It couldn’t have been more than thirty, thirty-five seconds before he nodded, but it felt like at least an eternity, likely more. He was trained to think, to move, quickly — before he’d joined Seline Rhodes’ security detail, he had been a promising officer with la Police Nationale in Bordeaux, and long before that, he was the fastest boy (beat out only by Céleste Caillat’s thoroughbred’s legs) in his class in Megève — but working for such an important woman had given him cause to consider his actions before he carried them out and couldn’t take them back. Slowly, again, he turned from her, reaching into his pocket to retrieve the keycard for the adjoining room, officially off the clock with her dismissal. He reached up, to loosen the tie at his neck, undoing one of his jacket’s cuffs, advancing for the suite’s door quickly. Wes turned back, looking at the Madame, her words striking him far too late.
“I could stay, Madame, until you have fallen asleep. So you will know you are safe awhile longer.”
She would have to shower, he would have to hear the water running and imagine what she looked like under her pantsuits and Chanel tweet skirts. He had seen one of her bras once, left on a chair in her bedroom in her Paris apartments when he was doing a sweep. He had half wondered if she had done it on purpose before thinking himself delusional. It had been pretty red lace; it would have looked prettier on her, with her raven-coloured hair and those lively green eyes. He tried not to make it a habit, thinking about what she looked like, except to notice when something was wrong. Those eyeglasses she had been wearing, he noticed them more than could be considered habitual, he always noticed them.
‘Don’t be brave, Wesley,’ he told himself, proceeding immediately to ignore his own advice. “I could sleep in the parlour tonight, Madame. If you want that. Closer to you, if you need me.”
The guards stationed outside her door would wonder why he hadn’t left. He always left through her door, despite the fact their rooms were adjoined and separated by a door of their own. Using that one seemed wrong, like there was nothing separating them at all, really.
“What would you like me to do, Madame?”
‘Closer to you, if you need me.’ The statement echoes, bouncing through the contours of her subconscious wildly, a repetition she can’t quite quell into submission. She does need him, more than she’d ever like to admit, though she doesn’t dare voice that aloud. It’s a feeling, a deep seeded desire, she isn’t accustomed to. Seline never needed anyone - her mother used to declare the simple statement to any neighbor in Tarbes who’d ask, voice filled with unwavering pride, the most certain thing she knew. And yes, she was right, Seline would be the first to admit; independent, stubborn, and headstrong to a fault, but whether or not she was still the same girl from the Midi-Pyrénées was a question that frequently left her tossing and turning at night. Often times, she didn’t feel like she was the same person, not in the slightest. Her teeth find their way into her bottom lip, biting down, chewing at the flesh there, a nervous habit that further served as a reminder that maybe she hasn’t changed all that much after all. “I’d like you to stay,” she admits, voice lowered, eyes trained to the pointy end of her Saint Laurent stilettos, discarded near the foot of her desk, black leather shiny under the artificial glow of the nearby desk lamp. “But I... I would feel bad if you didn’t have a proper place to sleep.” She thinks of her queen sized mattress, sheets of an especially extensive thread count, the finest silk from Lyon the hotel could procure. It felt lonely at times, all that space for her and her alone, the fabric inexplicably cold without any added body heat. They could easily share the bed, two bodies at either side, and still possess a considerable expanse between them. The thought is ridiculous, Seline knows it. Wesley’s silence speaks legions for him. And yet... she doesn’t imagine them maintaining all that distance for all too long. Her thoughts are far from pure then, and the intensity of Wes’ gaze almost confirms that he can read them. “I would feel better if you stayed with me.” She doesn’t elaborate further. Her cheeks redden as she’s sure he can discern the implication behind her words.
“your friends are a fate that befell me / hell is the talking type
i’d suffer Hell if you’d tell me / what you’d do to me tonight”
Wesley & Seline ( @sakurastyles )
Location: The Peninsula Paris
He was on a merciless edge, watching from the corner as his principal — the close quarters had forced him, more and more often, to think of her as Seline, and that was dangerous — bid a terse ‘adieu’ to the ministers that had defected to her hotel room. The week was in shambles, this place and not her apartments in Saint Germain-des-Prés was proof: the attacks in Marseilles and Lyon had carried warnings. We’ll have the young députée’s head. They had relocated her from her public address immediately, booking her room and the adjoining under an assumed name, marking exits and making emergency plans. He had always known she would be trouble, she was so young, so clever, so adored, but faced with the very worst kind of trouble, she had paled for the first time he had ever seen, her fingers pressing to her throat, in fear for her life as the DGSI broke down the measures they would be forced to take for her protection. He was, in a way, responsible for her caging in this five star hotel.
He had intended to apologise, in a quiet way (but still, dangerous, he hadn’t forgotten the escaped moment in the Loire Valley château not even a week ago), but the treacherous ministers who had come to visit and offer support made that impossible. Now, they were gone, off to his colleagues for vetting, but Seline was buried in her dossiers, he thought. She would want to sleep soon. To shower. He would have to go.
Wes ensured the room was clear, conducting a thorough sweep before allowing Seline into her chambre again, speaking low and slow into his radio. ‘Principal secured. She is going to sleep.’ To her, he made a proposition, the dare in his eyes and not his words: “Bonne nuit, Madame, I will be next door if needed.”
She had known fear before - intimately well, to a certain extent, the kind of fear that coursed through her blood with vigor, a pounding, white hot sensation, at times unavoidable. She had thought she’d been above that fear, especially now. She was older, with so much more experience under her belt, the kind of experience that had matured a young, bright eyed girl into a wary and cautious one, careful. Seline’s life had been threatened before, sure, anyone’s in politics has, but never with circumstances like these. Never in a way that made her blood run cold. She’s exhausted, the duration of the day and the stresses of her situation finally catching up with her, an impossible weight bearing down on her shoulders that she’s attempted to avoid. She’s still nervous, but instead of worrying herself sick, she decides to finish the work she was supposed to have on her minister’s desk earlier in the week, postponed after the most recent attack. As her fatigued irises follow the letters on the page, unable to construct words from the nonsensical shapes, Seline feels a calming presence enter her hotel room behind her. She hears Wesley before she sees him, near-silent footsteps slipping stealthily against carpet, his careful murmur as he confirms her bedroom and her person as secure, the timbre of his voice deep and calming, though her stomach still flutters. He’s her bodyguard, the hired help there to keep her alive in one piece, there for a paycheck, she’s sure, though at times it feels different in a way she can’t quite place. It was late and she had another early morning ahead of her, more dossiers to read, a report to construct, but she wanted him there, didn’t really feel as safe as she did when she knew that he’d watch over her with his life, if it came to that. He had made sure she knew as much before. She wanted him there even if he shouldn’t be.
Seline clears her throat and nods at him curtly. He needed his own sleep too, rest in order to conduct his job well, though she had a feeling that neither would be able to do much of it tonight.
“Merci again.” The words feel clunky from her mouth, throat dry from a lack of use. Her nimble fingers pull the wide framed glasses she wears from the bridge of her nose. She’d spent most of the day listening, following orders from others. It was what she was good at. “Your presence comforts me in ways you may never know, monsieur.” The formality just as uncomfortable, but necessary. Seline studies the gleam in his irises, so familiar, so dangerous. Dangerous in a different way, one that doesn’t incite fear. But should.
“Hey… Can we try something new?”
“Is it going to hurt?”
“Wait! I…I’ve never done this before.”
“Just be still and relax…”
“Er, am I doing this right?”
“I’m not hurting you, am I?”
“I want my first time to be with you.”
“Oh my god, I’m so sorry- I didn’t mean to finish so early!”
“Ah, I feel so embarrassed…”
PUBLIC AFFAIRS -
“Wow…you’re easy to rile up.”
“Forget the bed…let’s do it right here.”
“What if someone sees us?!”
“Quiet down or they’ll hear us.”
“Try to keep quiet…we wouldn’t want to get caught.”
“Are you serious? Here? Now?”
“We should do it somewhere else other than a bed tonight.”
“Home is too far away. No one’s going to see us here.”
“I’m going to mark you as mine tonight.”
“I wish I could control myself better around you, but when I see you, all I want to do is rip your clothes off and fuck you.”
PICK-UP LINES && SUGGESTIONS. -
“I’m going outside to make out… care to join me?”
“What’s your favorite silverware? Because I like to spoon!”
“Don’t mind me, just enjoying the view.”
“Thank god I’m wearing gloves, because you’re too hot to handle.”
“I think I could fall madly in bed with you.”
“Can I put you on my to-do list?”
“I can’t take my eyes off of you.“
“If these people weren’t here, I would be on my knees with your cock in my mouth.”
“Kiss the hell out of me. Please.”
“You can stay but your clothes must go.”
“I like my reflection a little more with you all over me.”
“Does this feel good?”
“Take a bath with me?”
“Are you sure you want to do it in the shower- we could slip!”
“Where do you think you’re going?”
“And how are you going to make it up to me?”
“My sexual preference is often.”
“i got a new apartment, and i need someone to put clothes on the floor. “
“I just want to bend you over and fuck you hard…”
HOT && HEAVY -
“You make such adorable sounds.”
“ Want to make me scream? I’ll bet you can. “
“S-Stop staring at me like that!”
“So are we going to do this already or what?”
“Stop teasing!”
“do you know how bad i want you?”
“you’re so sexy when you’re hot and bothered.”
“Don’t cover your mouth…I like hearing you.”
“Aw, you’re so cute when you blush like that.”
“We’ve only got three minutes…let’s do this fast.”
“get on your knees.”
“oh, look who’s not wearing any underwear~”
“what’s my name?”
“Why didn’t you just say you liked it rough?”
“I love seeing you covered in my marks…”
“I love it when you leave your marks on me…”
“don’t stop!”
“Please. I need you. Now.”
“i want you to fuck me.”
"Should we use rope or handcuffs?”
“beg for it.”
“bend over.”
“Let me hear you sing for me.”
“you are already turned on ~?”
“swallow it. all of it.”
MISC -
“ Come sit on my lap, love “
“ You look so gorgeous right now…”
“ I love it when you grab the sheets when you’re about to cum. “
“ Strip for me. Slowly. I want to savor every inch of you. “
“ That pretty little face deserves to get fucked ~”
“ Mmm… do you like that? “
“Such a pretty sight, all tied up in ropes.”
“I wore these panties just for you.”
“You are mine, never forget that.”
“Ah, ah. I didn’t say you could touch me.”
“You’ll be glad to hear that I’m not wearing underwear today.”
“You like how I bend over for you, huh?”
“I saw that. You just checked me out.”
“You wanna help me out of this?”
He tells her she reminds him of his nan. Her eyebrows shoot up her forehead at this, features overtaken by a look of skepticism as she stares at him from her perch on his naked chest, chin propped in her fist. ‘No, no, not in a weird way.’ She was funny and kind and compassionate, his nan, one of the smartest women he ever knew, smart in a way that never made anyone else feel stupid, and she had such a capacity for warmth. Thaís asks what happened to her, but she has a feeling that if his use of the past tense is any indication, it couldn’t possibly be good. She died, Harry explains. The thought makes Thaís frown. He doesn’t say anything else on the matter.
Despite the depressing thought of his dead nan, all he could think about were all the qualities Thaís had that he had desired in a partner.
Harry knew in that very moment that he was in love with her.
-
He had been casually dating Camille when they first met. He liked Camille (couldn’t call it love yet) and the sex was good, but she was a fundamentally different person than he was. Harry knew it could never be serious. If anything, she was far too cold for him - very French in that respect. If Camille was France, then Thaís was definitely Brazil. He felt her warmth as soon as he laid eyes on her, a radiance that spread all throughout his body like wildfire. She made him nervous, in a good way, yet somehow comfortable enough to pull down his trousers to show her the tattoo he’d gotten on his upper thigh, ‘BRASIL!’ written in all caps, an impulsive decision clouded by one too many caipirinhas and Rio’s oppressive summer heat. She had laughed and went along with it, could probably tell she made him nervous, and joked that it’d be only fair for him to see her in her underwear. She shouldn’t have put the thought in his head.
But he wasn’t meeting her to date her, nor was she there for him. One of his newest work friends introduces them. An unlikely collaborator that Harry met through one of his producers, a singer from Colombia with his own kind of superstar, not all too different from Harry’s, invites him to his London show, the SSE Wembley arena nearly packed to capacity, and Harry had been impressed enough to agree to furthering both their business and musical relationships. It feels like the deal is punctuated when he shakes Juan Luis’ hand later backstage, and immediately after they finish the embrace with a hug, Harry sees her standing over his shoulder. Her hair cascades down her shoulders in mesmerizing waves and her irises stare at him with inquisition. She wears a pictured badge around her neck, thin black rope trailing down her chest, the kind of backstage access only the close, important people had. Harry knew the procedure well. He swears, his heart nearly falls out his arse.
“I’d like you to meet my cousin, Thaís. She comes to almost all of my shows. At least the ones this big.” Harry only wishes he could say her name like Juan Luis does, perfectly pronounced and lilted like music, or that he had someone who supported him enough to dedicate all that time to his tour (yes, he’s aware Anne does more than she has to, but still, it isn’t the same), but the feral thoughts all racing through his brain vanish when she steps towards him and leans in to kiss both of his cheeks. She smells like patchouli and freesia, and maybe some kind of incense or smoke clinging to her hair, the combination nearly intoxicating, and when she speaks, her voice is accented beautifully. Harry’s stomach twists.
“It’s so nice to meet you. Wow. You’re even prettier in person.”
His cheeks heat up in a flush at her compliments, always a sucker for praise, and god, she thought he was pretty? Harry always prided himself on his way with words, at least the ones he could put on paper, the kind he could sit and truly contemplate, but it seemed any trace of that escaped him now, his tongue thick and bumbling within his mouth. All presumed eloquence forsaking him.
He thanks her, or tries to at least, but before he can say much else, Juan Luis slips his arm around her waist and draws his cousin closer to his side. They sit together on the lounger in his dressing room, arms still entwined. The girl- woman, not a girl - tilts her head back, draping herself on the back of the small couch; the older boy (older than Harry by four days, which he still finds marveling) beckons him forward. Harry follows, sitting besides Thaís. Their thighs touch. He wishes his slacks didn’t feel so stifling against the bare skin of her thigh. “Guayabita loves you,” Juan Luis draws, teasing her, voice sing-songy and lips pursed in a triumphant smirk. Guayabita. Harry realizes she’s blushing, same as him, though still retaining a light smile, like she knows something neither boy does. He thinks that what draws him in, all that’s buried underneath (and the fact he can tell she’s smarter than him - he finds something so fucking sexy about that). Maluma and his cousin singing his praises nearly subdues his jittered nerves.
Nearly.
“Suggested I tour with you. Think she just wanted to see you and meet you and get closer to you-”
“Oh, caralho do diabo, vai pra porra se falasse com isso. Cala-te!” she interrupts loudly, suddenly, and fuck, Harry doesn’t understand what she just said in the slightest but it’s making his dick harden some within his pants. It’s authoritative and filthy, whatever insult she’d hurled, he could just tell, indicated by her tone, and something about the way her accent forms and how she sounds, so goddamn sexy.
The pair opposite him begins wrestling, not very seriously, Juan Luis with an arm drawn around her neck, Thaís attempting to wiggle away from him, both laughing. It reminds Harry of him and Gem if he’s honest, the sibling-like camaraderie they wield, teasing and fighting each other lovingly. His stomach lurches when her hand grips down harshly on Harry’s thigh unexpectedly, holding onto him for leverage until she’s finally away from her cousin. She leans into Harry, close enough for him to smell her enticing scent again. “Guess m’a fan of sorts,” she murmurs, blowing a stray curl away from her face with a huff. “Didn’t really want to admit it. Like your voice and songs. And you’re really cute. But I said that already, didn’t I?”
He wants her, more than he thinks he’s ever wanted a girl before, he decides. But he also likes her. A lot. The prospect confuses the shit out of him.
“Think you’re really cute too, pet.”
Her lips twist upwards in a crooked smile, dimple against her cheek. Fuck. More than cute. He just wants to wreck her.
“Oi!” Juan Luis bellows, snapping them both away from each other, gazes turned in his direction. “Quit eye-fucking in front of me and just get a room already!”
-
The first time he fucks into her a few weeks later, backstage after he’d just finished his set for the night, is absolute heaven. She mewls from beneath him on his dressing room sofa, panting, moaning with every inch he shifts forward within her walls and each time she clenches around him, he thinks he’s almost done for. He shushes her, stifling her moans with his mouth, curling his tongue past her lower lip to feel her own, swallowing her cries when he’s fully situated inside of where she’s warmest and wettest for him, dripping messily down her thighs. He hadn’t meant for this; they both hadn’t meant for this, he’s sure, not when he’d learned as an aside that she was married. But he knew things weren’t good, not with the way she flinched when Juan Luis just mentioned his name in passing. She’s reserved in certain respects with Harry, and he understands that to an extent, but he can just tell, can just sense that something isn’t right. Maybe it’s the empath in him. Maybe he can just read her like a fucking book.
The more and more time they spend together - sometimes together with Juan Luis and another friend of hers, the stunning Gabrielle, a girl Harry figures he’d be chasing after instead of Thaís in another life, sometimes just the two of them, in moments that make Harry’s heart race faster than it ever has before - the more he sees it in her.
Then, one night, she’s crying, briefly mentioning his name, her husband’s name, the most she’s ever spoken on it directly. Harry’s never been a particularly angry person, but it makes him mad. And he hates seeing anyone cry, much less Thaís, especially when she doesn’t always open up to him the way he wants her to, the way she’s beginning to. He doesn’t know how else to quell her, how to calm her, but figures he’s always the most relaxed and docile when he’s kissing, so he kisses her, molds his mouth to her own sweetly. She squeaks in surprise at first, before her lips pucker against his own only seconds later, kissing him back with vigour. It pacifies her some and the thought excites him, her becoming placid for him. He bites on her lower lip and that’s when he hears it, that first, impeccable moan, unintentional in its perfection, and based on the simple sound alone, he could cum then. He hadn’t meant to fuck her, but when she kisses him like that, moans like that… he has no other choice.
So he fucks into her proper after she pulls her mouth away from his, teeth dragging down the side of his neck. He shudders as her lips latch onto his skin, sucking a mark into a very visible place, he’s sure of it, but he doesn’t fucking care. Not when she’s that tight and greedy and willing for him. Hips draw back, pulling himself from within her before thrusting forward again, picking up his pace as he moves, building up speed. She cards her fingers through his hair, longer curls he’s been growing out, ones that fall in front of his forehead, matted at the nape of his neck with sweat. She tugs on the strands, pulling his face closer to her chest. Harry groans around her name in response, sucking on her nipple with devotion. “Faster, please.” Her begging would be his undoing. “Haz.” She’d picked up on the British nickname somewhere, a tiny piece of home whenever he hears it, and her voice cracks over it, overwrought with pleasure. It’s the sweetest sound he swears he’s ever heard. His favorite sound, surely.
“All bent out of shape for m’cock… because your husband hasn’t been fucking you proper, has he? Like you deserve. S’a shame, innit? ‘Cause you deserve to feel good, baby.” He isn’t sure if he’s talking more to Thaís or to himself, driven completely by his own words as he draws her thighs up closer around his hips, ankles locked behind his back so he can reach deep. She’s louder now, loud along with the wet sound of skin slapping against skin as he prods that spot far within her, a spot he bets her husband couldn’t reach, and he’s given up at his attempts at being quiet, or keeping her quiet either. So what if his entire tour crew knows he’s fucking Thaís? Let them know it, and let them know he’s fucking her good too. “Little guayabita,” he purrs, stealing Juan Luis’ nickname for her, just as she’d stolen his. She had told him what it meant when he’d asked not long after their first interaction, ‘little guava,’ one of her favorite fruits. She was from the tropics. She grew up eating it, always had when they were kids, especially when she’d first gotten to Medellín and met Juan Luis. It was endearing and affectionate and reminded her of home, he was sure, same as Haz, though he hadn’t quite anticipated the response he’d get upon using it.
She clenches around him punishingly, head tossed back, releasing an unforgivingly piercing cry of his name. It spurs him on, face buried into the skin of her neck, sucking a matching bruise into her skin, just as she’d done him. Harry’s confident he wouldn’t mind her husband knowing Thaís was really his. They hardly see each other anyway, he reasons to himself, especially when she’s practically touring with Juan Luis. Though she’d conveniently been in several of the cities he’d been touring too, happened to just pop in the arena with a friendly smile, always on the list backstage. He hadn’t even planned on seeing her tonight, not until he spotted her in the fucking crowd from the stage during Medicine. He couldn’t stop staring at her the entirety of his time performing. It gave him a kick, her unfettered attention as he practically sang to her. “Say m’name again, pet. Let ‘em know.” He thrusts harder, slow and calculated ruts within her tightening cunt.
“Harry! F-uck, m’gonna cum.”
Thaís does, and it’s beautiful, Harry swears, probably the most enrapturing orgasm he’d ever witnessed in a partner before. He decides he wants to be the only person who ever gets to make her do that ever again. It makes him cum immediately in response, within her, as she’d asked for, with promises she was both on birth control and clean from the lack of sex inherent to her marriage. Practically begged for it in loud cries. “Want your cum inside, Haz, please, wanna be filled with you and feel you leaking out of me.” He normally wouldn’t trust it, but he trusts her. There’s an after party after this and the thought of his cum soaking her panties and leaving a sticky drail down her thighs the rest of the evening almost makes him hard again. He’s sure the adrenaline from the show’s partly at fault, always riling him up to a considerable degree, nearly an animalistic one, especially with his girl watching fondly from the audience. But it’s also something about her that drives him bloody insane. He can’t ever think of a time he’s ever been so bent out of shape over someone. Probably hasn’t, really. He stays inside of her for a while, cock softening until he slips from within her and she’s still a wet mess.
“Haz?” She murmurs, voice small.
“Hmm?” He brushes her hair back tenderly, pressing a delicate peck to her temple.
Her eyes blink hazily before she settles comfortably against his chest, pointer finger tracing a light pattern against one of his swallow tattoos. She has tattoos too, he discovered, and he fucking loves them. His favorite, he thinks, are the words etched into her ribs. ‘Te amo,’ I love you, in both Portuguese and Spanish. Despite the party they have to go (and the fact that Harry knows Jeff’s probably off somewhere searching for him in a panic at his prolonged absence), he doesn’t want to tear himself away from her and leave, doesn’t think he has it in him. She nuzzles her nose against his jaw and sighs happily. “Think I love you. Don’t think I should but I think I do.”
@twotiedships honestly idk why anyone’s worried?? she’s just another gold-digging beard ??
@tpwkbabe HARRY AND THAÍS ARE THE NEW GEORGE AND AMAL CALLING IT NOW!!!
Nicknames: Thai, Lo (to her Colombian family), S, Guayabita (to Juanlu)
Occupation: Immigration lawyer
Alma Mater: Received her undergraduate degree from Johns Hopkins University in linguistics and pre-law, finished her juris doctors from Harvard University, currently studying for her masters of law at Georgetown University.
Birthday: June 9th, 1994
Likes: América Latina (especially her home countries, but she’s biased), learning languages, stained glass windows, hand-rolled cigarettes (or spliffs), honeysuckle and jasmine, the pains au chocolat in Paris, the smell of saltwater and/or freshwater, cooking (especially with someone else), old vinyl records, thrift shopping, photography, traveling, museums (d’Orsay in Paris is her favorite), trashy reality TV, Picasso, gold jewelry, hard cider, peach flavored lip gloss, postcards, elephants, horror movies, crucifixes, passport stamps, guys with tattoos, humid climates, tropical fruit (mango, passion fruit, banana, guarana, guava, kiwi), fig jam and brie cheese, androgynous girls, knitting, rap music in other languages (especially French rap), reggaeton, not wearing makeup, public transportation, sand beaches, cobblestones, sunsets, mom jeans, Harry Styles.
Dislikes: Donald Trump (especially his immigration policies), INS / ICE, racism and xenophobia, the far right, jetlag, losing friends, losing her possessions, student loan debt, rips in her tights, red wine, driving, black and green olives in any circumstance, tight clothing, class barriers, being late, brown liquors, winter, motion sickness, long layovers, pretentiousness, social media, running out of film, creepy men, gentrification, scabs (she always picks at them), sometimes her husband.
Nationality: Both a Brazilian and Colombian national, she received her permanent citizenship to the United States following her marriage in 2014.
Born: Curitiba, Paraná, Brazil.
Raised: Medellín, Colombia.
Resides: Washington, D.C., United States.
Languages: Portuguese, Spanish, English, French, can read basic Latin, and she’s recently begun studying Mandarin Chinese.
Romantic Orientation: The only serious romantic relationship she’s ever had was with her husband, so the concept of romantic orientation is still very confusing and new to Thaís.
Sexual Orientation: Bisexual
Kinks: Daddy play/age play, pet names, dominant partners, choking, spanking, being held down/tied up, marks and bruises, masochism, exhibitionism/public sex, spitting, cum/raw sex.
Marital Status: Married to Caetano Rodrigues
Smokes: Yes (to both)
Alcohol: Yes
Political Affiliation: A registered Democrat, though she’s more far-leftist and radical than her party typically allows (basically a devout socialist/anti-fascist)
Religion: Catholic
Bio: She loves Brazil, adores it even, but something about Medellín will always remind her of home. She doesn’t remember much before Colombia, or the divorce that tore her parents apart, the one that drove her and her mother out of Curitiba and into the home of her tia and primos, family she’d never met before. A place that felt like a whole different world. She never saw her father again, or much else in Paraná, really. The wound’s still far too raw. Even if that singular, crystalline moment, the trauma of losing her father and the idea of what ‘parents’ were supposed to be, still haunts her, Thaís swears that the new family she gained made up for it. She finally had siblings, a brother and a sister, both older, both fiercely protective, and she grew up the way all little girls should - playing football and gossiping with friends and ultimately, happy. Until her mother left. Thaís was beginning puberty when her mother decided to seek work in the United States, leaving her only child with Tia Marlli and Tio Luis. Though she loved Colombia, and the home she had forged for herself there, the longing she felt for her mother never dissipated and she spent the majority of her formative years dreaming about the perfect life she’d be living in America. Unfortunately, despite her best attempts, Thaís failed to receive a visa during high school, though she worked hard at her aunt’s coaching to maintain high marks throughout her education. Instead of worrying about citizenship, she focused on university, and after her acceptance to Johns Hopkins University, she figured the rest would come easily. The culture shock of Baltimore had been a lot to take in at first, and she took a while to adjust and assimilate into American life. Her mother wasn’t all too far away in D.C. either, which helped, though it hurt Thaís to see the struggles she had been enduring, struggles that seemed very different from the American idealism she had envisioned in her head. She coped the only way she knew how - throwing herself into her schoolwork and studying diligently, with the knowledge she had to make a better life for herself, for her mother’s sake. Things at Johns Hopkins seemed pretty dull; until she met Gabriela, that is. Thick as thieves, it felt almost as if Thaís had gained another sister, one to study with and cry over boys with and practice kissing with. She even got to spend a semester studying abroad in Paris. Graduating early was probably one of her proudest achievements, only seconded to her Harvard law acceptance. Though despite her status as a student, Thaís’ status as an immigrant proved far more precocious and fearing the worst, she ultimately married American-born Brazilian hotel heir, Caetano Rodrigues, a relationship of mutual convenience. Thaís finally became a citizen and Caetano could get the wife his parents always demanded of him. Granted, it can be difficult to be with a man one hardly loves, but Thaís can’t complain, especially after he helped pay off her colossal student loan debt. After successfully finishing law school and passing the bar, she began practicing immigration law, representing people like her from countries like her own in a system that continuously puts them at a disadvantage. Much of her work is unpaid, though she doesn’t mind the grueling hours. It’s the emotional labor that’s truly taxing. She’s returned to college for her masters degree and continues to make strives in her career every day. But what she never anticipated was meeting a popstar and falling in love. Her education never prepared her for that.
FAVORITES
Location: Her family home in Medellín, Colombia.
Sports team: Either the Brazilian or Colombian national football (soccer) teams.
Music: Is she biased if she says her favorite artist is her cousin/brother, Juan Luis Arias, aka Maluma?? Other than him, she adores other reggaeton artists such as J Balvin and Daddy Yankee, all kinds of different rap (she’s obsessed with Kendrick Lamar), and some random bands here and there too (her favorite is definitely Glass Animals).
Shows: Narcos, How To Get Away With Murder, Lost. Anything that can keep her intrigued.
Movies: She always said Pulp Fiction was her favorite, but lately Coco’s given it a run for its money.
Artists: Picasso, Matisse, Klimt.
Food: Her avó’s cooking.
Beverage: An ice-cold Coca-cola (but it has to be in a glass bottle!)
