#🤎

[monstersflashlight]

Thinking about Naga (a constrictor preferably) fucking a human for the first time, unprepared for how hot and nice her pussy feels like. It makes him a blabbering, pussy-drunk mess as he ruts into her, moaning about how warm and tight she feels against him 👀🤎

Naga boyfriend that was not prepared to how it would feel to fuck a human. He expected everything about you: how soft your skin was, how pretty you looked when you were gasping for air when he constricted around you, how hot would you feel after a few hours under the sun with them... Everything was expected, minus the feel of your pussy around his hemipeens.

He expected you to be similar to female nagas, but the first time he was inside of you he wanted to cry about it. He wanted to be inside of you forever, to fuck you with one and then the other, fill you up so much you couldn't hold it in anymore. He wanted to fuck you so much and so hard that you couldn't think about anyone else but him, ever again. Because he couldn't. He wouldn't be able to be with anyone else after being with you. He wouldn't be able to taste any other female and not feel like you are the best he's ever had.

From that point on, he insists on fucking you at every change he gets. He tries to make it good for you, and he does, but what you love the most about it, it's how hot he gets when he's inside of you. How hot he looks all blabbering and pussy drunk as he ruts into your pussy, grinding against your G-spot until your eyes turn white and he keeps telling you how good, how pretty, how wonderful your pussy is. And when he wraps his tail around you and squeezes, all while still inside of you, you can't contain yourself from squirting all over his dicks. He looks at you mesmerized, he didn't know you could do that... And now you've created a monster. Even more so.

[cassiopeiasdaughter]

Hiiii pretty star,

Me again.

📝Can I get a little something with Theo and the prompt cuddles after being touch starved? I feel that with his mother gone and his father being who he is, Theodore deserves all the love and snuggles in this world. Thank you 🤍

"My house of stone, your ivy grows, and now I'm covered in you"

Theodore Nott, despite popular belief -mostly his-, was easy to love. Your relationship was still fresh, you two were slowly getting to know eachother; favorite hobbies, habits. And most importantly, each-others love language. 

Your favorite way to love someone is by touching them. Kisses, holding hands, looping your arm around them, playing with their hair; that is how you show love, and it is how you show Theo you love him.

He however is not used to that. You had suspected so one day, when you two were walking, casually talking to eachother about your day; out of habit you grabbed Theos hand, lacing your fingers together. His hand tensed at first, as if he was entirely unfamiliar with this feeling, and lost his train of thought, mumbling words and excuses until he grew used to your touch and picked up the conversation from where he left it.

Your suspicion was confirmed one night. You were tired and stressed; homework was piling up, quidditch practice was more constant and you had taken up way too many extracurricular activities. You ran straight to Theos dorm, needing the comfort of his presence to ground you, calm you, help you recharge your energy and get ready for the days to come. 

You found him in his bed, with a book you had recommended to him, in his hands. You quickly walked towards him and he greeted you, lifting his eyes from the pages, “Hello.”, he said with smile “Hi.”, you mumbled back, way too tired to pretend you weren’t. 

“What’s wrong?” He asked as you changed out of your clothes and into an old sweatshirt of his. 

“Exhausting day. Exhausting week.”, you replied with a deep sigh and then settled next to him in his bed.

You rested your head in the crook of his neck and looped your arm around his shoulder, breathing him in “I want to stay here forever.” , you mumbled with your eyes closed.

But, instead of a kiss on your forehead or his arm hugging your back you felt him grow tense and his heart beating really fast against his ribcage. You raised your head worried, and looked at his face “I- am I crashing you?”

“Ah- no…no, this is new to me, that's all.”, he quickly said nervously

“Oh, I am sorry, I didn’t think-“, you exclaimed and moved your body off to give him space.

He stopped you, quickly and guided you back in his arms, “No, don’t go, I like it.” he whispered in your hair. His body was more comfortable now, moulding into yours, his muscles weren’t tense anymore and his limbs shifted to keep you close to him.

“Stay.”, he whispered in your hair and you let yourself close your eyes, and drift off, finally able to relax, in the arms of the person you craved all week.

After that night he simply couldn’t let you go. His hand is always clasped in yours, or settled in the small of your back or around your shoulders. He kisses your forehead goodnight and greets you with a peck on the lips every morning. And his favorite; whenever life feels heavy, he will lay on your chest and let you play with his hair, causing him to forget all his troubles.

He is learning how to love and be loved and his favorite thing is that he is learning with you.

fin 🤎

celebrate my academic hardships & Theodore Nott masterlist

[hoshigray]

Hi Hoshi 🤎 so I just recently read your threesome Toji/Sukuna fic (hot af btw), I love those two bastards so much 😩 Can I please request facefucking with them pleaseeee, like you’re on your knees sucking both of their cocks 😩😩 I love fics about them but I literally never saw the description of double dick sucking, and I think that would be so hot, right? Especially when they are mean 🤭 Please help a girl out 🙏🏻🙏🏻

𝐚. 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: man, I'm so happy I finally have the free time to write this out, lmao.

⊹ 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: Toji + Sukuna x gn! reader - explicit content; minors DNI - handjobs - blowjobs - face + throat-fucking - degradation (bitch, broad, cumslut, slut, whore) - dick slaps - double dick-sucking - pet names (baby, doll, dollface, pet, vermin, sweetie) - heavy depictions of a blowjob (shit finna get nasty) - facials - mention of spit/saliva and tears.

⊹ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 0.8k

“Yeah, just like that, slut. Suckin’ on me like a real broad…Hmmfuck.”

“Shit, that tongue of y’rs, Y/n. Actin’ like my cock’s goin’ somewhere…”

Have you ever sucked two dicks simultaneously?

Well, it is quite a time; you should know...

You stood on your knees with hands busy, stroking two men who stood before you. Each palm grasps and strokes a cock within the proximity, the tips exerting precum oozing down to your pretty fingers as your fingertips sense the veins and rough skin. 

You bring the dick in your right to your lips, licking on the tip and adding more of your saliva to it. With hollow cheeks, you suck the cockhead inside your mouth, purring as you’re taking in every inch into your oral cavity and throat.

A hand finds its way onto your cheeks, squeezing them as you lick the underside while your left hand keeps jerking. Toji chuckles, “Ya look so good, princess,” he slaps the tip onto your lips, a gesture to put him back into your warm mouth. “Mmmm, you know how much I like you bein’ dirty fr’ me. Show me how slutty you can really be.”

Your eyes peer at his face and follow his indirect command. Your left hand gets firmer with every stroke, lathering the tip with your spit as your tongue flicks on his frenulum. Onyx eyebrows pull towards each other as Toji’s grin gets broader. “Heh, yeah, just like that, baby; make it real wet and sloppy.” 

You hum as you get to work, focusing your lips on just the tip as your hand increases in pace. Your fingers slid up and down on his shaft while slurping on his tip. Drool pools with every push and pull, mixing with the bits of cum coming from his urethra. “Goddamn, doll…” you hear him mutter above you, noting the cue to persist in your actions. Plus, judging by how the limb occupying your palm is pulsing, the older man is not too far from release.

However—“Don’t forget about me, vermin.”

Your face is yanked off of Toji’s length, and your cheek is instantly met with the member on your right. The angry tip poking your skin, painting it with precum. Sukuna snickers wickedly, pushing his cockhead to your lips without your cooperation. “Attend to me, pet; you know I’m not one to wait.”

He doesn’t delay for you, forcing the tip inside your mouth for your tongue to greet. And he doesn’t allow you to accommodate his girth, already busying your throat with the length burrowing inside. His firm grip on your head prompts you to and fro, and the harsh ruts to your face become hard to predict.

Tears leave the reservoir of your eyes, striking down whenever Sukuna’s pelvis smacks onto your lips. Muffled cries appease the tattooed individual, throwing his head back at your chin and hitting his balls with every pump. You suck on him hard while Toji groans to your left, your hands on his scrotum knead and massage as he fists his own dick as you please the other. 

Sukuna’ll pull you to the frenulum, then rush you to the base of his pubes. Balls slapping to your chin with drool sticking onto you, your nose crashing to his body thanks to the rough rhythm, and your eyes lock into his four devilish crimson ones — that’s how he likes it. “Look at you, whore. So fucking filthy just for some dick, huh?” A rhetoric answered only by your eyes rolling to the top of your head as he shoves his entire bulge. “Nasty bitch.”

“Fffuuck,” The dark-haired man croaks, his hand on his shaft picking up in speed. “So close...”

The pink-haired one agrees. “Hmmph, me too, shit…Hey, dollface, finish us good and well, ya hear?” 

Again, no words are spoken, only actions. You swiftly remove Sukuna from your throat and bring this session to a close. Your hands bring both cocks to your mouth, elated to accept both the tips of their dicks into your mouth with a euphoric mewl.

Both men hiss at their sensitive parts being swallowed in simultaneously, tending them with teasing licks and sucking them with puckered lips. Your tongue serves as a weapon, swirling around them, which results in the men groaning deliciously. 

To chase their orgasms down, you suck roughly on both cocks, bobbing your head while your hands please them in whichever way you can. Erratic strokes on Toji’s member have him almost choking, and Sukuna’s hips buck involuntarily when you grip his balls unbeknownst to him. And finally, they unanimously spill their semen into your mouth, your shriek covered by their loads filling inside. You swallow as much as possible, even if the job is as messy and ungraceful as you’d want it to be. Fluids and saliva drip to your chin and meet the cold floor. 

Your head stays bobbing in a steady cadence, humming blissfully as you gulp down their essence. But to showcase, you remove yourself and open your mouth, having the two watch you accept their seed shooting out and disheveled face.

Toji scoffs at the display. “A dirty, pretty thing, aren’t ya, Y/n?”

And Sukuna tilts his head with a smirk. “Expect nothing much from a cumslut like you.”

© 𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐲2024 – reblogs and comments are appreciated wholeheartedly ☆ header edit done by me + dividers by @/benkeibear.

[finniestoncrane]

HELLO I'm in love with the way you write for Cooper 😩👏💝fix idea: I was thinking he's DEFINITELY somebody who doesn't care who he looks anymore, but is still aware that he's got that CHARM yano, but maybe the reader is just "wow your eyes are so pretty" and he fuckin BLUSHES (Mr cooper Howard aka Mr ghoul cowpoke absolutely keels over cus somebody said he was puuuurrtty) 💥💥💥🔫 just all "shut your pie hole girlie" and shes 😏😏😏 ok handsome

Can Ghouls Blush?

Cooper Howard x GN!Reader, word count: 1k aaaaah thank you ;-; also i love this, i love the idea of flustering that horrible boy omg 🤎 request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi • masterlist minors DNI!! 🔞 cw: some threats (imean it's cooper), guns, mostly fluff though!

“I know time means very little to someone who has been around for two hundred years, but how much longer are you gonna be?”

Cooper’s voice echoed out from the main room of the abandoned building you had slept in. From the bathroom, you could hear the frustration, despite his attempts to soften it up. He had no time for fun, no time for relaxing. It was survival and sweating, or nothing at all. But you could tell he had tried to soften it up a little, just for you. His irritation was still so obvious however, even as he offered you a playful roll as he approached the door, catching your eye in the reflection of the cracked mirror.

“Just a sec, then we can head out.”

The old hairbrush you had found by the sink was a well-received miracle. A little bit of normality, a chance to tidy yourself up somewhat.

“I just think it’s a waste of time is all. Preening for the Wasteland. I mean, who are you trying to impress out there? You already got the best catch.”

He flicked the brim of his hat with his gloved fingers, grinning wide, yellowed teeth bared at you as he ran his tongue along his bottom lip.

“That’s exactly the problem. I have to make sure I look good to keep up with you, handsome.”

Your hand stroked along his cheek, a brief moment of eye contact as you walked past him towards the door of the bathroom and back out to the front of your temporary shelter.

“Handsome, huh?”

His voice seemed so much lighter now, more so than you had ever really heard before. And as you turned, you noticed the slight smile on his weathered lips, cheeks pulling up at the corners, eyes glinting as he stared straight back at you.

“Uh… yeah. You’re a very handsome guy, Coop.”

You almost had your fingers on the door knob, ready to leave for the start of your day, when you realised that you couldn’t feel Cooper’s presence behind you. Turning to see what was holding him up, you caught something in his eyes. A look of confusion, almost. Surprise. Disbelief. And a little bit of what you could swear was embarrassment. All this time together. Sleeping in each other’s arms, protecting each other from danger. Had you really never expressed to him your attraction? You had just assumed he knew. You spent long enough staring lustfully at him, it was surely a given. So you worried there was something else to it.

“What’s wrong, Cooper?”

“Nothing, I just… I was used to being called handsome, long time ago… not so much these days.”

As you stepped back towards him, closing the short distance, you could make out his expression much better, realising how astute your previous observation had been.

“Oh my god… Coop, are you blushing?”

He raised one finger, narrowing his brows as he tried to hide the endearing glee, offering you a forced stern look as he spoke.

“Don’t start playin’ stupid with me, you know I am not.”

Biting your lip, a mischievous smile forming, you gripped the lapels of his duster, teasing him as you stroked your thumb along one of his ridged, warm cheeks.

“Why, I didn’t even know big tough cowboys could blush, especially not the more ghoulish ones.” Can they blush? I'll need a closer look."

His fingers were tight around your wrist, gripping you fast and firm. He was trying so hard to maintain his tough exterior, but you could tell there was something softer in there that longed to come out, or at the very least, was desperate for someone to notice it. It was so obvious, even as he lowered his voice and growled at you.

“You turn around right now and start walkin’ out that door.”

Cooper took a step forwards, an attempt to regain his control of the situation, to push you towards doing his will, but you brought your hand up and laid your palm against his chest.

“Wait, just a second…”

It was nice to see him in this light. His confidence was always the dominant feature in his peronality, and it rarely wavered, if at all. But to know there were aspects of himself that he wasn't as sure of, and to know you could render him a little flustered just by complimenting them, made you smile. A grin that was returned by Cooper as you gazed into his warm, brown eyes.

"What is it you're lookin' for now, huh? You find it?"

"Yeah... turns out they can blush."

You turned quickly from him, practically skipping back towards the door of your temporary shelter, ready for another day of survival, this time tinted with a little more joy than usual. Your smile only grew wider as you heard Cooper, catching up with you, still trying to cover his embarrassment with the strained, empty aggressive threat that he chased you with.

"Now I will shoot you, you know that? You're pushing your luck today and we ain't even done anythin' yet."

But when he was certain you weren’t going to turn back around, he let himself smile a little. A soft glow in his eyes as he allowed himself to remember who he was, really. The kind of man that resided deep down inside, buried by years of solitude in the deep, dark ground, of struggling to adjust to the world. And struggling to adjust to himself. Even just a tiny reminder that, despite his charms and the charisma that tended to pull people in, that there was a bit of his old self left. That despite everything, despite who he had become, both physically and emotionally, someone might look at him with something other than fear first. With kindess, or lust. Or even love. That was enough to help him cling to the memories and look to the future with just the tiniest bit of hope, something he hadn’t felt in such a long time.

“You comin’, handsome?”

He smiled, biting his lip to curtail the spread of the easy grin.

“You bet.”

[beomcoups]

Legal Briefs

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: lawyer!Dokyeom x fem!reader 𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: pwp, corporate au, 18+, non-idol au 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: swearing, riding, unprotected sex, cream pie, pet names, slight exhibitionism, oral (m. receiving), clit stimulation, squirting 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 2.1k 𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Dokyeom is stressed out over his case, and you use your brain in more ways than one to help him relax.

AN: Thank you to @miabebe for beta reading this for me at the last minute and @miniseokminnies being lovely. This is a repost, as this fic was originally written for another idol. I have decided to edit it and make it fit Dokyeom more. I hope you enjoy it <3. Also, tagging @onlyseokmins because that's your man, duh, lol. If you want to be tagged in future fics, sign up here🤎

Dokyeom is one of the most prominent corporate lawyers in your country, and you understand how hard he works daily to maintain that reputation. You were a lawyer when you met him, so you know the ins and outs of the legalities and how stressful it can be defending clients. Your first time seeing him was at a kickboxing gym you both frequented and then on the opposite end of the court, duking it out to protect your clients involved in a breach of contract. You may have won that battle, but in the end, Dokyeom won your heart, and you left the corporate life behind to be a housewife. 

You walk into the swanky thirty-floor office building, and the security guard greets you as you approach the elevator. You are holding Dokyeom’s favorite lunch, pizza with cheese sticks, secured in a heated lunch box. You also brought fruit and juice, which he has been into lately. It’s a nice day outside, and what would be better than spending lunch with your husband?

You hum your way up to the 20th floor, greeted by the receptionists as the elevator doors open. The anticipation is building, and the excitement and butterflies in your stomach are brewing as you make your way to his office. You speak to everyone that makes eye contact with you. Everyone knows you as the boss’s wife, a hotshot lawyer, giving it all up for love. 

“Hi,” his secretary greets you nervously as you approach her desk. “He seems a bit stressed out today. That case with the pharmaceutical company isn’t going well, and I’m pretty sure I heard papers flying around.”

This concerns you, as it is different from Dokyeom to lose his cool like that. You thank her and tap quietly on the office door, waiting to hear his voice before entering. 

“Yes?” His smooth voice makes your heart jump. 

You open the door, and your eyes widen at the scene before you. There are papers and folders all over the floor. Dokyeom is lying on the sofa, his suit jacket covering his face and his arms folded on his chest.

“I take it you’re having a bad day?” You ask gently, setting the lunch down on his desk.

His face lights up when he lays his eyes on you, jacket falling to the floor as he jumps up to greet you. 

“I wasn’t expecting you here,” he replies before getting up and kissing your cheek. “I would’ve cleaned up.”  

“And miss all this drama?” you tease him. “Come on, I’ll help you put everything back.”

You survey the papers and put the files back in their folders. You know where everything goes because you helped him set up his file system to make his life easier. You may not be practicing law right now, but it doesn’t mean you haven’t had to use your expertise a few times to help your husband win a few cases. You initially quit your previous firm because you felt burnt out and needed a break. Then, when you got married, you wanted to spend time being a new wife and try for a family. Dokyeom supported you in all of that. He never made you feel inferior or less than for stepping away from your career to be at home. Now, it’s been two years, and the children haven’t come yet, but maybe it’s just not time, as lately, you have been missing practicing law.

Dokyeom helps you and profusely apologizes. “You don’t need to apologize,” you wave him off. But this is not like you; what happened?”

His expression changes, his eyebrows furrowing with worry. He takes a deep breath before putting the last envelope into the bookshelf. 

“I am missing a critical piece of evidence, a part of a contract that proves my client’s innocence,” Dokyeom begins, clutching onto the desk. “I know who to subpoena, but the judge is being a real asshole and won’t allow me to access those documents. So my client might lose, and then they’ll drop me, which means bye to our house.”

He removes his tie and takes a sip from his water bottle, his Adam's apple shifting as he gulps. Your very frustrated husband is also very hot, and it’s taking all your willpower to stay on task.

“Listen,” you redirect your focus to his problem. “There’s no guarantee that you will lose this case, and we definitely are not losing our house. Why don’t you eat the lunch I brought, and we will figure it out, okay?”

He nods and kisses you on the forehead, his way of saying thank you that still makes you feel warm inside. You watch him take out his lunch, and you start to eat yours, making small talk about your day as you dig through the cheese sticks. 

“When did you order this, babe?” Dokyeom asks, mouth stuffed with pepperoni and cheese. “You were cleaning up when I left for work.”

“I ordered it right before I came up here,” you say proudly, feeding him some of your pizza. “I got tired of eating lunch alone and wanted to see you. Looks like you needed me too.”

He gives you a kind smile that soothes your soul like a warm hug. You talk more about the case as you clear out your food containers. Dokyeom mentions that he has been trying to get the evidence to no avail for the past week. Watching him stressing himself out bothers you, as you know how hard he has worked on this case, and you want to see him succeed. His eyes were glued to the papers in front of him, skimming over everything to find a possible loophole. You can’t help but take in how handsome he looks, focused on his work, his jaw clenching as his frustration mounts. 

So, you came up with an idea.

“Hey, babe,” you get his attention, removing your cardigan. “I’m going to help you relax, okay?”

He nods, his shoulders still tense up from reading over the paperwork. You move behind him, relaxing your hands on his shoulders before you massage them, making him feel more at ease. You start unbuttoning his shirt, reaching down to rub his chest while leaving kisses on his neck.

“Well, this is one way to do it,” Dokyeom hums, setting down his pen. He moves his head and kisses you deeply, his hands gracing your face softly, pulling you deeper into his rapture of love. You make a move to sit on his lap, taking off your tank top and exposing your favorite bra that pushes up your breasts just right. 

“Was this always the plan?” He smirks, leaving kisses down your neck. His lips suck on your sweet-tasting skin, his tongue trailing down to the valley of your breasts.

“And if it was?” You move in front of him, sitting on his lap, and your skirt hikes over your hips. “What are you going to do about it?”

He chuckles and kisses you more, removing your bra and throwing it across the office. You lift and reach down, undoing his pants and lowering his briefs, feeling the growing bulge hardening along your slit. “No panties? Aw, baby…”

“What?” You smiled coyly. “Do you want me to leave? I can just get up—”

“W-what? No, no, it’s not that,” his cheeks turn pink in a panic. “I hate to rush, but I have to be in a meeting in twenty minutes,” Dokyeom’s breathing hitches as his hand touches his manhood, stroking his thick girth to your naked breasts and exposed ass. You lower yourself until you are on your knees, moving his hand away as you take over. You kiss his dick just the way he likes it, his legs tensing up as you take him in your mouth. His thickness takes over your mouth as you suck him good, your free hand playing with your clit as you watch him cock his head back and curse softly. 

“Baby, you are so good at this,” he murmurs. “Is there anything you can’t do?”

He gently fucks your face, pacing himself so he doesn’t blow his entire load down your throat. Your eyes lock with his as you take him in deeper, drops of saliva spilling out of the corner of your mouth. Dokyeom is ashamed to admit it, but he likes it when you look like this: the makeup on your sweet face ruined with tears because you sucked him off so well. You would never tell him this, but you love how he tastes. The way his smooth cock hits the back of your throat makes you dripping wet, and if you keep up any longer, you will cum on this floor. 

“H-honey,” he sputters. “I have 15 minutes. Get on top.”

You slowly take him out of your mouth with a pop, lifting yourself and positioning yourself to sink into him. You both groan in unison when you are entirely on his lap, your nails digging into the armrest of his chair.

“This won’t take long, I promise,” you mutter, giving yourself a few seconds to get used to his size before slowly grinding on him and enjoying the feeling of him being inside of you. His body tenses at your movements and his fingers massage your clit softly. You unexpectedly let out a loud moan, and he covers your mouth with his hand.

“I know this feels good, bouncing on my hard dick, but you are going to have to keep it down, princess,” he grits. 

Dokyeom knows what that does to you, calling you princess as he fucks you into an earth-shattering orgasm. You’re a squirter, and he knows that, so it was unsurprising that your lower halves were covered with your essence. Your eyes never leave each other, whispering I love you and trading meaningful kisses. Dokyeom’s head rolls back, whispering songs of praise as you continue to ride him on his office chair. 

“Baby, I’m close,” he whines, his hands gripping your hips. You grind on him hard, finding your clit and releasing again shortly after. Dokyeom follows right behind you, spilling deep inside of you as his head buries deep into your neck. As he slows down, he kisses you lovingly, making sure your cunt is full of his cum before pulling out. You're still trying to catch your breath when you climb off of him to clean yourself up. 

��Mr Lee?” His secretary’s voice booms through the speaker, startling you both. “Your meeting starts in five minutes.”

“O-okay.”

You can see the time on his laptop, and the 5-minute reminder before the meeting stops flashing wildly on his screen. You find your bra and hurriedly put it on, with Dokyeom already dressed and holding your tank top and cardigan.

“What?” You catch him staring at you curiously. 

“You are so bad.” “Well, isn’t that why you fell in love with me? Aside from me beating your ass in court, of course.”

You finish getting dressed, helping him put his tie back on, and kissing him goodbye before heading out the door. You catch a photo you missed picking up earlier, and something catches your eye that makes you stop dead in your tracks.

“Babe.” You pick up the photograph and inspect it thoroughly. “What’s the name of the judge?”

“Judge Choi,” he responds, preparing himself for his meeting. “Why?”

“This wouldn’t happen to be the judge in the 17th court, would it?

You pull out your phone and look him up, confirming your suspicions. 

“Okay, I know that look,” Dokyeom comments, a puzzled look on his face. “What’s up?” 

“This judge used to give me shit when I was practicing, but I always found a way to get around him,” you start. “There was talk about him being a crooked judge and being paid off by companies, but I could never confirm it until now. Look at the picture.”

You show him the photograph of the rival company at an event, pointing at the missing piece of the puzzle: the judge and the company’s CEO, arm in arm, taking a picture. “That’s why the judge is shutting you down, babe,” you confirm. “He has ties to the other guys. Judge Choi should have recused himself a long time ago.”

Dokyeom looks at you, amazed that his wife could figure out why he had this roadblock. “God, what would I do without you?”

“You’d still be losing to me in court.” You kiss him goodbye again, letting him prepare to attend his meeting. You close the door, and his secretary smiles at you and motions for you to come closer to her. 

“You should be more careful in there, dear,” she advises. “The whole office heard you.”

[lxnarphase]

chef's kiss, she's a treat ๋࣭ ⚝

❝ do you like my new lip combo, baby? ❞ wc: 4.1k

☾₊‧⁺...ft. : blk!fem!reader + g. satoru + g. suguru + n. kento + h. hiromi + f. toji + k. shiu + k. choso + r. sukuna + h. kinji + t. fumihiko + t. aoi ☾₊‧⁺...cw : sloppy kissing + messy make-outs, marking, grinding + dry humping, praise kink, oral fixation, finger sucking, spit kink, overstimulation, cock-warming, dacryphilia, daddy kink, size difference + size kink, desperate men, videotaping, breeding kink

☾₊‧⁺...synopsis + a/n : jjk men seeing their blk!gf's new lip gloss/lip combo that just makes her lips so fucking good they can't keep away from her | i have been working on this for 3-4 days because it had to be PERFECT or i would never forgive myself, so enjoy this absolute filthy creation of mine that i poured my heart into 🤎 ☾₊‧⁺...tags : @currentlyaways

can't stop kissing you ↴

✧ g. satoru ; he doesn't say anything when you first come out of the bathroom, asking if you nailed the 'clear coat with the 5% tint edges' look. no he's letting out a needy, shaky sigh when he pulls you into his lap by your wrist. he looks so conflicted as he stares at your lips, running his finger just under your bottom one, not wanting to ruin your lip gloss.

"y'so pretty, y'know that," he whispers against your lips, just barely pulling away before diving back in for more. each kiss is sticky and messy from the gloss, satou having smeared it all over his mouth and yours. his hand his buried in your mess of curls as he keeps you from pulling away for air. he knows when you really need it, don't worry, just let him kiss you, yeah? you don't have a choice, not when his other arm is wrapped around your waist, keeping you in one spot. "s-shit, satoru, b-baby," you start before getting cut off by the rolling of his hips. "yeah? feel good? mn, shit, you're so so pretty, princess," he moans into your mouth, his tongue slipping past your lips again to taste you again. he can feel that he's just smudging more of your lip gloss and he can't help but whine. it always felt so fucking good knowing he got to be the one to see you all pretty and gussied up just to fucking ruin it with his touches. satoru's breathe hitches when your hips begin to grind down against his own. "pretty thing," he hisses, giving a little tug on your soft coils. "you keep this shit up, and i'm gonna mess up more than just that pretty lip makeup." you can't help but laugh against his lips, giving him a quick, messy kiss. "you started it, 'toru, 'm just finishing it."

✧ k. choso ; choso was just being a sweetheart, clingy for your attention as he whines, pouting until you kiss him on his lips. he instinctively lips his lips and is pleasantly surprised at the sweet taste on his lips. 'are you...why do you taste so good," he innocently asks, looking at your lips in confusion. when you pull out the little tube of lip gloss, pink and green, the words 'watermelon flavor' catch his eye. '...oh...can i kiss you again?'

you know you're gonna have to clean the couch. you want to be upset, but you can't. not when choso has you folded in half as he desperately fucks into your creamy cunt, his mouth smushed against yours. he's barely even kissing you, he's just fucking your mouth with his tongue at this point. all of your lip gloss has been effectively licked off by choso, but he didn't care. you still tasted like watermelon, and he wanted more. he's moaning into your mouth, pulling away from you with sticky strands of saliva connecting him to you. his hand comes up to run over your lips, whining when he realizes all of your lip gloss is gone. "'m sorry, baby, i-i licked it off, 'm sorry," he whimpers, his hips stuttering briefly as he cums. he grinds into you with a loud cry of your name, pumping another hot load into your pussy. it's okay, it's messy, but he's gonna clean you up after with his mouth. "d'you wanna taste? wanna see how g-good you taste? yeah? c-come on, open up, please." you do as he says, sticking out your tongue with a moan, and he opens his, too, saliva dripping from his tongue onto yours. when you close your tongue and swallow, choso's crying, sobbing your name, and he throbs violently inside of you, picking up speed. before he smashes your mouths together, he moans against your mouth, "so good, so f-fuckin' good, babyyy, your pussy 'n' m-mouth are gonna make me melt, i love you s'fucking bad."

✧ h. hiromi ; you had the new lip gloss on all day and hiromi was so sweet about it, giving you little pecks here and there, chuckling whenever you'd playfully scold him for stealing some of the gloss. he'd just tease you, asking if he looked pretty with the gloss on, too, before kissing you again. even now, when you're both on the couch, your back resting against his chest, he can't stop kissing you

hiromi plants soft kisses along her jawline, peppering her with affectionate whispers. "there you go, my sweet girl," he murmurs, his thick fingers thrusting in and out of your sensitive hole. "you are the sweetest little thing. you're so gorgeous today, i love it when you wear lip gloss, even if it is a bit sticky," he chuckles against your cheek, turning you to kiss you. his tongue slips into your mouth, rubbing over yours as you softly moan, trying your best to fuck yourself on his fingers. "please, hiromi," you softly keen, desperately kissing his lips, smearing your lip gloss all over him. "please, honey, m-make me cum," you whine, one of her hands moving to her glistening cunt to swirl circles around your throbbing clit. "i-i wanna cum on your fingers s' you can fuck me, baby." hiromi let out another soft chuckle, his nose nuzzling into your soft curls that were getting frizzy. "god, you're so fucking adorable," he murmurs, knocking your hand away from your clit so he could pick up speed without bumping against your hand. "of course, baby girl. i'll take care of you. just relax, and I'll make you cum all over my fingers, sweetheart."

✧ t. fumihiko ; all you do is pull out the peach lip oil and roll it on your lips, smacking them together, and fumihiko's attention is zeroed in on you. he's up in your face, asking what you just rubbed onto your lips. he can smell it, and it smells so sweet. if it smells good, it must taste good, right? you managed to stop him from running his tongue all over your lips in front of everyone at the bar, managing to pull him away when you caught that curious lick of his lips. once you're away from everyone in a corner, he's on you.

the poor thing, still inexperienced with kissing with the way he's messily pressing his lips into yours, enjoying the faint peachy flavor he swears he can taste on you. you don't have the heart to tell fumihiko it's just the peach whiskey, enjoying the way he was desperately pressing you into the wall with the force of his kisses. "taste so good," fumihiko whines, finally pulling away to look at your mouth. "gosh, i-i could kiss you all day, s-so sweet..." it's messy from the smearing of the lip oil and the mixture of saliva. just the view of you all messy...it makes him snap, his eyes wide and brow furrowed as his fingers run over your lips to smear more of the mess around. next thing you know, he's slipping his fingers into your mouth, pushing them down on your tongue. "t-this okay?" fumihiko's nervous as he asks, his free hand unconsciously coming up to wrap around your neck to hold you in place, a shudder wracking his body from the soft moan he gets from you. "that's a good noise," he mutters to himself, trying to keep himself from getting to excited. "y-your mouth 's so wet, so hot, it's not fair, i w-wanna feel you it again. c-can i put it in? we can go home, i-i wanna put my dick in your m-mouth, want to fuck it, it's so pretty—" he won't shut the fuck up now, past the point where he was able to. not with the way you were drooling and moaning against his fingers. fuck, he's so hard, he can feel the way his tip rubs against the fabric of his jeans. why the fuck did he go commando, this friction was gonna drive him mad. you notice it, too, feeling the way fumihiko was so pathetically humping into your thigh. and oh, the pitiful whine of your name he lets out is music to your ears. easing his hand out of your mouth, you press a wet kiss into his palm, looking up at him so prettily through your lashes. "c'mon, baby boy, lemme take you home, i'll take good care of you...wet and sloppy, just how you like it."

likes when you mark him ↴

✧ n. kento ; while kento was away, you felt like playing around with your makeup, trying out a simple dark brown upper lip and clear gloss look. you look so precious, your curly hair in a messy puff ball as you greet him in the bedroom. all you had on was a tank top and some pink lounge shorts as you got up from your vanity. the second he comes home, he's complimenting you, telling you how nice your makeup looks. when you ask him coyly if he wants to see the color, how can he say no?

kento is melted into the mattress, breathless as you continue to cover him with kisses. he promised he'd buy you new tubes of lipstick and lip gloss as long as you just kept kissing him everywhere. "aww, ken, you look so handsome," you say with a giggle, pressing yet another kiss on his neck. "did you miss me while you were at work? wanted your wifey to cover you in kisses baby?" you can feel his cock pulsing inside of you with each press of your lips. poor thing was doing his best to not buck up into you, to just flip you over and pound into your pretty pussy. but it was so fucking hard with the love of his life marking his entire upper body in kiss marks, occasionally licking and nipping at his skin. "honey, i'm gonna move jus' a little bit," he rasps, a groan bubbling out of him when you grind your hips as a response. "just keep kissing my neck, darling, lemme make us both feel good." the first roll of his hips has you moaning against his neck, smearing lipstick all over it. he feels so fucking deep, he's kissing your cervix with these deep, slow strokes. "god...your cunt is gushing for me, baby," he sighs, his eyes rolling back when he feels you mouthing right under his ear. "d-did, mm, fuck, did marking me up get you this wet? yes? aw, baby, you like marking me as yours?" you nod with a giggle before getting cut off with a gasp, his hips snapping up hard into your pussy. "c'mon, honey. keep kissing, i'm gonna fuck you good until you run out of lipstick."

✧ g. suguru ; suguru is mean. he's so mean to you today, he doesn't let you suck him off, he just tells you to kiss all over his cock with those pretty stained lips, tugging you away from his tip when you try to suck on it. no, no, you're not gonna taste him, not yet. he wants you to mark him up, condescendingly soothing you each time you whine when he tugs you by your locs away from his tip. with the way he keeps looking up at the mirror, he's got a plan for you.

"sugu, sugu, sugu, s-sugu!" "oh, you moan so pretty, princess...keep sucking me in that little pussy, take this fat cock, baby girl, doin' so good for me." he's got you in a full nelson in front of the mirror, making you watch as his cock fucks in and out of your messy little cunt. the best part? he could see the dark kiss marks all over his dick. "aww, you can see your kiss marks," he coos into your ear, his breath fanning against it as he pants. seeing your eyes start to roll back, suguru chuckles. poor thing, it felt so good you couldn't even listen to him when he said to keep your fucking eyes on him in the mirror. he slows his hips, smirking when you whine in protest. "shhh, don't whine, you don't wanna behave? don't wanna see my cock that you marked up all pretty get wet from your messy pussy? tch, my poor baby..." that's all it takes for you to squeeze your eyes shut, a choked-off sob leaving you as you start to make a mess. each time his cock pulls out of you, thick cream is pulled out of you too, the milky substance dripping down his length. suguru laughs meanly in your ear, cooing to you as he finally starts to pick up speed just from that. "awwww, babyyyy! did you cream? mm, but i didn't feel you cum," he teases with a coo of your name. "your covering up some of the kiss marks...pfft, don't cry like that, you look too fuckin' pretty. let's make you get creamier, okay?"

✧ h. kinji ; kinji buys you all kinds of lipstick and lip gloss because this man is obsessed with seeing your lips all shiny and pretty. his favorite on to buy you? the dior lip oil. god, he loves how it makes you look so delicious, he can barely keep himself from kissing you until you can't think, but the day you try on the mahogany lip oil with a soft pink lipstick under it? he's obsessed with how juicy it makes your soft lips look, and kinji cannot stay off of you.

after about 30 minutes and what felt like 100 reapplications of the lipstick and gloss combo, kinji is covered in kiss marks from his forehead down to his cock that is currently pistoning in and out of you. you're so fucking glad he made you hold your phone to record him fucking you like this because you could not stop looking at him. he looked so good, and that stupid fucking grin on his face told you he knew you liked it. "shit, cupcake, your so fucking tight right now," he choked out with a laugh. when you pout and try to hold the phone at a better angle to catch the way his cock slid in and out of you, his rhythm falters. he just knows whatever the fuck comes out of your mouth is about to break him. "i-i want to do this to you more, k-kinji. marking you up makes you look pretty an' it means y-you're mine." the phone is squished between you and kinji when he shifts positions, folding you into a mating press that just pushes him in deeper, the head of his dick nudging right against that spot that makes you fucking cry. "kinji—!"mmn, s' there? yeah, 's there, right fuckin' there," he mutters against your lips, picking his pace up again right where he left off. his fingers are laced on top of your head and fuck, he's reminded of the pretty purple faux locs you got to match his purple hair and he curses, angling his hips to get as deep as possible inside of your tight, slick walls. "i'm all fuckin' yours, cupcake, all yours, all fuckin' yours. fuck, gonna mark me up every time we fuck? huh? oooh shit, 'm-'m not lettin' you go until this fuckin' cunt is flooded with my cum, baby, you're gettin' bred t'night like a good fucking girl."

✧ t. aoi ; another victim of the the clear coat with the 5% tint edges. he's weak for it, so fucking weak. your lips are already one of his favorite parts of you, with how soft and plump they are, how sweet they taste whenever he places a peck on them. so when todo walks into the kitchen and sees you, his pretty girl in his shirt, and that simple but oddly sexy lip combo? he's already getting hard in his sweats, struggling to maintain eye contact with you as he greets you.

all you did was kiss his chest and giggle at the faint pink lip gloss mark left on it. your front is pressed against the cool counter of the marble island, your drool dripping onto the surface. he's so fucking big that your toes are barely touching the floor. todo's thick fingers are in your mouth, keeping your mouth open to let those pretty noises out that you kept trying to hide. he holds onto your hips, using the leverage to drive himself deeper into you, relishing in the tightness and wetness of your pussy. "you're such a pretty thing," he groans, his voice filled with a mix of lust and dominance. "taking my cock like a good little whore, bunny." he grunts with each tight squeeze of your cunt. you clenching around him so fucking much, so fucking needy for him. todo doesn't hold back, thrusting into you with a primal need as a rhythmic plap, plap, plap fills the kitchen. "a-aoi, baby, baby, please, m-move a little, s-so close to my spot," you beg around his fingers, squirming around to try and aim his cock right at that sweet spot. anything, anything for you. todo angles your hips just a little differently, and you practically scream, his cock now hitting your sensitive spot with each deep thrust. "oohmygod, baby, i-i can't, 's too deep," you cry, hips trying to tilt away when you realize that he's abusing that spongy spot inside your slick walls. "'s your fault, bunny. you wanna mark me up? hm?" he can sense your getting closer to cumming as he targets your sweet spot relentlessly. "fuck, i was so hard the second i saw those pretty lips of yours, and you fucking mark me." the pitiful whine he gets from you has his hips stuttering momentarily, eyes rolling with a groan. "you're such a fucking mess, bunny," he growls, his voice laced with possessiveness. "you're taking this dick like a good fucking girl. lemme fuck you just the way you need it."

wants it smeared on him ↴

✧ f. toji ; when he sees the glittery gloss coat on your lips, toji lets out a low whistle. he loves when you wear lipstick, but this shimmery look on you has his attention. you're talking to him, and he's trying to look you in the eye, but his eyes keep drifting to your lips. in the middle of your sentence, he gently takes your hand and places it right on the bulge in his white sweats, smirking when you falter for a moment as he just goes, 'mhm, keep going, mama, 'm listenin.'

if you could, you would laugh, knowing that toji's cock was all shiny and glittery from the combination of your spit and your pink-tinted shimmer gloss. but with the way he was busy fucking your mouth, his fist full of your braids. toji's grip keeps your head in place as he slides his cock in and out of your hot mouth, green eyes occasionally rolling back in his head. you've gotten so much better at this, at letting his fat dick stretch your throat. and the view, god, the view. you are so pretty like this, your mascara smudging down those cute cheeks of yours while thick strands of saliva and precum messily dripped from your chin to your chest. "that's it, baby, you're taking it like a champ," he praises breathlessly, savoring every time he feels you swallow around him. his praise made your eyes flutter, a muffled moan vibrating so deliciously around his dick. "ohh, shit," toji hisses, thrusting his hips a little deeper and making you choke, the feeling of your throat restricting around him, making him groan your name. fuck, seeing him hunch over like this made you drag your nails down his thighs, desperate to taste his cum. he just looked so fucking good when he felt good. with a huff, toji looks down at you, eyes narrowed. he's getting so close, and he can't wait to pull you off him and kiss you before helping you apply another coat of lip gloss so he can kiss you dumb while he fucks his fingers into you. and that look in your eye...tells him you want it too. "y-yeah? y'like it when i use your, shit, your pretty mouth? god, looking so beautiful, ma, love how you look in this lip gloss." yeah, he loves it when you smear it all over him so he can grin in the mirror after, seeing how glittery he is.

✧ r. sukuna ; he's so mean. sukuna acts like it's not his fault that you both will be late, all because he thinks your new lip gloss combo will catch the attention of men and make them stare at your lips. it might cause a little flicker of the eye to your mouth, but no one could get to the same level of sukuna. no, it was impossible to compare to how he'd glare at your lips before growling and smearing your lip liner all over his mouth.

he wishes he could take a picture of this and frame it on the fucking wall. the visual of you between his legs as he sits on the bed, his cock pulled out of his dress pants. the slow drag of your lips up and down his cock, seeing the pretty smear of your pinkish-brown lip gloss...fuck, he wants you like this all the time. "thaaaat's right," he praises you, brushing back your soft curls from your face. "let me see how much you like having my cock in your mouth. such a slut, fuckin' slobbering all over it." sukuna throbs in your mouth, his tip hot as it presses against the back of your throat. if you weren't used to it, you would've choked from how much precum he's dripping into your mouth, forcing you to constantly swallow to keep your mouth from getting too full. however, sukuna is caught off guard when you pull yourself off him, glaring into his eyes. "sukuna, we are 20 minutes late," you scold him, sneering a little as you grip his spit-coated cock and stroke him furiously, taking out your annoyance on him. the deep groan he rewards you isn't enough, no, you wanted a nice date, and instead sukuna was thinking with the wrong fucking head. again. "you ruined my makeup, ruined my lipstick, and i already fuckin' know my mascara is fucked." it is, and he loves it, the dark streaks of it dripping down your cheeks that are framed by your soft curls. "did all that just to get my lipstick on your dick? hm? you're so fucking nasty," you huff with a roll of your eyes before taking him back into your mouth, a choked moan, his legs jumping in surprise. " shut up, 'kuna. do you wanna ruin my lipstick and make us miss our reservation? fine, but you're gonna cum until you can't anymore."

✧ k. shiu ; shiu is tired of his new client, ready to get out of his clothes, into the shower, and then in bed with you wrapped in his arms. so imagine his pleasant surprise when he comes out of the shower to his pretty wife sitting all pretty on the bed in lacy lingerie and soft makeup. and all shiu can think about is you smearing that pretty pink coat of gloss all over the length of his cock.

"atta girl," he grunts, his fingers thrusting in and out of your mouth slooowly. you're between his legs, manicured hand stroking up and down his length that's covered in pink kiss marks, the tip a pretty saturated pink from all of your suckling. "such a desperate little thing for me, aren't you? got all dolled up for daddy t' come home, and you look so gorgeous," he softly coos, one of your braids twirled around his free hand. you were so cute, you didn't even know. the baby blue lingerie you had on contrasted against your skin so perfectly, and seeing you look up at him with such a cock drunk expression was the best thing shiu could've come home to. "you're doing so good, angel, sucking my fingers like it's my dick. d'you want it?" when you nod, tongue sliding over his fingers slowly, shiu chuckles, the deepness of his voice going right to your core. he sounds so good when he talks, when he laughs, it's unfair. slipping his fingers out of your mouth, he cups your chin. "you gonna suck me off? i want your pretty lipstick smeared on me, okay? there you go," shiu hums with a little groan. you had the prettiest little mouth, and even if you could only fit half of him inside of it, that's okay. you still look so cute as you try to take more of him in. "take every inch like you need it, baby."

all rights reserved © lxnarphase | do not repost, copy, translate, or alter my work

[amiableness]

i had another idea for dad!james. who sometimes has to work late and reader helps take care of henry. he comes home and sees her reading henry a story before bed. he’s just heart eyes the whole time 🤎

Dad!James Potter x Bsf!Reader ☼ 1125 words

By the time James gets home, he’s exhausted. He didn’t plan to be this late, but sometimes his job demands it. He feels fortunate that you’re the one watching Henry tonight. If it had been the babysitter, she would have told him "tough luck" and left, as she never likes staying late when James’s work keeps him beyond schedule. He understands her frustration; it’s not fair to expect her to stay late without notice. But coming home to you and Henry is always a comfort.

He longs to kick off his shoes by the door, savoring the relief of stretching his toes. A hot shower to wash away the stress and changing into his cozy sweats are next on his list. Yet, more than anything, he looks forward to seeing his two favorite people: Henry, with his innocent, sleepy smile, and you, with your warm, comforting presence.

You truly embody comfort for him.

James will never admit it, but the nights you watch Henry while he works late are his favorite. Dinner is always kept warm for him in the oven, filling the kitchen with a delicious, welcoming aroma. The lamps he never uses are on because you insist they make the house cozier, casting a soft, inviting glow over the living room. And seeing your jacket and shoes tucked right next to his and Henry’s is one of his favorite sights—a simple yet profound reminder of home.

You take care of the little things that mean so much, like tidying up Henry’s toys and leaving a packed lunch for James in the fridge for the next day. Those lunches are the only ones he looks forward to, knowing that if he makes them himself, they’ll just be leftovers from Henry’s daycare lunches. You never prepare Henry’s lunches, understanding how much James values the tradition of leaving him a note. Although Henry can’t read it yet, Hilary at daycare always makes sure to read it to him.

The moment he opens the front door, a lovesick smile spreads across his face. There, by the door, are your coat and boots—essential for braving the London winter. As he steps inside, the familiar aroma of his favorite pasta dish fills the air, welcoming him home.

He locks the door behind him and sets his belongings down near the entryway. The house is neat and quiet, with the lamps providing a softer, more pleasant light than the harsh overheads. The faint aroma of pasta still lingers, adding to the relaxed atmosphere. He’s pretty sure the house never smells this good after he makes dinner.

As he heads up the stairs, he hears your voice animatedly reading Henry a bedtime story. Every now and then, Henry’s giggles punctuate the scene, and James imagines the dramatic pauses you take, flashing playful glances at him. He moves quietly, not wanting to interrupt, but he wants to take a moment to savor the sight of you reading to his son. The feeling he gets seeing you with Henry is something he knows he might never experience with anyone else.

He knows that someday things will change. You’ll find someone else, fall in love, and soon you won’t have the time to spend evenings at his house reading to his son. The thought of that future makes James feel uneasy.

For now, he leans quietly against the doorframe of Henry’s room, watching as you recline against the headboard of Henry’s small toddler bed, with Henry snuggled up next to you. Your hair is swept back, and you’re wearing a pair of sleep shorts that are a size too small, which always drives James a little crazy. He suppresses a smile when he notices you’re wearing one of his shirts—probably another forgotten piece from your own wardrobe. It happens often, but James remains oblivious to the fact that it might be intentional.

Henry’s head rests gently on the side of your upper stomach, his little hand clutching his stuffed dragon tightly to his chest. His brows are furrowed in deep concentration, and James can see the joy in his son’s eyes as he listens intently to the story. The soft glow from the bedside lamp washes over both of you: Henry’s tiny form curled up against you, his breaths steady and rhythmic, and you, fully immersed in the book, your voice animated and soothing.

James adjusts his glasses slightly, trying to avoid interrupting the moment. But as he moves, Henry’s gaze shoots up, and his face instantly lights up with a wide grin. “Daddy!” he exclaims with a burst of excitement, his voice filled with pure joy.

"That does look a bit like Daddy, doesn’t it?" you say, tilting your head as you examine the book with a playful grin.

“What does, darling?” James asks as he steps into the room, his voice warm but tinged with curiosity. He gives up trying to stay inconspicuous once Henry spots him. Your eyes widen in surprise, your expression shifting from surprise to a hint of embarrassment as you look up. The soft light from the bedside lamp illuminates your face, revealing the genuine shock.

“Jamie! You scared me.”

“I’m sorry. I thought you two might be asleep, so I tried to come in quietly.” It’s a half-truth, but you don’t press the matter.

“I suppose it’s getting a bit late, isn’t it?” You glance at the clock and wince. “Let’s finish this page and then get some rest, okay?”

“Daddy, you listen too.” Henry’s tiny hand reaches out and pats the bed, his eyes shining with anticipation. James fights back a grin, recognizing the familiar gesture. Whenever you want James or Henry to sit beside you, you pat the spot next to you just like that.

“There isn’t much room, buddy,” James says gently. Henry’s face falls into a small frown, clearly disappointed.

“You hold darling, like she holds me.” Henry pouts, and James knows he’s about to get what he wants in the most endearing way only a three-year-old can manage. “Darling”—the nickname James has always used for you and that Henry now affectionately calls you too.

James’s eyes flicker to yours, and you shrug with a smile, adjusting Henry in your arms to make space for him. As James shifts onto the too-small bed, his heart pounds with affection. You lean back against his chest, sending him a soft, reassuring smile over your shoulder.

The simple gesture nearly causes him to go into cardiac arrest.

Henry lets out a joyful giggle before snatching the book from your hands and starting to "read" it on his own. James glances down at the illustration of the friendly brown bear wearing wire-rimmed glasses, holding its cub close, and snorts softly.

So that’s how you see him.

please reblog or comment with your thoughts! they are very appreciated and keep me motivated to keep writing! 🤍

Dad!James and Bsf!Reader Masterlist!

[aeribbon]

will you take my pics | max verstappen

summary; when bp’s lisa’s best friend/photographer joins her at the miami gp and flash the eye of a certain max guy

pairing; max verstappen x photographer!reader!

warning; english is not my first language ! swearing

an; also this is my first smau so be indulgent please and any feedback is welcomed !!! + not proof read

fc; minnie

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lalalalisa_m

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lalalalisa_m pit stop in monaco !

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username EXCUSE ME MISS LALISA MANOBAL ???

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▮ lalalalisa_m says you

maxverstappen1 it was lovely to see you again in monaco !! (liked by author)

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(max's pov)

yourusername

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maxverstappen1 - circuit gilles villeneuve

liked by yourusername, redbullracing, and 2.9m others !

maxverstappen1 To take the 100th Grand Prix victory for our team is absolutely fantastic and an amazing achievement by everyone! Very proud to be part of this, @/redbullracing 👏 Let’s keep this going 🚀

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username 💪

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lalalalisa_m next time, we're going together !

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f1women

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f1women spotted !! Y/N, a renamed photograph in the industry and best friend of lalisa of BLACKPINK was seen in the red bull hospitality and more precisely in max's garage at the silverstone gp ! what do we think ? maybe something going between these two ? knowing the fact that she ''soft launched''

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maxverstappen1

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maxverstappen1 she came into my garage ! 🥰

11 wins in a row for the team, what an amazing achievement @/redbullracing 🚀 This is an extraordinary job by everyone 👏 #KeepPushing Thank you Silverstone 🇬🇧 #BritishGP

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thank you gq too

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yourusername

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yourusername happy 1 year love !!! i love you soooo much thank you for being here all the time you're the very much needed bf in my life and i can't make up a good lovey-dovey caption for shit i'm sorry lol

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─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

[ki-yomii]

two for the show | jjk

➥ pairing | jeon jungkook x f!reader

➥ word count | 2.1k

➥ warning(s) | 🔞 smut; dirty talk, established relationship, accidental voyeurism, masturbation (solo m), panty kink, implied choking kink

➥ summary | it’s unfair how pretty he is like this; so wanton and needy, half naked and stretched across the middle of your bed (aka the fic where you catch jk jerking off in your bed with a pair of your panties).

➥ notes | 🙃 this man straight up made me buy a keychain that says jk’s slut. i have no regrets.

🤎 series masterlist | masterlist | inbox | AO3 🤎

“I’m home!”

Pausing in the doorway, you listen as the barren sounds of your apartment echo back at you; the soft gurgle of the pipes, the metallic rumble of the dryer, the fan on your fridge kicking on with a dying sputter.

Everything’s as you left it, barring the notable absence of your boyfriend.

There’s no low-toned voice ringing out to greet you, no man-shaped golden retriever bouncing over to drape his arms over your shoulder and smother you in kisses.

It puts you ill at ease, a frown tugging at the corners of your mouth as you toss your keys on the side table and place your shoes next to his. Jungkook said he’d lounge around until you got back from your errands.

It couldn’t have been more than an hour, and as it was his first day off in forever, he’d wanted to spend it with you.

… Only instead, he’s nowhere to be found.

The couch is empty, the tv dark. No god awful clanking or boisterous humming, so that rules out him taking a shower. Did he get called away to the studio? Though if that was the case, he’d have texted.

Right?

Right - he knows how you feel about him disappearing without notice. So that can’t be it - plus his footwear is still on the rack. 

 Stepping into the kitchen

“Kook,” you call, peeking into the kitchen only to find it just as empty as the rest of the apartment, “you still here?”

There’s no answer.

But what sounds like a faint curse comes from somewhere near the bedrooms, so with a shrug you follow the noise only to freeze.

Your brows shoot up your forehead, and your gut clenches hotly.  A violent, visceral reaction that makes all the moisture flee your mouth.

Surely he’s not… No, there’s no way.

Except then a grunt breaks the tense quiet; smothered, breathless sounds that echo low and wounded into the hallway.

If you hadn’t been standing right outside the doorway, if you hadn’t been looking for Jungkook, the distant humdrum of everyday life would’ve otherwise disguised them.

A warm hush creeps up your neck and pools in your cheeks, leaving your skin altogether uncomfortable; itchy and tight like a nasty burn.

Every tentative step feels like walking on a tripwire, the slightest creak of the floorboards a gunshot. 

It’s a miracle you make it to the end of the hall, your door haphazardly cracked with slats of sunlight spilling across the floor. Seconds later, another grunt - this time louder and filthier. 

It’s impossible to resist the urge to peek around the doorjamb, to see how Jungkook’s pulling those kinds of sounds from his throat, to see what tempo he likes to stroke his cock to when he’s alone.

Mouth full of cotton, your heart lurches while you try to absorb the surreal image presented with difficulty.

With how he’s planted his feet and bent his legs, it’s difficult to get an unobstructed view of what his hand’s doing between his thighs but what you can see?

Well.

“…H-Haaah…ss-shit, that’s…”

It’s unfair how pretty he is like this; so wanton and needy, half naked and stretched across the middle of your bed. You only notice the scrap of fabric draped over his chest because of how bright and oddly familiar it is, but you’re too far away to identify it and you’ve got more important things to focus on.

He looks like some wild, half tamed creature come to steal you away; the briar of his hair a dark halo on the pillows, the short strands sticking to his sweat-slick forehead.

Eyes hooded and hazy, he watches as the pink tip of his cock appears through the circle of his fingers with every upwards rut. Mouth slack and rosy, his tongue glimmers like a tempting prize.

It sends you reeling, a gush of slick wetting your thighs the next time you squeeze them. You’re unbearably empty - desire hooked behind your navel. An unscratchable itch that’ll surely drive you mad.

Every time you blink, he’s there waiting behind your eyelids; his cock thick and heavy, curved towards his belly and throbbing with each measured stroke.

His thighs tremble, and his toes dig into the bed spread. “Fuhhhck, baby - baby please, let me…”

You bite the inside of your cheek. 

“Gonna cum, oh god. Yeah, that’s it just - hnggg - just like that. S’good for me.”

Tatted fingers tug at the hem of his shirt, rucking the fabric up and out of the way. It bunches under his armpits and exposes the cut of his chest, the valleys of his muscled frame.

The muscles bunch and strain with his movements, and you long to sink your teeth in.

“Right there - oh fuck - right there.” His abs clench and his hips flex. “Jus’ like that, come on, baby.”

Digging your nails into your thigh provides distraction - albeit temporarily as he pauses what he’s doing after a few more hurried strokes, the lines of frustration on his face deepening. The hand around his cock slows to an almost glacial pace.

Hooking a finger around whatever’s resting on his chest, Jungkook raises it up to dangle in front of his face - and shock lances through you, quickly followed by an ohmygod, are those… ?

Yes - yes, they are.

No wonder it looks familiar.

All thought processes grind to a halt, your pussy clenching and your knees nearly buckling once you recognize your favorite pair of panties hanging off your boyfriend’s finger.

Anticipation swells in the pit of your stomach, a ferocious heat bubbling to life behind your navel.

All corrupting, all consuming, until you’re shaking with longing.

You never thought seeing Jungkook like this would affect you so much - never even imagined a scenario in which you would, let alone with a pair of your underwear. Though, you also never imagined it would make you as hot and bothered as it does.

No way, no way, no way.

“Mm, so pretty, baby,” he murmurs, spreading his fingers to stretch out the fabric. “Jus’ for me.”

Eyes wide, you watch as he scrutinizes the whorls of delicate lace and sheer panels. He’s not really going to…is he?

Biting his lip, he spares your panties one more long look before working them down his body. His nipples stiffen when they trail down the valley of his pecs, his voice a breathy curse as they tickle the band of his hips, his skin pebbled with goosebumps. 

Holy shit, he is.

You choke on your own spit.

It’s almost impossible to believe that he’s about to jack off with a pair of your panties - that you get to witness it happen for yourself - but then he’s switching hands, and you see how pretty the fabric looks stretched out over the girth of his cock.

The texture must feel amazing because Jungkook full-body shudders, his eyes pinched shut and his brows furrowed like he’s in pain.

He lurches forward, catching himself before he folds in half and takes a shaky breath. His fingers flex, the fabric scraping over his sensitive shaft and teasing his swollen balls. 

He whines. “Oh my fuh - that feels so fucking good.”

What you wouldn’t give to know what he’s imagining right now. Every hitched whimper gets your ears ringing and your legs crossing, the drag of your shirt over your nipples uncomfortable with how hard they are.

Nevermind the state of your underwear - the slightest shift has your folds sticking together, a sticky wet gush you’d love to soak his cock with. 

You don’t even care that he’s getting a little too loud. So what if your crotchety ass neighbor files a complaint?

The sight alone more than makes up for the headache of dealing with management.

Though apparently, Jungkook’s got more consideration for prying ears because he stuffs the corner of his shirt into his mouth.

Stifling a gasp, he locks the desperate noises behind his teeth by biting down and using the fabric to muzzle himself.

His strong thighs tremble when the circle of his fingers meets the base, knuckles white as the crotch of your panties pulls taut over his swollen cockhead. The visual alone nearly ends you.

Why, you think, half-hysterical.

It’s becoming painful to watch and do nothing.

His choked little groan precedes the flex of his wrist - the apologetic glide of his palm as he staves off another orgasm, the angry tip of his erection leaking where it peeks out from the bright lace.

He’s been on the edge of coming for a while with how wet and swollen his cock his; veins thick and throbbing, balls taut and drawn up towards his body.

A punch of desire at imagining all the things he’s gotten up to while you were gone leaves you winded, and you’re barely able to swallow the moan creeping up from deep inside your chest.

It feels like someone sucker punched you full stop. And then replacing those fingers with your mouth - with your cunt - invades every thought until heat crackles down your spine.

Or maybe you should let this play out - have him stain your panties with cum and then put them on, wear them around the apartment until he fucks you over the counter.

It’s a win-win situation, no matter which scenario you pick.

A fresh wave of arousal pools between your thighs, honey thick every time your pussy clenches. Your clit aches for friction, swollen and raw, all while Jungkook continues to drive himself pleasure drunk.

Right now, the slightest touch could make you cry, you’re so turned on.

Keeping quiet as you shift closer to hear the slick, soppy sounds of him fucking up into the grip of his fist is almost impossible, but somehow you clear the doorjamb, the door itself a faint sensation at the back of your elbow.

And then you stop breathing.

Your heartbeat thuds in your ears, your blood rushing so fast you swear you hear it thundering through your veins. The air thickens with tension, the musk of fevered arousal heavy in your nose.

Only right as you’re about to crack, one of the sweetest moans you’ve ever heard breaks through his cotton gag. He must hear your stuttered inhale, the grit of your teeth because he freezes. His body becomes a rigid line of tension, muscles coiled.

And then those pretty doe eyes pop open.

Immediately seeking you out, Jungkook swallows and unhinges his jaw. The makeshift bit slips free from his mouth, his shirt fluttering back down to his chest.

A patch of damp sticks to his skin. 

“Baby…” he says, his voice thick with pleasure - low and rough like smoky whiskey - while a flush blooms across his cheeks, “You’re - You’re home…”

Without responding, you take a step into the room. 

The closer you get, the tenser Jungkook becomes - his breath locking in his throat and his eyes falling shut.

At some point, his hand pulls away and tries to tuck your panties off to the side. It’s too bad you’ve been watching the whole time, otherwise he might’ve gotten away with it.

Jungkook clears his throat and scratches at his jaw. “I was just - uh, y’know…”

He trails off, his hands fluttering around his hips. As if there’s a way to hide the excited twitch of his cock or the drool of pre-cum when you stop at the bedside. 

With a faint smile and a raised brow, you ask, “Having fun?”

“I - baby, I’m so…” A muscle in his jaw jumps. “‘m sorry.”

He refuses to look at you.

And that just won’t do.

“Shit!”

Jungkook jolts, a drawn-out moan full of heat ripped out of his mouth when you press your hand over the heated skin of his throat.

All the air whooshes from your lungs and you watch your thumb trace over the swell of his Adam’s apple, enchanted. His body strains up into your tender touch, every hard line demanding you finish what he started.

“Need some help?” you ask, feeling him gulp against your palm. “Sure looks like you do.”

It’s apparent he can barely think, those pretty eyes clouded over in a haze of desperation. Your nails dig into his oversensitive skin to see him flinch, to watch as a shudder rolls down his spine at the delicate bite of pain.

His cock bobs against his belly. 

“Come on, baby. Wouldn’t you like my hand or pussy better?”

“Shit, I -” he groans, tossing a forearm over his eyes. “Why are you like this? You’re gonna kill me one day.”

You chuckle, tracing the swell of his bottom lip, the metal of his lip ring. “That still doesn’t answer my question.”

Every pass of your hand works your fingers higher until the tips press in at the corners of his mouth.

You repeat yourself, “Do you need some help?”

At the taste of your skin, Jungkook groans; a soft, deep-throated thing that injects heat into your veins. His tongue is soft against the pads of your fingers, wet and cradling.

A lone eye peeks up at you from behind his wrist, hooded and burning.

“… Please.”

[leclsrc]

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 :)

[landososcar]

espresso ; LN4

pairing(s) ; lando norris x fem driver!reader

summary ; in which yn says fuck it and drops a song while soft launching her (possibly problematic) relationship

warnings ; flufffffff & like one mention of christian horner (🤮)

note ; i apologise for the one post in here where i basically just fan girl over ria but who wouldn’t. +this is pretty long and i got lazy towards the end and couldn’t be bothered making team announcement posts lol

twitter !

instagram !

liked by estebanocon, lewishamilton, and others

youruser my give a fucks are on vacation 😝 espresso is YOURS!!! tonight after i demolish these old men 🫶

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user1 oh she is HER

lilymhe WIFFEEEEE

youruser AHHHHH IMMA MARRY YOU

alexalbon …i’m right here??

lilymhe IRRELEVANT

user2 I NEED IT NOW

bestfriend MY GIRLLLL‼️‼️💓💓💓💓

youruser I LOVEEE YOUUUUU

user3 i say we wave the chequered flag early so we get espresso now

landonorris ‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️

bestfriend lmfao

youruser 🧡

user4 EXVHSE ME?????????

user5 i love how she just disses half the grid and then just calls it a day

maxfewtrell helllll yeah

user6 maybe she’s never on the podium because she focuses more or singing than racing

user7 or because she’s in a fucking ALPINE

user8 y’all were SILENT when lh44 released music but suddenly it’s a problem when y/n does it

maxverstappen im not that old

youruser yeah okay grandpa

imessages !

twitter !

instagram !

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youruser i kissed @bestfriend in the club bathroom

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user1 IS THAT A MANNNN

youruser i sincerely apologise 😔

user2 guys do we think that’s mr espresso

bestfriend KISS ME AGAIN, FUCK *****

youruser omg don’t expose him😭

youruser but hell yeah come here gf😻😻😘

estebanocon my f1 teammate or my fav singer ?

youruser me when i’m both

user3 THE INITIAL NECKLACE ????? L?????

user4 omg y/n’s boyfie driving a mercedes ??? Y/N TO MERCEDES 2024‼️‼️‼️‼️

maxverstappen1 stream espresso

bestfriend yasss grandpa !!!

maxverstappen1 omg i try to do one thing nice and suddenly i’m catching strays

user5 IM WORKING LATTEEEEE CAUSE IM A SINGGERRRRR OH HE LOOKS SO CUTEEEEEE WRAPPED ROUND MY FINGEERRRRR

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landonorris can’t sleep

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user1 “SAY YOU CANT SLEEP BABY I KNOW THATS THAT ME ESPRESSO” LANDO NORRIS WHAT ARE YOU SAYING

user2 THE SOFT LAUNCH IN THE SECOND PIC TOO OH MY GOD ITS HAPPENING

user3 oh hes definitely always streaming espresso

maxverstappen1 what kind of thirst trap post is this mate

landonorris for her eyes only😁

bestfriend but you posted on the main ?

youruser UHM

youruser 💓💓💓💕🧡💘🖤💖🩷💞💙💗🖤💗🩷💝🩷❤️💕💚🤎🩷💕💜💖🖤❣️🩷💕❤️💜🤍💚🩷🧡🩵💛🤍🧡❤️💕💛💚💕💘🩷💞❤️💜💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓

landonorris what happened to the soft launch baby

youruser you’re too hot i need people to know your MINE😻😻😻😻😻😻😻😻😻😻😘😘😘💓💓

youruser do you think about me every night😁😁😝

user4 oh she’s gone insane

user5 THE EMOJIS IM PISSING MYSELF SOMEONE SEDATE HER

bestfriend girl get UP

bestfriend what have you done to my gf

landonorris MYYYYY girlfriend🥰🥰🥰🥰

bestfriend bite me bitch

bereal !

caption: my two fav f1 drivers (excluding estie ofc🫶)

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youruser unfortunately, i was too hot for the car this week, we’ll get those old men next week 🫶

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user1 SHES FUCKING HILARIOUS

user2 maybe if she stopped making music and focused more on racing she wouldn’t have dnfed

landonorris the car had a issue with its breaks ? how was she gonna fix that. explain quick pls coz you’re an expert

user3 LANDO DEFENDING HER IMMA SOB

bestfriend babe you need a car that can handle hot sexy you are 😫😫 i don’t wake up at 3am on a monday morning to watch you nearly die 😝

youruser my sincerest apologies ma’am 🫡

bestfriend i love you tho🫶🫶

youruser if you really loved me you’d come to the race next week ??

youruser WAS I JUST AIRED

lilymhe we’ll ignore this week !! podium coming next week for my girl i can feel it

youruser 💓💓

user4 i can’t believe her and lando are dating, so unprofessional

landonorris GAHHHH I LOVE YOUUUUU

youruser STOP IT ILL CRY 💞💞💞 MY LOVE🥰

user5 surely her dating an opponent is bad for business

imessages !

twitter !

instagram !

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landonorris apparently is bad for business? sorry y/n/n’s pr team ig 🙏🤷‍♂️ but stream my girl’s new song‼️‼️

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youruser RIAAAAAAAA

user1 two tit pics in a row omg !?

youruser BABY IVE MISSED YOU COME SEE ME

landonorris 💓💓

youruser GIRL NO I WAS TALKING TO RIA SKRJSKJDJFKS

riabish STOP I LOVE YOU

landonorris wtf😭😭😭

user2 if ria has 0 fans, y/n is dead

youruser RIA PLS COME TO THE NEXT RACE I AM BEGGINGGGGGGGG

youruser make up some sort of reason and pretend quadrant need to come but then i’ll send you (and only you😉) an alpine pass 🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏

riabish my boss hasn’t planned a quadrant race visit for a couple more races babe😔

youruser JUST SENT YOU FLIGHT DETAILS ILL PICK YOU UP FROM THE AIRPORT WITH YOUR PADDOCK PASS

riabish MARRY ME

youruser FUCK YES AJDKSJAHHAHAH

landonorris guys i think i just lost my gf on a post i made dedicated to her

youruser yeah but you posted a pic of ria, so who was i actually paying attention to ??

youruser i love you so so sooooo much (im actually talking to you this time)

landonorris luv u 2 i guess

youruser nah wtf boutta unrelease this song

user3 what did we just witness

estebanocon you guys are insane

user4 omg bad for business is another banger

user5 when y/n can’t choose between f1 and singing so she just fucking EATS both

maxfewtrell when you ask y/n about her fav quadrant member and you expect her to say lando but you’re stupid and it’s ria without second thought

youruser you’re a close second place max🫶

landonorris wtf am i?? chopped liver?????

instagram stories !

landonorris & youruser added to their story

instagram !

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youruser alpine ❤️ all 4 years that i’ve spent in formula 1 have been spent at this team and i now call everyone at the headquarters, garages, and races, family. thank you to everyone who’s made an impact to my life in any kind of way no matter how big or small, i appreciate it more than you will ever know. @estebanocon, thank you for being the best teammate i could ever ever everrrr ask for, you have grown with me and taught me so so many things. we’ve shared more laughs than probably any other teammates and moving to different teams will definitely not stop that.

there’s still the rest of the year until the end of this era and i know we’ll make the most of it. i’ll always remember alpine as the team that brought me in and made me the woman that i am today. the end of this season will definitely be tough but if it wasn’t sad then it would mean there was nothing to miss.

let’s have an amazing rest of the year, i love alpine and will never forget the time ive spent here 💙🩷💙🩷

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user1 IM SOBBING

user2 omg she loves alpine so much this is devastating why would they not re-sign her😭😭😭😭😭

user3 they couldn’t afford to re-sign both her AND esteban, mercedes offered her A LOT more money

landonorris so so so proud of you my love 💓💓

youruser 🫶🧡🧡

f1 never forget the first alpine driver line up after renault… keep pushing y/n!!

user4 ohhh she’s gonna EAATTT at mercedes

estebanocon going to send a mor private text to you now but thank you for everything y/n/n 🩷💙 (you’re also my favourite f1 driver)

lewishamilton ❤️❤️

lilymhe 💓

user5 omg the y/n to merc rumours were true

user6 it’s not even been confirmed yet lmfao for all we know she could’ve just got sacked by alpine and no one wants to pick her up

bestfriend soooo proud of you my girl 💞💞💞💞

riabish prouder than words can explain 🫶

twitter !

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youruser HE FUCKING DID IT !!:!;&/&”!/!;”929/ MY BOYFRIEND IS A RACE WINNER AND IM SOBBING OMG I LOVE HIM SO MUCH LOOK HOW HAPPY😁

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user1 GIRL F1 AND MERCEDES JUST ANNOUNCED YOUR MOVE AND YOURE POSTING THIS LMFAOOO

landonorris WE DID IT BABY AHHHSHDHHAKA

youruser YOU DID IT MY LOVEEDJJRKEKR💓💓💓🧡💓🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🥰🥰😍😍😍🥰🥰🥰😻😻😻😻😻

user2 she’s so funny for just ignoring her merc move announcement 😭😭 she dgaf

user3 boyfie WON she doesn’t give a shit about mercedes rn, give her like 24 hours

bestfriend does this mean i can’t call him no wins anymore

riabish right!?? like, the one gp we go to and he has to go and steal our focus from our girl coz we gotta care about him at least a little bit

bestfriend exactly.. he’s so selfish like wtf

landonorris im so very very sorry

user4 FINALLYYYYYY

maxfewtrell 🧡🧡

youruser guys yes i know they announced my mercedes move! why are y’all acting like you didn’t know about it last week tho😭 i saw the tweets

[m4nj1r0s]

Ran Haitani relationship headcannons

- Was probably only using you for entertainment, and was 100% planning on leaving you after about a month.

- Since you two weren’t serious in his mind, mf was a MENACE.

- Got you a COLD pack when you were on your period and had cramps.

- Like my Hanma post, gives bad girl advice to Rindou.

- “Girls prefer cold packs when they’re on their period, it helps the cramps.”

- Like a week before he was going to break up with you, he noticed a rival of his making lovey-dovey eyes at you. He postponed breaking up with you just to spite his rival.

- Was extra affectionate with you if he ever saw the guy JUST to be petty to the max but he found himself doing it privately too. And.. he liked it. Rindou helped him come to the conclusion he genuinely liked you!!

- But now you can’t leave him, ever :(

- You guys have dates where you just nap together. I’m not talking like you just came over and you two were bored so you took a nap. No, no, no like this is an actual PLANNED date. It’s marked on his calendar and everything as ‘date night’ with a bunch of hearts made with red sharpie. Ran probably gets Rindou to go out so you guys can have some peace and quiet.

- “Isn’t this nice, baby?”

- “I can feel you trying to interlock our toes.”

- Probably took Rindou a while to warm up to you, but the real ice breaker is when Rindou came home drunk whilst Ran was asleep so you guys played video games and did karaoke.

- Ran wanted to tear his hair out at Rindou’s singing but he said yours was like a lullaby. 🤗

- Probably has a picture of Nahoya and Souya that he throws darts at in his room. 😭😭

- If you’re shorter than him, he loves putting things you need on a high shelf so you have to ask him to get it.

- And he does this whilst you’re using it. ☹️

- Backfires when you just ask Rindou..

- Expects you to have his picture as your lock screen and refuses to put yours as his. His lock screen is a picture of his bed.

- When you got upset he refused to have your picture as his lock screen, he tried to make it up to you by taping a picture of you to his fighting baton.

- “This is practically the same thing, actually, it’s better! Would you rather I tape it to my uniform instead??”

- He’s genuinely asking.

- You’re saved in his phone as smth like “Honeycomb suckle sugar plum pumpkin pie ❤️💜🤍🤎💚🧡💝😫”

- Wants to learn a new language with you just so you guys can talk about stuff without Rindou eavesdropping (I hc Rindou has a bad habit of this).

- He is IMPOSSIBLE to wake up, like you could try everything and he would still be fast asleep.

- Literally the only thing that makes him wake up is the smell of breakfast or any food in general

- Has a black hole as a stomach (metaphorically)

- It’s cute since you guys can have that thing together where if you can’t finish your food he will just finish it for you :)

- Type of guy to lay on his side with a rose in his mouth and his head propped up with his hand when you come home from work or whatever with careless whisper playing on in the background

- Backfires when he cuts his lip with a thorn 😭

- “I’m never doing this romantic shit again.”

————————————————————————————

I was debating making this a yandere hc post but it feels more of a normal one

It’s a pretty short hc post but I’m back now 🤭

And I will get to requests that are already in my ask box in the next few weeks, since it’s close to exam season for me 😓

[animeyanderelover]

Kaneki, Haise, Shalnark, (both eras) Dazai, Yuuji, Sukuna and Gojo's reaction to getting a gift from their darling ?

Tags: @naeho @flaming-vulpix @jamayah @chxxz @leveyani @cynniical @shenryu-sama @shumidehiro @izanami78

Tw: Yandere themes, possessive behavior, obsession, toxic relationship, manipulation, stalking, isolation, abuse, abduction

S/o gives them a gift

Shalnark

📱Much to his dismay he spoils the surprise for himself by actively spying on your online activities and for that witnesses how you buy something online. So when you hand him one day shyly a gift wrapped up in some pretty wrapping paper, he has already a very good idea of what is inside due to the short time that passed by between the delivery of the bought product and your gift. Nevertheless, he's still quite happy as he unwraps your gift with a happy smile on his face. It is a bit of a letdown that he has ruined himself the enjoyment of surprise due to his frequent stalking but he knows he'd never have it any other way but spying on you so intently. For your sake he pretends to be surprised though, he can't let you realize that he knows about your present already after all. You're wrapped up in muscular arms shortly after as he gives you a sweet and long kiss, thanking you for the surprise. After another quick peck on your nose he promises you with a bright grin on his face that he'll buy you something nice in return too.

Ken Kankeki

🔲​Preparing a gift for Kaneki is going to be quite a challenge. Not only because you are essentially stuck all the time in his apartment but also because he is like your shadow, he's everywhere you are. You have to tell him that you wish to be left alone as you try to create a gift for him yourself and he takes it obviously the wrong way. He automatically assumes that you don't want to see him and amidst all his pain he just tells himself over and over again that obviously you wouldn't want to see a creep like him around. It's almost funny that the thought that you might just make something for him never crosses his mind, so low is his self-esteem. He actually sheds a few tears when you finally hand him your gift. Kaneki never thought you'd give him a present but he's delirious with joy that you wasted your precious time for him. Honestly, it almost weirds you out how stupidly happy he seems to be because your gift isn't that special but you've gotten somewhat used to his antics. He has to give you something back in return! Or else he'd feel absolutely useless.

Haise Sasaki

🔳​Luckily despite Haise's occasional stalking and obsessive tendencies, you as his darling are still free to go around by yourself. So getting him a gift is easy in comparison to Kaneki. That doesn't change the fact that he seems quite puzzled upon receiving the gift at first. He just stares at you sort of baffled before he glances at the wrapped object in his hand before almost comedically confused asking you if this is for him. His heart flatters in his chest as soon as you nod and urge him to open it and he carefully unwraps the gift wrap paper, your anticipating eyes on him making him a tad bit nervous for some reason. Initially he just stares at your present in silence as soon as it is unwrapped and for a few seconds you fear that he doesn't like it. That is until a faint blush appears on his cheeks as he mumbles in a quieter voice that he loves it. He gives you a soft peck on your cheeks and you find it somewhat funny how he seems to be too bashful to even look you into your eyes. You're definitely getting a home-made meal from him later on.

PM! Dazai Osamu

🤎​Trying to hide a gift from Dazai as a Port Mafia is about impossible because he never leaves you alone. Where he is, you have to be too so you have no choice but to confess to him that you want to get him a gift but find it impossible to do so with the way he isolates you and never leaves you without his presence close to you. He's strangely curious to why you'd want to gift him something even despite his obvious obsessive and possessive behavior and the abduction and your answer that you want to do something nice for him seems to entertain him. Miraculously he allows you some alone time to get him something as he's interested to see what you would gift a Port Mafia member like him. He's pleasantly surprised when he receives your present, chuckles when he notices your almost anxious look as you observe him eying your gift. You flinch when he grabs your neck and pulls you closer as bad memories flash inside your mind only to be met with a passionate kiss as he thanks you for your gift, his eyes sparkling happy as he looks at your gift again.

ADA! Dazai Osamu

🤎​Your frequent shopping trips haven't gone unnoticed as Dazai enjoys stalking you as often as he can. It's adorable to see you acting so carefree, unaware that he's always trailing behind you. He has to wonder why you have recently spent so much time entering store after store without buying anything though. You seem to search for something, what it is you're looking for you appear to not even know yourself. So it's a present for someone then? For him, perhaps? He really hopes that you're looking for something for him because he would be quite jealous if you were to pick a present for someone else. He decides to wait, stops stalking you as much for a while in case you really are buying a gift for him because he wants to be surprised. He's over the moon when his hopes are fulfilled and you gift him something a few days later. He's already unimaginably joyful, gushing and giving you lots of kisses before he has even opened your gift. He knows that you spent a lot of time picking a gift for him to make sure that you'd find the right present so he's all the more happy to know that you invested that much time and care for him.

Itadori Yuji

🩷​Yuji has bought you so many small gifts already that you almost feel pressured to pay him back somehow. You want to do it all by yourself too so you don't even ask for Nobara's or Megumi's help as you start searching for something to gift your boyfriend. Your heart is pounding when you surprise him with the gift. At first he seems really flattered as he takes it from your hands with a grin on your face and gives you a few quick kisses. When he sees what's inside though, his eyes widen as he asks you how much money exactly you spent on this for him. You try to avoid his question but perhaps that's answer enough as Itadori starts freaking out a bit. Don't get him wrong, he's really happy that you gifted him something but he feels a bit guilty that you spent so much money on him. Obviously he doesn't accept your arguments that he's spent a lot of money on smaller presents for you because if he does it it's of course not that bad. He accepts it because you prepared it for him but he makes you promise him that you won't spend so much money the next time.

Ryomen Sukuna

🗾​Sukuna isn't always with you because he has sometimes important stuff to do but is confident enough to know that you'd never escape. Even if you would, it's not like you could get very far away. It isn't uncommon for Uraume to watch over you if Sukuna isn't with you so you beg them to help you to get a gift for Sukuna. Somehow you manage to convince them as they even give you some advice on what you should get him which is why you try your talents in making a hand-made gift for Sukuna in his absence. Sukuna knows you're hiding something but decides to let it pass for now as he even realizes that Uraume seems be in on it and that makes him curious. He looks almost confused as you hand him your hand-made present, carelessly rips it open and twirls the object curiously around in his four hands. Eventually his eyes meet you but instead of thanking you, one of his four hands starts petting your head as he admits that you've done well which is about the highest praise you can get from someone like Sukuna.

Gojo Satoru

🩵​You agonize over what to gift Satoru because he is so rich that you feel like whatever you buy won't be anything special as he could have just bought it himself. So you decide to try to make something hand-made for him too. Keeping this hidden from Satoru is a pain in the ass though as the man is too clingy for you to comfortably work. Worst of all seems to be that Gojo has a hunch that you try to keep something a secret from him and he doesn't appreciate this at all. So he bothers you about your secret as often as he can and as much as you're sometimes tempted to just yell it at him, you pull through somehow until you've finished what you had planned to prepare for him despite all the delays due to Satoru. He acts like an excited child when you hand it over to him as he quickly unwraps it. He's taking pictures of it, tells you excitedly that he'll share them with his students and co-workers before suffocating you in a hug and smothering you with kisses. He literally won't shut up about it for the next few days, whether he's with Yuju, Nobara and Megumi or Nanami.

[lady-of-tearshed]

Bedroom manners

Eris Vanserra x Reader

Eris Vanserra week 2024

@erisweekofficial

Day 1 : Bonds

Summary: Honestly, bonds, binds of fire, bondage... What's the difference? So here you go, smut with absolutely no plot with our sexy High Lord, Eris Vanserra. Enjoy!

Warnings: 18+ !!, penetrative sex (piv), female reader, bondage, tied up sex (Eris' fire binds 😏), begging, teasing, unprotected sex.

Dividers made by @tsunami-of-tears 🤎

“Stop teasing.”

You snarl between your teeth, bucking against the binds of fire holding your hips down to the mattress. Warmth brushes ober skin as you attempt to move, to rub yourself against something, anything.

Eris licks his lips, frowns, as if the bastard was considering your request, but then he just shrugs.

“No,” His finger tips continue their ministration on your thighs, climbing up, up, but never reaching the part where you craved his touch the most. “If you really want me to stop, use your safe word. You know the rules, Y/N. Don't you?”

His fingers slide into your dripping cunt, and your inner walls instantly clench around them, swallowing them whole. Eris' arousal shifts at the mere sight of your body taking his fingers in so well, thinking of how you were made so perfectly for him.

“Eris,” You moan, tears trickling your eyes as your fingers twitch and clench, desperate to take matters into your own hands. You’re dying to rub your clit, to buck your hips against his fingers. You crave more, so much more at this moment.

“Yes, beloved?” That taunting in his voice is extremely infuriating, yet so… devilishly hot. “What is it that you need, mh?”

“More…” You mumble under your breath, your breath hitching when his fingers curl right on the spot that can make you see stars in a matter of seconds.

“What is it that you said? I'm not sure your request has been asked quite enough loud,”

“More, Eris,” You repeat louder this time.

You tilt your head on the side to peek over your shoulder and glare at him. Your attitude wears off instantly at the I’m-not-impressed-at-all-by-your-attitude stare Eris throws at you, his fingers stopped moving completely, to your dismay.

“Has my lovely mate lost all her pretty little manners?” He raises a brow, looking down at you from the tip of his nose. “What about “Please”, mh?”

“Please…”

“Please what?” He purrs, resuming the movements of his fingers inside of you as he awaits for a better answer from you.

“Please, Eris, I need more,” You hiss through gritted teeths, “I need…” You moan as a pressure starts to build in your lower abdomen from the restless caress of Eris fingers on your most sensitive spot. “Need more than your fingers… Need your

… cock inside of me… Please.”

“Good girl,”

Before you could complain or whine about the emptiness his fingers left as they exited your heat, his cock slammed home, filling you up deliciously.

The binds of fire around your wrists tighten, and warm, but not enough to burn, or hurt you. Eris would never harm you in any way. The two of you would tether on the edge of pleasure and strong sensations, yes, but never would Eris hurt you, or make anything that would make you uncomfortable.

“Gods, you're so tight, beloved,” Eris cock twitches inside of you, already close from all the teasing he has made you endure earlier. “You're okay?”

Eris leans forward, a rope of fire brushing against your neck, tugging you back against his strong chest. His slender fingers brush against your chin, eyes searching for any sign of discomfort.

“More than okay,” You gulp, tears pricking your eyes as tension built in your abdomen, “I'm so close Er’ ”

Your whimpers made Eris' hips thrust even faster, desperate to bring the two of you stumbling straight over the edge of this overwhelming pleasure. “Then come with me, mate,”

His pleasure wraps around yours, the smell of your mixed arousal flooding all of your senses. The bond pulses between your two souls, and with a high-pitched moan, a sound that would have for sure awoken the whole damn Autumn Court of your clever mate hadn't thought of putting up sounds wards all over your shared chambers, you orgasmed.

Eris hands wrap around your chest, holding you down on him, keeping you from collapsing on the soft mattress. His teeth sank into your shoulder as he emptied his semen deep into your womb. His groan of pure male pleasure almost made you come all over again.

Eris had comfortably settled beside you after he had made sure you were all cleaned up, hydrated, fed and comfortable. His hand now tracing gentle patterns on your back as your body rests half atop his.

“We shall try it again sometimes,” You whispered in the pitch black room, exhaustion quickly creeping over you.

Eris looks down at you, his fingers brushing against your jaw as he waits for you to elaborate.

“The binds, your fire binds,” You shrug nonchalantly, your body curling against his, readying yourself for sleep. “I liked it. We should try it again sometimes.”

Eris' laugh was silent, tired. But he holds you closer, soft tendrils of his magic brushing against your skin.

“As you wish, my beloved,” His lips place a soft kiss to your forehead. “Sweet dreams,”

His whisper was unanswered, which makes his smile grow even wider from how quickly you have fallen asleep.

He had truly thoroughly made love to you.

Taglist: @mybestfriendmademe @lilah-asteria @acotar-lover

[finniestoncrane]

Pleaseeeee can I have a softer Cooper who worries a lot about his girlfriend having to deal with people looking at them weird all the time, but who would be happy to yell "THIS IS MY MAN!" to anyone who would listen?

Willingly

Cooper Howard x Fem!Reader, word count: 1.5k i am already on the soft cooper train oh no lmaooooo just a little bit of soft boyfriend cooper, or as soft as i imagine he can get, being defended by his partner 🤎 request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi • masterlist minors DNI!! 🔞 cw: guns, blood, violence, good old fashioned trope fic!

Cooper struggled against your gentle grip, his gloved hand pulling away from yours, fingers no longer entwined with yours. You looked to him, noticing he was avoiding your inquisitive gaze, and then noticed the crudely painted sign on the wall ahead of you. The gates to the nearest settlement were just ahead of you. Your last stop before you headed on to the next job.

“What? Are you embarrassed to walk in here holding my hand, Coop?”

His easy, charming smile seemed a little off as he spoke to you, still looking straight ahead.

“You kiddin’? Darlin’, this is for your benefit. Not many settlements are alright with folks like me at the best of times, but with you on my arm? We’d both be in danger, and I can’t keep spendin’ all my time savin’ you.”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes.

“I can hold my own. You know that.”

There was no response, but you knew better than to keep fighting your corner in this particular arena. So instead, you sighed, placing your hands which now felt so incredibly cold and empty, back into your pockets to keep them from mindedly grabbing Cooper’s hands again. You couldn’t be too annoyed. For someone as stoic and cold as he could be, the fact he tolerated holding your hand at all was a pleasant enough gesture. But his willingness to offer up any form of physical affection dwindled completed when there was a risk of running into people. He became reserved, quiet, well-behaved almost. It was something you hadn’t expected from him, to be shy or to allow someone else’s opinions to hold him back. And admittedly, a lot of the time, you had worried that it was because he didn’t want to be seen with you. But you knew it was the other way around in his mind. He was afraid of how people would look at you.

As though he could hear your thoughts, knowing you well enough after all this time together, Cooper spoke finally as you sidled up to the gates.

“You wake up to this face smiling. You call me handsome. You say I’m charming. Good lookin’ I might be in your books, but there ain’t a lot of charm left in these old bones, sweetheart. I couldn’t talk my way out of an argument, and since you keep remindin’ me that I’m not allowed to cause problems everywhere we go…”

He tapped his thumb against the barrel of his holstered gun.

“… Then I just better not give anyone any more reason not to like me.”

“Well, I like you, Coop.”

“And I will forever question your judgement on that, kid.”

Smiling, you both passed through the open gate of the settlement and separated with a nod to get the supplies you needed. Quicker, and safer, to go separately. But still, you kept your head down, Cooper with his ragged mask up and his hat brim tipped to cover as much of his face as possible. Quiet, subtle, nondescript.

It didn’t stop them though, three of them. Pointing towards you, setting their beer bottles down on the stained and rusting bar top as they rushed to follow you.

“Hey! Hello there, pretty lady! You all alone?”

Turning, you spotted the colour of the uniform first, immediately recognising that you had made a mistake in even acknowledging them. That telltale burnt orange jumpsuit. The arrogance in their smug smiles. The Brother of Steel.

“No. I’m not alone.”

“Sure looks like you are… you know, maybe you could come on over and we’ll by you a cola?”

They laughed amongst themselves as you walked on. That one answer and a quick disappearing act was all you were willing to give them, turning quickly back and trying to lose them in the crowd as they slapped each other’s backs and spat to the ground.

And you thought you had been successful. You found a trader with everything you needed on your list before you returned to wait just beyond the gate for Cooper, no further interruptions to your day from the louts at the bar. But the entire interaction had out you on edge, so much so that when Cooper appeared behind you, leaning in without you noticing to whisper in your ear, you jumped out of your skin. Luckily, he was quick, and managed to grab your wrist before your fist struck the side of his face.

“Jumpy, aren’t you? Maybe you don’t think I’m so handsome after all.”

His wink made you blush, it always did, and you bit the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from grinning like a fool.

“You surprised me is all, smartass.”

Cooper smiled, tightening the grip on your wrist and pulling you closer to him. You feigned some resistance, pretending to put up a fight against his grin, his charms, his strength. But you were following his pull, your lips almost touching his before the blow was landed.

Cooper’s body was knocked completely off balance, his body falling to the ground in a cloud of dust. Turning in the direction he was hit from, you found yourself staring down the three members of the Brotherhood from the market. Holding back some of the choice words you had for them, you managed to narrow it down to one question simple enough for even them to answer.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

Shocked by your ungrateful attitude, one of the men, the largest of the three, stepped forward and pushing your shoulder with his finger.

“We’re saving you from assault, lady! This monster had its hands all over you, but don’t worry, we’ll take care of it. And you’re welcome.”

You scoffed, face going red with rage as you knelt to help Cooper up.

“You’re not saving me, asshole! You’re ruining the fucking vibe, you dweebs.”

Again, a far more polite term than you had wanted to use, but that didn’t seem to make the men any less aggressive towards either Cooper or now you. The largest of the men grabbed your arm, pulling you back up and away from the hand that Cooper had held out to you.

“Oh… you’re one of those freaks! No wonder you turned down some good old-fashioned heroes like us then.”

One of the others nudged you to the side, the other pushing Cooper back down to the ground with a kick, turning around as all of them converged on you until your back was against the wall. Nowhere to go. Trapped by them as they made their disgusting comments.

“Why would you waste your time on some abomination like that, huh? You into freaky stuff? Cos I could sure show you a thing or two. What’s he got? Like two cocks or something weird like that?”

You spat out your retort, well aware of the repercussions, but not caring.

“He could be feral and I’d still let him touch me before I even thought about letting any of you near me.”

Bracing for impact, you squeezed your eyelids shut, opening them again moments later when you realised you hadn’t been hit yet. Instead, all three of the Knights were on the ground, Cooper kneeling over them as he tightened the lasso and added the long length around their wrists for measure.

“Oughta keep ‘em long enough for us to make our escape, hm?”

You nodded, smiling, surprised still at how effective he was at handling anything the Wasteland threw at him.

“And I did it all without too much violence and noise, like you asked.”

“My hero.”

You swooned playfully, watching him as he made his way to stand beside you, both of you looking down without an ounce of pity at the men who writhed before you in the dirt.

“And look at you, shouting all those kind words about me for anyone to hear.”

“I keep telling you, Coop. I can hold my own, and I don’t care what people think.”

“You sure about that, darlin’? The likes of these fellas don’t put you off none?”

His eyes darted towards the Knights, now trussed up and struggling against each other on the ground, straining their necks to move their heads out of the line of Cooper’s gun.

“What? You think I’m put off by the Brotherhood? Yeah… and the rads put me off stuffing tin after tin of delicious cram down my throat.”

Cooper grabbed your hand in his, initiating the contact for the first time, and pulled you away back onto the cracked road. He knew he’d let go before you hit the next settlement, but he felt a little bit better about the risks associated. Especially since he had to admit, you could hold your own. And you were determined to do so when it came to him. It was nice to feel like he could let the affection be reciprocated.

[amyrahrose]

Thinking about Choso recording you as yall fuck. 

“Come on, smile for the camera baby-girl, I wanna see that pretty little face.” Choso groaned out. He was currently balls deep inside you with the camcorder in his hand positioned on your face, capturing every movement you made. He was in pure bliss having his dick positioned snuggly inside your warm, wet walls, pussy fluttering around him every time he gave you instructions. 

“Look at the camera like that again, that’s it sweetheart.”

“Hold them legs up for me.”

“Who’s pussy is this baby? Answer the camera for daddy.” Choso grunted. With each passing moment, he was getting more into it causing his thrusts to pick up, hitting you in that sweet spot.

“Yours.” You squeaked out. You close your eyes only to widen them with a gasp when Choso gave you a sharp, deep thrust. 

“Nah, none of that. Eyes on the camera at all times.” He said breathlessly. 

“Yes Daddy.” You moaned directly to the camera, the sight making Choso’s dick twitch. 

“You like this baby, you like when I record you while I’m giving you this dick?” He asked as he lowered the camera to your breasts, capturing as they bounced to the rhythm of his strokes. He then zoned in on your pussy. Puffy and pretty, Taking his dick so well. Your nut oozing out and forming a cream coat around the base of his cock. He took his other hand and began recording himself playing with your clit, rubbing and pinching the sensitive bud as he groaned feeling you tighten around him.

“Yes daddy, I love it.” You said while gazing up to the camera with a fucked out expression. Choso watched your face through the lens. 

You were a sight to see. Eyes half-lidded, biting your lips as you pierced through the camera, looking directly at him. It made his dick harder, hips pistoning into yours, strokes becoming animalistic as he chased after his nut. 

“Daddy please can I cum?” You moaned out loudly. 

“Cum for the camera baby, cum for daddy.” Choso ordered. As soon as the words were spoken, the band in your stomach snapped, causing one of the most intense orgasms you’ve had. 

Choso was in heaven. Capturing the way you rose your body off of the bed, head thrashing against the pillows as you moaned out his name over and over. Pussy squelching as your juices gushed out, spraying out over the both of you. That was all it took for Choso.

“Fuck baby, I’m bouta nut.” Choso moaned. You were still in a daze from your climax as an idea popped in your mind. In an instance you grabbed the camera from Choso’s grasp and turned it onto him, just in time to capture him as his came undone. Head thrown back, muscles clenched as he held your hips in place, his cum shooting out in ropes, filling you up, the sounds of his moans causing your pussy to clench around him. 

With the camera still recording, Choso looked back down at you through the lens, eyes still full of lust, licking his lips and smirking before saying,

“Take two?”

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