must know.”
“Oh? Let me know how that goes.” He follows you, carrot slice in hand, chewing. The conversation is cut short by the smooth noise of Charles’ decidedly un-smooth parking outside.
You’re seated at your usual spot—in-between Charles and Lorenzo, across Arthur—when the former finally walks into the yard. He looks tired, moreso than usual, bags under his eyes deep and hair a bit more disheveled.
He sits beside you. “I need to talk to you.” Then, quieter, “Private.”
You hum confusedly, eyes flitting across the three other people at the table to gauge their reactions. They’re equally aloof. “Wh—now?” He nods.
You end up talking in the kitchen. He’s sighing the whole fifteen steps there, rubbing the bridge of his nose, exhaling, inhaling. Ever observant, and of someone as close to you as he is, you pick up on the tiny actions, behaviors. Charles is wringing his hands. He’s tried to pop the same knuckle twice. He isn’t frantic—he’s scared. You lean against the counter, waiting, eyes looking him up and down to identify his exact emotions.
“Tell me,” you press. “Whatever it is, I won’t judge.”
“The—my—the iCloud of my phone has been leaked. The press found out.”
When you were eight and he was nine, you and Charles summered in Villefranche with your mum and dad. The weather then was the kind you could write love letters to and about—blue skies, salty wind, soft sand. The current was calm enough that you could ride the gentle waves without fear of going under or straying far from the shore, where your parents sunbathed blissfully.
Don’t drown, he’d warned you, ever protective. You wore pink floaties over your arms, so it was already difficult to.
You dove under with great effort, fighting against the buoyancy, and poked his bare knee, surfacing to watch his reaction. He grimaced. Slowpoke, you teased, swimming away. You wondered then what it might feel to drown. Maybe not in the blue water of Villefranche, but anywhere else.
You think it hurts to drown? You blubbered, bobbing above the wave. Charles swam in front of you and wiped water off your face gently. I hope you never find out, he said, smiling.
But this is you finding out. This is it now, the drowning. Your fingers flex over the edge of the counter and you gulp, eyes fluttering with nerves. “Shit?” It comes out like a question from how nervous you are. “Um, sorry. What are we—” But your question is cut short by Pascale’s voice, cutting through the tension like it’s wet cardboard. The agreement is silent and mutual: save this discussion for later.
—
Charles can’t wake up fast enough. There are calls, texts, voicemails from every officer on his team, which isn’t that surprising given he’s up two hours late. But the amount—the sheer amount of notifications is dizzying. Overwhelmed, he finds it in himself to pull up his search engine app and let his fingers possess themselves.
All he types is his last name, and then The Sun article is splashed onto his face like a pot of scalding coffee: “F1 DRIVER ICLOUD LEAKED, PERSONAL PHOTOS ALL OVER INTERNET.” Daily Mail is next, of course, watering down the situation to seem more dirty and scandalous: “Naughty Driver? Charles Leclerc’s iCloud Hacked, Reveals Mystery Girl.” And then of course Page Six, who doesn’t miss a beat—
Wait. He blinks and presses the back arrow to return to the previous webpage. He reads over it again, slower this time. Mystery Girl? Shit—no. No way. It’s almost (it should be) silly, the way he’s reading vigorously over the reports like he’s a fan, but he’s anxious. He scrolls, because if any tabloid is daft enough to publish the leaked photos, it’s got to be the Daily Mail.
He pauses his quick swiping when his eyes harden with recognition, and staring back at him, on his phone’s full brightness, is a picture of you on his lap at Christmas. It’s the one Lance took while attempting to guess Charles’ password, one of you wine drunk with his head buried in your neck.
It’s unmistakably him, at his own house in Monaco where the drivers had a holiday get-together. It’s unmistakably you, hair draped over your face, three gold rings on your fingers. You had just given him a Strokes vinyl, he recalls. That’s why you were hugging.
There’s another one of you playing Scrabble in his bed—he’s not in the frame, but he remembers taking it. This, he could deny. He’s not in it, and he’s pretty sure the fans don’t know his house this well. Already his brain’s doing manual damage control, dread filling his veins at the thought of reading through his team’s frantic messages.
Another message stands out, pinned on top of all the others—from his mum, reminding him about brunch. He gets ready half-focused, half-lucid. Fully worried. He worries about the PR crisis this may cause, about his iCloud security, about the reactions online. Above all, though, he worries about you. About what he should tell the press. About how “actually, we’re not dating, we just fuck constantly” might hold up for the fans.
—
You’re twelve and Charles thirteen, both of you seated across Hervé and Pascale. Behind them stand your own parents, and they all look stern. What this is, Pascale says gently, is a family meeting. Okay?
Okay. It leaves your high voices in shaky unison. You both know what you’re doing here—you snuck out of school to catch a movie earlier, the teacher naturally caught wind of the misdeed, and now you’re in a meeting for it.
Snoops, Charles whispers, trying to ease your nerves with lighthearted commentary. This is the worst.
No, you want to tell preteen Charles—this is. You’re older now, yet still subjected to similar questioning, though today it’s Pascale going solo. It’s been three days since the fated day where the press leaked the pictures of you and Charles in compromising positions, and like any boomer, she’s used Facebook to her advantage and gotten ahold of the compromising pictures, too.
“How long?” Her voice is enunciated in hard syllables.
“Mum—”
“Answer the question.” She looks back and forth, moving into territory of intense questions. “Both of you.”
“Um.”
“Because… I’ve been…”
You notice it immediately, given your observant track record: her shoulders relax and her lips smile just slightly. You sit still, and wait for the next words out of her mouth. “…waiting for this all my life!”
You and Charles watch in mild horror as Pascale’s face goes from firm to absolutely elated. Her eyes soften and a smile spreads over her face, illuminating her with pure joy. Do you even know how many bets I made with your papa, Charles? She claps her hands together several times.
Charles opens his mouth to verbalize dissent, but she doesn’t take it—she’s already droning on and on about how long she’s waited for this to finally happen. Your eyes glide over to the doorway of the dining area, where Lorenzo and Arthur watch with smug looks on their faces. Little shits won’t help you. You don’t even try to protest, and at some point Charles gives up, too. You don’t know how it’ll come across, anyway.
Ninety minutes later, you’re in Arthur’s bedroom rifling through his desk and praying you don’t find anything too gross. He’s on his bed throwing a bouncy ball up in the air, conversing with Charles about your gameplan with their mum.
The sky outside is in limbo between afternoon and night. It’s cloudy, so the sunset is a pale yellow instead of angry orange. “Why not just tell her the truth?”
You’d also thought that was the easiest option, escape route, exit path. But that would involve breaking Pascale’s heart, and that was out of the question for you, let alone Charles, certified mommy’s boy.
“I can’t, Arthur.” Charles’ voice is steady and unwavering.
“You can.”
“No.”
“Fine. Next best thing then.”
You fiddle with a Rubik’s cube, then turn in the seat. “What?”
“Pretend you’re dating.”
“Arthur,” you say seriously. “Shut up.” But he doesn’t join you, and you realize neither does Charles. You stare blankly at both of them, unwilling to believe they’d actually bank on this as an actual plan.
“You guys realize this kind of thing never works? Zero percent success rate.”
“It’s just paddock appearences. You’re not pretending for millions of people,” Arthur says, shrugging. He catches the ball and throws it to you—you catch it one-handed. “You’re pretending for Mum.”
“Sure. And by extension, millions of people. Are you dense, or do you think the paddock appearances will just breeze by everyone who saw the leaks?”
“Ughhh. You’re acting like it’s impossible.” Arthur holds his breath before he utters the next sentence. “Like you two aren’t fucking every other w—”
“—oh, my God!” Shocked, you get up, and so does Charles. “Wh—I’m—language, Arthur!”
Charles balks. “How did you even—”
“I didn’t. But merci mille fois for confirming my theory,” Arthur quips faux-sweetly, smiling dopily. “I mean, I was going to find out! Your pictures are so… intimate. So just pretend to date and throw Maman off your scent.”
You protest briefly, wrestling with the option, and reconvene on the bed, you cross-legged and leaning on Charles’ shoulder and Arthur in front of the both of you. He’s always had a knack for schemes—he never got caught sneaking out, which destroyed your and Charles’ record of being caught twelve times by either of your parents. It’s a bit childish, but he gets the job done.
“Do it for… let’s say a month. Tell Mum you’ve been dating a while—Christmas isn’t that long ago, and that was the least recent picture. D’accord?”
You both nod, hyperfocused.
“During race weekends, be all over each other—shouldn’t be hard—especially in front of Mum. People might catch you doing it, but I wouldn’t worry.”
“No, wait—I mean.” You shrug. “People—tifosi—they know I’m Charles’ friend. They’re going to be all over the fact that we’re apparently dating.”
“Don’t worry. We’ll use palatable density,” Charles says, nodding.
You pause. Arthur does, too, sensing something off.
“You mean plausible deniability.” Your deadpan voice is tinged with amusement, muffled into his shoulder.
“Right, ouais, that.” He smiles, chuckling a bit; his shoulder shakes with it and your head nearly slips off. He brings a hand to cup over your jaw and hold you steady. “Sorry.”
“S’fine.” You sigh. “I’m totally okay with this. Just worried it’s going to have unintended consequences.”
Arthur quells you with rushed explanations about how it’ll be over and you two can say something like we decided we’re better off as friends to really sell the thing. At the seven-minute mark of your and Charles’ intense interrogation, he promptly kicks you out to figure out if you’re willing to do it yourselves.
You wedge yourself into Charles’ front seat, knowing you were headed to his place anyway. You massage your temples with one hand and fiddle with the hem of your shorts with the other. Nervous. Antsy. “Did Fred say anything?”
“Got the IT team to fortify my account.”
“You think this thing’s going to be okay from a professional standpoint?” You look up and toward him; he’s already gazing at you, eyes soft. “I’m worried. Plus, with my job offer thing in London and New Y—”
“Don’t be.” He starts the car and maneuvers out of the driveway, into the dips of Monaco streets and the familiar route back to his place. “Bitter with the sweet. The only thing you need to worry about”—he takes your hand in the centre console, laces your fingers together loosely—“is your acting skills.”
“God, you’re right.” You sigh, looking out the window. “How am I going to pretend I can stand you?” Then, for good measure, you squeeze his hand wrapped in yours.
—
You visit Monaco from uni in London over spring, and for the first time in months, your schedule aligns with Charles’—though you learn this indirectly when you visit the Leclerc home. Pascale, of course, is the one who tells you his new flat’s address before she presses a kiss to your cheek and then leaves to run errands in the city. Alone, and in a burst of excitement, you make the drive there, take the elevator upstairs and shove the door open without knocking. He’s there. Your Charles. You can tell because the music he plays is loud—The Kooks—like his ears are still fourteen and not twenty-one, like he’s still in middle school and not in Formula One.
“Save your eardrums,” you say, before beelining toward the couch and leaping onto him for a hug. He sits up to match your energy, arms wrapping around you, sitting up straighter to keep you from totally falling atop him.
“How’s uni?”
“Shit,” you say into his hair. It smells like his shampoo and his favorite cologne. Clean, soapy. “Obviously. How’s the Ferrari?”
“Amazing.” He smiles. “Obviously. How’d you know I was in? Mum told you?”
“Ouais. She’s running errands. Listen, can we drink tonight?” You sigh, parting from the hug and sitting across him.
Yeah, sure. His voice is concerned, thick with worry. You shake your head—it’s not that deep, you tell him. It’s just—I had a bad date before I left and it’s put me in the worst mood.
Oh? He leans back, clasping two hands behind his head as he goes.What happened? He laughs.
You tense visibly, rolling your eyes despite yourself. “He was just weird. Nothing.”
He wiggles his eyebrows. “You shy, Snoops?”
Ha-ha. You roll your eyes, but your face is flushed and your gaze avoids him. You reach up to tuck the loose strands of hair by your ears behind them, face warm. You’d never talked with Charles about boys or flings before—maybe several times, but never in full detail. It was always vague umbrella statements, like Ryan is boring or Greg is such a prick, but never anything beyond that. Come to think of it, you don’t know why, either.
“You can tell me.”
“The—when we—I had to fake,” you say cuttingly. “You know.”
He purses his lips and smiles, eyebrows furrowing. I don’t, actually. Something unnamed trills through you—through your stomach and into your fingertips. Your first time talking to your best friend in real life after months of uni and racing and this is the topic? It’s, if anything, a sign of your growing up, you guess.
Charles lets up on the teasing and you end up rejecting the club in lieu of sharing a bottle of vodka, throwing it back raw and without any type of chaser (to really prove nothing at all; you don’t even know why any sane human would do this). You do a Just Dance party on his TV, even try out drunk sim racing and FIFA, but by the end you’re well exhausted and retired to the couch again.
His voice is wavy and tipsy when he speaks. “You really had to fake it?”
“Yeah.” You pout. “Can never—um, finish, I dunno.” Your inhibition’s gone, shame loosened and untied by the vodka. You shift in your position on the couch.
“Maybe because it was too casual.” His voice hardens.
“So you’re saying I should…” You swallow dryly, eyes fluttering. “Sleep with somebody I know?” You’ve dropped the implication and it floats up, hangs above.
His eyes flick over to your legs, folded on the couch. The hem of your shorts. Your fingers playing with your empty shot glass. He didn’t mean anything by that. He’s half-sure you didn’t.
“I am just saying that a good friend would do that for you.”
“You’re a good friend,” you say, volume low.
Five minutes later you’ve properly crashed into each other, him pinning you down against the couch, licking fire up your throat. His lips trail across your jaw.
He dips a hand into your shorts, presses against your clothed core. He’s smiling. So wet for me. He’s got his mouth pressed messily up to your jaw, when he sinks one finger all the way in, slow and stretching; and you’re clenching around him—
Come on, he’s saying. Insisting. You’re trembling, yanking desperately at his hair as he pumps his finger slowly in and out of you, aching to be full of him, to take him deeper.
He slips another one in, and you feel the cold of his ring pressed against your entrance, then he’s fucking them into you and you’re leaking around them.
Yes, yeah, Charles—you’re gasping, airy breaths tapering into whimpers that sound sinful, desperate. He knows you so well already. Presses his fingers against your sweet spot, watches your eyes flutter.
So needy, and you’re chanting his name under your breath as he quickens his pace, craving the stretch of him desperately. I know you want to cum, baby. He’s calling you baby and you’re closer, so much closer. Come on, for me, yeah?
You melt, crashing and crumpling into him and shuddering as you release all over his fingers. He presses his forehead to yours and lets you take a beat. You feel giddy and dizzy and warm, which is weird because you don’t feel drunk at all anymore. This dizziness is something different. It’s Charles.
“Are we going to do that again?” You ask meekly, hand still in his hair.
“Only if you want. Whatever you want,” he says. He’d do anything for you. He’d do whatever you wanted.
“I do, I do want.” And Charles, the good friend he is, helps you out.
—
Imola is humid, warm, and the racetrack is absolutely teeming with people. But you’re not there—clad in linen shorts and a fresh tank top, you’re walking around the vicinity of the track, cup of gelato in hand, sunglasses over your eyes. The restaurant near you is playing music out loud. Beside you, singing along and drafting a list of wedding appetizers, is Lorenzo.
“Lamb chops?” You suggest, licking amaretto off the plastic spoon. The weather is pleasant enough that people are crowding the streets without it being too unbearably hot. Stevie Wonder flows from the speakers, permeates the entire block.
“I was thinking more seafood.”
“Tuna? Make ‘em little tacos.”
“Good idea. Think I’ll go for those. Hey, are you sure you’re on board with fake-dating my brother?”
You turn sharply toward him, taken aback. He hadn’t brought it up in the week and a half this plan had been in the works—he’d been privy to it the entire time, too, which makes it weirder that he’s asking so suddenly.
“I meaaan…” You slow your pace, contemplative. A shy smile plays at your lips, brows knitted together. “It’s only going to be for a month. Ish. So, yeah. Are you—do you—sorry. Is it alright with you? Sorry.”
“It is not not okay.”
“So it’s…” You pause. “Okay.”
“It’s—yes, but I worry, is all. How sure are you that this won’t hurt anyone?”
“I don’t know, it’s… bitter with the sweet. And who’s getting hurt… like the fans?” You laugh a little. “They’ll live, won’t they?”
“Like you.” He pauses. “Like Charles.”
—
Pierre is running a comb through his hair, staring at himself in the mirror; his Narcissus moment is interrupted by a banana to the back of his head. Bonjour, he says, monotone and already knowing the culprit.
“We need to talk.”
“Could this possibly be about the news of your brand new ‘girlfriend’ over last week? Where is she, by the way?”
“With Lorenzo. Listen, here’s the thing. Mum thinks we’re dating, and I don’t know how to tell her we’re not—so I won’t.”
“Lie to your mum, go ahead.” Pierre crosses his arms and hums.
“Tais-toi. It’s for her own good.”
“So you’re going to pretend to date.”
“Ouais.”
“Should be easy. You guys are hooking up and making out or whatever all the time.”
Charles pauses and lets the silence speak for itself. When Pierre makes a noise of confusion, he gives. We don’t kiss, he says finally. She thinks it is too intimate, and we ‘are not dating,’ so sex is the only thing we do. Sex, and if you still have leftover antsy energy, you pull on his shirt and sit up against the headboard to finish a crossword puzzle. Sometimes he helps you, but most of the time he’s just there to press lazy kisses to your hair and temple, cheekbone and jaw—never your lips.
“You don’t kiss?” Pierre’s genuinely shocked. “Putain, you’re a hero. How does that even work?”
“We just do not kiss. We fuck, but no kissing.” He shrugs. “It’s always been that way.”
“So how about her birthday?”
“She doesn’t…” Charlex exhales tightly. “Remember.”
“Charles,” you suddenly say, head appearing into the doorway. “Oh, hey. Fred said you might be here. What are you guys talking about?”
“Sprint racing,” Pierre says, an easy lie.
Charles, though, is never good at the lying bit. “International tariffs.”
—
Your only memories of your seventeenth birthday are applying lip gloss and mascara, wearing your shortest skirt and tightest top, and reciting your supposed date of birth in line like a mantra. Anything after that’s been sprayed off by the ultra-clutch strength of vodka. Which, you’ve been told, was your drink of choice.
“Headache’s better,” you moan over the phone, face squashed onto your pillow. “Mum gave me an Advil but I was so sick all morning.”
“Did you snog anyone?” Charles is always teasing.
“God, I wish.” You shut your eyes and try to remember if your drunken stupor had somehow managed to get you successful in lip-locked matters. Nothing comes up and you wipe a dry hand over your face, heaving a sigh. “I really wanted to kiss Matthew but I think he left before you and I did.”
A pause. Then Charles clears his throat. “You mean you and me and the police car that escorted us home?” He snorts.
“You’re such a prick!” You scream into your pillow, laughing. “I already thanked you for being my literal savior last night.”
He smiles to himself. “You’re welcome.”
“Did you have fun?” You flop onto your back and stare at the stick-on stars on your ceiling. You make a mental note to try and remove them.
“Bit boring because I vowed not to drink at all, but I got to dance. Bitter with the sweet, right?”
—
“Nervous?”
“I mean, fuck, yeah.” You fix the hem of your dress, speaking to Giada through the phone. “Pascale’s waiting for us on the paddock. And so are, like, a hundred photographers.” You wince. “Can you even imagine Charles and me? It’s just—I dunno—it’s weird.”
“It isn’t,” she says, laughing. “Not really. It makes sense. Plus, aren’t you on the whole arrangement?” You envision her air quotes.
“Yeah, but”—you slip your sandals on—“it’s on and off, and that’s not dating. It’s sex. Two different things.”
“Is it really, though? Considering how close you are outside of bed, aren’t y—”
“Okay, input no longer needed,” you laugh. “Bye, Gi. I’ll text you later.”
You reunite with Charles just by the paddock entrance. The throng of fans holding cutouts and posters notice you two before anyone else does, inciting a collective bout of yells around the both of you. He notices your blue silk dress first, eyes unmoving. “You look like the sky.”
“Thanks, man.” A beat, and you squint through your sunglasses. “That’s a compliment, right?”
“Sure.”
“Prick.” You peek over them and to the fans, who wave more aggressively when they notice you’re looking. Nervously, you raise a hand and wave back, and the noise heightens. “I think I’m going to be replacing you.”
“Dream on. On y va?”
You turn back to him, smiling, and you both enter at the same time. His hand wraps around your waist, dips a bit lower to rest at the small of your back as you walk—the fans clearly dig it, because everyone’s yelling in a frenzy as you depart. What are you doing, you ask through your smiling teeth.
“Did you forget we’re supposed to be dating?” He maintains an equally pleasant (totally duplicitous) façade, smiling.
“I didn’t think,” you say, still smiling falsely, “that you’d put your hands on me five minutes into the whole agreement.”
“Smile, honey,” he teases. “I see at least five cameras at us right now.”
“It’s seven,” you beam. “Dumbass.”
“Again with the competitive streak.” memory
“I totally deserved to win last week’s game. You’re just a sore loser.”
“No you’re just a—hi, hi, hello!”
Your walk to the motorhome is interrupted by running into a friend of Charles’—someone from McLaren, one of the executives there. While Lando has been informed of your stunt, nobody else on that team has.
They handshake and he waves at you politely. “Whole paddock’s buzzing with news of you dating,” he says, smiling. “It’s a tad crazy! I remember seeing you as Charles’ plus one back when he was in Formula Two. And now you two are dating. How did—well, if you don’t mind me asking, where’d it all happen?”
“Oh,” you say, laughing. “Yeah, Monaco.”
“Texas,” Charles says at the same time.
Alarm bells go off in your head at the totally random, unwarranted statement out of Charles’ mouth. Texas? Neither of you have even ever been at the same time. “He means”—you say, coughing and nodding—“we went on this, um. Wild West themed, um, restaurant in Monaco, and that’s where he asked me out.” You make a face that you hope conveys you get it, and it seems to work.
“Definitely not what I had in mind, but if it worked, it worked, eh?” He grins. “I guess I always knew you two would end up together. Alright, ciao!”
You’re smiling and waving after him as he leaves, and then you’re (semi) alone again, or at least within your own space on the incredibly crowded paddock.
You turn to him, unable to hide your confusion. “Um? Texas?! What’s up with the backstories?”
“It slipped out! Sorry. But nice save.”
“You’re so f—” You try to scold him, but can’t, bursting into laughter and leaning forward to laugh into his chest. “Texas, really?”
“Sorry,” he says. You feel the vibration of his own laugh through his chest and it’s warm and nice. You peel yourself off lest you look too clingy, and resume your walk to the motorhome.
Ferrari is crowded, filled with people and strategists and guests. You’re given a bottle of water and then hounded with questions from the team who haven’t been informed of the situation at hand. David, one of the engineers close to Charles who you’d previously spoken to in one of the earlier races, asks to borrow him.
“Ciao, ciao.” They speak in one of the outdoor patio areas. “Is everything okay?”
“The car is fine. I just wanted to ask about the girl.” David punches his arm, playful. “You finally got her!”
“Oh.”
“It’s just… I remember all the times she would show up and you’d tell me about how much you liked her… I don’t know, it’s perfect for things to end up like this, no? Bravo!”
“Oh, si. I’ve just been, you know…” He looks through the glass sliding door and into the hospitality, where you’re talking to Isa and Carlos, sunglasses over your hair. Your hands are moving quickly, and you’re smiling while talking. He wonders what you’re so passionate about. When you’re caught in fits of happiness and passion, you’re extra animated. Your eyes are lively, and your lips can’t stop curling into a slight beaming smile. Now, maybe it’s France, maybe it’s crossword puzzles, slim chance it’s your job—whatever it is, he could watch you talk like this for hours. He thinks it’s beautiful, the way you transform, the way you smile, when you talk of things you absolutely love.
“… crazy about her forever.”
—
There are banners, Italian flags, and Charles’ face on every other wall. He’s done his first hat-trick of the season (of several more, you’re hoping). You’ve foregone the usual clubbing for dinner with a smaller group of people, but only because you’ve been told the nightlife is bleak and you’d rather save that energy for the next race.
Lando picked out the restaurant—he’s “on a massive Yelp high” trying to get the best restaurants in every city they get to. He’s tried two over the weekend, and is hoping this guns for first place. The restaurant’s name is long and so very Italian, to the point where your semi-fluency fails you. The food is amazing, though, and so is the wine—a whole other level of grape-flavored bliss.
You’re in-between Joris and Charles, nursing your fourth glass while Charles downs a bottle of beer. Light conversation flows through the table, but your sleepiness only allows you to hear some of it. You’re content with the white noise.
Lando is getting a new cat, Lewis bought a new pair of shoes—oh, no, shares in the company that makes the shoes—Joris bought the shoes, Lorenzo will now buy the shoes, why isn’t anyone paying attention to Lando’s cat. It’s funny, entertaining, and the perfect nightcap to your immensely exhausting day of acting.
Wine tipsy makes you loopy and snoozy. By default, your head lolls onto Charles’ body; he immediately wraps a sweater-clad arm around your frame, leans back, pulls you closer. Doesn’t miss a beat. In fact, while doing so, he’s even able to get a dig in against Lando’s affinity for cats.
“No more wine, m’kay?” He whispers quietly, angling his head to yours.
“Oh, but it was so good, though.” You mope, but nod in agreement. “I could seriously drink wine out of a keg here.”
“Sure did that a lot with beer.” You laugh, punching his bicep with what little space you’re given. “You sleepy?”
“Yeah. But I’m fine,” you respond, smiling. “Now shut up. I need to know what happened to Lando’s cat.”
Lewis leaves first, claiming he’s into this whole “sleeping at 9PM” thing, and Lorenzo follows to get ahead of an early flight tomorrow. It’s you, Joris, Charles, and Lando now, and you’re good as dead, eyes half-shut and fluttering, head slipping off his shoulder.
How was it? Lando asks, lowering his volume to keep from being too jarring. Day 1, fake dating? I actually read something like this in one of those, um, fanfiction stuff the fans do. Joris and Charles cast him a half-weirded out, half-amused pair of looks, but Lando defends himself. They’re actually pretty good, guys. I read one where I ended up with my rival or summat.
“Sorry to burst your bubble, Lando,” you croak, voice raspy with sleepiness and a day of bubbling laughter, “but Charles and I probably didn’t do your fanfiction kink justice.”
“Ignoring the emasculation.” He says, turning beet red. “What’d you do, then? Wasn’t it hard?”
“It was hard, but it’s like that.” Charles likes to substitute the phrase it is what it is to it’s like that, a result likely stemming from his trilingual childhood. “We just. Pretended. Oi, we held hands in front of the cameras.”
“Yeah, you can get a good wank in if that does it for you,” you joke. Lando hurls a cube of parmigiano at your face; it lands squarely and you flip him off, the table erupting with peals of laughter.
“In all seriousness, though—how are you two okay with this? I know I’d be second guessing my feelings every second.”
You shift, trying to hide your obvious lack of answer. It’s quiet for a few seconds, and then Charles says, “We’re both comfortable with each other, I think.”
“Yeah, comfortable enough that we can, you know, be honest.” You’re looking at Lando when you say that. You don’t know how well you could repeat the sentence if you were looking straight into Charles’ eyes.
You leave the restaurant with a generous tip, and Charles helps you pull your coat on when you’re out the door, back into the chilly night air. It’s then that all four of you catch news via text, of a club invite somewhere in the city.
“It’ll be fun, guys.” Joris and Lando stand in front of you and Charles, bumbling with excitement. “I heard Lil Tjay is going to be there.”
“It sounds very fun,” you say, smiling, “but I might pass out if I drink anything other than water, and I have zero energy. You three go ahead.”
“Wh—no, I’m not going, either.” You raise an eyebrow at Charles. “Serious! I wasn’t in the mood much, anyway. Joris, take Lando’s car and we’ll take mine.”
“Alright,” Lando whistles. “Suit yourselves, agoraphobes.”
“Joke’s on you”—Charles smiles, smug—“I don’t know what that means.”
“Not the dig you think it is, Charles,” you say, rolling your eyes. “Night, Joris, Lando. See you guys tomorrow. Use protection!”
“Should be saying that to you guys,” quips Joris with an evil grin that he closes the car door on.
The climb into the car feels like a chore in itself with how tipsy and sleepy you’ve become. Charles likes to bring his Ferrari to race weekends, but you convinced him to use a different car for this one, because you honest-to-God can’t stand the low seats anymore.
“You want dessert?” He asks when he’s rounded the car and settled into his seat. “Gelato, a cone, biscotti…”
“No, no,” you say, voice thin. A palm covers your shutting eyes; blindly, you reach for his hand. It’s easy because he sees you searching and takes your hand to cut it short. “I’m good. So sleepy. Can I sleep at your hotel room?”
“Sure.” He starts the car, waves to the wait staff idle by the entrance, and drives off. “How was the day as my fake girlfriend? Anyone ask about me?” He wiggles his eyebrows, flickering his gaze to your figure beside him. “Wasn’t too tough, I hope.”
Imola whizzes by, trees and city, and a poorly stifled yawn escapes your lips, wine stained. You laugh sleepily. “It was a bit awkward, but bitter with the sweet, right?” He smiles, nodding, and you continue. “Yeah, few strategists, some people who knew you from Prema. I was talking to Isa and Carlos, too, earlier. Even if they know it’s fake.”
He recalls seeing you talk to them through the glass. “About?”
“You.”
—
The sun is merciless on the clay courts, and so are your shoes, shuddering against the surface in your continuing attempt to beat the opposing team. Charles cowers behind you—he’s scored less than half of your points thus far—but you’re on a mission, like your competitive self always is when you’re put in a position to be able to win.
You’re two points down now, and the noontime is becoming increasingly itchy and unforgiving; across you both, Giada and Joris call a mutual time out. “That’s not allowed!” You say, petulant.
“This is a practice session,” Charles says gently, nearing you. “Mate, none of us are actual players.”
You wipe sweat off your forehead. “Right. Désolée. I’m just—I’m in the zone.”
“Ouais, I get it. Relax, m’kay? We got this.”
You shake yourself off and hop a few times, skirt bobbing by your waist as you go. Your braid bounces on your shoulder and you nod, turning your racquet over in your grip.
Charles pings the ball hard and it soars over to land just shy of the line, seemingly scoring a point for you two and securing your win. Giada and Joris chime in with protests, claiming that the ball’s out. You throw your hands up in question.
“Okay, what? That was clearly a point!”
“Snoops, I think they might be right. The ball looked out to me,” Charles says, wrapping a sweaty arm around your red shoulders.
“What are you talking about, Charlie? That ball was in! I saw it!” You elbow yourself out of his grip, aghast.
“How about…” He suggests quietly. “We let them win? You did win the last”—he pauses to count—“five sets. Come on, Snoops. They need this. Bitter with the—”
You take a deep breath, staring into his eyes. “Fucking sweet, right, okay. Fine, fine.”
Charles thinks he’s in the clear and he’s managed to extinguish your flames of frustration—that is, until you walk into the Leclerc household for lunch an hour later and, after greeting Pascale and Hervé, you point squarely to the jar on the kitchen counter. “Five euros.”
He splutters. “Five? Wh—non, non! I was trying to calm you down.”
“You were blind and gave Giada and Joris a fake win,” you say playfully.
“Saluuut,” Lorenzo greets, sitting at the stool beside yours. “Quoi de neuf?”
“Charles has five euros for the jar.” The jar, the infamous jar, sometimes dubbed the Dumbass Jar when Pascale’s out of earshot. It was Lorenzo who first made it up after three straight instances of Charles pulling a push door (three different establishments).
Arthur’s joined in at this point, but its biggest indirect donors are definitely Lorenzo and Hervé, who view it as just about the funniest thing in the world. Out of pity, you don’t call dumbass too often, but the tennis loss is bruising enough that you warrant the usage.
“You heard Snoopy. Five euros. We’ll be able to get milkshakes with this money after next week.” You high five. “At this rate, Charles, you could open a restaurant in Paris.”
“He’s going to race,” you correct. You both watch a begrudged Charles junk a bill into the nearly-full jar. “What race driver is going to open a restaurant?”
—
You meet Yuki Tsunoda on a flight to Nice. You’ve seen him several times before, not too frequently but enough that his name and face are familiar on your mind. Also a personality trait that Pierre would bring up in fond conversations with you and/or Charles: he loves food, apparently.
“Yuki’s volunteering AlphaTauri to be your hideout,” Pierre tells you and Charles, across him.
Turns out, the hardest part (insofar) of this whole schtick: the officially appointed paddock photographers are being extra sneaky with it, finding the best vantage points to snap pictures of an unwitting you and Charles.
They’re like hawks, watching for even the slightest glimpse so they can post the photos on Instagram and get clicks.
So, just a few hours earlier, Charles asked if there was a place you and him could talk if needed where photographers wouldn’t be awaiting you already, and this was the answer.
“If it’s too much trouble, feel no need to… you know.”
“Nonsense.” Pierre smiles goofily and Yuki pokes him to stop, pausing his session of eating a quesadilla (where he’d even acquired it, you’re clueless). “Yukino would be happy to.”
The flight lands and the drive to Monaco is infected with notoriously slow traffic; you pop an Advil to try and alleviate the motion sickness. Pierre and Yuki, it seems, have joined you even outside of the flight. They’re in the backseat offering bits of conversation.
“Oh, mate, we should totally play tennis while we’re here.” Pierre sighs. “Didn’t you guys play before?”
“Mmm, yeah,” you mumble with a lilt of amusement at the memories from basically a decade ago. “At the country club. Doubles always, otherwise I’d knock Charles out of the park.”
“Hey, I won a couple times!” He protests weakly. “Like… twice.”
You laugh out loud. “Anyway, Pierre, do not bring me into tennis. I get all competitive and develop anger issues.”
“I had to calm her down twice a set,” Charles says; you swat him lightly to silence him. “Still do.”
“You know, if the Dumbass Jar still existed,” you say cuttingly, “I swear I’d be able to buy off Ferrari with that money.”
—
Monaco is swelterinly hot today. You know this because you know the weather here, you know the curves and ups and downs of it—this is your home. And today is hot. Every few minutes a breeze filters through the air and you can hear journalists or PAs sigh a collective breath of relief before they’re all subjected to the inane, high-degree weather again.
It’s also, according to Arthur, a good day to kiss in front of the cameras. He says it easily over a plate of sliced kiwi, with a devious smile, because he assumes your friends-with-benefits arrangement equates to constant kissing. But the truth is you’ve never kissed Charles, and it intimidates you.
“Do we have to kiss?” You play with his bracelets, sitting beside him on the sofa. The talk of kissing entertains the thought of sex and you can’t help but mentally complain at the remembrance that you haven’t gotten laid in weeks.
“If you don’t want to—”
“I do.” You splutter, eyes going wide, face warm. “No! I mean I don’t mind. If it sells the thing.”
“D’accord, then we will.” He smiles. “That okay?”
“Sure. First kiss,” you say. Your voice feels as clammy as your hands.
“First.” He looks away.
You take your woes off the kiss by playing a friendly round of tennis with your favourite opponents, Giada and Joris. They bemoan your competitive nature (that, to be fair, allots you and Charles three straight wins), and Giada incites a protest for a girls versus boys round.
You both embarrass Charles and Joris, heckling them as you win another two straight games. Charles runs over to you when you throw up the L sign on your hand, lifting you up and making you squeal.
“Put me down, loser!”
Giada and Joris exchange a look. Amused, knowing. “Charles! You’re such a cunt.” You kick hard, and manage to snag his abdomen, so he gently places you onto the clay again. He laughs and paces back over to his side, and you play with the tail of your braid as you watch.
You play set after set, but the kiss comes anyway. When you know photographers can see you—by the entrance—and it happens faster than your mind can muster. He’s leaning in, you’re reaching up, and your mouths slot together. It’s—and it feels crazy to say it, but—
It’s perfect. It’s lovely. You smile against his lips like they belong there and like they’re familiar and yours and like maybe this is all you’ve ever wanted, and like they deserve the smile, because they do. You feel your need to pull away before you can’t help but keep him tethered to you always. It’s strange and it’s not platonic—you’re mature enough to admit that, but not enough to label exactly what it is.
You spend the day with your fingers pressed to your lips, like you’re sealing the memory. Hours later, Charles wins. There’s massive uproar and you’re in the crowd when it happens, in the sea of strategists going to congratulate him on winning Monaco, which—that’s—it’s winning Monaco. Your ears ring by the end of it and your throat’s dry from your own cheering. Carlos comes in second, and the outlook for their team is going much better than it’d been at the start of the year, so there’s a lot to celebrate.
And celebrate you do. It starts with being pinned up against the door, hungry kisses along your jaw and neck. One kiss, it seems, has broken the dam from the few years you’ve spent abstaining from the kissing. He’s just finished interviews. He’s only just changed into his polo, and now he’s tugging it off again, feverish.
This is rushed and dirty, down low and dark. Only one light’s been switched on and he’s hiking your dress up, panties down with one hand to tug his cock out with the other. He’s kissing you—kissing you stupid, almost. Like he’s waited forever to taste your lips and now he’ll starve if he’s away for just a moment. He needs you. So have me, you want to say, all of me, push me up against the wall again and cover my mouth with your palm. Or don’t, don’t—so everyone knows I’m yours.
He presses your chest against the wall so your back’s turned to him, thrusts in with a breathless, throaty grunt.
“S’ big,” you’re saying, clawing at words the pleasure bars you from finding.
“Barely even in,” he whispers. “Slow down, baby, come on, take it.”
Your toes curl. You’re high on the win, on the kissing, on Charles, on the slow delicious stretch of his cock. “I’m taking it, I’m taking it,” you say, shaky. He thrusts, slow and deep and dirty, until he’s bottomed out and you’re tiptoeing from the overwhelm.
“I feel you,” you’re whimpering, moans and gasps leaving your mouth. You blindly search for his hand, find it against your hip, drag it to your abdomen, under your dress that he hasn’t even fully removed. “I feel you there,” you say, an edge of teasing to your voice.
His cock’s bulging, almost, out of your stomach, and it’s getting you both all lightheaded. He thrusts harder, a devious smile felt against your neck.
I need it, Charles, you plead, please, please fuck me harder. You feel it coming, the familiar pleasure intensifying so quickly—you don’t usually cum so early, he’s always making you wait for it—pussy squeezing around him.
Jesus, already? He’s groaning but a laugh escapes, breathy and amused and taunting. He’s fucking you harder, faster. It’s so good, each hit getting you closer. Taking me so well, you’re bruised all over now, baby. You hate how well he knows what turns you on; memories of mornings post-sex spent inspecting the purple marks on your hips flash through your head and you’re even closer now, shaking, whimpering, begging.
You’re half-sure someone can hear, but it doesn’t even phase you. Harder, deeper— and you’re collapsing, legs spasming uncontrollably, orgasm so intense it’s on the brink of totally hurting. Tears roll down your sweaty face and he kisses them away, cumming onto your back to wipe off in a few minutes.
“I never even”—you pant, tired—“got to say congratulations.”
“That was more than enough.”
—
Charles is elated when you tell him his family has thrown a party for him the day next. He’s boyish in that way, optimistic and kiddy, the kind of person who’s up at five-thirty to announce their own birthday.
He drives you both to his childhood home, a route so familiar he could drive with his eyes closed. (“I hope you’re not driving closed-eyed,” you’d warned.)
Even if he could, anyway, he’d rather not. The scenery of Monaco is stunning, ever-changing, and he never tires of it—the buildings, the skies, the trees and shrubbery, stores lining the streets, clean entrances.
And you—in the passenger seat, humming softly to a song of his choosing. Drives are always better when you’re in the passenger seat.
The turnout is generous: extended family, and several friends from school. There’s bowls of fruit, salad, plates of salmon and racks of lamb, knobs of butter with warm bread. Pascale commands the kitchen—visible in how she leaves it cluttered with bowls, ingredients, whisks still dripping with syrup or batter, spoons licked for tasting. The good kind of clutter.
Lorenzo has also taken reign of the AUX, because it’s 70’s music playing, which is what he’s fond of for family gatherings like these. It’s My Cherie Amour now, Stevie Wonder mellowing across the lawn and into the house.
Charles knows you love the kitchen as much as his mum does, so when you get to the house, he’s not surprised to see you leave him in favor of checking out what damage has been done to your favorite marble countertops. He watches Pascale turn from the gas range, her eyes lit when she sees you, inviting you into an embrace.
You look like the song playing, pretty and lovely, breeze in the summer. He almost loses himself in thought before his great-aunt Eden places two bony hands on his arms and greets him in feeble Italian.
He flits his eyes away from you, if just briefly, and faces the woman with a smile on his face. “Ciao, zia,” he says, voice buoyant, happy. “You came here to see me, no?”
All five-foot-one of her shakes in disagreement. She wags a finger for extra measure. “No,” she says. “Sono venuto a vedere la tua ragazza.”
His eyes widen. “She’s—” He pauses. He debates telling Eden you’re not actually his girlfriend, that this was a setup to appease Pascale and, by extension, tifosi. But he backtracks.
He shouldn’t, but he gives in, lives out his dreams for a bit. “Ah, she’s over there, zia. Con mamma.” He points to the open door, and to you on the far end of the room inside, holding a spoon. “Beautiful, yes?”
“Molto,” she says proudly. “You marry her?”
Fact: his great-aunt has the worst memory. She forgot Charles’ name twenty times, let alone niche facts like this one. Another fact: she rarely shows up to family events. Maybe now, because it’s a racing thing; but baby showers and funerals, she’s at home. So he indulges a bit more.
“Si, we’re engaged. But—it’s a secret, zia.” He grins. “Non dire a nessuno. Okay?”
“Sei fidanzato?!” She claps once, excited. “Ay, Charles. I waited my whole life for this moment, si?” And she’s wobbling away, still muttering under her breath.
—
“How is my son?” Pascale’s voice is teasing. She sighs happily. “For years I wondered if this would happen. And it really is.”
“Oui, sure is,” you sing-song, laughing a bit awkwardly. “We’re—he’s okay. We’re great. In love.”
“Oh, in love,” she swoons. She leaves you, after fifteen more minutes of detailed discussion, with half a spoonful of vinaigrette to taste-test, departing to check on the guests for a few minutes. In her place arrives Lorenzo, already bearing a shit-eating grin. “Saluuut.”
“Mmm, good to see you, too.” You taste the liquid and add lemon to the bowl. “How’s wedding planning?”
“Think we’ll throw a shower. Is that pretentious?”
“No,” you say, mulling over it. “Sure, a bit. But just don’t make it a whole thing, you’re golden.”
“I see.” He sighs fondly. “You know, many a conversation we’ve had right here at this counter. About anything.”
—
You loosen your school tie, slicing an apple like you so often do, waiting for Charles’ karting practice to end. Pascale had fixed you a bowl of something, Hervé a glass of orange juice. And somebody else would always, without fail, steal your food. A hand swipes two slices form your chopping board and your head whips up.
“Lorenzo!” You stomp your foot. “Stop stealing! That is my apple.”
“You mean the Leclercs’ apple.” He laughs, pops another slice into his mouth, smiling.
You roll your eyes, shaking your head. The braid beside your head shakes with it as you continue slicing it into perfect quarters. He pipes up again: “How was school?”
“Shit, as usual.” You lower your voice and smile, leaning in. “Pascale scolded me earlier, for saying that word.”
“Did Papa?”
“Obviously not. He fist bumped me.” You share a laugh, both chewing on apple slices now. “Anyway, I aced a math test, had aubergine for lunch… got driven here by Charlotte’s mum.”
“Charlotte?” Lorenzo hums conspiratorially, making a mmmm sound. You look up from the yellow chopping board, furrowing your eyebrows. He persists: “Mmm. Cha-r-lotte.”
“What’s up with Charlotte?” Bit impolitely, you ask, in-between chews.
“I think she likes Charles, a little.” You nod slowly, trying to follow. Charlotte liking Charles. Your Charles. Wait, no. Not your—or nobody’s, really. Just Charles. Yeah.
“What? Bull!” You narrow your eyes. “Says who?”
“Why do you care?”
“Wh—I don’t!” You squeak, caught. “Just… I think I’d know, Lorenzo.” You make a tch noise, crossing your sweater-clad arms. “So—says who?”
“I saw her leering at him during his birthday party.”
“You’re wrong,” you say, but you don’t really know who you’re convincing. He reaches over for an apple slice, and you move the chopping board out of the way sharply.
“Mon dieu, you’re snappy. Fine, fine. I might be wrong,” he relents, shrugging. He gets up and slides beside you to be able to acquire more slices. “I talked to her during the party, too.”
“Weirdo,” you tease, allowing him to take a few more. “About Charles, yes?
“No, about her brand new dress.”
“You’re the funniest Leclerc brother, I assure you.”
“She told me…” He says, louder this time, shushing you effectively. “She told me she ‘finds Charles cute.’” Air quotes, shrug. “But that they ‘probably won’t’ date.”
“Huh. Did, um. Did she say why?” You play with the tail of your braid, shuffling back and forth on your flats. You don’t know why you’re so fidgety—you aren’t nervous, you don’t think.
“Because…” he says, chewing to allow for a pause. “She said every time she looks for Charles to try and ask for time alone, or on a date, or something, he’s already following you around like some puppy.”
—
You comb your hair into a bun and venture into the patio, having avoided a good chunk of the noon heat. You greet some relatives politely along the way, and receive a hand squeeze from great-aunt Eden. At one of the tables is Charles, beside Joris and another friend, and Giada and Charlotte across them, an empty seat beside the latter.
You seat yourself in it and Giada kisses your cheek. “Hey. Ça va?”
“Fine,” you say, smiling. Then you lower your voice to a whisper. “Do you remember when I told you about my crush on Charlie? For the first time?”
“Yeah,” she whispers back. “Around… 2013.”
“Ouais. And… and it disappeared after that,” you say. “Right?”
“You said it did,” she says. “A year later. When we were sixteen.”
“Right.” You think. Seventeen onwards—you’d never formed a full-fledged crush on Charles. “Okay. It’s nothing. Just a memory. I was just. Yeah, oui.”
“Oui, let’s eat.” The memory fades and so does your running mind. Charles’ eyes meet yours across the table, and suddenly you feel a little less like your thoughts have ripped you open.
—
When you and Charles were younger, you adopted the adage “bitter with the sweet.” Charles will have people believe it was made by the both of you, with philosophical minds stretched so far beyond their years. Well, revisionist history. The truth lay in the Carole King song of the same name you’d heard on the stereo.
Those are the exact words Charles tells Ted when he’s interviewing for the Spain Grand Prix. It’s a hot day and you’re especially doubled down on by the fact that he’s finished ninth.
You’d been fake-dating for the cameras all weekend. At all costs, you try and avoid interviews, but the damned Drive to Survive producers insist on a soundbite and start following the two of you around everywhere (only to find your conversations sound very weird and niche, and not scandalous or sexy).
Pascale also called—Charles first, and when he didn’t check his phone, you. You spent an hour on the phone just talking about the race. About the penalties and the nasty headlines that followed, and just everything.
“I’m glad you’re there,” she says. “God knows he needs you.”
You end up biking to try and relieve the stress, posing with fans for pictures.
“I’m such a big fan. I stalk Charles’ Insta like, all the time, and it’s crazy how you guys are dating.” A teenaged girl laughs nervously. “Where’d it happen?”
“Texas!” He, again, tries out the bit to appease the fans but you have to extinguish the flames of his blatant lies.
“He’s kidding,” you interject. “It’s just—it just happened, really.”
How does something just happen? Someone told you once, in a Paris bar, that love is like an echo. It’s always there, in the underbelly, underneath it all, and then one day it echoes, like a bass drum or a cymbal. And the echo—the echo is you feeling it. You feel the echo, the all-encompassing echo, even if the love itself’s been there all along.
With Charles, it’s out of the question. You love him. He’s your best friend. You trusted him before you even learned what trust meant, for Chrissake.
How could you not love him? That seemed impossible. The love was there. The love’s always been there and it’ll never go away.
It echoes at half-past-two in Barcelona, when he whips past you on his bike and says on your left. The breeze pulls your hair to the left, covers your face, and when you rake it away he’s stopped to check if he accidentally bumped you in his rush to look cool.
You’re creepily observant; you’ve been told this many times before. What people don’t know is with the observance comes even more questions. Ifs, whys, wheres, whens, hows, God the hows. The questions keep coming because there’s never an answer.
“Are you okay?” He asks. Green eyes glittering like a lake. Smile like the sun. Hair curly at the ends. “Did I hurt you?”
Then you realize. In the matters of love, every question—every single question. Every single one. The answer is Charles.
“Of course not,” you say. And you smile.
—
You almost drop your book in your rush to scurry past the paparazzi. They’re still busy on the two figures (Alex and Lily, you think) on another end of the paddock, which allows you only a few moments to try and evade them.
Others are stationed near the Ferrari hospitality, which means you’re going to need your hideout. Yuki had texted Pierre who had texted Charles who had told you that it was all clear to go there for a few minutes while waiting for the photographers to clear out.
Hurry, Charles is saying. Laughing. His hand’s gentle in yours. You want them there forever. You want to drag the tip of your nail over the barely-perceptible grooves of his fingerprints so he knows how much you need him.
The days post-Spain were spent biking, watching shows, listening to music, eating food. The travel to Canada—long, cold, compression socks. Pascale had called mid-flight to check on her “favorite pair”—you maneuvered yourselves into a much more cuddly position to appease her, and her giddy smile was incentive enough to stay that way for ninety minutes.
You’d been in a weird mental state trying to grapple with your rapidly returning and intensifying feelings for him, which have dawned on you all at once.
But he makes it better. You’re still laughing when you wedge yourselves in, eyes meeting.
And then you’re quiet.
The gaze you share is intense, but almost unsure, like you’re supposed to be looking away anytime now. You step backward shakily, and his hand moves from your waist to the small of your back to keep you from stumbling any further. You’re closer now. But this shouldn’t feel as strange as it does when you two have been in much more scandalous positions before—what’s different?
He’s so close, so so close, his green eyes looking right through you. You lean closer, ready to kiss him like you have before, ready to feel his mouth slot softly over yours, comforting and safe and Charles.
Funnily enough, it’s then that the illusion breaks, his grip loosening and the distance between you increasing. He coughs twice, awkwardly.
“Shit—sorry,” you say profusely, clearly having read the moment wrong. Embarrassment wells up in your system, warming your face. You laugh to diffuse the tension but it barely does anything.
“No, don’t—” He exhales, squeezes the bridge of his nose, trying to find words. “It’s not that I don’t want to kiss you. I do.”
“So kiss me,” you suggest simply, looking around for anything that might stop him. The embarrassment ebbs away, replaced quickly by confusion.
“I don’t want to kiss you in an AlphaTauri stock room,” he mopes, burying his head in his hands in clear frustration. “An AlphaTauri stock room.” He repeats it in a hushed whisper, disbelief etched all over his pretty face.
“Charles,” you begin, smiling already, the quaint way that makes his knees go weak every time. “You’re acting like you and I haven’t kissed before.”
“This is different.” He says firmly, looking away lest he lean in involuntarily. He interjects with conviction, not realizing what he’s implying until the implication’s hanging in the air. The longing kills him softly, and he feels if he looks at you a second longer he’ll kiss you anyway.
It’s a wonderfully confusing feeling. You open your mouth to respond but you can’t; your brain tacks itself onto his sentence, the division created between the kisses before now and the kiss that might happen anytime soon.
“H…” you trail off, throat drying. Blinking, you try again, “How different?”
He looks up, eyes conveying all the things his lips never will. This is different. You know it. I love you this time.
The answer is exchanged and accepted wordlessly. You slip out of the room when Pierre tells you it’s okay to, and it’s only then—only then—that Charles’ hand leaves your body. You seem to burn alive with its absence.
It’s a Ferrari 1-2. You snap a thousand pictures with Isa and Carlos holding Carlos’ trophy while Charles is doing interviews, and they invite you to join them for the break. You’re open to it—the win, the good standings, they definitely warrant a celebration for the few weeks’ break. So your original itinerary is Portugal—beaches, coasts, food—but the jet re-charts a route and the flight is cut much shorter because you’re in New York City.
—
Somewhere in Manhattan, a wedding shower is thrown on an outdoor rooftop. “This is one hell of a wedding shower,” you squeal excitedly when you spot him, bringing Lorenzo in for a hug. Your yellow dress flows in the wind. “I thought you guys were going to throw it in Monaco?”
“Yeah, well… why not here, right? It’s beautiful.” He gestures to the skyline, smiling. “Plus, Charles, Arthur, and Mum were already near the country for work, so we got ahead of it. Everyone was happy to fly out.”
“Well, for what it’s worth, I love it.” You beam. “I can’t believe it, either. When’s the final date?”
He opens his mouth to reply, but the wind is knocked out of him by Charles barreling into his arms for a hug. You roll your eyes at the latter’s childish behavior, smiling despite yourself. They part and Charles finds his place beside you, arm snaking around your shoulders. “What a wedding shower!”
“Don’t flatter me, dipshit,” Lorenzo jokes.
“It’s a lovely one.” Lorenzo thanks him. “An amazing shower. You know, it’s a total golden shower!”
You purse your lips. “Charles—”
“A golden shower, mate. Absolutely.”
That garners at least three odd looks and you calmly place a hand on his chest to whisper don’t ever fucking say that again it means something completely different please don’t embarrass me or your brother.
For all your embarrassment, you make up for it in having the literal time of your life. The food is good, the city view is amazing, the weather is fair and the music—Desafinado now—is amazing. “I could see myself here,” you say offhandedly to Charles, who nods back with a faint smile. He’s half-distracted.
“You look beautiful, by the way,” he says, squinting from the sun in his eyes. “Very.”
You part ways at some point—Pascale whisks him off, no doubt for another long round of questioning about your relationship, and you meander around with a glass of champagne.
You’re halfway through swiping a mini quiche when a hand wraps around your wrist and squeezes to get your attention—Charles’ great-aunt Eden. She speaks only intermittent English, and your Italian fails to carry you through well enough, but you smile and greet her. “Ciao, Eden!”
“Ciao, bella.” She smiles. “Flight was long.”
“Oh, yeah. New York’s far. I might work here someday. I’ll hear results in around two weeks, but I’m hoping for London instead.” You slow your speech.
“When will you two wed?”
“Wed?” Your face warms and you stutter through a giggly mess of a sentence. “Oh, Eden—zia—no, no! We’re just friends.”
“My Charles told me you two are to be married.” You both crane your heads to the right, where Charles is leaning against the terrace railing talking to one of your friends, Matthew, animatedly. He meets your eyes, sees Eden beside you, and seems to connect the dots.
Jokingly, perhaps, he raises his hand and wiggles his empty ring finger. You can’t help but smile as you turn back to the old woman. “Oh, did he, zia?”
“Si, he did.”
“Well, we’re just going to let it happen, then. You’re invited. Front row.” You kiss her cheek and she smiles, wobbling off to drink more wine before any of the adults can stop her.
It’s announced then that the dance floor is open, and many of Pascale’s friends filter through to show off their moves to the 70’s music. You watch, amused, at the display of dexterity to Frankie Valli and Aretha Franklin. You cheer them on, content to watch them against the backdrop of the New York sunset.
When Ain’t No Mountain High Enough plays, the dance floor grows, because nobody can resist the song—not even Charles, apparently, who takes your hand without preamble and takes you, squealing, to the centre.
You sing each of the parts, like you always do when the song comes on. It’s semi-tradition at this point: you take Marvin Gaye’s, Charles takes Tammi Terrell’s. You both exaggerate your dance moves and pretend you’re performing.
His hand’s in yours, winding you around and pulling you close. At some point he starts robot dancing to entertain you. It works—you laugh out loud, your eyes half-shut and faced to the stars above. He could write a poem about this. Or a song.
The song ends and you lean onto his shoulder to take a breather—then the photographer swoops in and takes a picture. “That’s going into the RSVPs!” He says, accent unmistakably American.
“Does he know we’re not the couple here?” You ask.
Do we know we’re not the couple? Charles asks himself.
The night escalates as the “oldies” leave, and Matthew, Joris, and Giada join you both for one last round of drinks again. You’re all standing at the exit making conversation; Lorenzo attends to his friends at the other end of the terrace.
“I feel young again,” Matthew says, liberated by Tito’s vodka. He takes another swig and pulls his coat on.
“You’re twenty-five, calm down,” you joke. “Dodged that bullet.” You’re poking fun at the semi-massive crush you had on Matthew in secondary school, and a laugh passes through the four of you. “Anyway, you three be careful. No driving.”
“Jesus, but really—I haven’t been this drunk since you”—he points at you, laughing—“turned seventeen at that club, Amber? No?”
“Oh, God. Y’know, same.” You fail to notice Charles and Giada share a look. “I remember nothing from that night! Or, like, the first two hours at least.”
“I remember drinking my body weight because of heartbreak,” he jeers.
“Heartbreak? Were you—were you with anyone?” You ask, confused.
It happens before anyone can stop it. “No, when Charles kissed you. And you kissed him after. Alright, night mates! Lorenzo—merci!”
Oh, fuck, you hear in the back of your now-muddled brain. Giada’s voice.
You open and close your mouth. “Ch—wait, he—what?”
“I—let’s talk here,” Charles flounders, dragging you to a more secluded spot and facing you. The three of your friends exit; Giada waves, apologetic. “When… we were at Amber… and you were absolutely hammered, we kissed. It was twice—just twice. And you didn’t, um. Remember a thing.”
You’re unsure. “In Amber?” You blink, confused. “What do you mean?”
“We… I don’t—I mean, I understand why you don’t remember. We kissed that night.”
“So that’s… Charles… You didn’t tell me.” Your voice quivers, like a wire flicked. “Why didn’t you say it at the time?”
He doesn’t give you an answer. He just looks at the counter, imagines the way your eyebrows furrow, your lips move, eyes glitter. He can’t give you one. He doesn’t want to hurt, disappoint, sadden you. He wants to get on his knees and root you here, so he’ll have all the time in the world to come up with an answer.
“Charles.” But he loves you, and he can at the very least be honest for you. “Look at me.”
“I was scared.” His eyes gravitate to yours.
“Of?”
“It felt stupid, is all. That you didn’t remember, and maybe you did but you were pretending you weren’t. I didn’t—it didn’t—sorry.” He laughs, stutters. “I convinced myself it didn’t mean anything because we didn’t have feelings for each other.” He pauses. “Then.”
“Well,” you say, slow. Eyes stuck to his. “How about now?”
“Now?”
“I love you, now. I mean, isn’t that all this is? Loving? Even if? De—despite of?”
And this—God. This is how it feels. He’s looking at you and you’re telling him you love him because you do, and finally he’s been over with reassurance.
You love him, too. That way. He trembles with it. His hands are shaky when they lace into yours, like you’re a shrine, a prayer, and he feels like maybe these are the emotions that swirl through the human body when one wins the lottery and gets struck by angry lightning at the same time.
This is it, he thinks. Profound and lovely and an echo of sweet memories. He’s yours. Here in a city unfamiliar to both of you, yet to be conquered, your fingers lace lightly and you smile, smile, smile at each other, as if you’re the last two people on Earth. He’s yours, so foolishly in love with you.
Even far from home, you’re both filled with warmth, with longing. Extended stares, pits of your stomachs welling up with something lovely in between homesickness and nostalgia. Here again, you again, us again—it’ll always be us again, your heart seems to say, surrounded by the same love the same hurt the same sad the same everything, you and me, all the love in the world, all the confusion, we’re here. It’s never over.
Across the terrace, Lorenzo watches. Two figures, laughing, emanating happiness, gentle unkowing love. You two have finally made it here, after what felt like a thousand trials and dreams and stories.
So even if you’re taller, in high heels and a yellow dress—and Charles is broader, in a suit and tie—Lorenzo thinks he can blink and see the two little kids who hosted a tea party in the backyard. He can blink again and see you hugging, eyes shut, his lips pressed to your forehead to convey the intimacy nothing else will do as well.
“So what now?” You ask. Again with the questions. In your defense—it begs so many follow-up questions. A love so many years in the making—layer after layer after layer—of course it begs all the questions, almost to the point of overwhelming capacity. What’ll we tell Pascale? The fans? The family? Everyone?!
But one look and he makes it better. His green eyes, bright against the deep black of the skyline. You’ve grown. You’ve done it. You’re here. “We’ll figure it out.” He smiles. “We deserve this kind of ending, don’t you think?”
—
“He has my name.” A tubby finger points to the boy on the greeting card. “That one.”
“And who’s the dog?” Asks the girl beside him, hair wound into a plait. She likes this boy. He’s cute. She plays with the end of her braid and stares, eyes flickering in-between him and the card they’re staring at.
“The name’s right there. They’re best friends.”
“Okay, that’ll be me.”
“So that’s us.”
“Oui.” She smiles. “Charlie and Snoopy.”
–
read an omitted scene here :)
everything is totally okay i just need to get hit by a car
One thing golden era Wattpad writers had going for them was that they knew the importance of a buildup. I'm of the opinion that the sexual tension is WAY more satisfying to read than the actual sex and quite frankly there is a serious lack of non smutty writing.
Like I really miss reading fics/ x readers that start from scratch. Meeting the characters, initial reactions getting to know them, the tension the jealousy the TENSION the freaking tension.
Looking and looking away when they get spotted, touches that feel like they linger but perhaps they didn't and they're both so hot for each other that they think it's wishful thinking. And I don't mean just sweet sunshine romances, darker works can have a buildup too but it seems like so much is just about getting to the smut instead of the psychological aspect.
Bring back the build up!!!!!!!
Summer Daze | J.M.
Pairing: JJ Maybank x fem!Pogue Reader
Warning(s): 18+ due to explicit unprotected sexual intercourse (p in v sex), oral (f receiving), language, drug use (marijuana), underage alcohol consumption. Minors, do NOT interact.
Summary: JJ overhears the reader reveal a secret about herself to the girls in their friend group. He can’t let it go and decides not only to confront her about it, but to rectify the situation.
(GIF credit to @henrens)
Each year, the small costal town of Kildare hosted a series of movies in the park during the summer months as a way to entertain both locals and tourist alike. Somehow, it became an unspoken tradition for the Pogues to attend together.
Upon arriving, the girls decided to claim their spot for the evening and handle the setup, tasking the boys to obtain snacks from the designated concession stand.
JJ was the first to head back after securing drinks for the group, while Pope and John Bwaited behind for the rest of their order. He found Kiara, Sarah and Y/N sitting on a blanket they had spread out with three collapse-able chairs set up directly behind them. He took purchase in the chair behind Kie, leaning forward to pass out the drinks in his hand. “M’ladies,” he said in his best British accent, cheesy-grin on display. “Thank you, kind sir,” Y/N replied in the same half-assed accent, tying her best not to laugh as she passed the beverages to the other girls. “What movie is it this year anyway?” John B inquired, arriving with popcorn in hand as Pope trailed, holding an assortment of other junk food. Before the girls had a chance to respond, the opening credits for the movie started to roll, indicating the movie’s title. Titanic. All three boys groaned in unison, while Sarah literally squealed with excitement.
JJ would never admit it to a single soul but he actually didn’t mind the movie one bit. He found himself enthralled by the story, although he could have gone without the girls swooning over Jack every ten seconds. A nudge to his side caught his attention, making him turn his head. “Got take a piss,” Pope announced in a whisper. The blonde nodded, leaning back and smacking John B’s shoulder in an attempt to get his attention. When the brunette turned his head, JJ lifted his fingers to his lips as if he were holding an imaginary joint, lifting his brows in silent question. He watched as his friend leaned forward, whispering something to Sarah and without another word, the three boys snuck off.
While Pope headed towards the restrooms, the other two found a secluded spot behind the large screen to smoke. JJ retrieved the conspicuous joint from behind his ear, placed it between his lips and lit the end with his trusty Zippo like he’d done a hundred times before. As he inhaled, John B spoke. “This isn’t as lame as I thought it’d be,” he admitted, running a hand through his dark hair as the blonde passed the joint, casually shrugging his shoulders, exhaling the smoke with expert ease. “Yeah. Leo’s the fuckin’ man.” They continued their established rotation while discussing DiCaprio’s best roles until the bud was gone, only a roach remaining by the time Pope caught up with them. “I’m going to get another water. You want anything?” He asked, only for JJ to shake his head. “I’m good. I’ll meet you back at spot. Gotta drain the snake,” JB said, while the blonde was already walking back in the direction their seats.
With his hands in the pockets of his shorts, his cerulean blue eyes scanned the crowd as he walked, which consisted mostly of tourons and Pogues with the occasional Kook mixed in. By the time he got close to the girls, he realized what scene was taking place. The infamous car sex scene, which results in the iconic shot of Rose’s hand sliding down the foggy window. He smirked, perverted comment locked, loaded and at the ready on the tip of his tongue as he approached the girls until the sound of Y/N’s voice caught his attention. “Oh, bullshit,” she scoffed quietly, although loud enough for him to hear. “What?” Kie asked in a whisper. He watched as Y/N gestured to the screen as she spoke, “That.” His eyes flickered to the screen at the exact moment Rose’s palm met the glass. “This scene is unbelievable. I’ve never had sex that good,” she admitted, making both the other girls turn towards her with widened eyes. Sarah was the next to speak. “Wait. You mean to tell me that you’ve never..” She trailed off, gesturing to the screen. He watched as Y/N shook her head from side to side. “No, I’ve faked it,” he heard her say. “Every single time.” In unison, their jaws dropped at her admission. She simply shrugged without another word. JJ couldn’t believe what he had heard. Although he wasn’t purposefully eavesdropping, part of him felt guilty for overhearing such a personal conversation. He cleared his throat before taking his seat, announcing his arrival, so they weren’t spooked or taken off guard. Y/N was the only one to acknowledge him, giving him a sweet smile over her shoulder before turning her attention back to the movie. Meanwhile, the other girls were staring at each other, silently communicating the same thought in JJ’s mind: What the fuck.
He couldn’t concentrate throughout the rest of the movie. Instead, a million thoughts ran through his brain. What the fuck kind of guys had she been dating? Obviously, they were self-centered, selfish assholes but that was obvious well before he learned about her.. predicament. JJ never approved of any other male she hung out with. They were never good enough, simply because they weren’t him. He’d been harboring a crush on her since fourth grade but no one knew that. Not even John B. He couldn’t stop himself as his eyes fell to her. Thankfully, from where he was sitting, he had the perfect view. Not only could he appreciate her side profile or catch a glimpse of her smile while she laughed at the movie but thanks the height of his chair, he could see directly down her shirt, perky tits on full display. His mind continued to run wild. Did her previous partners even try? Because he would be willing to spend hours, days even, making her cum. Nothing would make him happier than knowing he made her feel so good, she came all over his cock. Or his fingers. His tongue. Fuck, he wanted her so bad before. With this new information available to him, his crush on her now taking on a new life of its own. His eyes raked down her body, appreciating every inch of her as he drank in the sight before him. Fuck, she’s pretty, he thought. He wouldn’t even know where to begin with a girl like her. Between her crop top and shorts, the amount of exposed skin was driving him absolutely crazy and caused him to shift in his seat due to his growing discomfort. At some point during the night, she has pulled her hair on top of her head and into a messy bun, a look that JJ was an absolute sucker for. He loved it when her hair was up. In fact, it was his favorite look of hers because he got to admire her neck without any obstruction. God, the things that he would do if he had a chance to mark her pretty neck up. JJ reached for a bottle of water, chugging the entirety of its contents in a matter of seconds before the sound of crinkling, cheap plastic caught Kie’s attention. She gave him the ultimate ‘eat shit’ look, although he wasn’t sure if it was for causing a disruption or for using plastic. Either way, he held his hands up in surrender, rasping a quick and quiet apology before blaming his sudden parchedness on the thick humidity.
Someway, somehow, JJ kept his shit together and the rest of the evening went off without a hitch. The next morning, however, was a different story.
Everyone, with the exception of Kie, stayed the night at the chateau. Which is why JJ was surprised to find the living room empty upon stumbling out, still half-asleep, from his room as the sun filtered in through the blinds. Once his eyes finally adjusted to the brightness, he walked out the front door, searching for his two missing friends before his attention was brought to the dock.
His timing couldn’t have been more perfect. There she stood, shimmying out of her tiny shorts until the only piece of fabric that remained on her body was her barely there bikini. JJ was convinced that he was dreaming as he headed in her direction, silently praying that his eyes weren’t deceiving him. As he strolled down the dock, he watched her lie down on the towel she had previously rolled out. He drank her in from head to toe, gnawing on his bottom lip as his blood started rushing throughout his body.
“Good morning, sunshine,” she said in a sing-song voice, looking up at him through the dark lenses of her sunglasses, which disguised the way she shamelessly checked him out. His hair was wild and all over the place, shirtless with his shorts sitting dangerously low on his hips, mouth watering as she appreciated his defined abs and pelvic lines. She noticed the button of his shorts was completely undone, the only thing keeping the fabric up was the zipper. Between his carefree attitude and his good looks, JJ Maybank oozed sex appeal. It was no wonder how every girl he set his sights on ended up in his bed. All he had to do was flash his pearly whites and they were goners, Y/N included. “G’mornin’, mama,” he beamed, voice raspy from sleep, the sound instantly turning her on. “Where’s Pope?” He combed his fingers through his hair, attempting to calm his bed head but failing miserably. She had to tear her eyes away from him before she risked drooling or foaming at the mouth. “Headed out this morning. Said he had to do some deliveries for his dad,” she noted, recalling the boy’s words before he dashed out the front door of the chateau. He simply hummed in response as he begrudgingly tore his eyes away from her, looking over the marshy water when a thought popped into his head. “Wanna go for a ride?” Y/N pushed herself up and onto her elbows, looking over the HMS Pogue. “There’s no telling when the lovebirds are gonna wake up,” she deadpanned. He smiled, shaking his head from side to side before he chuckled. “I’m talking’ jus’ the two of us.” His mischievous grin told her everything she needed to know. He was up to something and she couldn’t wait to find out. He watched her face light up as she grinned from ear to ear and he felt his heart skip a beat as he turned and ran back to the house.
He managed to swipe the boat keys in record time, while she snagged the last remaining beers from the fridge and tossed them into the cooler, which thankfully still had ice from the day before. “God bless, Big John and his investment in quality products,” she laughed, waiting on the porch as JJ emerged from the house, sporting the same look from earlier, except now wearing his bulky boots and trademarked red hat. It was a look that was signature JJ and little did he know, it drove her absolutely crazy. He grabbed the cooler with ease, despite its weight and lead the way to the boat. He climbed in first, sitting the cooler down and offering her his hand, which she gladly took. “Welcome aboard the HMS Pogue,” he announced with a smile as he helped her into the boat. Once on the vessel, she perched herself on the seat directly in front of the helm as he untied the boat from the dock. “My name’s JJ, I’ll be your Captain today,” he continued with his theatrics as he took seat at the helm, starting the engine and guiding the boat down the marsh. “What brings you out today, miss?” She was unable to stop herself from laughing, which she noticed was a common theme every time she was around the handsome boy. “An adventure,” she murmured, locking eyes with his. He bit his bottom lip, unable to take his eyes off of her, despite the fact that he was driving. By the grace of god, he knew knew the marsh like the back of his hand. He nodded, his mind and heart racing, although disguised by his calm demeanor. With his knee keeping the boat straight, he leaned over to the cooler, where he grabbed two beers. He opened them both with ease, handing one to her and lifting his in the air, tilted in her direction. “To an adventure?” He watched her smile even brighter as she clinked her amber colored bottle against his. “To an adventure!”
The mid-morning sun felt incredible beaming down onto her exposed skin as she lied on her back at the bow of the boat, while JJ flipped through the radio in search of a decent station. Aside from the occasional music or static from the radio and the shuffle from his heavy boots, the only other sound was that of the ocean breeze. While others were trying to get off the Cut, Y/N couldn’t think of anywhere better to be. JJ sighed, finally killing the radio without any luck of finding a decent station. “Of course, the damn thing is too old for a freakin’ auxiliary port,” he complained before downing the rest of his beer and opening another before sitting in front of the hull. He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees as he looked at her, bottom lip caught caught between his teeth. “I have to admit something to you.” His words sparked her curiosity. She sat up quickly, hand splayed against her chest. “Holy shit. Have you brought me out here to murder me?” She asked, voice dripping with faux fear, making JJ laugh. “In cold blood,” he responded, taking another swig of his beer before sitting it in an assigned cup holder. “I overheard you last night,” he said, lifting his hat off his head, running a nervous hand through his blonde locks before readjusting the hat back on his head. She made a mental note of such because it was usually a habit of his whenever he was anxious. She sat straighter, crossing her legs as she looked at him, giving him her full attention. With her brows knitted, she tilted her head to the side. “What?” He signed. “Here goes nothing,” he thought to himself. “You’ve really never had an orgasm?”
There was a pregnant pause. He not-so-patiently waited for her to answer his question, although he sat perfectly still, giving her all the time she needed. After the initial shock wore off, Y/N’s laugh echoed throughout the marsh. “Of course, I’ve had an orgasm before,” she clarified. It was his turn to be confused. “But last night.. I thought you said that..” he trailed off. Realization appeared on her face as she shook her head from side to side, the slightest brush appearing on her cheeks. “I can take care of myself,” she said softly, the brush deepening. JJ thought she was the cutest thing, despite their very provocative topic of conversation. His tongue darted out, wetting his lips as he watched her lips wrap around her beer bottle, taking a quick sip. Never in his life had he been jealous of an inanimate object until now. He would give anything for that bottle to be his dick. “Did they even try?” The question fell from his lips before he had a chance to stop it.
“Why do you care? Do you think you could make me cum, JJ?”
“Think?” He scoffed. “I know I can.” He said, very matter-of-fact, cocky smile proudly on display. It was her turn to scoff, pretending as though his words didn’t phase her. Secretly, she loved playing this game with him.
“Yeah? What would you do?” She challenged, uncrossing her legs as she removed her sunglasses from her head and tossed them to the side before leaning back, elbows resting on the edge of the fiberglass as she checked him out from head to toe.
He learned forward, seizing her ankle in his hand before slowly ghosting his palm up the length of her leg, leaving a trail of fire behind him. He leaned further until his lips were positioned directly by her ear as he spoke. “I’d start by teasing the fuck outta you.” With his hand by her hip, he played with the thin strings of her bikini bottoms, sliding his fingers underneath, massaging her hip. “I wouldn’t stop until you were soaking wet,” his breath hit her ear, making her shudder. Moving his hand as slowly as he could manage, he slid his fingertips a few inches, still under the thin material as he ghosted over the top of her pussy. “Then..” he paused for dramatic effect as his lips found her neck. He placed a chaste kiss to her skin before whispering, “I’d eat your pussy like it was my last goddamn meal.” She arched into him, silently pleading for more. He smiled, removing his hand from her bottoms and snatching his hat from his head, throwing it carelessly over his shoulder. He took her face in his hands, hovering over her as he made her look at him. She locked eyes with him and instantly, melted. “Are you going to be a good girl for me?” She whimpered in response. Fucking whimpered before nodding frantically. She’d never been this turned on in her entire life. “Words, baby,” he encouraged, thumb playing with her bottom lip as he physically ached, wanting to kiss her. “Yes,” she said, completely breathless already. He smiled so big that his cheeks hurt before finally connecting his lips with hers.
Neither of them had been kissed the way they kissed each other in that moment. There was so much meaning behind the action. I need you, I’ve wanted you for so long, I ache for you. All being communicated without a single word being used. Fireworks. It was the hottest thing either of them had experienced. When his tongue slipped inside her mouth, Y/N moaned at his taste. He reminded of her summer as the taste of Natty Light (or was it Miller Lite? Not that she cared), coconut and the faintest remnant of marijuana dominated her senses. She was in utter disbelief this was actually happening. Finally.
JJ dropped to his knees, his lips slowly pulling away from her as he spread her legs. With his eyes locked with hers, he grabbed her bikini bottoms and slowly pulled them down her legs. She watched him through nodded eyes. She leaned back, assuming her previous position by propping herself up on her elbows and lifting her legs one-by-one so he could completely remove the fabric from her ankles with ease. He smiled, licking his lips as he finally took in the sight before him. Her pussy glistened in the sweltering sun, completely soaked with her arousal. His jaw went slack as he reached forward, spreading the wetness from her opening to her clit. Her head fell back and he lifted his head, taking in the sight before him with a wicked grin before focusing on her exposed core. “Prettiest pussy I’ve ever seen,” he drawled, inching closer until his mouth was on her, completely engulfing her clit. She moaned out loud, her body immediately reacting to JJ as her hips bucked beyond her control. “Fuck,” she gasped. Within a matter of seconds, it was evident to her that he knew exactly what the fuck he was doing. He roughly sucked her clit before licking her core with broad stripes, her sweet taste dominating all his senses as he lost his mind. “So fucking sweet,” he mumbled against her, the vibrations sending shockwaves throughout her body. When she looked down and saw his vibrant blue eyes locked on her as he ate her pussy like his life depended upon it, a loud moan escaped her open mouth, echoing throughout the marsh. With his eyes still locked with hers, he reached up and roughly pulled the fabric of her top to the side until her breasts were revealed to him.
She was a sight for fucking sore eyes, looking so incredibly sinful with her legs spread wide and tits on full display. She looked so goddamn beautiful like this and her taste? He was a total a goner. Her hands tangled in his messy blonde locks, tugging at the roots when he started playing with her nipples. “Fuck. Yes!” She hissed as she pushed his face further into her. He continued his assault on her cunt by using his free hand to slip his middle finger deep into her cunt. “So good, JJ!” She cried out, smiling at the feeling of being so full. He pulled back, removing his mouth from her momentarily and watched as his finger disappeared inside of her before pulling out and pushing right back in. This time, adding a second finger that stretched her out even more. “Don’t stop,” she begged, making him smile. He went back to work, focusing on her clit as he pumped his fingers deep inside of her. He lapped her up, moving his tongue at a blissful pace, while the sounds of his fingers fucking her greedy cunt filled the boat. With his free hand, he flicked her sensitive nipple, making her moan out even more as she clenched around his fingers, signaling to him that she was close. He curled his fingers upwards, pushing deep into her and massaging a spot that was so deep, Y/N didn’t even know it existed. “Fuck! Fuck!” She groaned, hips moving against his fingers as he pressed his face further into her, shaking his head from side to side. “JJ! Please, don’t stop,” she begged, feeling that she was on the precipice of her finish. With a palm full of her tit in his free hand, he squeezed roughly, teasing her nipple with the pad of his thumb and sending her over the edge. The blonde never stopped fucking her with his fingers or tongue through her high, ensuring the feeling of pure ecstasy lasted as long as possible for her. He only stopped when he felt her nails digging into his scalp as she attempted to pull him away.
Sitting back on his haunches, he took in her post-orgasm appearance. Her chest was rising and falling as she tried to calm her breathing with a blissed our smile on her face. She was drop dead gorgeous as it was but after she came? She looked so good that his chest ached for her, almost as much as his cock, which was incredibly hard and straining against his zipper. “That’s my pretty girl,” he cooed, messaging her thighs as he crashed his lips to hers, sharing the taste of her on his tongue. Y/N wrapped her arms around his neck as she kissed him back with everything she had.
Grasping her thighs, JJ lifted her as he got to his feet, clumsily stumbling backwards until he felt the seat in front of the helm hit the back of his knees. He laughed as he sat down, bringing her with him only for him to moan when her exposed core met his clothed erection as she sat on his lap, straddling him. “Shit,” he muttered, his hands finding her hips, holding her in place so he didn’t lose his mind too early. She bit her bottom lip, hiding a smile before she busied herself by littering his neck with wet kisses. “Baby,” he moaned as she explored his neck, only to find his most sensitive patch and sucking. “If you don’t stop, I’m going to fuck you right here,” he warned, his hands falling to her ass, giving it a harsh squeeze. “Do it. Fuck me, Maybank,” She replied, rocking her hips and grinding down on his cock as she pulled back to look at him. “Don’t make me beg.” He smiled at her empty threat, while snaking one hand up her body until he wrapped it around her neck. “Mmm. Don’t tempt me,” he teased, leaning forward and biting her neck before licking and sucking the same spot, sending shockwaves of pleasure down her naked spine. He reached behind her back, untying her bikini top and ripping it away from her body before his mouth found her tits. He wasted no time, kneading her breasts before taking two fist-fulls. He guided one of her nipples to his mouth, where he happily wrapped his lips around the hardened bud and sucked before flicking his tongue against it, eliciting a wrecked moan from the back of her throat. “JJ,” she whined, head falling back as he released her nipple with an pop before repeating the same action on the other, giving her perky tits equal attention.
“I need you.” Her made his stomach flip and his dick twitch at the same time. Although he loved teasing her and seeing exactly how desperate she was for him, he needed her just as badly. “I got you, mama,” he rasped, lips finding hers as he reached for his shorts. She held his face in her hands, shifting her weight onto her knees, which were pressed against leather seat on either side of him, lifting her weight, so he could remove the only pieces of clothing that separated them. In one swift movement, JJ shoved both his shorts and boxers down his legs with ease, releasing his hard cock, which stood at attention. As her tongue explored his mouth, she reached between them, taking his cock into her hand and pumping slowly, finally giving it a fraction of the attention he needs. “F-fuck,” he hissed, breaking apart to look down, watching her tiny hand at work as his red, swollen tip leaked pre-cum onto her thumb. He knew if she continued, he wouldn’t last long and he was desperate to be inside of her. He grabbed her wrist and pulled her hand away from him, lifting it to his lips and kissing the back of it before placing it flat against his chest, directly above his heart, which was beating at an alarming rate. JJ grasped his cock with one hand and guided her down on him with the other, angling himself at her center before locking eyes with her, silently asking if it was okay to continue. There was no going back after this. They both knew it and neither of them cared. It was only a matter of time before this happened. Here it was. He ran the head of his cock against her slit, collecting her arousal before he slowly pushed in with ease.
“JJ, fuck,” she gasped as he slid into home. Once every inch was buried deep inside of her, he watched her as her head fell backwards, appreciating exactly how beautiful she was, despite her wrecked appearance. He beamed with pride, knowing it was all because of him. Giving her time to adjust, the blonde’s hands were all over her, worshiping her smooth skin and sinful curves. “Can’t believe those assholes didn’t treat you right,” he spoke, barely over a whisper. “Gonna make you cum so fucking hard that you forget them, baby. I’ll treat you right. I fucking promise.” He babbled until he felt her move. She rocked her hips against his and JJ moaned. It was his turn to throw his head back in pleasure. “Fuck yeah,” he hissed, gripping her hips tight but allowing her to set the pace. He glimpsed down to where their bodies connected before gazing at her through hooded eyes. “Ride my cock, baby.”
Something inside of her snapped, although she couldn’t tell if it was because of his dirty words, the depth of his dick inside of her or JJ in genersl. She quickened her pace before alternating between rocking her hips and circling them before bouncing on his cock. “Oh,” she moaned, finding the best angle as the head of his cock pounded a spot deep inside of her that no one else had come close to finding. “My God,” she cried out, struggling to keep her eyes open and trained on his face as he watched her. She looked so goddamn gorgeous, he couldn’t tear his eyes away from her as she used his body to chase her high. He slid further down into the chair and gripped her hips, planting his feet firmly against the bottom of the boat, thrusting his hips upwards, fucking up into her. With his brows furrowed and his bottom lip nestled between his teeth, JJ focused on giving her the ride of her life, using every ounce of energy he had left in his tank. Lewd sounds filled the boat as the combination of skin hitting skin, her wetness, his grunts and the sexiest moans he’d ever heard became his favorite symphony. “Fuck, Y/N,” he groaned, feeling her pussy clench around him as she braced herself with her hands on his defined stomach, loving the way his muscles flexed under her palms with each thrust. “You feel so good, J,” she sighed as he slowed his hips, moving his cock in and out of her at a painfully slow pace, teasing the hell out of her. “Yes,” she drawled out the last letter, smiling before biting her bottom lip. He reached up and grabbed her neck, bringing her down to meet his lips in a desperate kiss.
“You gonna cum for me?” He asked, lips still pressed against hers as he spoke, his hand tightening ever so slightly around her throat. A moan escaped as she nodded, struggling to keep her eyes open. “Not yet. Hold it for me,” he demanded, releasing her throat and wrapping both of his strong arms around her as he sat up straight. He held her to his chest tightly, one hand caressing the back of her head, while the other guided her hips to move in perfect unison with his. “J, I can’t,” she whined, her head falling forward, forehead resting against his as she struggled to hold off her finish. “Yes, you can. You’re doing so good, baby,” he encouraged, digging his fingertips roughly into her hip. “When you cum, you keep your eyes open and on me, ‘kay?” He watched her nod in understanding before diving in and kissing her swollen lips, swallowing her sounds as his tongue entered her mouth. He grabbed her hips with both hands, guiding her up and down on his cock, while he thrusted upward, his hips meeting hers roughly, sending him as deep as their bodies would allow. Y/N held on to JJ for dear life, her hands tangled in his hair at the nape of his neck as she finally gave in to her orgasm, allowing it to take over every inch of her body. Feeling her clench around him one final time, JJ followed her, allowing his own release, his eyes never leaving hers as he coated her walls with his cum. He continued pumping his cock in and out of her until they both came down from their highs, clinging to one another and gasping for air. JJ’s hands slid from her waist to her back, keeping her body pressed to his, both covered in sweat from their actions and the summer sun.
A giggle escaped her lips as he brushed her hair out of her face, while she pushed hairs that were stuck to his forehead away from his, watching as the handsome blonde smiled brightly, beaming up at her. “Holy fucking shit,” she exclaimed, not bothering to move from his lap, although they were out in the open water. They both knew they could be spotted at any given second but fuck, neither of them could care any less. “What’s the verdict?” He asked, voice dripping with sincerity as he traced her spine with his fingertips in a soothing manner. She hummed, peppering kisses all over his face. “I now understand why people have sex addictions,” she exclaimed before they both erupted in laughter. “What about the whole,” she rolled her eyes, lifting her hands, “No Pogue on Pogue macking?” She said, using air quotes, making him laugh harder as he shrugged. “Fuck that. I’ll tell John B that shit went out the window when Kie stuck her tongue down his and Pope’s throat.” He gently caressed her face in his hands, his tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip as he stared at her lips. “Which I wanna do to you so bad for at least the next hour.” Before he could reach her mouth, she stopped him with her hands against his bare chest. “Take me home, so I can give you the best head of your life and then, you can kiss me all night long.” JJ’s wicked smile returned as he gave her a playful salute, followed by a wink.
bathroom b!tch; tangerine/fem!reader (smut; 18+)
part two | part three | part four
playlist: train quickie with tangerine
Tangerine meets you in one of the bathrooms on the bullet train. He just wants to clean up after his tussle with Ladybug and get rid of the blood, but he could use you to blow off some steam as well. You know: he has to take it if he sees it.
word count: 5,9k
warnings: mirror sex, bathroom sex, semi public, fingering, oral (female receiving), blood (it's tangerine's), squirting, dry humping, rather rough sex, unprotected sex, light choking, confined spaces, dirty talk, name calling, kinda a quickie?, tangerine's a little rude but surprisingly gentle too idk he's just like that, he just needs to fuck the adrenaline outta himself, i have very strong feelings about this angry man
title is from the song of the same name, bathroom bitch by holychild
also thank you v for a) helping me out with Japanese and b) by telling me what being a passenger on a bullet train feels like
You knew it was a bad idea.
Starring at yourself in the impressively clean mirror of the small bathroom, you try your best to hold back any fresh tears.
You knew that a long-distance relationship wouldn't work. You fucking knew it and yet you accepted your fiancés pleas to Just try it. Maybe, it indeed would've worked out if he wasn't fucking his bloody secretary.
You regret leaving London. You miss your home.
You're not even that heartbroken, you just feel exhausted, like you wasted an awful lot of time.
You take a long, good look at yourself. Bloodshot eyes and a sad hue resting over your pupils, turning the colour dark and deep. The dress, that you bought for your anniversary brunch – a surprise, quite as much as the one he gave you, when you walked in on him, balls deep in his secretary – now looks oddly strange, out of place on you. You feel overdressed and ashamed, foolish.
But there’s something else, too: the loneliness that followed suite after your screaming, after fighting with him - after breaking up with him. It's been there since you boarded the train to Nagoya but now it rolls over you like a wave of-
Thump, thump.
"What the fuck", you mutter, taking a ragged breath, before yelling out, "Occupied!"
You just want to be left at fucking peace, not being watched by other passengers as you're bawling your eyes out. All you want is to get off that train and burn some of that fucker’s money on a spontaneous vacation. All you want is for the remaining days in Japan to be good ones.
Another sharp knock follows. This one rattles the door.
It takes a moment for you to scramble for the right words, the ones you have picked up when visiting your fiancé before. "Shiyouchu!"
Another knock. And another.
Motherfucker.
You clench your teeth - saying goodbye to the precious moments of crying in silence for the year you've lost to the most useless relationship of all fucking mankind - and wipe away the wetness below your eyes to open the door. "I said-"
Oh.
Oh shit.
There's a very handsome man waiting outside the door. He is towering over you, impatience plastered on his face and seeping through his every movement, with the way he's leaning against the door frame.
He's hot.
Also, he's dripping in blood.
His light blue shirt, once crisp and clean, is now disshelved and just as stained as his expensive looking dark-blue vest.
"Jesus, fuck, are you alright?", you blurt out.
The man's raising an eyebrow. "Could be asking you the same, love. Now, would you please get the fuck outta there."
He's moving towards you, closing in the last few inches separating the two of you. Your gaze is focused on the nasty cut on his arm.
"You're bleeding", you say dumbly.
His eyes shoot up at you and for a split-second you feel like you are face to face with a predator. The anxiety, that the blood and his rude behaviour sparked in your chest, sends adrenaline pumping through your veins and has the muscles your legs preparing for fight or flight. He blinks.
"I know", he says and his lips curl up to something, that you're convinced is supposed to be a smile, "Now, if ya'd be so kind?"
He gestures behind you, towards the empty bathroom.
"No?", you say, voice shooting up a little, which immediately has him cautiously throwing a glance down the hall to his right, "No, I won't! You need help, how the fuck -- what the fuck happened?"
"You're starting to really get on my fuckin’ tits, pretty thing. Would y'just let me the fuck inside?", he growls, tilting his head towards you. His tone has the hairs on your arms rising, as he is starring you into the ground.
You back up, colliding unpleasantly with the doorframe, that nearly drills itself into your left shoulder.
"Thank you, Lady", he's squeezing past you and then turns around again, giving you a quick one-over. You are unable to move, mesmerized by the way he's looking at you.
The corners of his mouth tilt up again and one of his hands, a little sticky and red with his own blood, comes up to his face, straightening his moustache, as his gaze runs over your body once more. You should leave, you should run - clearly, something is awfully and so not right but you just can't, being glued to the spot by his eyes.
It shouldn't make your loins grow hot, but you can't help it. You feel your belly tingle, shooting sparks down down down between your legs. He is very attractive and the aura of pure fucking danger that wafts around him doesn’t do what it normally should do – instead, it pulls you in. Oh, aren’t you just fucked.
"What were y'saying about help, again?", the man murmurs, gaze locking with yours.
"Uuuh", it's a very stupid sound you make and his eyes spark up at that, lips giving room to flash some teeth, "I-I just said you look like you might need some help?"
"Well, maybe I do."
He licks his lower lip and you blink, gaze following the movement.
This is very stupid. This is risky, dangerous, and most likely something you are going to regret.
It's not only the situation, it's him, too. He seems dangerous. It's not only the blood, mind you. It’s the way he moves, how his eyes dart through the room, over your body. It’s the aggression in his voice that he’s trying to hide, cover up but ultimately fails, something that seeps through every pore of him.
But he's also just ridiculously hot, walking with his crotch first, heavy northern British accent swirling the words around his tongue and, fuck, it's mostly the way he's looking at you.
And you're just so fucking full of anger and grief and your life feels strangely directed and determined by your shitty-ass fiancé and there's so much rage and sadness -
You take a step into the bathroom and the door slides shut behind you.
"Good", he hums, "Because you do look, like you could also use some help."
The door locks behind you and take another step forward, approaching him. "You have no fucking idea", revenge sex is a very stupid concept but now, it seems very tempting. It's exciting and makes you feel oddly alive.
"Did'ya get dumped?", and you don't know why you trust him with that information but you can hear yourself say: "Cheated on. Fiancé of twelve months." There is a hand sneaking around your waist, pulling you in closer. You can smell him now, the blood on his skin and clothes, the heavy scent of his perfume – it’s warm and thick, vanilla and fruit, like an orange grove.
"Allow me the comment - that's one bloody stupid bastard."
You look up at him and blink. That man's insanely pretty and you swallow as he pulls you in even closer, your hand connecting with his chest. It is firm and warm and your fingers get a little sticky with the fresh blood on his shirt. They splay out, feeling the firm muscle flex beneath the expensive fabric.
"How much time d'we have, sugar?", he hums, runs his thumb across your lower lip.
"I have to get off in Nagoya."
"Gonna get you off alright now, sweetie", you roll your eyes at that and he chuckles, "Bit more than half'n hour I'd say. Think we can manage that?"
You nod while biting your lip, adrenaline thick and heavy in your veins, pumping your blood down south and making you wet wet wet, and he laughs at that, runs his tongue along his bright, bright teeth.
It's sheer excitement that has your belly tingle and you lock your eyes with his, the darkening blueish green pulling you in and then he leans down, locks his lips with yours.
They are soft and warm and his moustache tingles a little. You hum against his lips, one hand fisting his vest as the other sneaks up his muscular arm, runs over and through the blood, up up up next to the cut and comes a halt on his neck. The hand on your waist holds you close, fingers spread out delicately as he starts to feel you up.
His tongue darts out and licks over your lips and you gladly give him more room, parting your lips slightly. He's pushing in, licking into your mouth. You hum deep in your throat, pressing against him, tasting the cigarette smoke on his lips.
You can feel the bulge in his pants, his dick pressing hotly against your lower belly. It ignites your loins, pleasure shooting through your abdomen.
You moan into his mouth and he responds by pushing you back, heaving you up the small sink, deepening the kiss. Your back presses against the mirror as you clutch onto him, hand running up his neck and into his hair, slick with product and a little sticky with sweat. Your knees hit his hipbones and the man starts to roll his hips into yours, having his hard dick rubbing against your crotch and your eyelids flutter with the feeling. He's rock-hard and so so hot through his dress pants and you can't fucking wait to get to it.
He eventually breaks the kiss, breath ragged as his eyes roam over your face, hands feeling your thighs up. You decide that you need more of him and thus, your free hand roams over his chest, fingers making quick work of his vest. As soon as you pop the last button, he hastily tears it off of himself, throws it to the ground where it lands with a quiet thud.
"C'mon sweetheart, I know you clammin' to touch me", he says, voice deep and raspy and you do - like you're on fucking autopilot. Your hands dart out, roaming over his defined chest. He feels nice and firm and makes you want him more, want to feel all of him, all at once.
He hums quietly, as you open a few buttons of his shirt and run your hands over the sweaty, warm skin, through the dust of fine chest hair, making his chain rustle. He feels nice and it makes you want him.
The man looks up from your hands and you don't know what has come over you as your hand glides up further, cupping his neck, thumb on his jawline. "Fuck me", you breathe, "Fuck me 'til I can't walk."
He grins and leans in even closer, his clothed and hard dick pressing against your wet panties, as he's kissing a wet trail from your jaw to your ear. "Who would've thought - such a naugh'y lil'mouth on such a pretty woman."
You hook one leg around his waist, tugging lightly at the hair that's curling in his neck as he starts to suck on your neck. The slight pain ignites your lust, has arousal blooming and wetness pooling between your legs. You want to tell him to stop, before he marks you up for good as --
"Name's Tangerine", he suddenly rasps, as his tongue rubs over the spot he has been sucking on and you're pretty damn sure that he just gave you a hickey.
"Like the-"
"The fucking fruit, yeah. 'M gonna burst you more like something of a cherry, though", he rumbles, quietly laughing to himself with his fingers digging into your hips.
Your breath hitches in your throat as he presses himself flush against you - all firm muscles, perfume, and hot skin - tongue licking over your throat like the hot blade of a knife, dancing over your jaw.
It's most likely not his real name and that should really, really alert you. But it doesn't - instead you surrender yourself to him, letting your head fall back and parting your legs, inviting him in.
And the man -Tangerine - follows suite and shoves your dress up up up, runs his hands over your now exposed thighs. You lean forward a little, until your lips brush over his. "Name's Y/N", you whisper and his eyes glint a little at that, "Pleasure to meet you."
"Oh, you gon' be a fun one", he grins and you do too, before leaning in and kissing him again. He is less gentle now, keen on getting you hot, his kisses turn sloppy quickly, biting your lower lip and licking into your mouth until you lack air. The thumbs on your legs dive in deeper, until they connect with your crotch. And then, one of them gently runs over your soaked panties.
Tangerine breaks the kiss, wet lips brushing over the corner of your mouth, only to inhale sharply - keeps his cheeks puffed theatrically for a short moment, then exhales just as sharply, eyeing you up and down. "Jesus Christ, that pussy of yours s'fucking wet, innit?", he rumbles and two of his fingers run over the wet fabric once more, slowly starting to rub your clit.
You gasp, hips bucking a little and you watch the way his hand vanishes under the hem of your dress. "Fuck", you moan quietly as he quickly finds the spot that makes your thighs clench. He rubs you through your panties, soft lace turning wet wet wet and dampening his skin. Your mouth falls agape seeing his wrist twitching between your legs and the way he's looking down at it, a little mesmerized, makes your head swim. Then, he stops.
"Yeah, let's get those off", he mutters, more to himself than to you and then he's tugging at the straps of your panties, riiips the lace and tears them apart. "Oh-", you gasp unintelligently as he carelessly drops them to the ground and you really don't fucking mind at all.
It's the first time in a long time that you feel wanted, like someone's actually hungry, greedy for you. And it turns you on. A lot. It is like Tangerine has flipped a switch and you want him just as much as he seems to want you. And you want it now.
You blink at him through your lashes. "You gonna touch me now?"
"Easy, love", he chuckles, genuinely amused and then his fingers are slooowly creeping back over your legs, until his index finger finally touches your exposed cunt. The touch is cold, but not unpleasant and you suck in a sharp breath, one that hitches in your throat.
He watches you, as he runs it over your pussy, quickly joined by a second, digits running up and down, spreading your slick. You hum, pleasure building up in your abdomen and then, finally, his fingers return to your clit.
Slow, wide circles spread your lips apart, making you moan and throwing your head back in pleasure. His bracelet clinks as he quickly picks up a faster rhythm, keen on seeing you coming loose, circles growing smaller.
"Oh shit, yes that's fucking it", you can feel arousal building in your stomach, shooting through your body. Tangerine laughs under his breath and his lips are onto you again, licking and sucking over your straightened neck. You don't give a fuck anymore, the slight pain of him bruising your skin makes your hips buck and rolling against his digits.
"Such a good girl, ain't ya?, he groans against your neck and it sends shivers down your spine as you're moaning and gasping, nodding frantically.
Your body feels like it has been ignited, with the way his fingers rub your clit, teasing your pussy and then there's one finger circling your hole and fuck, you really fucking need it. You spread your legs farther and Tangerine puuushes in, sinks one rather cold finger in your hole, your hot hot skin meeting the cold gold of his ring.
Tangerine starts to fuck you slowly, finger pushing in and out of you, until you're loose enough to take a second one. His rings thrust against your hole every time he pushes them back inside and the sensation has you whining, his lips still glued to your neck, occasionally moving down down down to you cleavage, licking fat stripes over your warm, sweaty skin.
A flood of very good, very dangerous emotions has one of your hands abandoning the sink, instead running up his arm, splaying across his shoulder. You can feel the muscles working slightly beneath the light blue fabric, a little dampened by his sweat. "Fuck, you make me so hot, shit, that feels so good", you whimper quietly, gasping as his fingers push even deeper. It seems to kick Tangerine off, moustache grazing your skin as he’s picking up an even faster rhythm - rubbing, circling your clit faster, adding more pressure - obscene squelching sounds filling the air of the small bathroom. You moan as pleasure shoots up your spine, has you rocking on and against his fingers.
You can feel your walls clenching around his fingers, hole fluttering against the cold, golden rings and then --
He breaks from your throat and whistles lowly as fresh wetness pools around his fingers, your squirt dampening his golden bracelet and the cuff of his shirt.
Tangerine pulls his fingers out of you slowly, slick with your juices and looks at them for a few seconds, the way your wetness is glistening on his skin in the dim lights. He brings them up up up, gaze connecting with yours and then -
They go past his lips, as his tongue darts out and licks them clean. You blink - once, twice. "Fuck", you breathe, and he chuckles.
"You taste like a fuckin' dream, love", his hands push your legs further apart and before you know it, he sinks down to his knees. You blink at him, as he lifts the hem of your dress up, "Might wanna hold that f'me", and you do, pulling the fabric as high up as you can, exposing yourself to him further.
Tangerine tsks as he takes the sight in and you can feel your cheeks growing hot, burning red, as his fingers dance over your pussy.
"Don't ya just have the prettiest cunt?", he hums, running his fingers through your folds, "'M gonna fuck ya so good."
"Jesus, Tangerine", you huff out, legs shaking a little as his thumb carefully rubs over your clit.
Tangerine looks up at you, smirking a little and then he's leaning in, hands coming to rest on your thighs, forcing your legs apart. He's not breaking eye contact, keeps your gazes chained together, as he dives in and licks a long, fat stripe from your hole upwards to your clit.
You fucking mewl, as his moustache rubs over your sensitive skin, tongue circling your clit for a short moment. His eyes gleam up at you, watching your reaction as his tongue swipes down, over your folds to your hole, teasing it. It has your legs kicking a little and you grab the sink with both your hands, as your thighs give a quick shake.
You can hear him chuckle deep in his throat and it makes you hot hot hot all over, with the way his tongue crawls back up, lips grazing your cunt and then he's onto your clit once more, gently lapping at it, placing soft kisses on the sensitive skin.
A strangled noise escapes your throat as arousal rushes through your abdomen and up up up your whole body, has your chest heaving with a ragged breath and rolling your hips forward. It's so so good, but not enough - you just need more.
"Don't ya move, love", Tangerine rasps and one of his hands grabs your hips forcefully, dress sliding up to your navel as he's holding you in place. The other crawls up your lower leg and thigh, teasing your folds and then one finger presses against your hole, pushes in roughly.
You moan as he immediately starts to fuck you with it, pumping your wetness in and out of you with a rather merciless rhythm, keen on having you come for him, having you squirt once more.
His eyelids flutter, long and dark lashes against his pale skin as his tongue licks over your folds, tasting your wetness and taking your scent in. You're tasting so so sweet to him, like a fucking forbidden fruit that he's going to devour anyways, because he can and he will and because fuck the rules he had set himself for this job.
He closes his eyes as he pushes a second finger into you, pumping them in and out of you, while his tongue laps at your cunt, lips closing in around your folds, gently sucking. His fingers are fucking you fast now, pushing you further and further.
"Oh god", you gasp, one hand still holding your own weight, the other now fisting his hair, pulling it. It seems to spur him on, hooking one of your legs over his shoulder and placing wet, open-mouthed kisses on your cunt, gently nibbling at the soft skin as his finger pumps into you. It's even better than before, with his beard scratching you and his tongue and lips gliding over your cunt as if it were a riddle he's going to solve without his hands. The heel of your shoe digs into his back - desperate for any leverage, to just feel him - as you are nearing your release.
"Shit, fuck fuck fuck", your voice sounds strange in your ears, high-pitched and far far away, between the squelching sounds that his rapidly moving fingers pull out of your pussy, "I'm gonna-"
He hums and then, after a short moment, pulls his digits out of you and grabs your hips hard, holding you in place, not stopping his tongue from rubbing over your cunt hard.
It tips you over the edge, has you breaking loose. You gasp loudly, throwing your head back against the mirror, incoherent rambling leaving your lips as you come - riding your orgasm out on his face as he licks you through your orgasm, your hips bucking wildly with it.
As your orgasm rolls over you, you already know that this isn't over. Usually, you would be spent for now, calm and a little tired but right now - you're not at all, lust still rolling over you, fresh wetness pooling between your legs again. "Mhm, shit", you breathe, feet kicking a little as Tangerine's tongue continues to flick over your clit. You are still wet, already desperate for more, more of him.
All you can think about is his hard dick, that you've felt earlier pressing against your crotch and pure want tingles in your stomach. Tangerine's lips close in around your throbbing clit, overstimulation making your head swim.
"Please, fuck, please", your hip bucks against his iron grip that holds you steadily against the sink. Tangerine looks up at you again and let’s go of your clit with an obscene pop. His moustache is dampened by your wetness as he grins up at you. "Please please", he mocks your high-pitched whines and then smirks, "Wan'it that bad, love?"
"Need you - ah, fuck - inside me. Oh, shit", you whine, as your hole clenches around nothing, desperate for more than his fingers. You are so turned on by this stranger, lust crashing over your body like waves - you can feel its tingle in your chest, your legs, feeling your pussy desperate for another touch.
Tangerine blinks for a moment and you're sure, that you saw his eye twitch and then he, very dramatically, takes a deep breath, closes his eyes. "Shit, love, you make me feel all sorts o'things", he says quietly and then quickly gets up, wipes his lips with the back of his hand.
He leans in and his lips lock with yours again and you can taste yourself on his tongue, as he licks into your mouth, grinning against your lips, damp stache rubbing over your upper lip. He licks over it, groans deep in his throat, while his hands brush over your legs, before he commands, whispers against your lips: "Bend over the sink f'me.”
"What?", you blink, words not really reaching you through the lustful haze that has wrapped your brain in like cotton candy. All you can do is look at him, at this very handsome stranger with the very fake name and he has your head swimming, brain giving in and surrendering to lust once more.
You take the hand he offers you as he helps you down the sink, your legs a little wobbly. "Alright c'mon now, girl, don't keep me waitin'", Tangerine gives you a light pat on the cheek, rings barely connecting with your skin - a patronizing gesture that has your knees going ever weaker for a moment as you try to turn around, hands gripping the edges of the sink.
You watch him in the mirror, as he makes quick work of his belt and the fly of his trousers. As he pulls his dick out, your mouth waters. It's long and big and has just the right girth, a drop of precum glistening on its tip. You'd really like to suck that cock, like right motherfucking now.
Tangerine looks at you. "Got all hungry fo'it?", and you nod - breathing out Fuck yeah - arching your back for him, "Alright love, just a minute."
He spits in his hand and rubs the saliva over his dick, giving himself one, two strokes. You arch your back, keeping your eyes on him as he grabs your hips hard, lines himself up, head of his dick resting against your hole - all hot and hard - and then he finally, finally pushes himself in. The stretch is nice and has you squirming a little with the dull pain, excitement lighting your nerves up.
"Jesus Christ", his head falls forward a little, "You're so fuckin' tight."
He bottoms out, forcing himself in deep, holding still. You can feel his dick twitching inside of you, but he doesn't move and you can see his chest heaving, hear him grunt. His hand roams over your bare ass, shoving the dress even higher, until your back is partly exposed and his hand creeps around your body, over your stomach and under the dress, slips beneath your bra and cups one of your tits.
Tangerine squeezes it, feels you up and then pulls his dick back out only to quickly push himself back in. The sound that leaves your throat is nothing but desperate and your hand grips the sink harder, knuckles slowly turning white. His jaw is going a little slack as he rolls his hips into you, fucking you slowly.
"Ah shit", he groans, a deep and coarse sound, that makes you shiver, "Doesn't that just feel lovely?"
He watches the way his dick pumps into your pussy, eyebrows drawn together, lips slightly agape - until his gaze meets yours in the mirror once more and there it is - a shadow that dances over his eyes, turning the mesmerizing blue and green dark dark dark. One of his hands suddenly darts forward, rings glimmering in the dim light, only to roughly grab your chin, forcefully holding your head in place. It hurts a little, but the pain feels good, the way it stretches your back and intensifies the arch of it, forces you to look at him and yourself. Your mascara is pooling beneath your eyes, pupils blown wide and cheeks reddened.
"Would'ya just look at yourself", Tangerine groans, "Ya might be the hottest fucking thing I've seen in a long fuckin' time --" He groans again, thumb catching your lower lip and you moan as you watch his face coming a little loose with pleasure.
Tangerine picks up a faster rhythm, thrusting into you and you push your hips back, meeting him - desperate for more more more. He grins at you in the mirror and his hand creeps a little lower, until it rest riiight below your jawline and then -
Then he squeezes.
It has you gasping, choking a little at the sudden loss of air and the feeling of your windpipe being closed. Your hip bucks against his and he licks his lips.
The lack of air has adrenaline rushing through your veins once more, as his dick pushes against your spongy hot walls and you feel your body surrendering to him fully, the small voice in the back of your head remembering you that You are at his mercy has you growing even wetter.
The hand lets go off your throat, now gently holding your head in place and you suck in a few deep breaths, gasping, greedily sucking in the air, as --
There must be a bump on the rails, as the wagon suddenly lifts a little and has you thrown forward towards the mirror, shoves his dick deeper into you. You moan, instinctively catching his eyes in the mirror.
His lips are slightly parted, eyes darkened by lust and his fingers dig into the flesh of your hips. The train speeds up just as he leans forward, throws his chest against your back. His body is so so hot against yours and your walls flutter around his dick, as his scent wraps you in once more.
Tangerine lowers his head, until his forehead rests on your shoulder, cock twitching inside of you. "Ya have no bloody idea what'cha doin' to me, Lady", he says, voice coarse and dark and your eyelids flutter, "'M gonna ruin ya."
He lifts his head a little and your gazes connect in the mirror once more. A shiver runs down your spine - he means it.
And you feel it, too, as he thrusts into you once, knocks the air out of your lungs with the sheer force of it. The tip of his dick hits the spot perfectly and you nearly cry out in pleasure, hands gripping the sink tightly. There are small lines forming around his eyes as he's grinning against your shoulder, pulls out a little only to force himself back in, even deeper this time. The hand that was toying with your tit leaves, crawls back down and his arm wraps itself around your waist, holds you close.
Your legs shake as Tangerine picks up a faster rhythm, starts pounding in to you like a starved man, like an animal gone wild. It's in his eyes, hunger hunger hunger and you feel pleasure shooting through your body, pooling in your abdomen. You squirt against his dick, wetting the trimmed pubic hair as his balls slap against your wet skin.
You suck in a sharp breath, a strangled high pitched whiny moan escaping your lips, as he hits your walls again, tip of his dick brushing over your g-spot, having you seeing stars. Your eyelids flutter, gasps escaping your mouth with every one of his thrusts.
"Be fuckin' loud, you lil'slut, I don't care - one - bit", he says through gritted teeth, each word one thrust, "If they come knockin'. I’ll kill’em."
It shouldn’t – really, it shouldn’t – but it has your head swimming, rocking back against him, obscene sounds filling the small bathroom and you moan loudly. His jewellery rustles and clinks as he ruts into you, huffing against your shoulder. The force of his thrusts has your body moving back and forth like a ragdoll, hipbones bouncing against the sink, one of your hands coming loose and pressing flat against the mirror, desperate for any sort of leverage.
You can feel yourself clenching around him, white hot pleasure building on the edges of your brain, until there's nothing left but him him him.
"Fuck", you cry out, "I'm gonna fucking cum, shit shit shit", lips falling agape with pure pleasure. It’s too much and you can feel your muscles tensing.
The hand around your throat tightens a bit more and that’s all you need – has your eyes falling shut, your second orgasm rolling over you. It knocks the air straight out of your lungs, has you going limp, while the muscles in your thighs and abdomen clench, holding and squeezing his dick inside of you.
You can hear him moan deeply, sounding far far away and then his cum hits your walls, paints it as he buries himself deep deep inside of you. You gasp, desperate for air and he lets go off your throat.
You suck in a few breaths and feel him doing the same, chest heaving against your back. "Fuck", he says and slowly straightens back up, looking at you in the mirror.
"Y'good over there, love?"
"Uh-huh", you hum, unable to speak, and blink at him. His hair's a mess and his cheeks are a little reddened, glistening with sweat.
Tangerine fucking winks at you and then slooowly, very carefully pulls out of you. You inhale sharply as you feel some of his cum following suite, dripping down your legs. You want to straighten up, too, clean it up, but he's quicker, taking one of the disposable towels and gently sweeps along your cunt.
"'S good, I can do that too, y'know", you say and take it from him, cleaning yourself up. For a long moment, while you can hear him putting himself back in his pants, there's silence between the two of you. Only, as you carefully put your dress back in place, does he look at you again.
"Be careful tonight, sweetheart", he says nonchalantly while tugging his shirt back into his slacks. He says it like it's nothing but it has the hairs on your body standing up.
I’ll kill’em. I’ll kill’em. I’ll kill’em. You look on the slight stains that his blood left on your fingers, that soaked his shirt.
"Make you sure you get out of that train in Nagoya, y'hear me?", his gaze is soft as it lands upon you. Your brain goes numb with anxiety.
"Y-yeah, yeah sure. I'm meeting a friend there, wouldn't miss her for the world."
He smiles at that. A genuine, warm smile. It does something funny to your stomach. "Alright love, gotta dash", he's straightening his vest and giving himself a glance in the mirror, running his hands through his hair, "There's this chap I gotta get rid of. Gimme a call, when you're in London, would'ya?"
You just nod and take the slim, white card he hands you. The numbers on it are orange.
"Very fucking funny", you huff and he grins, leans down towards you, and places his lips on your cheek. The kiss is feather-light but it'll haunt you late at night in the weeks, months to come after the story of the crashed bullet train breaks the international news. But right now, it makes your chest tingle in all the right ways.
"Tis'a good girl, eh?", Tangerine whispers and then, throwing one last look at you, struts out of the door.
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