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lemonlover1110 · 9 months

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𝐌𝐲 𝐁𝐞𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐝

Toji Fushiguro

[Chapter 3] Bugging Question

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Pairing: Toji Fushiguro x f!Reader

Chapter Warnings: Angst

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Acting as if you think everything is okay overwhelms you. As okay as things can be while you’re getting a divorce. Toji swears that he’ll sign the papers tomorrow morning, and for now you’re cuddling. You’re hearing some light snoring from his part, and you can’t fall asleep. Not because you’re bothered by his snores, you’re already used to them.

You might be pregnant. You’re thinking about that possibility, and the fact that you don’t know what you’d do if you were. That’s why you didn’t ask Toji to stop at a pharmacy on your way back home. You don’t want him to know because you have no idea what you’re going to do and you know Toji’s hopes of you staying together will go up if you find out that you’re pregnant.

“What would you do if I was pregnant?” You mindlessly ask, knowing that your husband is fast asleep. You so badly want to stay, and you need to find an excuse to do so. But no good excuse is coming up, you have no reason to stay. It’s selfish to want a pregnancy to have an excuse to stay with him. You know better.

Toji doesn’t love you, that’s why you’re leaving. If you have a baby, things will get worse. You can’t have a kid to try and fix this worthless marriage. Reasoning isn’t in your mind, you just want to stay with the man you love so badly.

“I’d be happy…” He’s sleep talking. Occasionally you say something while he sleeps and he answers, yet when you ask about it in the next morning, he doesn’t remember anything. He doesn’t mean it, he’s babbling, but there’s a smile on your face.

“You would be? I thought you didn’t want kids.” You don’t know why you keep talking. His embrace tightens, and you feel yourself about to cry from happiness. It’s absurd. You’re delusional, you just want to stay with him. You have no idea why you’re slowly changing your mind after watching the movie.

“You know I love you.” He mutters, and you’re about to wake him up. You don’t want to get a divorce anymore. You take a moment to think about it, should you really wake him up? Maybe you can wait till tomorrow morning when you’re not so desperate to try and keep this all together. You find yourself weakest at night because his body is right next to you. You hear his heartbeat, his breathing, you take his scent, you feel his warmth; it’s hard not to be weak when your heart is heavy with love and he’s telling you that he reciprocates it.

You’re sure that in the morning you’ll be thinking the same exact thing. You need to stay with Toji. Until he mutters something else, and it isn’t your name. And the tears that are in your eyes spill, but they’re no longer tears of joy, on the contrary, they’re now tears of agony.

No matter what happens, you’re leaving.

You try to wiggle your way out of his arms, but his grip is too strong. You get away from him by mere inches, but he doesn’t waste any time in pulling you back so your back is pressed against him again.

You sigh.

Toji is gone in the morning, which doesn’t surprise you since he usually leaves to go to work early. You sit up on your bed, slowly gaining consciousness. You walk to the bathroom, and do your morning routine. You luckily have the day off since you knew you were moving out, you talked to your boss about it. You’ve been anticipating this day.

You think about your foolish thoughts of the previous night, your tired brain wanting to stay with Toji. Never in a million years will you stay with that man. You think that you’re over him, as soon as you can you’ll jump into the dating pool. Granted, you’ve completely forgotten about the fact that you possibly might be pregnant.

You go into the closet to grab the suitcases that you have packed, and you find them on the floor, one of them open and stuff has been taken out. Toji must’ve woken up on the wrong side of the bed, but you don’t care. You have time before he gets home. You can redo that suitcase, and you can neatly pack it up.

You change out of your pajamas into another comfortable outfit, after all, you are moving out. You grab your phone and look through your contacts, wondering who you can call for help. You don’t have your own car, and you want to avoid calling a taxi. Not only that, you have a lot of luggage and after moving there you have to go shopping for furniture. You don’t even have a bed to sleep on.

Everything could’ve been planned out much better, but you want to desperately get out. You barely have time to think anyway, so you won’t beat yourself up about it.

Your eyes land on a specific contact that you don’t know all that well: Shiu Kong, Toji’s friend and his best man at your wedding. You’re not too sure how they know each other, but you know that they’re friends. That’s all you know. You don’t have too many people to rely on, which is why your finger hovers over the contact. The only other person you can try to call is pregnant and you don’t– Fuck, pregnancy. Shit shit shit.

You have to take a test but you can’t do it here. Just thinking about that possibility makes your stomach churn. You want to be a mother but this situation is less than ideal. You can’t think about it, you have to focus on the task at hand. Which is why your finger clicks on the contact and you call him. The phone rings over and over again, and just as you’re about to hang up, he picks up the phone.

“Hello?” You nearly forgot how his voice sounded. You’re sure the last time you saw him was on your wedding night– No, it was a little after you moved into this apartment. Still, it was so long ago. He gave you his number in case any issue came up, and granted, you’ve never used it. “Who’s this?”

You tell him who you are, and it earns a laugh from him. He never really thought that you’d be using the number, but here you are. You feel a lump in your throat and with every passing second you get more and more anxious. Apart from Megumi, no one really knows about your separation from Toji. You hate saying it out loud, but you have to. “You live in town, right?”

“Uh… Yeah, what’s up?” He asks.

“Have you talked to Toji recently? Did he tell you what’s happening?” You question, and you hear a hum from the other side of your phone. You’re biting your bottom lip, asking yourself just how stupid you are. You were ready to do this alone but suddenly you’re scouring for someone to support you, and funnily enough, you landed on one of Toji’s friends. You sigh, “Can you do me a favor without contacting him?”

“Sure.” He doesn’t really hesitate which you appreciate.

“Are you too busy with work? I need to borrow you. It’s important.” You say.

“Guessing I’m your last resort.” He asks and you agree, trying to laugh it off. You don’t really have anyone to rely on. “Let me guess, you’re finally moving out.”

“I am.” You answer, and thankfully you don’t have to talk much before he tells you that he’ll be here. You hang up the phone and walk out of the room to the kitchen to try to eat something before your day officially gets started. There’s nothing too appetizing, you’re not doing the grocery shopping anymore which means Toji has taken over. It’s fair to say he’s horrible at the task. There’s only ketchup, mayonnaise, leftover rise and some other leftovers which you’re too scared to open.

You look into the pantry to find something else, and you only find some saltine crackers, which you take and begin to eat. You can’t be too picky right now. Just as you’re opening the pack, you notice some papers on the dining table, and you walk over to check what it is. You’re assuming it’s some paperwork that Toji has to sign, you overheard Megumi tell his father how he was planning on joining the baseball team and how he needed Toji to sign a couple of things and whatnot.

You feel your heart drop at what you find. You’d expect to find it on your nightstand, not on the dinner table. He just left it there for Megumi to see as well. And you have no idea why you’re about to cry since you’ve been begging him to sign those papers.

As you see the divorce papers, you realize that even though you’ve been trying to convince yourself that you’re done with Toji, that you don’t care anymore about this marriage or him, you still do. You very much care even though you’ve been trying not to.

You begin to cry, grieving a marriage that was never even worth it. You love him so much that it pains you. You bite down on your lip, holding back a sob as tears roll down your cheeks. You try to make yourself feel better by remembering all the bad times you’ve spent with him. Bad times were most prevalent in your marriage, so this shouldn’t be too bad, right?

So many insistences pop into your head where you’ve been begging for his love and you end up being an afterthought. It should make you feel better that this is happening, but you’re not; you’re devastated yet also bitter. Bitter because even though Toji claims that he loves you, he still couldn’t say your name.

You might be devastated, but the more you think about it, the more relieved you are.

It’s clear that you’ve been crying when Shiu picks you up. He doesn’t bother to ask much as he puts your luggage in the trunk and the backseat. He’s quiet when he drives to your new apartment, when you drop off your luggage, when he takes you shopping for new furniture, and when he’s finally about to leave you at your house. He helps you bring the boxes of unarranged furniture into the apartment and when he’s about to leave, he asks the question that you’ve been dreading hearing,

“Are you okay?” It earns a nod from you. You’re busy, you have to arrange a lot of furniture and then you have to go out to get yourself something to eat. He then asks, “Do you need any more help?”

“If you want to stay and arrange some furniture with me.” You try your best to smile at him, and he rolls up his sleeves. You never really thought Shiu meant when he told you that you could rely on him, but he proves himself as he helps you arrange the furniture. He’s doing most of the work on arranging the furniture while you try to help him.

“It’s a nice apartment… Small but nice.” Shiu says because after spending hours by your side, he’s tired of the silence. You hum in response, and it’s obvious you won’t continue the conversation. He hates the silence. There’s a question that bugs his mind but he knows better than to ask.

When he’s almost done arranging the bed frame, he tells you, “I think we forgot to buy you a mattress.”

“I can’t believe I forgot that.” You chuckle. Your mind is all over the place. You’ll just sleep on top of blankets for the night or something like that. Unless Shiu wants to go shopping with you again. Shiu’s phone rings and he stands up from the floor, excusing himself outside to pick up the phone.

You’re looking around the place, and you think about the possibility of pregnancy. Where would you fit a crib? How would you handle a baby? You have no idea what you’d do, and you’ll try not to think about it for now.

Your stomach growls, and you stand up as well. You pull out your phone to look up places near you to eat, and as you look at all the different places and you decide what you crave, you miss how Shiu is back in the apartment. When he speaks up, you jump a little since you’re startled. You end up clearing your throat before you ask him,

“Are you in the mood to eat anything?” He ends up shaking his head.

“Let’s finish here first.” He responds, and you awkwardly smile at him.

“I want to thank you for helping me out, Shiu. I know that we’ve barely talked, and I know that you’re Toji’s friend too.” You begin, watching as Shiu opens another box.

“I gotta say… I’m surprised this is all happening. Especially since you’re both… You know…” Shiu says as he pulls out all the pieces in the box. You tilt your head to the side and you ask him,

“Since…?”

“You both love each other.” He tells you, and you roll your eyes. It’s all a lie, Toji doesn’t love you. He continues speaking, “But I knew this would happen eventually. Toji has never been a great husband, doubted he’ll be good as a second husband.”

“Yeah… He sucks.” You really can’t say much, knowing that speaking about it will end up in you in tears. Plus you doubt that Shiu wants to talk badly about his dear friend. “Is that why you told me I could rely on you?”

“Partially so.”

“You should’ve told me before I got married.” Or before you got pregnant… At least that’s what’s popping up into your head at this moment. You try to laugh.

“Would you have not gotten married?” He asks, and you end up sighing. You wouldn’t have stopped yourself. You wouldn’t have listened to anyone, especially when Toji assured you he loved you.

When there’s no response he says, “Let’s get something to eat.”

You don’t talk about anything important with Shiu at lunch. You take the opportunity to stop at a pharmacy to shop for what you need. You tell him you need something for your period, and Shiu doesn’t bother to ask questions.

“I’ll wait for you here.” Shiu says, and you nod in response. You rush inside and try not to run as you look for the pregnancy tests. When you finally find them, you run to the register to buy them. The cashier takes forever to do everything, and you’re so close to just throwing cash at him and running to the bathroom to take it.

You’re more and more impatient with each passing second, you can’t wait till you get home to take the test. When he’s bagging it up, you snatch the test out of his hands and run to the bathroom to take it. You can’t take too long, knowing that Shiu is waiting for you. If he asks about anything, you’ll say you had to change your pad or something.

This can’t wait another minute. You still have so much more to do, you have no idea when you’ll get home. Your eyes skeem over the instructions and you wipe down the seat before you do as the instructions say.

Your hands are shaking while you do everything. Your breath hitches and you’re trembling even more. You hear as the bathroom’s door opens and closes, and you’re scared of making a sound while people walk by.

You’re wondering why this is happening. You’re usually very careful, especially with Toji of all people because for some reason he doesn’t get a vasectomy although he doesn’t want more kids. You take a pill every single day to avoid this situation. Maybe under all the stress you forgot to take it once or twice which is a grave mistake considering you’ve ironically been having sex with Toji more than ever. Maybe you should’ve gotten an implant or an IUD, you wouldn’t be scared like this if you had either of those birth controls.

You’ll be fine. You close your eyes for a moment, and you take a deep breath. You’ll be fine. Totally fine. When you open your eyes the test will be negative. You know that when you open your eyes– You inhale before you open your eyes, and you see the results. Your eyes well up with tears as you wrap the test up with toilet paper before you throw it away. You walk out of the bathroom and try to contain your tears as you walk to Shiu’s car.

“Everything okay?” He asks when you get into the passenger seat. You can’t look at him as you hum in response.

“Heavy flow.” Is all you have to say, knowing that he won’t ask questions. He begins to dry, and you assume that he’s going to the closest place that sells mattresses. You agreed at lunch that you’d get a mattress and that’d be all. After that you’d be on your own.

Your head leans on the window, and you’re trying not to think about what you’re going to do next because you’ll end up bursting into tears, and you don’t want to explain anything to Shiu. You clear your throat before you tell him, “I really want to thank you for today, Shiu. I had no idea what I was going to do.”

“I told you that you can count on me, did I not? I’m a man of my word.” He says.

“Nothing like Toji.” You murmur, and he decides that he didn’t hear it. You feel the car come to a stop, and you furrow your brows before asking, “Why–”

You look at the building, and you scoff. You have no idea why you weren’t expecting this. You look at Toji, holding a bouquet of flowers, and you turn your head the other way because you don’t have the heart to look at him right at this moment.

“Can we just go please? I don’t have anything to talk to him about.” You say as Shiu rolls down the car window. Of course he isn’t on your side but he also doesn’t have to do this.

“Hi.” You hear Toji as he walks to the car door.

“Talk to him, at least one last time.” Shiu unlocks the car door. You glare at Toji and then at Shiu. You sigh before you open the car door.

“I doubt this is the last time we’ll talk.”

#toji x y/n #toji zenin #toji fushiguro x reader #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #toji fushiguro #daddy toji #fushiguro toji #jujutsu kaisen toji #jujutsu toji #jjk toji #toji x reader #toji x you #dilf toji #toji fushiguro x you #toji fanfic #toji fic

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koostattoos · 5 months

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~ Pairing: jock!Jungkook x nerd!reader

~ Genre: academic rivals to lovers, fluff, angst, smut, college au, slowburn

~ Summary: Summer vacation was right around the corner. Being in a program that required you at the beach every day was a big pro. After seeing Jeon Jungkook at the same beach as you everything was ruined. Jungkook was the school’s heartthrob. Girls throwing themselves at him left and right, going to parties every other day, and coming in and out of those parties with different girls. Not to mention he’s the biggest dick you’ve ever met. Avoiding him was all you could think about. His being there threw avoiding him out the window. What’s the worst that could happen?

~ teaser wc: 667

full fic here!

For the past thirty minutes you sat staring at your suitcase still trying to figure out what the hell to pack. The program that you joined had asked everyone if they wanted to go on a trip for extra credit to work for the beach down by Busan for junior year. Not that you needed it, you had zero plans made for this summer.

Niki’s out of town visiting her family for the summer and Sohee’s out doing what Sohee does, probably out exploring abandoned places or getting high somewhere. Who knows? You decided to get up and start packing. You walked over to your closet to skim over your outfits and carefully picked out a few outfits for the next few months. After two hours of packing, your phone dings with a notification from Niki

Niki: omg can’t believe it’s summer already! have fun on your little trip down to Busan. If anything happens call or text me right away! Luv ya!

You smile down at your phone. You and Niki have been friends for years, you first met in your freshman year of high school. She taught you everything, from how to do your make-up and style your clothes and all that fun stuff. Funny how you both got into the same college and ended up sharing the same dorm. She’s gone around the campus having different guys in and out. You would say you guys are complete opposites. You would rather stay in and watch a movie or something instead of going out and partying with drunk college students and grinding my body against sweaty skin.

After finishing up the last of your packing you respond.

Me: hey girl, omg I know! The school year went by so fast, say hi to your mom n dad for me and give Nani kisses for me! And of course, you’ll always be the first to know everything! Luv u too! Enjoy your summer 💞

Putting your phone down you go to check when you were supposed to leave and meet everyone at the train station. The ticket said 8:00 am. You set your alarm for tomorrow and get ready for bed. Checking your phone for the last time you turn the lights off and drift off to dream land.

Waking up to your alarm clock blaring in your ear. It’s near 6:00 am, you get up and start getting ready. Walking into the bathroom you bring out your skin care routine. After finishing up and brushing your teeth, you go back to where your vanity is and start with your makeup.

Choosing what to wear was easy, you chose a simple outfit. An oversized black hoodie, black parachute cargos, and white gamma forces. You come out of your room to the living room and take your bag off the counter and get the rest of the bags for the trip. The drive to the train station took longer than expected. Traffic was horrible. The ride was said to be only about 30 minutes, you ended up getting there about an hour later.

After blasting music on the way there you had finally arrived, you see a few of your classmates from previous classes and walk up to say hi. “Yunjin!” You shouted her name, catching her attention. She waves at you and starts making her way over. “Oh my god hey girl!” She goes in for a hug and starts talking about the next two months. “This is so exciting! I’ve been waiting for this trip for so long, I hope we get free time because I’m too exhausted from all those tests.” She says with low shoulders. Out of nowhere she gasps and turns to you “You’ll never fucking guess who I just saw” You look at her with a curious face “Who?” she leans in closer “Jeon Jungkook”. Your face had gone red. Hearing Jungkook’s name coming out of her mouth left you shocked. Not forgetting the history, you and the boy had.

#jungkook smut #jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #jungkook #bts jungkook #fic: endless summer #jungkook fic #jeon jungkook

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leclsrc · 9 months

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more than anyone ✴︎ cl16

genre: childhood friends to enemies to lovers (a mouthful), smut, humor, Fluffff!!!!, angst

word count: 13.7k

You moved out of Monaco at fourteen with an unrepaired friendship hanging by a thread. Ten years and a whole lifetime later, you’re forced to work with him confront it all over again.

auds here… hi hi hi!!!! HAPPY 4k to us guys!!!!! i am so insanely thankful for all of u and i will make this a longer note when i wake up tomorrow because i have so much to say but have this for now. i hope u like it,i love love love u guys forever also i changed the banner because i wanted to

nsfw warnings under the cut!

18+ because... penetrative sex, semi public sex, praise central, size kink (pretty tame smut in auds world)

You know it’s bad when your assistant-and-friend-aka-friendsistant (her vernacular) Rachel walks in with a free coffee without a quip about how dependent you are on this exact order of coffee (she’s a millennial, so caffeine and lack thereof are in her arsenal of Funny Jokes). You fear you didn’t correctly anticipate just how bad it was going to be when she stays instead of leaving to work on your schedule, combing a few fingers through her fringe and sitting herself on your couch stiffly. Maybe you’re intuitive, maybe you spend too much time with Rachel and you can spot the way she scratches at her eye, maybe both—but it’s bad.

You don’t take a sip from the Starbucks that sits idly on the coaster, opting to watch the latte sweat instead. You do stare, though, at Rachel’s stagnant posture, scrutinizing her every movement. She takes a few deep breaths and drops the bomb.

“David sent me to tell you he has good news. But there is, um. Bad news.” Dread writhes through you at the mention of your manager with bad news, and you clear your throat to compose yourself.

“What’s going on?”

She purses her lips. “He’s on his way over here. Just…” She cocks her head sharply to the glass door of your home office, expression antsy. “Sorry. Wait for him. I can’t tell you anything yet.”

You take a swig from the pity coffee. “Am I getting blacklisted?”

“God, you dumbass, no—” She makes an incredulous noise, but before she can open her mouth to elaborate, your manager walks in with an excited expression on his face, pocketing his Juul to take a seat by your table. His smile is the radiant one of a man over forty with a comical amount of Botox.

“Rachel told me you had”—you stifle the adjective—“news.”

“That I do, yes.” He hums, tracing the edge of your table. “Did you enjoy Paris Fashion Week?”

Beside the brash Frenchmen, God-awful timezone differences and consequent calls at half past three, hungover show attendances, posing for pictures until your ankles blistered, and a temporary diet of black coffee, cigarettes, and stale croissants—sure, it was fun. It was your job to attend anyway, your obligation to shake hands with important people and be photographed in designer clothing and benefit from the PR, but how often could people call work fun?

“Sure.” You take another gulp off your coffee. “It was… fun.”

“Well, since your movie’s doing well,” David pauses and hums, “how do you feel about another few weeks of fun?”

“Like Paris Fashion Week—weeks… this month?” You frown, eyebrows knitting together. Is this a new Vogue thing? You’re not sure how many updates they give the schedule, but you wouldn’t mind too much if you could travel again for a little bit. “So soon after spring? Did Anna want this?”

“Iiiit’s, er, Vogue’s new project. Capsule shows in Europe, coastal and summery. She wanted an exclusive guest list. She asked for you by name,” David says smugly. “Well, she called my office, granted. But to ask for you—”

“Are you fucking serious?” You stand up, and if you hadn’t had some fix of coffee you would’ve gotten dizzy. “David, tell me you’re serious.” Time seems to have suspended itself as you await his answer—which, if affirmative, would be a pretty big deal to you.

“Yeah, I am.” He plays off a grin. “She loved your movie with Greta, and would love to send you to Europe to do PR on a few shows and pair up with some guests on a couple features. Exclusive stuff.”

You sit back down, mouth slack. “Oh, my God. I can’t believe it.” Your eyes dart to Rachel, who’s caught between a smile and an awkward purse of her lips. “Fuck! This is huge, David.”

“Yeah—okay, yeah, it is.” David shifts in his seat and crosses, then uncrosses, his legs, then his arms. He stutters for a second. “Good and bad news, remember?”

You blink a few times. You’d nearly totally forgotten the fact that this good news—and it is overwhelmingly good—comes with a bout of bad news, so bad apparently that it’s noteworthy enough to state alongside this massive deal. But it’s. Fine. It’s whatever. Worst case scenario, you’re going to need to fucking swim to Europe sans oxygen canister.

“So… the shows? Events, and shit?” He watches, waiting for you to signal that you follow. When you nod, he continues, averting his gaze to the face of his Patek. “They’re all in Monaco.”

Wrong.

“Monaco.” You repeat, deadpanning your delivery. It’s not out of the ordinary, the glitz and coast of the city being a perfect venue for high fashion. But Monaco is different for you, vastly different, and you tend to avoid the place to the best of your abilities. “Monaco. Are—you’re sure?”

“Mmm,” he hums in affirmation. “I know, I know you’re not exactly privy to Monaco because, bleh, childhood shit, whatever. But this—like you said, this is huge! And I don’t think we should jeopardize that.” He pulls a piece of paper from the folders tucked in his arm and waves it around.

“Well—yeah, I suppose. I’ll deal with it.”

“Yeah.” He sucks his teeth, eyes gliding over the scenery of L.A. that your window offers. “Okay, that’s it, so. Byeandhaveagoodlunch.” He slams the paper onto your desk, jostling you a little, but as he makes his exeunt, Rachel raises her arm to stop him.

“Is that it, David?” She asks, an edge to her voice.

You pick up the paper as they make hushed, stifled conversation, and find that it’s a call sheet of sorts, listing all the collaborators traveling to Monaco and what or who they’re in charge of, or paired up with, there. Models, athletes, celebrities, influencers—all making TikToks, or appearances, or brand deals, or interviews, or YouTube videos, the whole shebang.

“Yeah,” says David dismissively—nervously? “That’s it.”

You search for your name. “Okay. Um, hey.” Rachel turns to you, trying to catch your eye, which is busy scanning the sheet. “Did, um—did David mention you’re paired up with Charles Leclerc for a feature? Because you are. Paired up with Charles Leclerc for a feature, I mean.”

David sucks his teeth. “Thank you very much for graciously reminding me of that, Rachel.”

Still half-distracted and growing increasingly worried with the exchange happening in front of you, you make haste in your search—eventually, you find your name, printed in plain letters beside one you’ve wished to never read over ever again.

“Wait, my Charles?” You pause and look up, suppressing a yell as your eyes widen, and you blunder over a pathetic self-correction. “I mean—no, sorry—Charles, as in Charles Leclerc? I can’t work with him, you know this!”

“Wh—well, Vogue apparently wanted a really good Monaco-born pair and they seriously lucked out on you two. Also,” Rachel says, adamantly defending herself, “you’re always saying you can work ‘with anyone’!” She raises two comically vigorous air quotes to further her (moot) point.

“I didn’t ev—I never say that,” you lie straight through your teeth, mouth dry. You definitely do. You can place all the exact moments. “I would’ve known if I did. Rach—David—I cannot, absolutely cannot work with Leclerc. He’s my… we…” You shut your eyes and sneak two fingers upward to massage your temple, slowly caving into defeat.

David makes an oh well face and shrugs passively. “Fine. Then it’s either Anna Wintour’s special job that will help the Academy campaign or not meeting the ex-bo—”

“—friend.” You look up to cut him off, eyes narrowed. “Ex-friend.”

“Alright, kid. Suuuure.” David leans against the back wall of your office as Rachel comes to comfort you, her eyes already sympathetic and droopy. It shouldn’t be so bad, right? She asks sweetly, nudging the latte closer to your catatonic figure. You have seen him since, anyway.

With a despondent gaze, you just remain silent, refusing to state the negative aloud, opting to stare at the latte. At your disagreeable silence, Rachel continues, tone anxious: You have seen him since. Right?

You moved out of Monaco at fourteen, right after the school year finished and your father had gotten the opportunity to transfer out. The whole thing would’ve—should’ve, even—been a sentimental affair, full of tears and dramatic caresses of your bedroom wall, whispering thank yous to the city air in French and Italian, but it wasn’t. Months prior, you’d been preparing yourself for this kind of goodbye; but when it came to it, you merely kissed your extended family goodbye and slept en route to the airport, silk sleeping mask pulled taut over your shut eyelids. The only thing you left in the city was a letter written only to Gi and Cha about how much you’d miss them, with your email address scribbled at the bottom for an added touch, in case they felt like sending you longer messages.

“Do you two at least get along?” David asks, noting how genuinely aghast you appear.

“It’s not that simple.” You tap a nail against your desk a few times. “But I think it’ll be fine. I hope, at least. We used to be… good friends? As teenagers.”

You feel like an alien hearing yourself talk about it, talk about him and the whole circumstance a decade later. Your friendship with Charles was the only thing that mattered to your adolescent self, all lemonade stands and long car rides and stealthy conversations about your futures (racing and acting, respectively). It was happiness, in what you consider to be its truest form, it was lovely and real. And it ended abruptly, no goodbyes, no nothing.

“So it’s a no.”

“I’m just saying it’s impossible for me to work with him, and in Monaco no less?!” Your eyes are wild with frustration and anxiety at the prospect of your past whipping you in the face, full-fledged. “I don’t even talk about the guy or the city, how can I spend time with him there?”

“Are you seriously going to junk this amazing fucking opportunity just because of some petty childhood fight?” David’s tone is comparable to that of a dad’s, scolding and horrified, almost. “Look. If you don’t take this, career-wise, it doesn’t mean much. You get paid a shit ton, you’ll survive—you’ll do well. But emotions-wise? Maturity-wise? Be the bigger person and do it—I mean it.”

You stare back at him because you know he’s right. “Maybe it won’t be a big, long feature?” Rachel offers as some advice, some comfort. “If you reject it, his team will know, and so will he.”

And yes, you were fourteen, and yes it was petty and unexplainable even for fourteen—but there was a catalyst to all of this, a reason why the move became easy and forgetting childhood memories became second nature. A reason why you’re selective with who you make contact with from home. A reason why Giada and Charlotte are selective with topics they choose to bring up with you.

So, fuck it, really. That’s how you end up in Monaco, booked for the next three weeks, sharing a studio and public appearances and a 24-hour shoot with the last person you’d ever want to be in a room with. Ten years later—the person still is, and no doubt will always be, Charles Leclerc.

—

“MAMAN!” Charles’ voice was loud, loud, and so incredibly loud. You followed not far behind, legs running at full speed to try and leap onto his lanky figure and wrap an arm around his head to quiet him. It’d been futile: he ended up at the dining table facing his family with a victorious smile on his pink face. He breathed heavy, waiting for everyone to turn their attention to him.

“Charles,” you chimed in warningly, breathing even harder with the effort you had exerted to chase him from the sidewalk to here. “Don’t.”

“Guess who got the lead spot in the recital.” He slowly turned to point at to your angry face, and then bent, rifling through his already messy, grubby knapsack for something that he raised with glee: a headress that read…

“But-ter-cup.” Hervé sounded amused when he looked at your fuming expression. “You?”

“Yes, Papa! Maybe, just maybe,” he sing-songed, using the term wrong yet again, “she got the titular role!” He walked over to you and placed the headress square on your head, beaming.

“There is no titular role in a school recital,” you seethed, burning with embarrassment. Your stellar academic record had apparently granted you incentive to be centre stage during the routine year-end recital, where years were lumped into twos or threes (in your and Charles’ cases, Years 8 and 9) and the student body would dance or sing a variety of teacher-selected music.

In your case, it was Build Me Up, Buttercup, complete with choreography you’d be practicing over the next month and a half. Charles laughed at your pouting expression, didn’t stop laughing even when you’d both sat down and twirled through forkfuls of spaghetti, didn’t stop chuckling even when Lorenzo got the turn to speak and he started talking about how Bringing Up Baby was his movie of the month.

You allowed him to laugh—even laughed yourself at some point—because all day, you’d been absently wondering how you’d break the news about your moving away to him.

—

Charles is not okay. He’d gotten off a red-eye from a short vacation stint, and now he’s back in Monaco, sleepy and a bit jetlagged, being briefed on brand deals and press junkets he has to accomplish by three p.m. today. “On the dot, sharp,” said his assistant, like the two didn’t just mean the same fucking thing. He’s patient, though, smiling through the exhaustion, through the dressing room, the tape around his waist and legs to measure clothes for this fashion… thing.

“A meeting for Ferrari, two TikToks, a vlog for your personal YouTube channel, three stories by noon… oh, and in the next few weeks, you’re going to film a Vogue-sponsored 24 Hours With… with—”

“D’accord, thank you,” he cuts in, already exhausted from the spiel alone. He’s a professional; no matter what people believed or what gossip rags liked to say about him, he maintains a well-kept reputation of being polite and kind to people he works with. Maybe it’s the jetlag, maybe it’s the lack of sleep, maybe it’s the heat outside, but today he just wants to close his eyes and sleep for days.

But the assistant follows, clipboard and Excel sheet and all, still spouting all his media obligations lest he forget (and mark his words, he definitely will). “Sorry,” he says. He’s new, probably assigned as a part of the Vogue team, lanky and tall and nervous looking. “I’m new. I’m Greg.”

Briefly, Charles is left alone to stare at his tired reflection while the assistants reconvene and connect. There’s several of them, each assigned or already committed to a different celebrity. Charles should know more details, but there’s only so much reading of a call sheet he can do before he’s conked out on Ambien; he trusts he’ll be around people much more famous than he is, probably American or English, actors and athletes alike. He’ll figure it out.

Yeah, she’s almost ready. Is Charles here? One of the assistants says, a bright-eyed American. They need to be introduced before 11. Her voice is quiet, quick and hushed, and Charles has to focus to hear what she’s saying. Greg chips in with something he can’t decipher; in response, the American whispers, Yeah, I’ll get her to sign it for you. Bring Charles out in five.

In five, he is indeed being brought out to the lobby of this hotel; the outdoor area is decked out with models, cocktail tables, Vogue signage and a carpet for pictures. It’s even busier inside, wait staff and event coordinators conversing in angry, aggressive French—table settings, mineral water, extra forks are needed. Greg keeps a steady pace transporting Charles through the indoor throng, and at 10:59, Charles is outside, by the pool.

“Um, right, yeah. Okay, uh—wait here. Your partner—not really partner, but like, mate? Fuck, definitely not. Um, partner. She’s on her way heeere…” He checks his phone. “Okay. You caught her name, right?” Charles nods to fend him off. “Okay. So, wait here.”

There are cameras taking pictures of him when Greg departs, some microphones waved his way; in the distance he spots fans waving crazily, sporting Ferrari merch. Charles is doing what he’s told (waiting, maybe posing a bit) when an even bigger crowd appears, surrounding one person; with their arrival, ameras click even faster, and an uproar follows. Greg waves him over, pointing at the person frantically, so Charles smiles, extends a hand, and when the crowd parts—

There you are, in all your glory. Pink dress, hair clipped into a bun, a tanline on your exposed skin, lithe hand coming up to shake his. Your eyes are flat but the lack of expression doesn’t inoculate them from beauty; they remain sparkling and pretty all the same. Cameras snap the interaction, seemingly innocent, seemingly the first.

He fights, he really does, to keep his hands shaking yours. He forces himself not to hug you, press a kiss to your cheek even if that might look friendly, caress a hand across your cheekbone, brush the tendrils of hair out of your eyes. It’s a valiant effort.

A valiant effort that pays off because, as soon as you’re ushered into a room by yourselves, your smile turns into a scoff; your hands are kept to yourself, slipping a pair of sunglasses on, and; underneath them, your eyes begin to roll. “I need a drink,” you huff, not even looking at him.

You’re on two couches opposite each other, in what he assumes to be a foyer to a hotel room that’s much bigger than the one he was in earlier. A-list fame and that. The girl he’d seen earlier scurries off, mumbling something about a martini. Greg, beside him, goes: “Do you need a drink, too?” But he shakes his head.

“Are you voluntarily working for this guy, Greg?” You refer to his assistant by name, offering a sarastic, honeyed smile. You adjust the strap of your dress and he blinks his gaze away.

“Oh, no. I mean—yeah. Kind of. I was assigned to him.”

“It’s okay, I don’t expect you to do it of your own will,” you joke, crossing your legs.

Charles laughs dryly. “Who asked?”

“So he speaks…” You ping off his retort without missing a beat, a sardonic smile playing at your lips.

“In the two minutes we’ve been around each other, you’ve insulted me and my assistant. I’d prefer silence, your highness.”

“Aww, did my joke and asking Greg a question piss you off?” You suck your teeth. “You must be fun at parties.”

“Do you two, um. I don’t want to, like, overstep, but do you know each other?” Charles notices that Greg’s forearm is signed by you and realizes he has no allies here, with an inward grimace. “Or if you don’t, like, are you two just… not in good moods or something?”

The girl comes in then, saying here’s the martini and catering you a sweaty glass with a smile. You offer up the empty space beside you, patting the white leather for her to sit down on. Your eyes meet his again briefly, catty and a bit challenging, before you turn back to the girl. “Sit.”

Maybe Charles spends too much time with Max, because he’s starting to become more and more inclined to getting the last word in lately. “Bossing people around, eh? Fame really does change you.” He offers a smile of his own.

“She’s my assistant, Rachel,” you say sweetly, but your smile is gritty. “We need to check my schedule.”

He wants to slap himself. “Too busy to open your calendar?” Nevermind, he’s a god.

Your sarcastic smile drops. “And what’s on yours? P6 this week, P7 next, DNF after?”

Fuck. The tension is so thick at this point, it’s almost steaming hot. Both the assistants stare at you, waiting for Charles to wedge something in, but he bites himself back. Thankfully, right as the silence just begins to settle like oil on water, the door swings open and one of the coordinators steps in, noisily rattling off the week’s plans and proclaiming you’re both free for the remainder of the day before things pick back up—Schiaparelli show at noon, both of you, front row—tomorrow.

The four of you filter out of the room, and you make a quip about your autograph on Greg’s arm, which grants your assistant some face time with Charles. She turns to him, combing a hand through her hair and furrowing her thick eyebrows. “Hey, I’m Rachel, by the way.”

“Charles.”

“I know,” she says sheepishly. “Listen. I know you two have history, she—we—she’s, um, told me about it before. I don’t know the whole story, and I’m not… like, I’m not saying I do, so I respect it, whatever it is. But I hope you can find it in you to work with her properly. It’s a huge gig for you both. So—yeah, uh. Great job, and good luck.”

She smiles with a nod before exiting the room, leaving Charles alone and stirring with thoughts and memories woken from wild unrest.

—

“Alors,” Charles had said, not turning from his position in front of your vanity mirror. He’d been picking at his face, stopping only when you tsked at him not to. “What is the problem?” His eyes flicked over to you, your lying figure on the bed exhaling little puffs of frustrated air to the ceiling. “Are you missing the recital?”

“Quoi? Non.” You gnawed at your lip, accepting your defeat. You couldn’t lie for much longer, not when you’d been keeping this under wraps for two months. “Listen. Charles.” He nodded, clearly preoccupied with something. “Charles.”

“Hmm?”

“Can you ple—look at me.” Your voice hardened.

He’d noticed it then, the curt cutoff of your voice, the absent look in your eyes. He knows you even through a mirror, even in the low light of your room. “Desolé. This pimple won’t go away.”

“Charles,” you said, groaning but allowing yourself to laugh. “Listen.”

“Okay.” He turned to face you, a spot on his chin red from how long he’d been scratching at it.

You shrugged then, suddenly scared to deal with the realness of it all. You didn’t understand why you felt so torn. “It’s something to do with me,” you said.

“Yeah.”

“I’m moving.” You rubbed at your nose, the cold draft coming in through the window causing you to sniffle. “Out of Monaco.”

A beat. “What?”

You closed your fingers around your necklace, scratching absently at the divots of the pendant. One, two, three little dips in the gold locket, tiny but comforting. “Yeah. In a few months, like, after school. It’s Papa—his job. It’s a whole thing.”

“Europe?” You shook your head. America.

“What… well, what does that mean, then?” His expression didn’t waver but if anything did, it was his eyes—desperate, seeking more answers, wanting them with a guttural, belly-deep desire. You’re his best friend, so if he has to let you go in this life, he at least needs to know everything about the move.

“We’ll keep in touch,” you reassured, kicking your leg to further your point. “You were bound to get busy with karting anyway, so it’s like. Ça revient au même.”

“It isn’t the same,” he said, his voice thin and cracking.

“You’ll be fine.”

“You have a very misguided idea of who I am.”

“Shut up. Come off it,” you laughed, sitting up straighter. “We’ll call everyday, and I’ll meet all the famous people who’ll get me a real acting job, and I’ll come for the holidays or summer or something. Things won’t change. Not that much, at least.”

“Maybe, just maybe.” He pauses. “Will you be here for my birthday, at least?” He’d made a big deal all year of his turning sixteen on the sixteenth.

“Charles,” you sighed.

“No, yeah. I get it.” He looked down, rubbing his thumbs together, like he’s just been hit across the face. He will tell you one day it felt infinitely more painful than that. But at the time he shook his head and looked up at you, reached his pinky to yours, a thin slip of paper around the finger that matched your interlocked one, and didn’t say anything else.

Just: “We’ll be okay.”

—

You could pin a lot of adjectives on Monaco: picturesque, without a doubt; warm, glamorous, but you’d sooner die than pin the word home over it. The city is sprawling even with the little surface area it possesses, and only few things seem familiar. Your lodging is a hotel in Monte-Carlo, a penthouse suite that requires you to travel very little. It feels like a vacation.

And you embody the role of a vacationer very well—the first five, six days of your stay in Monaco went great, mainly appearances that lasted a few hours at most and several junkets to promote Vogue and your latest film, before you were free to do whatever you wished. You’d gone the touristy route already: shopping more times than you could count, trying your immense luck at the casinos, and eating at Michelin-starred restaurants; eventually all the fun blurred into each other and you found solace in naps instead.

Your troubles are not far behind, however, and they finally come after you on Day 7. The event coordinators had informed Rachel, who in turn informed you, that the first of next week’s agenda would be a photographed tour of the Musée Océanographique de Monaco, a grand seaside building right at the edge of the water. Today is, apparently, a day for you to “fraternize with” Charles, which meant you would once again need to put a façade over your less-than-kind appearance toward him.

Those are the concluding words of David’s very firm text, encouraging (read: coercing) you to settle things with Charles into some approximation of civility. You resolve things by calling him to skip over the awkwardness that comes with texting. It takes you all of twenty minutes and twice your body weight in courage to press the green telephone button.

“B’jour,” he goes, his voice quick. French people (he will hate that you called him French, even if it was just in your head; you relish in this) always talk rapidly. After some silence, he clears his throat: “Hello?”

Butterflies—some form of them, whatever—flutter in your stomach. “It’s me.”

He drops formalities and adopts a disinterested voice. “Huh. What do you want?” The butterflies have rotted to death.

“I need to talk to you.”

“To insult me again?” He sounds a little amused even over the phone, a breath of laughter landing in your ear. “Bah, I get it. We are enemies. You have no interest in reconnecting, et cetera. C’est tout ce que tu as à dire? I gotta go.”

Your face warms at his accusatory tone. “Wow, leave it to a guy to be charming, huh?”

“Why should I be charming with you?”

“At least be polite,” you taunt, but your voice lacks its usual edge. On the other line, Charles lets his own defiant tone ebb downward.

At least be polite. It’s the least he can owe you after ten years of forgetting. It wasn’t as if you two had a mutual agreement then, in 2013 when you moved away, to stop becoming friends. For months before you moved out, he completely stopped talking to you, like he’d forgotten you two were even connected, were even friends. What little words you two shared became petty and abrasive, and suddenly Monaco lost its color. The closeness you had with him, which for so long you’d convinced yourself was once-in-a-lifetime, was ripped from you, robbed from you—by him, no less, which hurt all the more. You’d given up on finding out why at some point. You waited for him to reach out. Maybe, you told yourself, just maybe, it would take a few months, a year.

Ten years of radio silence. He owes you that: politeness.

“It doesn’t matter,” you say to nobody in particular, in an effort to segue into the topic of your choosing. “Look, we’re supposed to be friends. In… on camera, at least. It’s disastrous if we look like we, you know, hate each other. We need to be professional.”

“For the cameras,” he says back, solemn.

“Yeah.” You wind a finger through your hair. “Just… for the sake of civility.”

You hear his little hums of consideration. “D’accord,” he says after a few minutes. “Truce, then.”

“Sure.” You smile a little. “I have to go.”

—

You were halfway through your mess of clothes when your mum peeked through your door, her hair held back by a headband. “Call you yet, poppet?”

“Non,” you said, decimating your voice to a monotonous murmur. You looked up from the dress you’d been folding and offer a half-hearted, sardonic smile. “Je t’ai dit qu’il ne le ferait pas.” You were right: he wouldn’t call. What difference did a month make, anyway? This time, though, the usual victory of being right settled into an ugly disappointment in the pit of your stomach.

You wanted so badly to be wrong. To clamber to the telephone, to your Skype, to your cellphone, any of the three, and see his name flashed across the helm or his voice in your ear. Maybe he was dialing your number now, to ask if you wanted to grab dinner after the year-end recital, or to update you on karting, or to tell you Pascale wanted lunch.

She could tell, as all mothers can, that you’d been upset. The knit in your brows that didn’t go away, the bottom lip being chewed, the tight clutch of your fingers over the already-folded dress. She sighed. “I’m sorry, baby.”

“It’s fine.” Your voice came out sharper than you intended and you have to roll it back, recede it, to sound more relaxed, more at ease. “It’s… fine. I’m fine.” She knew better than to pry, closing the door softly to continue packing up the living room.

You heaved a dry sigh to express the nausea that came with his absence. It began a month ago, two days after you first told him about it and poked at the zit on his chin. He’d buried his head in your shoulder until tears seeped into the cotton sleeve of your shirt, and you let him. You felt guilty, after all, for keeping it a secret for so long. You would leave in September, you told him. We have time.

Two days later he walked you home as always, on the “dangerous” side of the street, lanky legs skipping to the tree in front of your house. You pointed at the beginnings of clementines on its dewy branches, smiling, inviting him in, but he remained leaning against the trunk, playing with his mop of hair that covered his forehead.

“Bah, trop dramatique,” you said, poking fun. Lorenzo had showed you both some art house films he studied in class, and with the bout of French cinema, you and Charles had grown obsessed with making fun of overdramatic stills that often included the classic leaning-against-a-surface. “Come on, Mum made bouillabasse, I smell it.”

“We need to talk,” he eked out awkwardly. “I have something important to tell you.”

You dropped your knapsack, leather scratching against the concrete of the steps to the front door as you walked over to him. “Ouais?”

“I…” His lips moved, wobbled, but nothing left, so he shut them and his eyes, like he was considering something. His breathing slowed into one rhythm you find yourself unconsciously matching, just two kids looking at each other in the dusky breeze of Monaco, the orange sun casting shadows over the clementine tree. You closed your hand over his, a tight clamp over his knobby wrist with certainty. “I…”

“Say it.”

“I want to.” His eyes were shut. Exhale. Inhale, open. “I… I’m going… going home.”

You breathed out apprehensively and relaxed. “Oh.” You blinked. “That’s it?”

“Ye—ouais. Yeah. I gotta.” Already he was climbing to the gate, waving a half-hearted goodbye. “Save some for me, oui? Bye.”

“Charles,” you warned after him, voice tinged with concern. “That’s it, promise?” Your hand flexed around air.

“Cross my heart!” The last thing he ever said with any bit of something genuine.

—

You reunite with Charles at a meeting; under the guise of your truce, he makes the barely-necessary small talk. The rest of the staff file out of the restaurant in due time, but you both stay. You ask about Lorenzo and Arthur, leaving out questions you’d rather not listen to him answer, and he tells you they’re both alright. That his mum asks about you sometimes. That makes you smile. He asks if you’re still dating the guy you’d most recently been partnered with in Us Weekly.

“God, no. We never even dated, the… um, tabloids always make shit up.” You purse your lips. “Anyway. Is Lorenzo still in film?” You ask, turning your head a little. You don’t think you’ll ever forget his affinity for cinema.

“Not professionally, but I still sit through hours-long… you know, reviews, and stuff.” He laughs when he sees you laugh, eyes half-closed and meeting the ceiling.

“He introduced me to some of my favorite movies, especially when I got into acting and I was kind of… like, I wanted some inspiration, acting-wise. But not my actual favorite movie.”

“Which is?” He segues into a more personal topic. “Is it still Bambi?”

“Oh, it was, for the longest time!” You almost squeal with excitement. “Not anymore, though. It’s been dethroned, ha ha. I think it’s… I’d say it’s maybe Casablanca now.”

“How American.”

“Shut up.” Your face warms. “It’s so romantic. When he says—when he goes, um. We’ll always have Paris. And then, God—when Ilsa goes, I said I would never leave you—and Rick goes, And you never will… isn’t it so classic? Romance movies nowadays are—I, I, I… I get scripts sent to me that are just so bad, and they’re either too idealistic or too pessimistic, or too indie or too commercial, and.” You sigh. “It’s like nobody gets love right anymore.”

“Us Weekly disagrees,” he says weakly, after a period of silence.

“Stop,” you laugh warningly. “And don’t act like you’re not being paired up with different girls, too.”

For a minute you sit with the realization that you’ve both been keeping tabs on each other all these years, even just a little bit. It’s a bit jarring, it’s a bit warm, it’s a lot confusing. You make a move to ask for the bill but Charles is quicker, opens his mouth to implore your presence.

“Come see me tonight.” He says it like he didn’t mean to, like it escaped him on a whim, a blurted out confession born out of your memories and conversation. His voice is dreamy, faraway. “Earth to…?”

“Wh—sorry. Fuck.” You clear your throat and deduce your next words. “Where?”

“I’ll text you. A club, near your hotel.”

“Yeah… yeah, sure.” You hum an affirming noise.

—

Your name is on the list, though you’re sure it doesn’t matter whether or not it was. No ID is needed, and paps catch a bouncer being dispatched to guide you through the nightclub toward the elevated area with significantly less people. It’s low-lit, smoky, vaguely blue and purple, smelling of flows of alcohol and fresh ice. An Azealia Banks song is playing, pounding through your head.

Tabloids don’t care about nightclubs. They care if you come out drunk or with a smidge of snow under your nose, neither of which have happened to you; entering is fair game, a fun affair, especially in a district like Monte-Carlo. You don’t have any explaining to do, not even to questions like are you clubbing with your professional Vogue collaborator, Charles Leclerc?

The collaborator in question is the first to greet you, getting up and approaching you with a smile so obviously tense. The picture in front of him is like if he’d conjured up a forlorn fantasy of his to life—your hair fell loosely over black lace, a hand pinched around the hem of your dress. “Hey.”

“Hi.”

“So.” He realizes he’s in charge of the socializing, and turns to properly introduce you. “Um, guys, this is my—friend—you already know”—he fusses over your name, which everyone in the world knows, anyway—“and these are my friends. Pierre, Alex, George, Lando, Daniel… you know Joris.” He points to each guy's face as he goes, eliciting a beam every time he gestures.

You wave with a polite smile before you station yourself beside the only one you know: Joris, with whom Charles shares a longtime friendship. He greets you first, with a side hug. “Long time.”

“Yeah, it’s been.” You watch him turn toward the low table, and back around with two shots, offering them to you with haste.

You thank the Lord that he makes quick, dextrous work of it, and before long you’ve downed a glass or three of some strawberry four seasons thing, socializing with the different people around the table. One of them, Lando, talks about your latest film for five whole minutes (“I rated it five stars on Letterboxd. I left a review, if you wanna see”) before he leans close and asks: “Are you his girlfriend?” His is obviously referencing Charles, and you pull back from the proximity to shake your head.

“No,” you holler to emphasize it. “We used to know each other. I grew up here.”

“Oh shit! Native!” He whoops, offering you another glass. This must be your fifth, maybe, fifth G&T or Cosmo or something or other of the night. You take it, drinking as you walk, planning to collect your bag to take with you to the bathroom—another hand takes yours, though, dragging you down the steps. Halfway through, you realize it’s Charles.

“How’s the drink?” He asks, brows straight.

“That’s all you wanted to ask?” You raise your voice above the bass. “Someone needs to teach you fucking… proper small talk.” A laugh involuntarily bubbles past your lips, eyes crinkling.

He laughs, too, despite himself. “Non, I was—I was just asking. We should—I brought you over here to—so we could…” He realizes he’s been talking too fast without getting to the point and pauses, resetting himself with a pinched sigh. “Dance.”

Your heart pulses. Dance? You hear yourself ask. For wh…Why?

“For the sake of the truce.” His voice is light. “We should try being closer.”

“We were close once,” you say, loose. “Did you forget?”

He’s looking right at you, and you’re warm all over. “How could I?”

It feels too real. Not the words—yes the words—but the alcohol, the alcohol is what you’re referring to, and all those shots and drinks suddenly seem not as harmless as they’d seemed earlier. You scan the periphery for the WC sign and try your best not to look deranged on your way there, offering the same pretty smile to recognizing passersby. Behind you, Charles calls out; but you wave him off, heaving dryly.

The restroom is clean because the nightclub is outrageously expensive; you push yourself into the available stall that’s in your direct path and crumple above it. You heave. Heave some more. Nothing comes. The nausea rises and recedes, so you decide to wait it out.

The bathroom door hauls open, bringing with it a few seconds of noise before it swings heavily onto the frame again, sealing the sterile silence. The momentary return of the bass from the dance floor sends your head spinning all over again and you freeze, willing yourself not to wind up hurling your guts into the toilet. It’s a futile effort, though, because you’re feeling nauseated beyond your limit again, and you need water and maybe a salve or something.

“This stall is open,” somebody says, a chipper American voice that grows in volume as it nears you. A gasp follows, and then: “Oh, my God. Are you okay?”

You turn, your face flushed and lips parted. “I’m so sorry. I just—I’ve been nauseous all night.”

“I have water,” she answers, reaching her arm outward, as if seeking it. “Carmen, the water!” A bottle of Evian is thrust into her hand by another girl (Carmen, you presume), and she doesn’t hesitate to bend next to you to feed it into your mouth. She stares for a second, then goes: “On the off chance I’m lucky, and you’re the famous actress, by the way, I just want to say I’m a huge fan of your work.”

Eyes wide, you lock eyes with her and pull away from the water. “Oh, God. Yeah, that’s me. I’m so sorry—this is so humiliating.”

“It’s not—it’s normal,” she assures, nodding. “We’ve all… y’know, puked into a club toilet before.” From the stall doorframe, Carmen nods. “What’d you drink?”

“Fruity stuff,” you recall, eyebrows knitting at the memory. “And shots.”

They both grimace at the same time, knowing the exact feeling, the exact taste, it seems. “Are you heartbroken or something?” Carmen asks; Lily shoots her a look that can only really mean don’t ask the world-famous actress if she’s heartbroken. But you laugh it off, shaking your head.

“No. There’s a guy, though, and he’s… we’re… it’s a lot. I think I thought alcohol would absorb all of it, but… clearly, it did not.” Your lips simmer into a straight line and you’re quiet for a few moments before remembering you’re on a dingy club floor being supported by two nice girls who are strangers. “Anyway! Sorry. I’m clearly, um, delirious.” You get up on semi-wobbly feet, swallowing the nausea as you go.

You walk to the sink, and behind your back, the girl and Carmen share a telepathic exchange (should we ask her to elaborate? Yes! Should we really? Fuck, no.) You rinse your mouth out, washing your hands and focusing on your reflection—your tired eyes, your smudged lip gloss, your fussed-up hair. You turn after rinsing, offering a small smile. “Thank you.”

“It’s nothing,” says the first girl, offering her hand and a tube of lip gloss. “I’m Lily, by the way. And just so you know—I’m so sure that guy has nothing on you.” Carmen, beside her, nods in solidarity, and your heart blooms.

Your smile grows as your hand shakes hers, accepting the lip gloss. “You’re too kind. Thank y—”

“Lil? Baby, are you puking?” Comes a disembodied male voice from the door, ajar ever so slightly. Lily visibly cringes and walks over to the door, pulling it open further. On the other side—the detective of sorts—happens to be Alex, who you’d been introduced to a few hours ago. At the sight of you, his eyes widen with recognition.

“We’re fine. Leave us alone,” replies Lily in a conspiratorial whisper. “Carmen and I have a new friend.” She doesn’t even need to drop your name; your face alone is enough to make people recognize who you are.

Alex, however, refuses to admit defeat. “Try harder next time.” He pumps his eyebrows. “We were introduced earlier.” He looks up and waves to demonstrate his truth; when you smile back, Lily’s jaw drops as she turns to her boyfriend again, aghast.

“What the hell? How?” A pause. “No offense. It’s like. Two levels of fame, right there.”

He makes a pinched face. “She’s Charles’… friend? I don’t—coworker? Something, something. They were both vague about it. Actually, George and I were talking about it, and we both think something is up. With them.”

“Wait—you might be right.” Her eyes are hyperfocused, and her voice drops to a whisper for a second. “Let’s talk about it at the hotel.”

You and Carmen watch their hushed exchange, and eventually Alex leaves you three alone again with a loud goodbye, which allows Lily to rejoin your conversation. “Sorry,” she says with a smile. “That was my boyfriend, Alex. I didn’t know you two were introduced! He told me you knew Charles?”

“Oh.” Your shoulders relax. “Yeah, um. We knew each other as kids, but I moved away and we kind of—we drifted apart, so. I’m here on a business trip, and he’s just welcoming me.” You try to reduce the decade-long mess into a sentence.

“So you’re friends?”

“Yeah.” You feel like vomiting all over again.

—

The sky’s a searing blue at noon, silver clouds lining the horizon. Charles has to press a finger to the high point of his cheek to test if he’s sunburned from the heat, and the cameras catch it; he doesn’t doubt the fans will spin that into something cute later. You’re somewhere else on the property, this big, massive thing of a museum that’s crashed into by the waves.

He remembers Andrea first telling him about this whole arrangement. He and the team had deliberately left out any mention of you, like they could predict the immediate veto. He wonders if you knew, or if you, too, had been surprised when seeing him, a ghost of your past looking into your eyes. He wonders if you, too, are now in this endless emotional turmoil. Inside there’s a photoshoot ongoing, with you but also with some models in varying aquatic-related poses to convey the intent of the building; he’s done his share of pictures already, just needs to sit down with you for an interview.

“And a B-roll of you guys, um, like, walking, like—around?” Greg’s voice invades his head again, the nervous man beside him running through a to-do list like this is boot camp.

You’d left him hanging at the club—he couldn’t blame you though. A truce hardly called for the bringing forth of memories you two are now supposed to have buried beneath you. Memories he buried first. But alcohol had loosened him, and maybe you had, too, your eyes in the vaguely bluish light and your smile.

He wishes to apologize. He makes up some excuse and finds you nursing an Evian by a faraway corner, against a screen of stingrays. Your eyes widen when you see him, in recognition. He waves and then, with a thumb, gestures to the catering outside.

You end up by the water eating one of the caterer’s churros, a recommendation he deems “very special.” (“Have you worked with these caterers before?” “No.”) It’s also his excuse to cheat on his diet and eat a churro or three—chocolate dip included, always. You rave over the taste, smile, enjoy the view. Charles realizes this looks deceivingly like a date, and at the same time realizes he would not stop to correct someone if they assumed so.

“Our truce seems to be working.” You say in-between chews, voice flat but eyes bright.

“It seems so. I owe that to my personality.”

You really laugh at that. “I didn’t know you had one. It’s very fit for someone as unapproachable as I am.”

“Who said that?”

“No, noth—nobody.” You comb a lock of hair behind your ear. “Aw, putain. I’m ruining my lipstick. Pat’s going to kill me. I look awful.” There are no reflective surfaces around you to affirm your statement, but you sound so sure of yourself.

He smiles. He enjoys the illusion, the mask that you two seem to wear, albeit involuntarily. The chocolate syrup he squeezes on your little paper box of churros. The muttered back merci when he’s finished. Your flushed face, eyes darting from the delicacy to the ocean, eyelashes fluttering, lips smiling, curving into a laugh at some random realization. Briefly he imagines what he might tell somebody if they stopped to ask if you were dating.

Some old woman, French accent and short in stature. You two are so cute. Si mignon! And she would ask how you two met. Charles would tell her the story. But that is imagination. He blinks out of it and focuses on the beauty in front of him, so very real.

“No. You are very pretty, you know.” He says then, and it’s taken him all his nerves and then some just to wrangle it out of his mouth and past his lips. Anticipatory, he watches you, waits for your response.

You comb the hair out of your face messily, licking over the cinnamon sugar on your lips; then you smile up at him, turning your head in question. “Sorry,” you laugh, and his heart’s frozen because it’s the prettiest sound he’s ever heard. “What did you say?”

The wind roars in his ears, so Charles barely hears himself when he says, stuttering, “What? Nothing, I said nothing.”

You make a face—confused, suspicious—but all your allegations quell once you bite into another churro, stepping yourself a path along the area. Having blocked off the building, production staff and models are all that populate your surroundings, big headphones and even bigger cameras, rolling around racks of monochrome and Hermés, Birkins to match Loro Pianas. It’s easy to get lost in a crowd—in a city—where everyone looks the same, and knows the other’s name. Perhaps that’s also why, even at fourteen, you were excited to leave, he thinks.

“The coast was always my favorite part about the city.”

He notices. The way your eyes have softened, become more fond than when you’re in the centre of it all, in the bustle. Here it’s busy, but less busy; the distinction, perhaps, matters. Your gaze is not one of distaste, of disdain. It’s nostalgic, homesick, yearning. He supposes he describes this gaze so well because it’s the way he catches himself looking at you over the week.

“I wanted to…” He trails off. “I wanted to talk to you because, ah. I’m sorry. It was foolish of me to put you on the spot last night. I should’ve been more… yeah. I’m sorry. I hope you’re okay.”

You stare at the sea and nod quietly. Instead of responding, you launch a story: “I always…” You’re clearly lost in a different sphere of thought, and you have to fall quiet while finding the right words to say. “I remember, um. In Year 3, we—I came here with my mum. And I was super mad, because I got, like, three mistakes on my Maths paper?” You laugh and he does, too, but more because your storytelling is so effortlessly enthralling and funny and he needs to shut himself up.

“Anyway.” You pace around again, and he follows. “So, I’m mad, and she’s trying to cheer me up, buys me glace and everything, but no. So I go sit myself on a random bench. It must’ve been around here, I think.” You look around and point at an empty area. “There. But it’s—they must’ve ripped it out. Whatever. So yeah, I’m sitting there, and moping, and all of a sudden All You Need is Love by The Beatles comes blaring into the entire area.”

Charles’ eyebrows knit confusedly. “What, the bench area?”

“No—the whole pier, I guess? Like, it was loud, I almost jumped. And then this guy comes in holding this huge—this, um, board? Sign? Poster? And he’s got half the pier in on his whole thing, and I’m totally… it was just… yeah.” You smile. It’s the biggest smile he’s seen on you since you got here and the fact that he’s even around to see it gets him all warm.

“So what happened?”

“It was a flash mob. You know those—yeah, they’re usually insufferable, but that one was a little calmer. Nobody was, you know, dancing and yelling. It was just a bunch of people cheering and all, and the guy was actually proposing to his girlfriend. It was so cute.” You sigh a little, a brief exhale of air, and it turns into a smile. “I’d love that.”

He raises his eyebrows and, despite himself, laughs. “Vraiment?”

You turn to him, ready to defend yourself, mid-laugh. “Heeey. Everyone says they find big, romantic gestures cheesy, but I think deep down, if you trust the person enough, you’ll like it. Maybe not a proposal, though—can you imagine the pressure?” You pause. “But I don’t know. There’s something so nice about just knowing that person loves you so much they think it’s worth it to share it to everyone around you. So even if it’s cheesy, I wouldn’t mind much. You?”

“It’s cheesy for me,” he disagrees, shrugging. “But I see your point.” Truth be told, he didn’t see you as a romantic type—but all he’s ever seen you do lately is work, and even back in childhood, all you ever did was study. He likes learning these little facts, ones you wouldn’t share in interviews—likes knowing you feel comfortable enough to share with him. “Dancing is a bit overboard.”

“Oh, definitely.” You throw your head back to laugh, eyes half-shut and crinkled and reflecting the sun. Would you look the same if he was dancing to The Beatles, proclaiming all the words he hasn’t had the courage to say?

—

Next question is who your first love was—we’re rolling in three…

“First love?” You laughed a little, facing the camera to continue your Screen Test interview with W. The questions had been candid and lovely, but they were about your career, which you answered with familiar ease. First love is different—uncharted, private territory. But you’d realized all this too late, and the director called go, and you let words spill out of you like a bag popped open.

“I want to be funny and witty and say acting, but that would be a lie. Um, my first love was a childhood friend. We lived near each other, our parents were friends, and I… I really did, I liked him a lot. But these—there were so many factors at tension with each other, like me moving away in 2013—that’s, what, six years ago now? And us being young and not really knowing how to communicate. When you’re a teenager, you’re kind of just like, oh, no worries, um, that’ll sort itself out, and then you grow up and look back and realize, these things never do. But I miss him a, a, a… a lot, and I think of him always.” Your smile didn’t reach your eyes when you looked at the camera again. “We learn a lot from childhood loves.”

Cut. Lovely. Just lovely.

“Thank you, Lynn,” you said with a small smile. A pause as silence creeps up onto the room, and then, quieter: “Could we omit that? I—sorry. I could answer anything else. First kiss, or something? I’m sorry, I just. Sorry.” For the first time in five years, you realize, you’ve conjured his memory again.

—

“Okay. What else do you remember?”

“I… do you remember the recital song?”

“Of course I do! The dance is… that’s a different story.” You’d been at Charles’ hotel room earlier to go over some video shoot regulations for a 24 Hours With video you’re doing in a few days. You stayed because—that’s beyond you at this point, and you’d rather not delve into the rationality of it all. You’re content with thinking about how nice this conversation is, a trip down memory lane.

“The dance, mon dieu, the dance.” He smothers a hand over his face, smiles fondly. “You were at the center!”

“Stop. Stop,” you protest, letting laughter settle into quiet. “It’s crazy, you know? How we… like, we share a life. Not—but like, we had a whole childhood together.”

“And nobody knows.” It’s not something you keep a secret on purpose—it’s just that neither of you feel like name-dropping the other. Some stories have surfaced, but none of you have fully commented. Somehow, that’s a good thing for you.

“Do people ask?”

“People ask, yes.” His accent is a reminder of your past—you’d once had the same thick wraparound, the loose reign over English you’ve now grown to master. Now your accent is a lot thinner, to the point where it’s barely perceptible, and if it is, your coworkers and fans call it cute, chic, use it as a jumping off point to ask where you grew up. But in this hotel room, legs folded underneath you and glass of wine in hand, you have no coworkers or fans, it feels like; no one to perceive you but Charles. Charles and his accent, nostalgic and so very his, which you wouldn’t describe as anything but home.

“What do you tell them, then?” Quickly, you add: “The truth, or…?”

“That we knew each other as kids,” he says, smiling absently. “That is the truth, no?”

You cover a smile with the rim of your wine glass, nodding. There’s no revisionist history in that statement, but it hides a lot of the truth, the nitty gritty of it. You know it, he knows it, you both know it. “What would you want me to say?” His voice is soft and thin and imploring, so different from the boisterous voice he uses in public, from the slurred voice you heard in the club. This sounds real. This sounds like a conversation you would’ve had years ago in your childhood bedroom before everything went—

“Nothing, that’s fine.” You cut your own reverie off, clearing your throat. You even laugh, to alleviate the tension, but he sees right through you so many years later. “Unless you’re privy to telling people how we didn’t talk for months before I left.”

He blinks, smothers a palm over his face again, and sighs, eyes meeting yours. “I’m sorry. I don’t—I… I’ve wanted to bring it up.”

“I’m not mad.” It’s a half-lie. “Okay, no—I am, a bit. It just—it would’ve been nice to hear it two weeks ago.”

“I know.” He doesn’t even need to say it, but him saying it sends a low thrum of reassurance in you. Charles has found, in the two weeks of being in your company, that he accomplishes a sense of self—a sense of quiet, a sense of privacy—when he’s alone with you. Perhaps it’s your natural ability to bring out the best in people, to talk and loosen tongues and make everyone around you feel safe. Or, and this is on a likely front, maybe he misses being one of those people.

He pretends he’s back to last week after another club rendezvous left you tipsier than the first time, dropping you off at your hotel room with two hands taut at your shoulders, one pinching a keycard. You’d been muttering something under your breath, stumbling as you went—you weren’t tripping too much, really; he didn’t need to hold you, but he told himself he had to—and leaning against the doorframe of your room, staring at him blankly. When he met your eyes, you said: maybe, just maybe. Just those three words. If he tries to remember right, you’d been smiling, but he was sufficiently tipsy, too, so he could just as well be wrong.

He does remember a few things right. The eyeliner smudged across your lower eye, lipstick smacked to a point where it looked like you wore none, beads of salt by your lip, your hand wrapped around your necklace.

The silence is anything but awkward; still, he resolves to break it. “When you were drunk last week.” He looks up. “You said—you kept saying, maybe, just maybe.”

A laugh escapes you, stilted and a bit nervous. “Oh. That was—yeah, okay.”

“What’s it mean?”

“You seriously don’t remember?” You’re laughing for real now, your hair bobbing with it, eyebrows furrowed to emphasize your confusion. “Oh, my God. Charles, it’s all you ever said in Year… what, 7? I don’t… anyway. But when we were maybe twelve, I…”

Momentarily, you’re stunned by the memories of him—you’d forgotten they were even there. You press a few fingers to your lips and clear your throat. “Sorry. Yeah, I, um—I think you heard it in a movie or read it somewhere, and for ages it was your favorite saying. Maybe, just maybe.”

“I don’t underst—”

“—You were always just saying it,” you cut in, laughing, your voices layering as you discuss the origin of his former favorite term. “No, you really—”

“I don’t—I do not ever remember say—”

“—Well,” you say, “I remember.” He stays silent for a few seconds, the intensity of your stare and the little smile on your face and everything beating down on him. For a split second he thinks of opening his mouth and getting on his knees and telling you everything, all the apologies, all the things unsaid in the months and years you became strangers. He seriously does. The pressure is almost physical, beyond overwhelming.

“I have to go.” You swallow the lump in your throat, disentangle your legs and clamber off the couch, setting the empty glass on his coffee table. “Good?”

“Yeah,” he says, blinking. “Yeah. Take care. Should I drive you?”

“God, no.” You laugh breathily. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He closes the door after you leave, stares at it, as if that will conjure you back to him. It occurs to him, jolts him almost, that he’d almost let slip a quiet utterance of love you as you slipped out. His stomach boils. With thankfulness over not having said it, he wonders—or with regret?

—

“Best friends now, are you?” Lily, Carmen, and Rachel look up to the sound of your voice, their serious faces breaking out into smiles. If you could chart the time you spent here, there are definitely people you’ve spent the most time with—these three are at the top of the list. You hang your coat and drop your Chanel bag on the entryway seat, already picking up on the British noises of Love Island UK from the telly.

“Wait, so she’s hooking up with him?” Lily asks, confused; her train of thought is cut off by your flopping onto the bed. “Hiiii. Where’ve you been?”

Muffled by the bedspread: Charles’ place.

Silence. The television switches off and you hear the precarious preparation of three girls readying themselves for a debrief-or-sobfest of a lifetime, a noise you’ve heard and partaken in countless times over your life. You suddenly feel too watched, too spectated; you break the quiet by looking up, displaying your tear-streaked face.

“Talk to us,” Rachel encourages, her voice raspy with unuse (Love Island will keep one occupied and quiet for hours on end). Three of them are touching you in some way or other, reassuring grips on your hair or shoulders. “Did you two fight?”

And, oh Christ, fight? It’s not like you’re dating. You aren’t even halfway to that (not that you want to be, but that’s a discussion for another time). The idea of a fight with him is so terribly juvenile, so horribly reminiscent of secondary school and Monaco and being together and being friends. You can’t fight with a guy who’s not your boyfriend. You can’t fight with a guy you’re not close to, for Chrissake. You squeeze your tears out of your eyes and breathe hiccups out.

“Do you want gelato?” No, no.

“Love Island?” In a minute.

The truth is, you want both, but you really just want to sort everything out with Charles. It was no use—hating each other was futile, but pretending everything was fine in some pathetic attempt at a “truce” seemed even worse. You just want to talk everything out, even if it excavates feelings you’d once been able to suppress.

“What kind of crush doesn’t disappear after ten years?” You ask through tears. It’s almost funny, but the question comes straight from the heart. “I’ve dated guys, lived across the world, started a whole new life pretending he never—pretending we were—fuck. Pretending he didn’t exist. It was—I’m not lying, it was easy, pretending. But one glimpse—I see him one time and suddenly it feels like all of it was in vain. It’s the same crush I had before, coming back, like it’s never going to leave me alone.”

“Maybe it’s not a crush,” says Lily, slowly.

“So what is it then?” You ask, hopelessly. What is this—this revival of memories? This little feeling, this sense that no matter where he is or what he’s doing, you’ll be just as in tune when you reunite even if it takes a decade? A decade spurred by months of being given the cold shoulder? What kind of magic is that?

She doesn’t answer, because you already know.

—

“Hey Vogue—I’m here with Charles Leclerc, and we’re here to take you along with us on all our little adventures here in Monaco.” Your smile is rehearsed, the perfectly-orchestrated blend of fun and serious, and when the cameraman calls cut, it falls into a more natural resting face. It’s the one Charles turns to and observes for any signs of a grudge.

The day is busy, which is precisely why it was chosen as the film day: three shows in the morning, press junkets for your movie and Charles’ season in the afternoon, and then a gala in the evening, hosted and attended by Anna Wintour herself.

The day’s business is only trumped by its tension, which reaches its crescendo in the janitor’s closet of the fourth floor of your hotel. It’d begun with a fight over the color palette, then a fight over last conversation you shared, then a fight over him fucking up the color palette, and then kissing against the door. Ironically enough, this floor houses a fair number of honeymoon suites.

It’s ironic beause hardly anything about this is or should be romantic—it’s a temporary fix, a pause from the turmoil, his hand squeezing your thigh. He’s gentle but you feel his possessiveness, lingering longer, higher and higher up until he’s playing with the high hem of your skirt. You knot your fingers in his hair, smell the shampoo and hairspray and cologne in the wispy curls there.

He kisses your jaw, then downward, until he’s licking, nipping at your throat. Charles.

“Yeah?” His voice is rough against your pulse point.

“Make it—we gotta—quicker.” Your hands tremble, heart hammering loud and bold in your chest. His voice is sure, gravelly, quiet, and you have to focus on something—so you centre on his hands, up your thighs and slipping under the lace of your skirt, bunching the fabric up around your hips. His hands, big and calloused, fingers resting on your hipbones, on your ass.

He’s hard against your thigh, straining against his jeans. You could cry. “I want more.”

“I know, baby. I know.” The pet name, so new but so natural, sends you into a dopamine rush.

You squirm when he doesn’t let up on his touches, over every inch of your body, groping you. He wants to take his time—he hates that he can’t—and counts on the possibility of a next time. You pull him in for a spit-slick kiss, needy and whimpering, sloppy and tongues knotted. It feels good—fuck, it feels like this was all you were ever made for, his touch.

You buck your hips into the air desperately. “We really—fuck. We don’t have time.” Cameras, a shoot, a video; reminders ring in your head like alarm bells. He nods, goes I know, and you pick up the strain in his voice as he tugs his jeans down just enough to rub his clothed cock under your entrance, hard and drooling through the fabric.

You moan softly. “Please, I can take it,” you breathe. You’ve never been this wet, this worked up, this teased. You need to feel him, be full of him; he presses you flush against the door with a hand at the small of your back to keep it from aching too much, and drops forward as he pushes into you. Your noses brush and he goes deeper, air thick and muffled with little moans and whimpers.

His mouth is against your jaw, thrusting slowly to get you used to the size of him. The angle gets you dizzy, draws a burst of wetness out and gets you clenching around him. You’re flushed and sweaty, moaning. Feels s’good. So good, Charles, so, so good. He fucks harder, the door rattling, dirty talk cooed from his lips to your ear: Yeah? Feels real good? You’re so good for me, baby, come on.

Your needy voice, needier movements, are driving him crazy, getting him to fuck you harder, licking over his lips as he watches you fall apart on his dick. Relax, he slurs. You squeeze around him and moan, wretched and raw. Oh fuck, fuck, fuck. You’re so big. You’re getting his dick wetter and wetter with every thrust, shiny and drooling with cum.

Yeah? He says it so well, the best kind of reassurance. Come on, we don’t have time, baby. Let me feel you cum.

I know— you whine. I’m cumming—it feels too good—

You cum first, thighs shaky around him and lip curling into your teeth. You lean forward, mouth to his shoulder, and bite at the cotton. Fuck, he grunts, and releases then, a groan spilled into your hair. You watch, laughing breathlessly, and feel the world click into something different.

You two will do anything, apparently, but talk this all through.

—

The gala is big and extravagant and you’re seated not with Charles this time, but with a roster of celebrities straight out of an LAX red-eye. Anna is at the table adjacent, andy you were able to talk to her about the experience, though not without leaving out bits with Charles in them.

You’re beside Florence and she’s talking about something, about a new movie she’s working on, and you chip in with jokes and laughs but your smile doesn’t really reach your eyes. You’re still caught in a web of fragile confusion. “I need to excuse myself for a moment,” you say after a while, after you’ve done nothing but smile and push broccoli puree around on your plate.

Consolation comes with isolation, at least tonight, at least right now. You find an empty balcony on the third floor, stare into the black sea. You try and try to remember what life was like three weeks ago, but it’s irrevocable now, the change that’s come since then. You tap the glass of your beer bottle against the marble banister, solid and probably expensive—a match for the rest of the hotel, you realize. It’s starkingly clean and smooth, and white, the kind of things you’d only say about a marble banister when you’re trying to avoid an adult introspection.

Behind you: “Are you okay?”

In response, you say, “We shouldn’t have had sex.”

Charles settles himself into a spot near you, not totally beside but not too far—he, too, holds onto a bottle of beer. There are fancier drinks around, but somehow the dry taste of ale is all that brings you comfort right now. Your gears turn and, without prompt or question, you spill yourself forth.

“It was hard, when you didn’t… when we didn’t talk, and you didn’t ever tell me why, so I didn’t know anything. I keep remembering it, even now, what—ten years later, ha ha, even after… I don’t know, after the fact. We’re supposed to have moved on from shit that happened to us when we were fifteen but I’m finding it to be the hardest thing in the world. It was so… like, I had no trouble saying goodbye to anything else but you. And I’m famous now, my life is a whole thing, a—this whole party, and I’m supposed to… fuck.” You shut your eyes, and you can feel, through the thick fog of embarrassment and delirium, the tears that stain your cheeks. “It’s like. You know when you’re a teenager and you see all of it in movies and TV, this, like, moment where you’re staring at someone from across a room, and you’re smiling and talking to other people and you’re happy because you know in a few hours, you’ll be with that person anyway? At home, rearranging furniture, feeding the dog, eating leftovers? That… I always thought you’d be that person for me. Maybe because you were the only—you know—the only love I ever knew, and now, what. Four? Boyfriends and ten years later, you might expect me to feel differently—hell I expect myself to feel differently, but, unfortunately for you and me, I don’t. Sorry. I’m not—I’m not drunk, or anything.”

He stares at you, his expression soft and unreadable. It feels like it’s just the two of you in the world today, twenty-somethings, ten years later, unearthing all you left buried. “I…” he says, before pausing. “I’m sorry for leaving.”

You nod in response.

“I always thought you would forgive me.” His face is sullen and handsome and your heart seizes. “I wanted to be your person.”

“How could I forgive you without an apology?” Your voice comes out fragile. “I leave in three days. You’ve fu—you’ve… you’ve kissed me, had sex with me, flirted with me. You’ve done everything but that.”

“I did apologize. I don’t think it was enough, but—”

“But you didn’t,” you reply, a jagged response. “You never said anything.”

“I wrote you.” His eyebrows knit. “I wrote you.”

“You wrote me.” You repeat, deadpan. Your head spins with it. “What, a letter?”

“An e-mail. Before your first film came out—2014? A year after you… yeah.” He’s quiet and timid and nervous. “I forced Gi to tell me your address.”

“I didn’t… I wasn’t using that e-mail anymore. I haven’t in years.” You pinch your nose and let the silence settle like fine dust onto the room, an unspoken bomb that explodes over the both of you, raining regret and unsaid words. “I have to go.” You push yourself off the banister, turning already to the doors of the balcony. He stops you before you can step any further, a hand closed over your wrist, rough and warm.

“If you find the message,” he says, “will you read it?”

“I don’t plan to,” you lie. “Goodnight.”

—

From: Charles Perceval Leclerc <[email protected]>

Date: 14 October 2014

To: You

Subject: Urgent!

hey buttercup, I asked Giada for this email address. my bday in 2 days. Will you be home for Xmas this year btw? ill show you some new places that open ed + we can bike around. mum misses u a lot too. parfois je souhaite que tu ne partes pas… not sometimes but always. i think i need to edit this a little let me try ag

From: Charles Perceval Leclerc <[email protected]>

Date: 14 October 2014

To: You

Subject: Buttercup

j’appellerais mais je ne pense pas que tu veuilles répondre. it’s been more than a year since you moved out, in two days i’ll be celebrating my second birthday w/o you. i’ve been karting a lot, things are looking up, just like we always said they would :) just want to say i miss you a lot, and i hope you’re doing good. i would say i hate radio silence but i know it’s my fault all this happened in the first place. i’m sorry i stopped talking to you last year when you were moving away. i was being childish, but the truth is it was the only way i could handle it - by pretending we werent friends at all… i don’t want to make you pity me or anything (ne pense pas que je suis) but yeah you’re my best friend and you always will be. i’m sorry for being a knot head.

i was always scared to tell you but it’s been there since forever: i love you. i should’ve enjoyed your months here instead of leaving you in the air. i know i ignored you but it’s the 1 thing i regret. should’ve done a lot more, i know.. but i didn’t. we have a lot of promises i broke because i was being selfish. i kept the paper ring to remind me. remember that? we had a “playground wedding” when we were 5/6?

tu ne me dois rien - i just want you to give me a chance to make you happy, even if it’s just in the way we’ve always been (as friends). if you write me back i’ll try and fly there. mum is always asking me if we’ve talked yet. if not, that’s ok. i love you all the same and i will love you as you reach your dreams. this will never change.

charles

p.s: est-ce que je te manque?

p.p.s: call me if you can and wish me a happy birthday?

—

“Rachel, I would sooner die than wait another two hours for the tarmac to clear again.” You try to up the firmness in your voice but it fails, only serving to make you sound less angry and more agitated. When all you get in response is a muffled I’m coming! you grumble and hang up the phone. Your plane was delayed all of three times, and the instant it arrives and is scheduled to take off on time, your friendsistant is nowhere to be found.

Lily and Carmen had thrown you a goodbye party the night prior, with sprinklers and music and cocktails, and promised to be on the next flight to L.A. Vogue and David had emailed you for a job done spectacularly, and to watch out for the videos and interviews’ release dates. Twitter is raving about your movie. Everything should be good, and yet, it’s not.

You check your inbox. IM COMJNG LILTIERALLY IM RUNNING THRU AJRPPRT!!!!!! You scoff again, hoping the plane doesn’t somehow take off for the fourth time, and take a seat on the VIP waiting area sofa again, shaking your now-empty chai latte. The room, sectioned off from economy and business, is fairly full.

A woman paces over to you, a bright grin on her face. “Hi. I’m a huge fan.”

“Thank you,” you smile, despite your tiredness.

“This is so embarrassing—but do you happen to have the time?”

“Sure”—you tap your phone open—“half past four.”

“Great,” she says. “Thanks, Buttercup.”

You’re opening your mouth to say you’re welcome, but it catches like cotton in your throat. You watch her depart like nothing happened, a strange feeling settling in your chest. You have barely any time to answer it, because a flight attendant is tapping you on the shoulder, addressing you by name, thankfully. She maintains a tone of professionalism all throughout her announcement that the aircraft under your name will have to evacuate the runway in ten minutes or less.

“I know, I know—I’m just, um. I’m waiting for somebody. She should be near now, though.”

“Tremendous. Merci, Buttercup.”

“Wh—” You stutter, blinking and watching her leave. “What?”

She doesn’t turn, walking to the kiosk to exchange information with her coworkers. You look around the airport, for a camera hidden somewhere maybe. Perhaps you’ve been unknowingly listed in some Impractical Jokers skit.

Rach hurry you text instead, leaning back and hoping you’re in some grandiose delusion. Your phone dings. Omw promise! It reads. Then: Look up buttercup

Your head snaps upward faster than you can register what you’ve just read, matching the opening notes of a song you’ve grown all too familiar with in your lifetime. The opening beat to Build Me Up, Buttercup flows like honey through the room’s intercom and floods it with life.

Mouth agape, you watch as the staff and guests perform the routine you’d learned at fourteen, complete with hops and turns you were too embarrassed to do even then. They’re smiling and whooping themselves and each other as they go, finishing the entire first verse before turning collectively to the entrance of the room. There, in all his glory: Charles, wearing an entirely too-small headdress that reads Buttercup, worn dusty from years of being stored away.

He’s dancing, too, closer to you. You refuse to budge for the express purpose that he dance some more, which he complies with, though not without an eyeroll and an exasperated sigh. Your heart beats with something irregular and warm. You’d told him about this before. He’d listened.

The music settles for a little and the dancers do, too, so he takes the time to raise his sign. Will you forgive me? It reads. No pressure. Except kind of. You laugh, throwing your head back at the gesture, at this entire affair that must have taken some amount of effort to prepare. As the lyric comes on, so does his sign: I need you… more than anyone, darling.

He drops the sign when you approach him, arms crossed over your torso. He removed the headdress and places it gingerly on yours. “I believe that belongs to you.”

And, hyperaware of all the eyes and yet the complete lack of cameras—you’re grateful for it—you finally, finally, finally pull him in for a kiss. You’ve kissed before, done your worst, but still means volumes to the both of you.

In-between kisses and cheers (from voices belonging to Lorenzo, Rachel, Lily—so many familiar ones), he says it again: “I’m sorry. I’ll make it all up to you.”

“You better,” you tease into his lips, smiling. “I know. I love you.” Ten years later—your person still is, and no doubt will always be, Charles Leclerc.

#f1 #charles leclerc #charles leclerc fluff #charles leclerc imagines #charles leclerc drabble #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc smut #f1 x reader

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babiebom · 2 months

Note

Heyyy! I was wondering if u could do the bachelors & bachelorettes reactin to / dating an s/o who has really intense nose bleeds when they're stressed. But plot twist bc this is literally the norm for the farmer bc they have crippling anxiety, especially social.

Thank u sm!!

A/N: I don’t know why I thought this was funny??? My anxiety just makes my stomach upset but a nosebleed in front of everyone like some sort of anxious demon is funny. Not the clean up tho. I’ve never had a nosebleed but I know they bleed SO MUCH. Also no problemo!!! Always glad to get requests!! I did different things (so not just stressed because I would’ve written the same thing for anyone I made crush aspects as sort of for stress too lmao) for each hopefully they’re good enough!

Tw: cursing, blood, anxiety, the nose bleeds are VERY dramatic because it’s fiction lmao. Physical fights(in Leah’s part), arguments(in almost all of them). Pierre hate Pam hate(kinda) Demetrius hate Morris hate. And Kel is gender neutral! let me know if there’s anything else to tag!

Wc: idk lmao hopefully at least 100 words for each

Stardew Masterlist

Sebastian:

Just frowns

Actually helps unexpectedly

….we can never talk about this happening again if you want……

It’s not often that you get to see the towns resident emo, even after visiting Robin multiple times for various building needs. So when you wander into the house, looking for Robin so you can upgrade your coop, seeing him makes your brain malfunction.

“Oh…hey farmer.” He greets, moving past you to head further into the house. You blink for a second before returning the greeting, watching as his dark hoodie disappears behind a wall.

You try to force your breathing to slow down. There is absolutely NO reason you should be this worked up over a literal one second conversation. While you sit with your thoughts, foot steps fill your ears and the sight of Sebastian returning from wherever he went makes all of your progress regress. “So…you here waiting for my mom?”

You nod quickly, clearing your throat, “yeah…um…just need to upgrade my chicken coop.”

“Oh well, she’s not in today. She usually goes to Pierre’s store to work out with the other moms.”

You frown to yourself, how did you miss that she wouldn’t be in today? Damn now all you can think about is how you just made a fool of yourself. Lost in your thoughts, you miss that Sebastian had cleared his throat a couple times until he waves a hand in front of your face.

“If you want, I can take your order and tell her when she gets home later. That way she can get started tomorrow.”

“Would you?” Your heart flips as you perk up. Was he usually this nice? You kinda heard from Robin herself that Sebastian never really interacted with people he wasn’t already friends with.

“Yeah sure.” He shrugs and moves to go around the counter, setting his slowly cooling food down. “Okay so she usually charges 10,000g and you have to have 400 logs of wood and 150 things of stone. Sound right?”

You nod and hand over the bag of money. The second your hands touch it’s like your body decided it couldn’t handle anything else from him. Luckily he just takes the money and pretends like your nose hasn’t become a geyser as you scramble to try to keep the blood from dripping all over their furniture.

Sam:

WOAH DUDE IS THAT LIKE….NORMAL?

it’s like from a movie or something

Is overall sorta scared but at the same time thinks it’s cool

“And this is how I do a kick flip!” Sam shows you skateboard trick after trick and honestly you can’t get enough of it. It wasn’t a secret that the both of you had crushes on each other, and even now it was very obvious by how you were watching him do his tricks that you had feelings for him. Yet still you two weren’t in a relationship, just sort of friends who like each other in a romantic sort of way.

“You’re so cool!” You clap as he lands another trick.

“And you’re cute!”

“What?”

You freeze in your spot and watch in confusion as he sort of freezes midway through his next trick and crashes to the ground. His words echo in your head, making your face heat up and your heart soar. He smacks his face on the ground, sending you into a panic because now all you can think about is how he thinks you’re cute, and now how he probably has a concussion from hitting his face directly onto the concrete.

When he lifts his face off the ground, you’re kneeling next to him, trying to check on him. His forehead is bleeding, his nose is bleeding, and so is his mouth. You shriek and try to go through your backpack to see if you have anything to help him. You didn’t.

You already know where this is leading, and you let out a groan of annoyance right before your nose starts leaking just like his. His eyes widen and he lets out a loud laugh. Maybe you two can move out of the weird friendship you have after all.

Shane:

Would just stare silently

Like no comments no nothing

Doesn’t even act like it’s happening

Having a part time job at Joja Mart during the winter is one of the absolute worst ideas that you’ve had in a while. But you didn’t make a lot during your first year of farming. Stacking the products onto the shelves, your only saving Grace is the fact that you’re allowed to have earphones in. Except for the fact that Pam is now standing next to you asking loudly about where something is. Shane is stacking the shelves behind you.

“I don’t know Pam…the alcohol is probably on the wall in the back.” You frown at her. She obviously knows that you don’t know this store that well, you were a FARMER that NEVER shopped here before. She rasps out another question and it takes everything in you to not snap at her. Trying to calm yourself of course there’s gonna be something else that makes you lose your mind. That something is Morris, coming over and being the absolute WORST and in turn making Pam LOUDER and more insistent.

He’s lecturing you, Pam is agreeing with him way too loudly, the music on your headphones is now overwhelming instead of calming, and the sound of random things in the market is making you want to bite a chunk out of the loaves of bread in front of you, plastic and all. With everything building up inside of you, you already know what’s going to happen. It always happens, but instead of excusing yourself you stand there, staring Morris down as the blood begins to flow from your nostrils.

Pam yells out curses and Morris begins to stutter, but behind them Shane just stares for a second before continuing to work. When you’re finally left alone with him in the aisle as your two stressors hastily take their leave, all he does is let out a dry chuckle.

“Sam has a hell of a mess to clean up…”

Alex:

Oh DUDE your nose is like….LEAKING

Doesn’t help

Just watched and comments

“AND THEN HE HAS THE NERVE TO TELL PEOPLE THAT MY HARVESTS ARE HIS BUT HE ONLY DOES IT IF ITS GOOD!” You rant to the brown haired boy, pacing back and forth in his room. Thankfully both Evelyn and George were out so you weren’t bothering anyone except for the man in front of you.

You huff and puff as he watches, slightly amused slightly concerned. Alex wasn’t the best person to go to when you’re upset unless it was something absolutely devastating. So being in front of him now, complains about your farming woes meant that he was only half ass taking it seriously. “You should go and speak your mind.” He says.

Turns out you should NOT take advice from Alex. Standing in Pierre’s shop, you’re staring him down angrily, anxiety creeping up your throat from you trying to will yourself to call him out on his bullshit. The older man just kind of stares at you in confusion because all you had done was shout his name angrily as you entered the shop then stand in front of him seething.

“You….you…..” you point a finger at him. This was the moment, the moment you stand up for yourself and tell Pierre how HORRIBLE he is!

But of course things don’t work how you want and your nose gushes out blood all over the counter before you can work yourself up to the point of accusations. With a gasp you run out of the shop, hoping that he would keep his mouth shut with Alex running behind you laughing. Again, NEVER let Alex talk you into anything.

Elliott:

Panics

How do I help PLS LET ME HELP

Everything probably gets messy

Fishing had never been your favorite pastime, but now trying to fix up the community center you had to. Unfortunately Willy was gone and couldn’t properly teach you even though he had gifted you an old rod of his, so the next best thing is getting your boyfriend to teach you since he does fish often. Now you stand on the docks, waiting for a fish to bite the hook.

“Keep calm, the fish can feel your fear and it makes them upset.” Elliott spoke. In all honesty you didn’t even know if that was true or not, but you take in a breath to calm down. You did not want to be here all day you had cows to pet.

The second your line begins to pull you try to pull the fish in. And you succeed until it comes time to unhook the eel you managed to catch. The eel is slimy and slippery and all around not a good thing to try to grip. A shriek leaves your lips and the eel struggles, Elliott tries to help you but is also struggling to catch hold of it. And now your nose is bleeding adding another layer to the already hellish experience.

You’re unhappy, the eel is unhappy, and Elliott is unhappy. After what seems like an hour, the stupid thing slips out of your grips and back into the ocean, washing your nose blood off of it and splashing you with saltwater. 0 out of 10 you will not be trying again.

Harvey:

Calm but concerned(after panicking for a second)

Has a doctory approach to it

But is secretly like WTF inside

Your heart thumps in your chest as you sit on the clinic bed. It’s been a while since you’ve been in Harvey’s clinic, having taken a break from the mines, and somehow this seems more shameful than having been beaten almost to death by living slime. Your hands bleed into the cloth you have pressed into it. One of the pigs knocked you over into the broken fence you were in the middle of fixing. Now you sit waiting for the good looking Doctor.

When he walks in he’s all smiles, tapping his clipboard with his pen. “While I’m sad to see that you’re injured, I’m glad to see it isn’t from those mines again.” The eye contact he makes with you makes your heart twist for a second.

He starts speaking of all the shots you need and the antibiotics you need to take, rust poisoning is quite serious you know. “Now,” he says, moving towards you, “let me see your hand.”

Your heart thumps erratically at the close proximity of him and you. You only really ever got to see him this close when you were half dead and barely conscious. His face is much too close for you to be able to do anything but focus on how pretty his eyes are, and how fluffy his mustache is, and how…

“OH MY DEAR YOBA” He yelps and jumps away from you. It takes only a second after him to realize what’s going on, and now your furiously wiping away at your nose with your hands instead of with the cloth, and he’s trying to get something on your nose to catch the blood. It’s a disaster, really. But at least you’re already in a clinic!

Penny:

Probably panics

Doesn’t know how to deal with it

Would try to help though

The warmth of the pool in the spa did nothing to ease your nerves as you waded in the shallow end of the pool. Penny had invited you to come sometime after 7 pm, and when you had arrived she was already waiting for you, kicking her feet in the pool. The thought of her asking you here made your stomach turn, did you do something wrong…? Was she inviting you here to tell you she hated you or something…? You had grown close to her over your time here and would hate it if she thought you were too much or something.

“Do you know why I invited you here?” She asks, moving closer but keeping her eyes on the water.

You shake your head, “I’m not exactly sure, no.”

She frowns and sighs at you, meeting your eyes for a fleeting second then looking elsewhere. “Really? I thought you would’ve noticed by now…” her words trail off and her eyebrows furrow.

The next few seconds are ones that you simultaneously want to remember for forever and forget. She confesses her feelings for you. Feelings that you obviously reciprocate, and the emotions in you mix and grow, rising up your throat as if you were a volcano of conflicting feelings. As soon as you open your mouth to tell her that yes, you like her too, her face morphs into one that’s horrified instead of hopeful, disgusted instead of smitten and you realize a second after she does that your nose is spouting red, dyeing the water you both were swimming in.

Penny shrieks for a solid second before trying to scramble out of the water as fast as she can. You do the same, swirling the red around the pool as both of you splash trying to exit the now crime scene looking pool. When you get out of the water, she’s holding a towel right in your face, smooshing it so hard you can barely breathe and now your nose is throbbing with slight pain. “What do we do?!” She asks moving about quickly. She’s so confused that she just keeps walking and turning as if she’s remembering and forgetting things at the same time.

You just tilt your head downward and cringe inwardly, this was not the way to get a girl to like you. “It’s fine…I’m fine,” you say voice nasally and muffled. “And I like you too by the way.”

Haley:

confused staring

wtf is happening

Actually speechless

It isn’t every day that you get to talk to a beautiful blonde. It isn’t even every day that you talk to anyone. So when she approaches you on one of your trips off of your farm you couldn’t help but feel like either everything is out to get you or that you’re up on your luck. You don’t really know for sure, it honestly depends on how things go.

“Hey farmer!” She smiles as soon as she stops in front of you, the feeling of your stomach twisting makes you want to vomit in all of your nervousness. “I have a favor to ask you…”

“Yeah?” You ask trying to keep your cool. “What is it?”

“I would totally love love LOVE you forever if you could bring me an amethyst? It’s for Emily’s birthday and I don’t really like Clint so I don’t wanna buy anything from him. I’m willing to pay 150g!”

You cough into your fist, nodding along and taken aback by how casually she’s speaking to you. Before you can accept doing her the favor, the horrified look on your face makes your words falter.

She looks absolutely horrified, and touching your hand to your face you can feel why. Your nose started dripping blood, and by dripping you mean you can now feel it running down to your chin. A flurry of curses leave your mouth as confused noises leave hers. It's not much of a surprise that this has happened, but man did you wish it wasn't in front of her.

Emily:

Surprisingly chill about it

Probably has a weird story about a nosebleed or something

Actually helps

You sit at the bar alone, upset at a horrible farming day. You tried your best, you really did, but those stupid ass crows actually ate ALL of your seedlings. Or…almost all of them but that’s basically the same thing! There is no way you’re gonna make enough to make it through winter comfortably. You told Emily exactly this, appreciative of her listening ear in the middle of her busy shift.

“You know they probably didn’t mean it…or maybe they did,” she sucks in a breath eyebrows furrowing as she thinks, “you know crows are very smart they probably know that you’re using that land to farm and stay there because of all the free food.”

“But it’s not free!” You exclaim, throwing your hands up in annoyance, “I have to buy those seeds! They’re just putting me into debt!”

She hums and nods, wiping the bar next to you where a person had just left. You had only a couple months left until the snow started falling and making it virtually impossible to grow anything. The little plants you had left you had to fight the crows for. And by fight I mean you angrily swung a broom at the with the intent of scaring them (not hitting them that’s mean). Still the growing anger inside you was not easily crushed by her warm and quite frankly outlandish words. No, in fact your anger grew the more you thought about it.

You felt it coming before anything had even exited your nose, hurriedly snatching the rag from Emily’s hands. Damn now you would have to buy the bar a new one. She just blinks then nods as if your nose becoming a bloody waterfall was normal.

“You know…nose bleeds cause by stress is usually because your heart rate and blood pressure increase and it causes your blood vessels to dilate!”

You stare at her before laughing. Maybe she was helpful after all.

Abigail:

WOAH

WTF

WHAT DO WE DO?

You stand in front of Pierre in front of the shop, arms crossed as you watch his face grow redder the longer time goes on. “-IN A RELATIONSHIP WITH MY DAUGHTER?” You’re not really listening to his tirade, over the whole ‘protective dad’ thing.

“Dad I’m an adult! You have no say in who I date!” Abigail yells back, face equally red. Who would’ve known that he would have a problem with the farmer he rips off constantly dating his daughter?

He yells out more reasons that the two of you shouldn’t be dating, and in turn points a finger into your chest roughly. You sputter out an offended sound, moving away from him. “Don’t touch me!”

“You shouldn’t be touching my daughter!”

“What? Dude we just started dating, you’re weird as hell!”

The arguing only gets worse from there, accusations flying around and now an audience comes with the drama. It’s almost too much for you to handle with now Caroline, Harvey, Haley, and the Milner family standing and watching the chaos. “Abby let’s just go to my place…” you try suddenly feeling the need to escape and no longer feeling the ‘fuck you dude’ attitude.

“No! He needs to understand that he can’t control my life!”

It’s like a volcano in your body and just like a volcano your nose begins to erupt. Now you’re screaming, Abigail is screaming, Pierre is screaming, the Mullners are screaming. Could this get any worse?

Turns out yeah, it can get any worse, like a family fight worse and now all of you are sitting in Harvey’s clinic. At least you aren’t the only bloody one now.

Maru:

Is surprised

Also forgets what to do

Would probably make things worse

Maru talks about robots and space the way you would talk about her: totally and completely enamored. You sit on her bed listening to her talk about her newest invention, some sort of robot that can cook and clean and basically be a free maid. You laugh and move your arm to get in a more comfortable position to watch her. Unfortunately your arm had other plans and smacked hard into her bed post. Groaning out in pain, your eyes close and begin to water from how much your elbow hurt.

Demetrius is in your face before you even realize that he was in the room. You yelp out in surprise as he starts ranting about you ruining his daughter’s future. You blink in surprise and try to retreat back into the mattress. What was happening. You can hear Maru screaming over his words but your ears feel like they’re filled with water.

“We’re just friends!” You find yourself shouting. Like damn is the man insane? It wasn’t the first time he’s gotten upset at you over Maru, but it was the first time that he was absolutely losing his mind.

“Dad stop!”

Time froze for a second as you and Demetrius stared at each other, Maru standing near him. Breathing in you can taste blood in your mouth before your nose starts bleeding, yet you can’t bring yourself to do anything but sit and catch your breath.

“Oh my god!” Both Demetrius and Maru exclaim moving around the room trying to find something to help. You couldn’t help but feel annoyed at him acting concerned now.

Thankfully Maru looked cute trying to help you which at least made things a little better.

Leah:

Is also freaking out on the inside but calm on the outside

Helps you with tissues

Is understanding

Going on a date with Leah is a dream come true. There’s paint, wine, food, and you’re sitting in the prettiest meadow you’ve ever seen, well it’s pretty because Leah is there and she’s pretty and you’ve been here multiple times because it’s near her cottage but it still looks different today.

You sit, paintbrush in hand, laughing at something she’s saying. It’s fun and if she hadn’t have asked you would’ve spent the day farming like usual, this little break was needed. The day couldn’t be ruined, absolutely nothing can ruin it.

Okay, one thing can ruin it and that one thing is Kel coming and ruining everything. The argument that ensues is one of the worst that you’ve seen. Kel tries to walk up on you(translation: Kel wants to fight you), Leah stops them but in turn gets into a fight with them which causes you to actually get up and try to defend her.

You kinda block out until you can hear Kel call out “I made your nose bleed bitch!” Which again causes you to want to drown in your anger.

“My noses is bleeding because I’m stressed, stupid!” You back. It’s obvious Kel hadn’t been able to hit your nose so claiming to be able to hit you so hard your nose bleeds isn’t even possible. It’s almost childish how the two of you argue.

Leah finally gets Kel to leave and hands you a bunch of tissues as she sits you down on the now rumpled blanket. As the two of you catch your breath and calm down, you find yourself smiling at her behind the wad of tissues catching blood flowing from your nose.

At least the situation would be funny in the future.

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xoxokaulitz · 19 days

Note

I BEG PLS DO A BILL KAULITZ X FEM READER WHERE YOU PEG AND DEGRADE HIM PLS PLS PLS PLS LIKE THE IDEA OF BILL WHINING UNDER U UGHHH

𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘 || 𝐁.𝐊

pairings: sub bill x fem reader

warnings: degrading, pegging, reader riding bill like there’s no tomorrow, whiny bill, reader lowk being a asshole, teasing, face sitting, p in v, unprotected sex (wrap it before u tap it!), crying out of pleasure, mentions of toys, and overstimulating.

a/n 💌:: omg gais im so sorry for not posting in a while, i lowk forgot i had tumblr😭😭 i will start posting more if i don’t get lazy!! wrote in all lowercase. not proof read.

“bitte mama…! i need you right now..” bill whined as he slowly grinded on your hand, trying to get something out of it. right now, you were watching a movie and bill has been needy all day, constantly begging and wanting attention. “i thought i told you i will help you after the movie is done, can’t you behave?” you rolled your eyes at him..but you couldn’t lie, you liked seeing him rut against your hand like a lil’ bitch in heat.

“b-but— you’ve been neglecting me all day..! i can’t hold back anymore mama, i cant cum without your help..” bill argued as he continued to be the needy bitch he is. you ignored all his pleas, continuing your movie. bill whimpered and got up from the bed, walking over to the closet and pulling out a box, that reveals all the sex toys he owns.

he walked back over you and laid next to you. you heard all his little cute noises, making you want to fuck him already.. “mama…bitte..” he begged as he started to rut against your arm again. you finally got enough and you paused the movie and threw the remote and grabbed a fistful of his hair. “you just can’t wait can’t you? so fuckin’ desperate that you gotta rut against me. sluts like you don’t deserve to fucked.” you growled and he whimpered. “m’ sorry mommy..” he whimpered and you scoffed.

“slutty brat, you only care about your pleasure.” you rolled your eyes and then kissed him. as you both kissed, your hands snaked down his waist, taking off his black and white pajama pants. you threw them somewhere and took off his boxers, his red and throbbing tip greeting you. “aww, did i really neglect you this much?” you chuckled as precum oozed out of the tip. you slowly stroked him, letting his precum coax your hand and his dick. he whimpered as he gripped onto his pillow..aw how cute.

“s-stop teasing me!” he whined. you heard buzzing coming from somewhere and you looked for the source and found his pink bullet vibrator. you smirked as you saw his pink tight hole squeezing the vibrator. “such a slut, wanting me to touch you like this. is the vibrator not enough for you slut?” you chuckled and slapped his tip. you took it all in one go, making him moan loudly. you started to work your way with him, using both hands. he threw the pillow and gripped your hair like there was no tomorrow. “f-feel so good mommy—!!” bill moans loudly as he started to thrust his hips upwards. he started to push your head down as he thrusted upwards.

a few minutes later, he started twitching in your mouth, obviously showing he’s about to cum. after one last thrust, he slams your head down and cums into your mouth. you pull away from him and swallowed all his cum. “tasty.” you smirked as you watched him try to catch his breath. you took off your shorts and panties, revealing your wet dripping cunt.

bill literally moaned at the sight of your wet cunt. he knows he’s the only one who gets to see such a sight like this, and it makes him even more harder. you grabbed your phone and turned up the vibrator inside of him, making him moan loudly that could be passed as a scream. you grabbed his tip, taking him all in one go, catching bill off guard. “m-mommy—! w-wait..please..!” he moaned as he gripped the bed sheets.

“oh? but this is what you’ve been begging for all day? your gonna take it like the good fucking whore you are.” you said and took off your hoodie, revealing that you had no bra on. you lifted up and started to move your hips, his dick hitting inside your warm walls. bill grabbed your waist, gripping the fuck out of them. you gripped onto his neck, slightly chocking him. all his little pathetic moaning only turned you on more.

you felt him twitching inside of you, making you chuckle. “aw, is my little pathetic bitch boy already cumming? is this all you got?” you teased as you tightened your grip around his neck. bill face was so messed up, his eyeshadow and mascara running down his face, his sweat making his messy hair stick to his face. “so fucking ruined, all for me.” you smiled, as you started to ride him faster.

“come on bitch boy, cum inside of my warm pussy, you wanted it so much right? now you’re gettin’ it.” you spat. bill started to thrust upwards, him slamming your g-spot. you threw your head back and started moaning, clenching down on his dick. “thank you so much mommy, m’ gonna cum all in this pussy, m’ gonna get you pregnant with my babies..!” bill groaned out and with a few more thrusts, he came inside of you.

he pulled out of you, collapsing on him. you both were out of breath, all sweaty, sticky, and hot. you gave him some sweet neck kisses, to show affection. only a little while later, you felt yourself getting tired. you started to close your eyes, only to have them shoot open as bill entered his dick back in you and started to thrust his hips.

“b-bill—!” you shouted, moaning loudly as it caught you off guard. “m’ sorry mommy, but i need to cum in this pussy once more!” he said. you were really in for a long night huh?

a/n💌:: i wrote this in one fucking sitting💀, anyways gais I might open up requests again! I js need to finish up some other stuff:3 hope you enjoyed, tysm for reading!!

pic credits: estachinita and 7kaulitxz on pinterest

—hika🕷️

#tokio hotel #bill kaulitz #bill kaulitz x reader #tokio hotel smut #bill kaulitz smut #tokio hotel x reader

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ju1cyfru1t · 8 months

Text

ROTTMNT x Reader

s/o on their period hcs

Rise! Leo, Raph, Donnie, Mikey x Reader

fluff :D, afab reader, romantic, mentions of blood, MENSTRUATION 🤞, swearing, Leo being stupid 🤌

Leo

- He didn’t know what menstruation was until you told him

- “Wait, wait, wait. Slow down a sec. You’re telling me you BLEED out of your...you know, for a whole week every single month? …and you don’t, like, die?”

- I’m not going to lie to you, he’s a little disgusted. Not by you, but more so the whole bleeding and shedding your uterine lining thing.

- Lowkey hates your period more than you do

- glares at your uterus /hj

- “Uuuuggghhhhh, why does it have to get in the way of everything?” “Hey, don’t blame me! Blame god for that.” “Gods a bit of a dick, if you ask me.”

- If you believe he isn’t going to make period jokes, you are SORELY mistaken

- OF COURSE he’ll come over and cuddle if you ask. He’ll use any excuse he can to see you.

- “I mean, if you really need me that bad-“ “shut the hell up, Leo.” “ok sorry.”

- most likely to piss you off (bc he’s stupid)

- massages your lower stomach and is surprisingly good at it

- watches your fav movies and shows w/ you

- tries to make you laugh so you’ll feel better if you’re not in a good mood or cramping

- agrees with everything you say when you’re ranting about something or someone (he’s scared not to)

- he doesn’t know what the hell a pad is let alone a tampon or menstrual cup

- bust out the water bottle and tampon to show him how it works and he’s gagging

- “oh my god…it gets bigger like that??? In your…oh god-“

- he’s on edge the whole time with your mood swings

- “Must be nice to be a MAN.” “How is that my fault?”

- “it’s OUR period, babe. Uter-US.”

Raph

- terrified

- he can hear you bleeding

- “what’s a uterus?” JK JK JK (maybe)

- he also didn’t know what a period is, and still doesn’t really, fully understand after you explain but still supportive nonetheless

- “you shed your uterine what now?”

- “Right, right…and you bleed out of where?…OH-“

- he just really doesn’t get how you deal with it all

- he knows you’re in pain, bleeding, and uncomfortable. that’s all he needs to know to not like it at all.

- he is SPRINTING 🏃‍♀️ to get you whatever you need (frantically)

- pain killers? chocolate? hot tea? a heating pad? a pad/tampon? to be held? don’t even worry, Raph’s getting it for you.

- he would reach into a pit of burning hot coal and crush them into diamonds if you asked him to

- if you have them, your mood swings are making him nervous

- “Raphael, stop staring at me like that.” “sorry.”

- will be your shoulder to cry on and just listen if you need to rant (even if you’re being unreasonable)

- offers to let you hold his teddy bears for support

- you want him to come over? he’s knocking on your window not even 5 minutes later. you want to go over? of course! you want to be alone? no problem, just let him know if you need him.

- he really just can’t stand to see you in pain or sad. (or angry)

- “I know it hurts…it’s ok, Raph’s got you.”

- asks April for advice

Donnie

- Obviously he at least knows what a period is, just not all the gory details. Who do you take him for? Leo?

- He does his research when he starts dating you so he can be prepared

- He’s really trying not to think about the fact that you bleed 24/7 for a week every month of every year. All that blood- he just can’t do it. It’s not by any means a comfortable subject for him.

- Being comforting is not his strong suit, but he tries his best (sort of)

- keeps some extra pads and tampons in his lab for you (and April) if disaster ever struck

- also has a stash of pain killers (big forehead = big headaches JK I LOVE HIM I SWEAR)

- tracks your cycle. and dreads the couple of days leading up to and of your period.

- ^ “By the way, ugh…you’re gonna start menstruating tomorrow.”

- Yes, he refers to it only as menstruation.

- “Don’t be like that, Y/N.” “Be like WHAT?” “Wait, no..that’s not what- I didn’t mean- please don’t cry-“

- he is stressing

- ^ “Y/N, I can’t know what you want unless you tell me!”

- makes hot tea for you

- claims he could come up with and invent something to “take away all your pain” but tbh I wouldn’t trust that if I were you

- pats and rubs your back for support w/ cramps

- “Donnie, it hurts so baaaaad.” “Shhh, I know it does. Just relax.”

- massages your lower stomach pt.2 not as surprisingly, he is good at it but he’s just skilled with his hands in general (NOT IN A FREAKY WAY YOU FREAKS)

- He will 100% come over and lay with you in your bed if that’s what you ask for

- Sigh. Will let you cuddle in his bed if you swear on your mother you’re not going to leak on him or his bed

- Asks April for advice (poor April)

Mikey

- BEST BF EVER <333

- Has heard of menstruation (mostly misinformation), but he’s never had to worry about it until you started dating

- will let you explain exactly what it is and why it happens

- “Wait- a whole week?! You don’t just bleed it all out at once?” my sweet, sweet boy

- very sympathetic and open about it. He can’t deny it’s a little icky, but it’s your body’s natural function and it’s not like you can help it at all so he’s very understanding

- recognizes your PMS very well. whether you get really irritable, energetic, emotional, etc.

- after the first couple cycles he sees you go through, he starts to be able to read your needs to some extent

- cooks and bakes for you 👩‍🍳 really anything you’re craving as long as it’s within reason

- holds you anywhere and any way you want him to

- it’s like he can feel your pain

- “Shhhhh, it’s ok. I understand.” “..no, you don’t.” “you’re right.”

- gets you pain killers if you need some

- pretty good at handling your mood swings

- If you’re a crier on your monthly (like me) he wipes away your tears :(

- “Let it out, Y/N. You’re ok, I’m right here.”

- makes care packages for you with your favorite things (snacks, drinks, feminine products, stuffed animals, heating pads, etc.)

- if he comes to your house, he’ll offer to run a warm bath for you and wait for you to be done

- not necessarily scared, but definitely a little more careful with his choice of words towards you

- actually the sweetest I love him sm

- watching movies and shows if you don’t feel like getting up. or even just laying with you if you don’t feel like do anything but sleeping

- he’s very proud of himself for taking care of you

- “you’re the best, Mikey, thank you.” “Yeah, I know.”

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writing-rat · 5 months

Text

Gym Crush

Pairing: Sam Carpenter x Reader

Warning: Just fluff!

Summary: Sam is a gym trainer when you join her classes. Soon enough you become friends and go to Sam's house...

WC: 1180

It was your first day of going to the gym, and you were nervous. You hadn’t gone to a gym in New York before, scared of the people who would be going, but you knew you needed to get back to working out soon. So that is when you decided to look at gym classes, where you found one you liked. It was functional strength, and it was a small class with a name you recognised. Sam Carpenter. One of the Ghostface victims. You knew her from the news when you first moved in when the incidents were happening. You knew she was innocent however, the news said so with proof as well as Gale Weathers, known for the books that spurred the people that wore the Ghostface costume on. Out of intrigue (and because of the class size), you thought you would join. You were lucky you did that due to it being the last spot available and you were excited. The class size was 6 people so you were grateful for that. The first classes you would be going to would be tomorrow, so you decided to get your workout clothes sorted. Grabbing an old faded hoodie and a plain shirt, you put them in a pile then grabbed your favourite sweatpants. You were going to be prepared, and glad you could work from home once a week.

It was officially the next day, and it was an hour before your class which was at 4 pm. You made sure you had your water bottle ready as well as having the correct clothes on. You checked the train times before deciding it would be better to walk to the gym. It would be good for exercise too anyway. As you were walking, you were looking around the city since you were still new there, having moved there months ago.

Eventually walking into the gym, you showed your booking to the receptionist. “Just go down this hallway where there are the classroom gyms and it is the second right. The room is marked with Sam’s name too,” the receptionist said with a smile. “She is a good trainer. She wants to warn people who join however to not mention Ghostface or the allegations whatsoever. She will kick you out quickly if not,” the receptionist spoke, looking at her. You nodded, understanding. “Thank you,” you spoke before walking over to the room and entering, being the first one there. You were 30 minutes early after all. Sam looked up after putting some weights down and smiled.

“Hey! Y/N right?” she asked.

“Yeah! That’s me,” you confirmed, looking around. “You can put your drink in one of the cubbies. I am Sam Carpenter, your new trainer. I will be helping you to achieve your goals and also make you stronger. You worked out before?” Sam asked, seemingly done with the set-up. “Yeah, but not for a few months. I just recently moved to NYC,” you confirmed, smiling at her gently. Sam was nodding. “Good, good. Well, I can’t wait to see how you improve,” Sam spoke. You nodded, eager to please her. Little did you know what would happen in the future…

It was 8 months after you first started lessons, and you were growing a crush on the taller girl. You looked up to her, metaphorically and literally. Hell, you even befriended Sam, having been in her classes the longest and communicating with her if you would be late or would not be able to make it to the lesson. Hell, Sam even started driving you to the sessions and sometimes home. You were thankful for that as you could save money than then go on the train every day. You even talked to Sam more personally, which led to a friendship becoming her best friend. She was still a strict coach with you though during lessons.

You were currently at the Carpenter-Weather’s house, Gale cooking dinner with Tara while you were leaning against Sam, curled up after a long session and watching a movie with her. You were both watching The Addam’s Family Values, wanting a relaxing film. You felt comfortable in the strong woman’s embrace, leaning more and more into her neck. You weren’t even aware you were doing that as you were more distracted by the film. Sam meanwhile was rubbing your sides as she kissed your forehead, making you smile. You were about to speak when Tara entered the room. “Dinner’s ready!” she spoke, before going back to the kitchen. Sam groaned, stretching before she stood up, holding her hand out for you to take. You smiled, taking it as you got up, shocked that Sam kept holding it after. Your cheeks did heat up a little bit at that action but you didn’t say anything. Tara and Gale just looked at each other with a smirk for some reason that you didn’t know but you just decided to not care about it.

“Thank you, ma’am, Tara,” you spoke, nodding politely. Gale just smiled.

“Oh please, call me Gale. Ma’am makes me feel old,” Gale just chuckled in response. Nodding in shock, you smiled as you sat down next to Sam. On the plate there were burritos. You were content with that as you started to eat while thanking both Tara and Gale for cooking.

“If you want to stay over, you can!” Tara happily responded. Sam just widened her eyes and then glared at Tara, but you didn’t know why again. You decided to shrug it off again. “Sure, but where would I stay?” you asked, confused as you tilted your head confused.

“Sam’s bed?” Tara suggested. Sam nodded.

“I wouldn’t mind,” she admitted. Gale just smiled, seeing how Tara was being a wing-woman for Sam.

That night, you had decided to stay over. That made you both go to sleep at 1 am, both of you going to her bedroom silently due to the other occupants sleeping. Sam just smiled at you before she kissed your cheek, making you even more flustered as you realised she was being more touchy. She was cuddling you, holding your hands and kissing you. “Are you flirting?” you asked quietly, shaking from nerves admittedly. Sam blinked before she thought then sighed and nodded. “Yes, I am. Is that… ok?” she asked. You just grinned and kissed her, before nodding. “Now let’s cuddle and sleep, I am tired,” you admitted. Sam just grinned and smiled before she went to the bed and was big spooning you. You just cuddled into her neck, glad your feelings were returned.

The next morning, you woke up early, confused as to why before you heard the shutter of a camera. You looked up sleepily, then saw Tara in the room holding a Polaroid and putting it on the side. “Morning, Gale is happy for you. Now you can go back to sleep,” Tara spoke quietly before leaving. You smiled, shaking your head before quickly falling back to sleep. You didn’t miss the faint kiss of your forehead though. You sighed in happiness.

#sam carpenter #sam carpenter x reader #ratboy writing #ratboy writes #scream

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saursoob · 10 months

Text

TOMORROW X TOGETHER - as bf’s

genre: fluff, random bf txt things, bf!txt x reader

yeonjun:

when you and yeonjun go on dates he takes soo many pics of you and the date you’re on! literally 30 million pictures of you he thinks you’re so beautiful he cant help it but if you’re not also doing the same and taking cute pictures of him as well he’ll get all fake upset “hey, i look cute too! take some of me” and he’ll pose all pretty waiting for you to take some of him 😭

if he playfully teases you and you get a little pouty he’ll definitely notice right away and pull you close and say something like “you’re so cute when you pout” and kiss you on your nose or forehead

he shares his food with you 24/7 “my baby always has to get the first bite” & will always ask after if you liked it “is it good my love?” he says it with such cute eyes UGHH he’s so cutie

soobin:

lovess movie nights with you but you especially love when its horror and he tries to act all tough but ends up screaming and hiding in your arms whenever there’s a jump scare and when the the movie ls over he says to you,“honestly that movie wasn’t even that scary” and says it so confidently too 😭

also the way when you make him laugh so hard to the point where he falls on to you laughing and/or shakes you slightly with his hands is literally so adorable + when he laughs his voice slightly squeaks at the ends of them

or the way he gets all flustered when you talk about how he was when you guys first met “you were just so shy soobin i cant help but tease you about it” and he comes up with sooo many excuses waving is hands in the air while a pink hue is tinting his cheeks, “well im just a naturally introverted person!” we all know its because it was love at first sight and that man was already so whipped for u

beomgyu:

loves loves loves being around you hes literally so clingy with you always playing with your fingers or hair he just loves being around you and he feels comforted by just that so cuddling with you is his fav & he absolutely loves when you play with his hair while cuddling especially during loser lover era when his hair was long <3

definitely will apologize first when in a argument but it will take him a while since his mindset is “why do i have to apologize? i didn’t do anything wrong, right?” but he will anyways because he cant stand you being mad at him for long

he loves teasing you but this time when going on a date with you he does it with his looks, tell me why this man pulls up to your date looking so scrumptious in a suit and tie ofc he teases “i look good right babe? i bet you can’t resist me right now” with that smirk of his so true i cant 🧎‍♀️

taehyun:

taehyun doesn’t often show his affection in physical touch but instead buys you “gifts”, it doesn’t matter whether its food delivered to your house after you get home from work because he knows how tired you must be after a long day or something as random as something he picked up for you while shopping that reminded him of you he’s always thinking of u bae

also when you guys go on dates he is not afraid to spend money on you always making sure you get the best, taking you to five star restaurants and such + acts like its no big deal “babe are u alright?” NO IM NOT?? THIS IS SO FANCY? swear wouldn’t even care if one appetizer is 1000+ dollars like what. anything for u he says so 🤷‍♀️

definitely would “make” you go to the gym with him you went willingly to watch him workout okay at first you were gonna actually work out with him but how can you when your boyfriend looks so good lifting weights like that?!?! its actually impossible not to stare at that sight

kai:

kai is such a reassuring boyfriend like any worries you have GO TO HIM!! not to mention so considerate like whenever you vent to him he’ll always ask “babe, do you want comfort or advice right now?” and by the end of it you’ll forget why you were even worried in the first place UGH kai is the definition of perfect bf

yk how protective he is with his plushes with the members? yeah not with you, he will literally let you borrow his fav plush and yes i say borrow because don’t get me wrong he LOVES you but he’s still a little protective with his babys also you guys definitely have matching plushies he bought you two pucca & garu

you two always talk in baby voices with each other def not in a cringe way though, it’s literally just became a normal thing for you two. at first it was to make fun of each other but now its just randomly. for the record though you don’t always respond back all cute 😭😭 “is it good y/nie?~” you give him the biggest side eye “well now im not hungry thanks!” LMFAO you both laugh about it so dw

@saursoob reblogs r okay! please don’t repost

#txt fluff #fluff #kpop #tomorrow x together #ot5 #txt #txt imagines #txt ot5 #txt x reader #txt x y/n #yeonjun x reader #soobin x reader #beomgyu x reader #taehyun x reader #huening kai x reader #txt x you #kpop imagines #kpop fics

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just-jordie-things · 10 months

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[part seven] to build a home - gojo satoru

word count: 3.3k warnings: !!manga spoilers!! swearing, jjk-verse style fighting series summary: when (y/n) (y/l/n) catches wind that the notorious sorcerer killer, toji fushiguro, has children, she makes it her personal mission to find them. the catch being she couldn't tell a soul about them- the risk of the zen'in clan learning about them was too great. keeping the secret isn't the hard part, it's lying to her friends, shoko ieiri, geto suguru, and of course gojo satoru, that she struggles with. especially when satoru has suddenly become so keen on keeping an eye on her lately.

series masterlist

[part seven] : "Shikigami" ___

The next month, (y/n) thinks, is the best month of her life. She finally relaxes, even with everything on her plate, she seems to fall into a decent routine to balance it all. Somehow, everything seems to work out. And she enjoys her time of peace.

She’d thrown a small party for Tsumiki’s tenth birthday, complete with a homemade two-tower cake that might have been a little slumpy but she and Megumi enjoyed it nonetheless. (y/n) had spent most of her earnings from her tutoring on a smartphone, and when Tsumiki had shred the glittery pink wrapping paper from it, she’d screamed so loud that Megumi had clamped his hands over his ears.

It was expensive, but it was about time that they had an easier way to communicate with each other. Ever since, Tsumiki always made sure to keep her updated on what she and Megumi were up to, and she also sent plenty of pictures. (y/n) particularly enjoyed the ones with Megumi’s hands in front of his face- which were most of them.

She visited them more regularly, and always held herself to that schedule. Tuesday and Thursday evenings, and the weekends, were reserved for them, and then only. After a while of this being a normal occurrence, her friends seemed to stop wondering where she went. They never asked what she was doing, or where she was going. She did find this odd, but she decided to accept it as a sign of things working out.

“What’re you thinkin’ about?”

Gojo Satoru was sitting on the common room’s sofa beside her. The movie they’d been watching together long ignored as he propped his elbow on the back of the cushion, resting his head in his hand to better look at her.

(y/n) looked up from her phone, clicking it off as she met his gaze.

The lights were off, and with only the dim light of the television screen, Satoru had his sunglasses hooked into the collar of his shirt. It wasn’t often that he left them off. (y/n) felt a sense of honor, that he was comfortable enough to sit before her, exposed.

She had a feeling that if she reached out to touch him, she’d be able to.

“I guess nothing” She replied, the message she’d just received from Tsumiki still on her mind.

It wasn’t the usual picture of Megumi. In this one, there were two small puppies on either side of him. One white, and one black, with shikigami symbols on either of their heads.

[(y/n)]: i’m so proud! i can’t wait to come and see in person tomorrow. Be safe <3

Her response hadn’t been a lie, she was incredibly proud that Megumi was starting to get a grasp on his cursed energy. Summoning shikigami wasn’t an easy feat, and (y/n) had never really tried her own hand at it. So a part of her felt insecure in her ability to help young Megumi hone this skill.

But more than anything, she was overwhelmed at the realization that he was growing up, growing into his cursed energy. Soon she’d have to figure out a way to teach him how to use it. She’d have to teach him properly about curses, and about jujutsu sorcerers.

She gnawed on her lip.

“Really?” Satoru asked, quietly. “Cause it looks like somethin’s bothering you”

(y/n) dropped her gaze to her lap, at the black screen of her phone.

“No, I’m alright,” She feigned a smile. “Hey, you know much about shikigami?”

Satoru’s brows furrow, and there’s a slight smirk on his lips. What in the world did she need shikigami for?

“You want a pet, sweetheart?” He jokes. “You could just ask, I’ll get you something”

“No, I don’t want a pet” (y/n) laughs at his instant desire to buy her something.

“You sure?” Satoru checks. “Kitten? Turtle? Parrot?”

“No,” (y/n) repeats between her laughter. “When would I have the time to take care of a pet? I’m too busy taking care of you”

He gives her a toothy grin.

“Well then what’s with the shikigami?” He asked. “Not like you need ‘em”

“So you don’t know anything,” (y/n) sighs, defeated. “That’s fine, I’ll just ask Suguru or something-”

“No no no, no need, I’m your mentor, aren’t I?” He cuts her off, making her chuckle. Of course he’d jump at the opportunity to help if it meant she didn’t go to someone else.

“I wouldn’t say mentor-”

“Summoning shikigami is all about your own cursed energy,” He speaks over her. “Think of it like play-doh!” He adds, scooting closer to her on the cushion as his hands move in front of him, making a ball shape. “It’s all about having an image in mind, and using your cursed energy to make that image reality!”

(y/n) nods, twirling her phone around in her hand as she thinks about it.

Megumi didn’t just summon one dog. There were two.

“Why the sudden interest?” Satoru asks.

(y/n) shakes her head.

“Got a paper on it” She mumbles out the lie, the gears in her mind occupying all of her thoughts.

If Megumi were able to summon even more…

She doesn’t want to think about it.

Then the Zen’in Clan might start looking for him.

“Boring paper,” Satoru scoffs, leaning back on the couch. “You should write about something cooler. Like me,”

(y/n) chuckles, he’d effectively distracted her from her troubled thoughts.

“What?” He asks, offended. “I’m interesting! I’m the most interesting thing that’s happened to this dying community in decades! Maybe even centuries, (y/n/n)”

(y/n) rolls her eyes at him affectionately. He always had a way of condemning the jujutsu society, even though it was the very society that practically crowned him.

“Sure you are” She deadpans.

He gapes at her.

“You don’t think I’m interesting?” He asks, holding a hand over his chest in mock offense.

“Satoru-”

“I can’t believe this!” He cries out, throwing his head back.

“Satoru-”

“You’ve wounded me, (y/n)!” He gets louder each time she tries to make him shut up. “I can’t believe I trusted you- you’ve broken my heart!”

“Satoru!” (y/n) grabs him by his shoulders, and just as she suspected earlier, he’d let her touch him.

He’s cackling, laughing at his own jokes. It’s almost annoying, but he’s grinning ear to ear as he brings his head back up, meeting her gaze, and she can’t find it in herself to be irritated with him.

For once, his stupid mouth is shut. He’s just staring at her, intently, like he was waiting for something. (y/n) raised a brow, in silent question, but he still didn’t say anything.

“What?” She finally asked, eyes flickering between his.

Despite herself, she gets lost in the deep oceans of his irises. She knows that he knows they’re beautiful, but she wonders if he knows just how trapped in them she could get.

They were his greatest weapon, in more ways than one.

He still doesn’t answer, but his grin softens, and her heart flips over in her chest.

Was Gojo Satoru really reducing her to this?

She suddenly notices how close she is, with her hands frozen on his shoulders, and her face just inches away from his. If someone were to walk into the room right now, it would surely seem like a compromising position.

Was she losing her mind, or did he just look at her lips?

Sure, she’d had a few more than platonic thoughts about him in the past, and surely he’d known this too. Gojo Satoru lived to be a charmer, a flirt, a tease- he collected phone numbers (and probably other small trophies) left and right.

(y/n) had seen it first hand, and it used to frustrate her to no end that he would distract himself from an assignment just to throw out a cheap pickup line and a wink. It was more frustrating that it worked. But now she wonders if she was annoyed by this behavior for other reasons.

All at once, Satoru took her wrists, dropping her hands from his shoulders, and moving back to his spot on the couch to put distance between them.

It wasn’t right, he told himself, looking back at the television and pretending to suddenly be interested in the movie he’d barely watched. She was seeing someone.

Maybe he hadn’t proved it yet, she hadn’t given him any tangible evidence that it was a boyfriend she was visiting in Tokyo, but the odds of it being anything else were growing thin For the last month he’d been giving her the space to do as she pleased, and she had chosen to use that space to go into town more frequently, and on a regular schedule now, too. This led Satoru, and Shoko and Suguru as well, to believe it had to be a guy she was visiting.

There was a knot between (y/n’s) eyebrows, as she regarded Satoru’s sudden distance. She’s not sure why he’d recoiled away from her, as if she’d somehow done something venomous. She tried racking her brain to figure out what it could’ve been to make him do such a thing, but she didn’t dare ask why.

Instead, she gave him his space. They sat in complete silence until the movie ended, and as soon as it did, she stood and excused herself to her room. Satoru didn’t protest, he didn’t say anything. Just sat on the sofa while she walked away.

When she was gone, he dropped his head back against the cushion, letting out a groan of frustration. For some reason, his mind wandered to the little spat he’d had with Nanami, the day he’d punched a wall.

She doesn’t belong to anyone, the blonde man’s voice was dry as he’d spoken, but somehow it made his words all the more harsh.

The white haired sorcerer dragged a hand over his face, shutting his eyes and wishing he was able to distract himself from his own ridiculous angst.

She doesn’t belong to anyone.

Satoru wasn’t sure that was so true. ___

“It was just weird,” (y/n) shook her head, happily snatching the cigarette from Shoko’s hand as soon as she’d slid it from it’s carton. “I’ve never seen him be so quiet for so long. Honestly, I didn’t know he was capable of it”

The brunette chuckled, producing a lighter from the pocket of her white coat, and leaning over to light the cigarette that hung between (y/n’s) lips.

“You must have stunned him to silence” She mused.

“I don’t know,” (y/n) shrugged, taking a drag once the cig was lit. “I think he was just… upset”

Shoko hums.

It wasn’t smart to be smoking in the dorms, and surely if someone smelled the distinct scent of smoke, (y/n) was going to be in grave trouble for it. But it was a little chilly outside, and the pair didn’t feel like shivering in their usual spot on the roof.

(y/n) leans back on her bed, kicking her feet towards her pillow, and hanging her head off the edge of the mattress. Shoko sat opposite of her, with her back to the headboard, and her legs crossed at her ankles.

“You two have been spending more time together than usual,” The brunette comments, “Somethin’ I should know?”

(y/n) lets out a short chuckle, blindly passing the cig back. Shoko leans forward to pluck it from her fingers.

“Absolutely not”

“Hm,” Shoko hums around the cigarette between her lips. “Doth protest too much,” She says with a small giggle. “You used to despise one on one time with Satoru. Remember when we first met?”

(y/n) smiles fondly at the memory. A few more trickled into her mind. Their first year together at Jujutsu Tech had been a fun ride. Messy, but fun.

“Of course”

It’s quiet for a few beats, both girls lost in their own memories. (y/n’s) not sure if she thought so back then, but life was so, so much easier. It seems now she carries the weight of the world, of her choices, consequences, regrets, a heavy chain that binds her of every mistake she’s chosen, every wrong path she’d walked.

Back then, all she had to worry about was exorcizing curses, getting stronger, getting her homework done on time. Her eyes fall shut, and she lets out a sigh as she remembers the old days that were a mere few years ago.

“Shoko,”

Her voice is barely above a whisper. Her friend hums in response, and hands the cigarette back, feeling like (y/n) needed it more in that moment.

“You asked me once what I think I would do if I wasn’t a jujutsu sorcerer”

Shoko hums once more.

“You’ve finally thought about it?”

She wonders if (y/n) was finally about to admit to her rendezvous with her secret lover.

“Yeah,” (y/n) replies. “I think I’d like to be a mother”

Shoko doesn’t reply right away, a bit stunned. That wasn’t anything like she was expecting, and as she wrapped her mind around the thoughtful choice, she felt a pit in her stomach begin to grow.

“You could still be a mother” She informs.

(y/n) tilts her head up, peering at her friend from the end of the bed. There’s a smile on her face, but Shoko can see as plain as day that it was empty.

“I could never bring children into this world” She says. Her voice is solemn, final. As if the notion would be the cruelest thing she’s ever heard.

“Too selfish?” Shoko muses.

(y/n) drops her head again. Her hair hangs low, almost touching the ground.

“Something like that” (y/n) agrees in a mumble.

“What makes you think of that now?” Shoko asks, flicking the cigarette over the ashtray on (y/n’s) bedside table.

She’d had it for some time, a little ceramic dish with a pretty, flowery design. It was almost perfectly clean.

“I don’t know” She murmurs back.

Her eyes shut as she raises her arms over her head, letting them hang down towards the ground until her knuckles rest there. She knows fully well why she thinks of it.

“Liar,” Shoko purrs. “We’ve been friends a long time. Not once have you learned how to lie to me”

(y/n) chuckles, dragging her fingers over the rough carpet on her floor. There, she traces designs mindlessly.

“Not once have you been bothered when I lie to you” She whispers back.

Shoko lazily shrugs a shoulder, smiling to herself.

“I’m not one to need to know everyone’s business,” She says honestly. “I like a little mystery. Keeps things interesting”

“Guess you’re right” (y/n) mumbles. Her fingertip drags in a straight line, watching the short fibers of her carpet be spread apart.

“And I know if something was important, you’d tell me,” Shoko adds. She waits for a response, patiently. Asking (y/n) to open up was a difficult task, but if anyone was able to make her crack, it was Shoko.

(y/n’s) finger halts on the ground, and she stares at the spot for a moment.

“Right?” Shoko’s voice is smaller than before, almost uncertain.

(y/n) lays her palm flat against the ground, leaving it there for a second before sliding it over the line in the carpet she’d made. With her palm, the fibers stand straight together again, erasing any evidence that she’d separated them. “Of course,” She says, as confidently as she can. “You know I would”

Shoko nods, chuckling awkwardly to herself.

“I know,” She replies. “Just making sure, I guess”

You’re getting better at lying, Shoko thinks, looking at her friend who couldn’t even look her in the eye. But still not good enough for me to believe you.

“Shoko,” (y/n) whispers after a beat of silence. “What do you know about the Zen’in Clan?”

Finally, she lifts her head, propping her elbows on the bed to keep her body angled up just enough to properly look at her friend. Shoko looks utterly confused, her brows furrowed and her lips pressed into a line.

“Not much…” She trails off, her head tilting to the side as she regard (y/n) with clear and utter concern. “Why?”

(y/n) shakes her head, turning to stare at a spot on the wall so she wouldn’t have to lie to her face again.

“Just wondering”

“(y/n)...” Shoko leans forward a bit, just off the headboard, enough to bring her friend’s gaze back to hers. “What business do you have with the Zen’in Clan?”

(y/n) gulps as Shoko’s eyes prod into hers worriedly.

Only a child that’s rightfully theirs, she thinks.

“I thought it was more interesting to not know everything” (y/n) throws her words back at her, but there’s no tease in her tone. She’s quiet, hesitant.

The reversed cursed technique master chews on her lip, troubled.

Was she seeing someone from the Zen’in Clan? She wondered. Is that what all this was about? It would certainly explain the sneaking around, the sudden need for her to keep things private. If she was hooking up with a Zen’in, it was definitely wise of her to not have told Satoru.

But a question still remained in Shoko’s head.

Why?

“They’re a force to be reckoned with, (y/n),” Shoko cautions. “If you do have business with them…”

“Cut it off, right?” (y/n) lets out a bitter huff of a laugh. She drops her head to stare at her lap. She’d known that since day one.

“I was going to say, tread carefully,” Shoko says, and (y/n’s) eyes meet hers once more, surprised. She’d thought for certain that her friend would try to pry, to talk her out of what she was doing. “I don’t want you to get hurt”

“I won’t”

“When it comes to the Zen’ins, you probably will,” Shoko says, a bittersweet smile tugging on her lips. “They’re bad news, (y/n)”

“Trust me,” (y/n) sighs. “I know”

The subject was dropped after that, both girls curling up in (y/n’s) small bed as the night grew near. Shoko smoked one last cigarette, scrolling mindlessly through her phone. (y/n) laid with her back to her, staring at her wall as she processed what the next step for her had to be.

She’d known for a while that as he got older, it would be harder to hide him from the Zen’in Clan. The growth of his cursed energy was bound to happen. She’d just never thought it would happen so soon. And now she was backed into a rock and a hard place. Training him to properly hone his ability, while also concealing it, was going to be quite the chore. She wasn’t sure if she was the right sorcerer for the job, if she was strong enough to protect him alone.

Her hands gripped the edge of her blanket, pulled close to her chin.

Even if she wasn’t strong enough, she’d have to be. ___

Gojo Satoru glared at his reflection in the mirror, or more specifically, glared at the bags under his eyes. It wasn’t unlike him to have a bad night’s sleep, most nights he was lucky to get a couple hours, but the dark circles were not a welcome addition to his otherwise perfect face.

The knock on his door disturbed his thoughts, but it was welcomed. He needed a break from focusing on the only physical insecurity he’d had in a while.

When he swung the door open, Shoko stood there, and instantly invited herself in. She spoke before he could say anything, or react to her sudden visit at all.

The brunette plopped herself down in his desk chair, crossing her arms and staring at him with a serious look in her eye that Satoru didn’t often see.

“It’s time to talk about (y/n)” ___

xoxo ~ jordie

#gojo satoru #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru imagine #gojo satoru fanfiction #satoru gojo #satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo imagine #satoru gojo fanfiction #jjk #jjk x reader #jjk fanfiction #jjk imagine #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen fanfiction #jujutsu kaisen imagine

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lino-nyangi · 1 year

Text

𝗱𝗶𝘁𝘁𝗼 | LMH

wc: 3.1k

warnings: mutual-pining-to-lovers, alcohol consumption (both minho and reader are of age ofc), profanity, drunk confession.

note: heavily inspired by new jeans' ditto. references to the lyrics can be found throughout the fic.

read prologue here.

long day.

long bad day at work. so tiring and shitty that even food couldn't console you one bit. you can’t wait to step back home, tears already pricking your eyes but you try to blink them away. it's okay, you're almost there. minho will also be there, having texted him to come over just now. you were thankful he didn't question it, said he was also just getting off work therefore he'll drive to your place from there.

he shows up not long after you get home, thankfully. you give him a short debriefing of how the day went when he asks, ranting about all what went wrong from the moment you opened your eyes today. minho listens intently, giving you all of his attention, but he's not sure what you want him to do in this situation. of course, all he wants is to cuddle you all night to make you forget about the bad day. but he can't do that, not when your relationship didn't have any clear labels.

it was getting tiring for the two of you alike. both wanting to be in the presence of one another yet whenever it happens, it feels like you're sitting on a bed of thorns. both too afraid to take a step further. all of it was making you dizzy, so it's only expected for you to pull out two cups and a bottle of your go-to alcoholic drink from the kitchenette cupboard.

"help yourself." you mutter to minho after placing everything on the coffee table, dropping your body next to his on the couch.

"i'm good. don't drink too much." he answers, failing to hide the concern in his soft voice. you think he's pushing it.

"in the comfort of my own home?" you raise an eyebrow at him.

"i'm not the one that's gonna be stumbling into work tomorrow with a splitting headache." he reasons. though i won't be there to make you hangover soup in the morning, is more of what he wants to say.

"fuck it," you say, gulping down a shot.

minho can't help but watch you down shot after shot in concern. it's not too much, but definitely more than a regular amount. you're home, you're safe, might regret it tomorrow but that's the worst thing that can happen. still, he's worried, that's just how he is with you. he barely brings himself to take one when you push the cold glass against his plush pink lips. maybe he too could use a bit of liquor to slow down his racing thoughts.

he sighs quietly. minho's not sure what to do to make it better that also wouldn't make him look weird. he doesn't want to come off as if he's making a move on you while you're vulnerable, he would never do that. then again, why did you call him up at this time? it's late, and you've had dinner outside already. it wasn't like you wanted him over for a meal and a movie like you usually do, you already said you don't feel like watching anything. so maybe company is all you need. company that he's so willing to offer but at the same time hurts him to sit down and watch you like this.

it's your turn to let out an exasperated sigh. it fucking sucks. not even work now, but being next to him yet not able to feel him close— burry your face in his chest or nuzzle his neck and kiss it until you fall asleep in his arms.

staying in the middle wasn't an option anymore. having already wandered off to the opposite side of platonic feelings a while ago, the line itself was already blurry. you don't just like him a little, fancy his presence. you were already in too deep in this maze to step back. he took up all the space in both your heart and mind, head clouded with thoughts of him— what he's doing or something he did that made your heart skip a beat, at any point of the day.

still, you weren't sure if he liked you the same way. if he wanted you the same way you wanted him. minho's done so many things that made you think he for sure mirrors your feelings. the way he makes exceptions in his plans and goes out of his way to do things for you, the way his voice drops in volume and grows saturated in sweetness whenever he talks to you, the way his eyes soften everytime they land on your face. it was all trying to tell you something, you think.

but no. maybe it's all you. maybe there's none of what you believe behind his behavior. maybe minho's just too infuriatingly yet endearingly nice.

it's stupid, where your delusional feelings have gotten you. why did you even call him tonight? you didn't even register how your fingers typed in the words. it's like your first instinct was to turn to him for comfort when you were feeling bad. but now that you're here, it seemed more like you wanted yourself to suffer.

maybe this isn't going anywhere, maybe you should start pushing him away in order to make your feelings fade. it was better than hanging on by a loose thread anyway.

"no, fuck that." you blurt out loud.

you can't do it. you were already in too deep, so what's there to lose? it's one sentence, then either black or white after this long night. but what's guaranteed is peace of mind, either by having him or not.

"fuck what?" minho tilts his head, prompting you to share the conversation you were having in your head with him. not forcing you to tell him but, what else could he say to that? besides, maybe he could help if you're overthinking about work, he hopes.

to his surprise and upon hearing his voice, you turn to him, as if you're just reminded of his presence in your blurry state of mind. "you—" you stumble close to him on the couch, cupping his cheeks. breathe, minho, he tells himself.

"i am—" you inhale in an attempt to collect your thoughts, "do you know how tired i am of this?"

minho just blinks at you. confused, nervous, heart hammering in his chest. you've never touched him like this, never leaned this close. his lips part to call your name but you're quick to cut him off. not intentionally, but the liquid poison running in your veins makes you less aware of your surroundings and more focused on what's in your head. how ironic for a mind reliever.

"you— you don't leave my head even for a second, it feels like i'm going insane. if you like me then say it. if you don't then also say it. don't leave hanging like this." you trail, eyes starting to well up with tears of frustration. looking at his soft features laced with worry only makes it worse for your heart. you're almost sure he wants you the same, so why? why isn't he saying anything? "it's so mean." you whisper, lower lip jutting forward as you try to hold your tears back from falling.

minho hopes you don't notice the way he gulps, mustering enough consciousness to gently pry you off him and back on the sofa, as you were practically straddling him at this point. "hey, you've had too much to drink. should've stopped you earlier." he mutters quietly, failing to keep eye contact— he's feeling both nervous from your proximity and horrible for making you cry.

"i'm not drunk!" you protest, sounding obviously drunk. "i mean, i am. but you think i could ever have the courage to say this sober?"

he doesn't answer that, instead reaching to collect the empty cups in the tray, ready to take it back to the kitchen. he hates the way his brain wants to keep him away from facing the reality of things. but you on the other hand are already done with this situation, so you hold his hands to stop him from leaving. you need to say it, need hear it.

"i like you." you announce when he looks up, "say it back." it sounds almost threatening out of context, too straightforward but you know that's what he needs to hear to take the last step out of this maze.

"you... are you sure you mean it." minho mutters nervously, so nervous it doesn't even sound like a question.

you huff. still not enough. getting closer to his face, "i fucking love you. say it back, minho." your voice cracks, not able to stand being in this vague middle any second longer. "i know all the time we spent together means something to you." you breathe, "say it back, please."

he suppresses a sigh to avoid frustrating you further, though your behavior is what's frustrating him the most. having to deal with you being a handful of a drunk that's probably saying things they don't mean. "will you even remember this when you're sober?"

he's scared, you can tell. you want to tell him you were as well, right before you decided enough was enough. "that's not what matters right now. just for now, please. i need to hear it." it sounds selfish, but you know it what he wants too, know it's the push he needs.

one more look into your expecting eyes tells minho to pour his heart out to you. drunk or not, he needs this off his chest. "i'm... also tired of this. should've asked you out properly. but i wasn't sure if you'd want to see me after that. i was... greedy, wanted to be around you even if it meant not having you all for myself. didn't want to scare you off either." he finds himself rambling, and you snap him out of it.

"then have me now. i like you."

"... ditto."

"say it, minho."

this is so stupid. why can't he just say it back? minho's tongue feels heavy but he's not the drunk one. maybe because a small part of his brain tells him this is all going to be forgotten the next morning. he doesn't want to feed a fantasy that he's not going to enjoy for longer than just tonight. he also doesn't want to make a move on you in this state for the same reason.

"you're... still drunk." he trails, "i know i just technically confessed but i need to hear it again from you later. sober."

"then stay the night." you blurt immediately, much to minho's surprise. "stay and i'll tell you again in the morning. please."

he blinks slowly at you, still processing what you just asked for. he's never stayed this late at your place, let alone spent the night.

"i... need you tonight. even as a friend, i'll take it. just, hold me. please." you ask, finally admitting the reason you called him over for— even though you knew it wasn't going to happen when you sent that text. but just thinking of him holding you wasn't enough, you needed to have him close at least, even if that was the only way you were able to have him. minho's lips part and you try your best to focus on his answer.

"i'm… gonna text jisung." he mumbles, tapping his wide jeans in search of his phone. it's his way of saying yes, i'll stay.

i won't be coming tonight

jisung: already????

minho scoffs at his nosy best friend's message. he'd told him he was meeting you tonight after he received your text and said he'll be back by midnight max. jisung had teased him for it before they parted ways, since you never invited him over this late. but now the younger has more information to work with.

jisung: do you even have a condom on you??

9am sharp. you'll be wiped.

once he puts his phone back on the coffee table, he pours you some water to drink and down the alcohol.

"better?" he asks when you place the glass down.

you nod with closed eyes, ready to sleep. "better."

"brush your teeth first, i can help if you need me."

"i got it" you grumble, stumbling on your way to the bathroom.

minho takes that time to store the liquor away and quickly rinse the cups. he's careful for any sounds coming from the bathroom just in case you hurt yourself.

when you take a bit too long, he peeks through the open door only to find you sat on the toilet stool— thankfully closed, toothbrush still in your mouth and eyelids fluttered shut while you rest your head against the wall on your side.

god, too adorable. he thinks to himself.

"hey, wash it out first then you can sleep." his voice wakes you up.

minho grabs both of your forearms, pulling you up and you stumble into him, both the alcohol and exhaustion of the day taking over you. he manoeuvres you towards the sink, standing behind you to support your body and reaching over to gently hold your jaw in place while his other hand grabs the plastic wand poking out of your mouth, moving it to brush over your teeth. he catches you watching him in the mirror and gives you a toothy smile, but it's actually just to motion you to do the same so he can work better. you flash your teeth at him in a proud grin, allowing him to move the toothbrush on your front teeth.

the sight makes minho chuckle, but it's almost inaudible— all breath. you remind him of his cats getting their teeth cleaned when necessary.

"rinse— don't swallow." he pushes the filled cup close to your lips, then guides your upper body forward to spit out the water you swilled around your mouth into the sink.

"i know." you complain about the way he's treating you like a kid, giving him an attitude that minho just chuckles at while tapping your lips dry with a towel.

"minho?" you speak again.

"hm?"

"i really like you. okay?" you mumble, trying to sound as serious as you can but it's only endearing to minho how your eyelids threaten to close.

"it's not morning yet." is all he mutters, walking you back to the living space.

after fetching a blanket you keep there, he lets you rest on his chest on the couch. your eyelids are sealed shut by now so you're quick to pass out on him, but not before you murmur once again. "minho? i really like you, yeah?" morning's too far, you want to say it now, and hear him now. maybe if you sleep in his arms, you'll dream of it.

minho just hugs you tighter against him, humming in acknowledgment. "i like you too." he's not sure it's 100% true, maybe you're sober by now. but instead of brushing it off this time, minho wants to believe it, at least for now.

he sighs quietly, taking in your sleeping figure. as much as he wants you to snuggle comfortably on the warm bed and in comfortable clothes, minho still doesn't want to come off weird. plus, staying here means he gets to hold you like this for longer.

… but that's selfish of him, he thinks. and you'll probably regret it in the morning. so he just picks you up as gently as he can, drops you on your bed and leaves to pass out back on the couch, not before tucking you in under a warm blanket.

♡

the next morning you wake up, alone, and in your bed. none of it makes sense, except the fact that you're still in your clothes from yesterday, ironically. but other than that, you slept in minho's arms, on the couch. why are you here?

naturally, you panic. where was he? did he leave last night? were you being weird because of the alcohol? did you ruin everything? was the whole confession thing a stupid dream the liquor fed you? too many questions.

stumbling out of your room though, you're greeted by a salivating smell. it's so comforting, or at least as comforting as a smell of food can get. you follow it towards the kitchen area in cautious steps, only to find minho, standing in your kitchen— cooking. his sleeves rolled up, hair a bit messy and delicate lips moving to the lyrics of a song he's humming. it's soft, everything he does is soft, just like him.

he stops in his tracks once he spots you, suddenly timid. so cute, your bed hair and morning face.

"was just about to wake you up. i made hangover soup."

"… minho?"

he's here. he never left, even after hearing what you said last night. he's still here, as sweet and thoughtful as ever.

"morning." he smiles, "you dozed off on the couch so i helped you back to your bed." he explains, seeing your puzzled expression. it's not exactly the truth, but minho thought it was a safer option. whether you meant what you said last night or not.

"my head hurts…" you grumble, stepping further into the cooking space.

"see? i told you not to drink too much." he nags, though his tone is gentle.

"had to tell you."

"… tell me what?" minho feels stupid for playing dumb after all what happened. but whether he likes to admit it or not, he's scared. he wants to know if you mean what he thinks you do first, ready to sweep his feelings under the rug if the events of last night turn out to be just a drunk mistake.

"that i like you." you snap him out of his thoughts, again, heart beating just as fast as his. you have a faint memory of what he said hours ago, enough to guess his answer would be favorable. but it's still nerve wracking.

minho wordlessly takes you in his arms, pulling you closer to him while your hands rest on his chest, feeling the outlines of his pecs even through the hoodie he's wearing.

"then you're mine."

"say it first."

he inhales, "i like you, mine."

a smile that you can't suppress spreads on your face, "ditto."

finally. both of you think at the same time. minho steals the smallest kiss on your cheek, close the corner of your mouth before dipping his head in the crook of your neck. "is it weird to call you that this early?" he mumbles, now sheepish after realizing what he'd just called you out of pure ecstasy.

"like in the morning?" is the first thing to pop up in your head, a lame joke.

you hear him sigh against your skin and you giggle, giving him a proper answer.

"not at all.” you look pull back just enough to look at him, eyes filled with an emotion he hid for so long— love. “all this time, i’ve always been."

"that’s a relief then,” minho hugs you back against him, nuzzling your hair. “mine."

[thanks for reading! if you enjoyed, please leave a reblog. sharing your thoughts is optional but highly appreciated! if you want to be notified everytime i post something, please refer to my pinned ♡]

#lee know fluff #lee know x reader #lee know fanfic #minho fluff #kpop fluff #stray kids fluff #kpop imagines #skz fluff #stray kids imagine #stray kids imagines #kpop scenarios #stray kids scenarios #stray kids x reader #skz x reader #skz imagines #stray kids fanfic #skz scenarios

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enkas-illusion · 5 months

Text

One of Your Guys

One of Your Guys - Part 3/3

Fandom / Pairing: Jujutsu Kaisen / Choso x f!reader

Rating: NSFW/Explicit - MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Content Warning: Fluff, smut, language, hurt/comfort, friends to lovers, oral (f receiving), fingering, piv sex, lots of teasing.

Chapter Summary: You realise the difference between a stupid crush and actually developing real feelings for someone.

Song Dedication: Sweat by ZAYN / In Too Deep (feat. Kiana Ledé) by Jacob Collier

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

“My god! Again?” Mia sighs as she stares at you in disbelief.

You’d paused the movie you’d been watching to take a picture of the dialogue displayed on screen. You’re sending it to Choso – because you know that he will find it interesting. You’ve been doing this a lot lately, hence the complaint from Mia.

Ever since the birthday weekend about a month ago, you’ve grown impossibly closer to Choso. You hadn’t planned this at all and initially tried your best to resist the feeling but you weren’t oblivious to the way your heart would flutter each time you thought of him.

You compare it to the changing of the season – you can’t stop the snow from falling just because you dread the cold weather. Similarly, you can’t ignore your obviously blooming feelings just because you’re scared of fucking it up again.

You’re smiling at your phone, even as you wait for his text. Nowadays, you have to physically force yourself to stop smiling too much. You fear that one of these days a stranger’s going to deem you crazy for smiling at your phone constantly.

“As cute as this is, I will disown you if you don’t do something soon. When are you planning to confess to him? Please put an end to my misery!” Mia groans. She’d been a close observer from the sidelines, watching you fall deeper and deeper for Choso.

Each time you recall her question about how to know for certain that you like someone, your mind brings memories of Choso to the surface as evidence of the same.

You’ve been hanging out with Choso after work sometimes on weekdays as well. It’s been almost impossible for you to stay apart. From the moment you wake up, you wish to talk to him to begin your mornings and miss him dearly on days you don’t get to meet him due to your different work schedules.

You had always paid close attention to his words whenever he spoke, but lately you find yourself wanting to take in every single detail about him with exact precision. You’ve memorised all his little habits and endearing idiosyncrasies like a photograph in your mind.

This, you conclude, is the difference between falling in love with the idea of love and falling for a real person.

However, feeling the feels and actually acting on them are two completely different things. Each time Mia tells you to have the talk with Choso, you brush it off saying you’re waiting for the right moment. You both know that's just a lame excuse. The truth is that this time, you really are scared shitless of getting rejected by someone you genuinely like.

—

Although you like your work, you’ve officially become one of those people who eagerly look forward to weekends – however, your reason for such a desperate anticipation is different from theirs. Your desire stems from your longing to be with Choso the entire time.

You’re currently grocery shopping with him, thanks to Mia’s orders – the cupid had sent you both to get a list of things for tomorrow’s brunch with the group. You’re arguing about the different brands of semolina flour to make the perfect pasta when you hear a voice call his name.

“Choso?” you both turn to look at the source of the voice and it’s a pretty brunette girl smiling at him. She walks to him and it looks like she’s about to lean in for a hug but decides against it. Choso smiles at her briefly.

“Hey, how you been?” He greets her.

“Choso… I thought you’d call! I’ve missed you.” she pouts as she bats her eyes at him.

Usually, when you recognize game, you respect it. But looking at this chick, you feel a sudden rage to smack the flirting outta her. It’s annoying cause you’re aware you’d 100% pull the exact same shit in front of your crush. But the audacity this bitch has to flirt with your man (future tense) when you’re standing right next to him!

“Yeah… Sorry, I kinda got busy with stuff.” He lies. Although you know that he’s just being polite, you can’t help but feel a pang of jealousy deep down. It doesn’t last long, however, as Choso pulls you to his side, introducing you to her.

She spares you half a smile when she introduces herself.

God, even her name is bitchy.

You extend your arm out to her and she shakes it. You know better than to poke the bear but you still act on your impulse, playing dumb when you ask her how she knows Choso.

“I’d love to tell you all about it but it’s hardly appropriate for supermarket talk.” she smirks at you. You simply give her a forced smile, refraining from saying something out of line.

“Well, we’re kind of in a rush so we better get going.” you excuse yourself as you put the bag of flour in your cart and pull it in the opposite direction.

You hear her utter a ‘call me’ before Choso bids her goodbye, and returns to your side with hurried strides.

“We have to find three more items on the list.” he says as he checks his phone.

“Mia can get those tomorrow morning.” you say as you make your way to the checkout counter.

“They might be here somewhere…” he says, confused. You ignore him as you keep on walking, too embarrassed about feeling this way.

He lets out a tiny gasp as he pulls at your bicep to stop you from walking, blocking your way with his body, “You’re jealous… Oh my god!” he chuckles, amusement laced in his voice, “This is so funny.”

You ignore him as you try to walk past him but his grip is firm on your bicep.

“What? No. Why on earth would I be jealous?” you lie, trying to maintain a poker face. He searches your eyes for something before deciding to drop the topic. He figures you’d keep on denying it anyway so he loosens his grip on your arm and you make your way to the billing counter.

When he drops you home, you hug him goodnight and tell him to leave before Mia has a chance to figure out that some of the items are missing. He laughs as he waves at you before driving away.

After you get back to your apartment, you don’t give Mia a chance to scold you as you promise her you’ll bring the remaining items first thing in the morning. So, you decide to go to bed early since you couldn’t afford to sleep in till late tomorrow.

—

You toss and turn in your bed for the umpteenth time. It’s almost 2am and you haven’t been able to sleep at all. You recall the encounter with Choso’s fling at the supermarket.

Let’s face it – it was pretty tame and yet it had you seething with jealousy like a teenager. This was just one incident, but how long will it take before someone braver than you makes her move and asks Choso out? It will be no one else’s fault but your own for having missed your shot.

At 2am, the realistic and rational decision would be to force yourself to go to bed and think about this topic in the morning with a fresh perspective. But right now, you have nothing on your mind but a sense of urgency to act before it’s too late.

Didn’t Ted Mosby say something about not following your heart after 2am?

Well… fuck Ted and fuck being rational.

You get up and hurry to your closet to quickly change into a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie. You put on your shoes as you grab your phone and keys as you leave your house.

When you step down into the parking lot, you realise this is an utterly stupid decision. You’re paranoid – being a woman, alone at night, in a parking lot is far from a breezy walk in the park.

What could possibly go wrong?

Before your brain can create any more scary scenarios, you run to your car and get in to get out of there asap.

It’s a 10 minute drive to Choso’s apartment. When you reach there, you take the elevator to his floor.

You dial his number and press call. While the phone rings, you realise three things – you probably are going to seem insane but you don't care; it’s awfully cold and you should’ve worn something warmer; it is officially too late to chicken out now.

“Hello?” you hear his sleepy voice and your heart feels like it's about to burst out of your chest.

“Hi, could you please open the door to your apartment?” you say sheepishly. You’re about to repeat yourself when it almost seems like he didn’t hear you the first time, but you stay silent when you hear shuffling sounds on the other end.

He simply hums before cutting the call. In seconds, you hear the fidgeting sound of the lock. As the door begins to open, you consider running away and hiding somewhere.

So pathetic… this is totally not on brand for you.

When you take in his current state, you feel heat rise up to your cheeks and you can’t help but check him out. His hair is tied up messily and he’s only wearing sweatpants, while his upper body is bared in all its glory.

Although you feel bad for waking him up in the middle of the night, your heart melts at how handsome he looks and you grow weak in your knees. His voice pulls your thoughts out of the gutter.

“Is everything alright? What are you doing here at this hour? Did you drive alone?” He speaks softly, eyebrows knitted in concern and voice a bit gravelly from sleep.

You’re about to speak but stop like a deer caught in headlights when you hear a soft voice speak from inside. It’s hard to see who it is since the only source of light is coming from his room at the end of the hallway where the door had been left ajar.

“You’re still up?” the voice calls to him. He turns his head to reply and you lean slightly to the side out of curiosity.

When you spot the silhouette of a girl in the dim light, wearing only an oversized t-shirt that’s too big to be hers, your heart drops.

You simply stare at him while he replies to her, “Oh yeah, a friend’s here. Don’t worry, go to bed.”

You feel like you’re about to be sick… this isn’t what you thought was going to happen.

Did he really call her when he got back home?

When he turns back to look at you, he instantly recognizes your dreaded expressions. And in that moment, he’s glad your face is expressive to the point of betraying you – your eyes always expose all the thoughts you refuse to speak out loud.

He quickly speaks up, “That’s Sam’s girl… She’s staying the night with him.”

Sam… right, his flatmate.

Your face relaxes at the realisation. The hope returns to your eyes.

It's not too late! Now’s your one chance!!!

“So what brings you here at…”, he pulls his phone out, the brightness of his phone screen almost blinding, he shakes his head to look at the time, “... 2:34 in the morning?”

You shuffle a bit on your feet as you speak, “I- I wanted to tell you something and it almost felt like I couldn’t wait another moment to do so.”

“Oh…” he pauses a bit, “shit- sorry, please come in.” he invites you, moving to one side to let you in. He closes the door behind you as you take your shoes off. He takes your hand as you walk alongside him till you reach his bedroom.

When you enter his room, he leaves your hand and turns around to lock the door. You’re certain he hears the not-so-quiet yelp that you just let out when you saw his back. You slap your hand to your mouth as you cover it in shock and stare at the tattoo on his back.

From what you can see in the dim lighting of his room, it's a dragon and tiger in red and black ink and it’s huge. You vaguely recall him mentioning he had a tattoo once, but you never would’ve guessed it’d be one that covers almost his entire back.

New kink unlocked – Choso’s back tattoo.

“You have a tattoo…” it comes out as a statement rather than a question.

He chuckles at your surprise, “Yes, I am aware. Sitting in a chair with tiny needles making your back bleed for hours is kind of an unforgettable experience, I'd say.”

“It’s pretty…” your voice trails off as you watch him grab his t-shirt from the laundry basket next to the door and put it on in one swift motion. You sit on the edge of his bed as he leans against the closed door, folding his hands over his chest.

You fidget with your fingers nervously as you try to come up with the right words for your confession. “Sooo…” you drag on, your heartbeat picking up its pace, making you fully aware of how anxious you are. “Mia has been on my case about this for a while now…”

Nope. Weak start.

“Fuck.” You close your eyes to focus, taking a deep breath as you begin again, “Choso… I like you. I’d been putting this off since I figured I’d wait to find the right words to express how I feel. But I may never find the perfect words because with every moment we spend together, I find myself falling deeper for you.”

You continue as you open your eyes to look at him, feeling a bit braver now that the cat’s out of the bag, “I’m aware it seems like a cheap shot since it’s such a recent development. But my feelings for you are sincere. What I felt for Satoru was simply me romanticising a platonic friendship.”

You sigh and it’s so overwhelming that you feel like crying, “Maybe this sounds like I’m talking out of my ass but fuck…Choso I like you so much it hurts. I’ve never done this before because frankly I’ve never been in so deep with anyone before. I want to show you just how much you mean to me and my heart aches just thinking that maybe you don’t want me anymore since I was too dumb before to see what was right in front of me all along. I’m sorry for failing to see you… but I do now. And if you’ll still have me even after me acting like an oblivious fuck, I’m right here.”

You bend your head down to cover your face with your hands as you can feel the tears in your eyes. You want to redo the confession because no matter what you say, it feels far from enough. Your train of thought comes to a halt when you feel him grab your wrists.

He pulls your hands away from your face and you find him kneeling in front of you so that you're face to face.

“Aww… my poor baby,” he mocks you playfully, but he’s smiling so bright that he’s sure, at that moment, his eyes speak for him too. You use the back of one hand to wipe your tears while the other slaps Choso’s chest lightly.

He grabs both your wrists and holds them in the tiny space between you two. He brings one hand to his lips, softly kissing your knuckles and repeats the action on your other hand.

“I’ve liked you for a while now, I’m pretty sure it isn’t going to fade so easily.” he smiles at you.

“Please tell me you believe me when I say I like you more than I’m able to express with my words?” you say, wanting reassurance that he understands the truth behind your emotions.

“I do… I’ve been aware of it for the past few days now.” he confesses. You furrow your eyebrows out of confusion. He explains, “Remember how I always joke about you looking at Satoru with those eyes? Well, I kinda realised that lately you’d been looking at me that way instead.”

“Oh,” is all you say as you look down to bite your lip, embarrassed. Choso leans forward as his fingers tilt your chin up. On instinct, you look down at his lips before your eyes move up to observe the rest of his face.

“So… you still like me?” you almost whisper.

“I do.” he chuckles softly, “and it doesn't hurt anymore cause I know you reciprocate my feelings.”

“Hmm… I do.” You reply. There's silence, it's far from awkward but you decide to break it anyway.

You begin, trying to mimic a stern voice, “And by the power vested in me by God Almighty, I now pronounce you husban- AGH!”

Choso hooks his arm around your neck mid sentence pulling you towards him, causing you to kneel with a soft thud on the floor as his laughter fills the entire room. You hug him back as you laugh along, feeling a sense of accomplishment for having made him laugh so hard.

When the hearty laughter is reduced to softer giggles, you sit back up on the edge and rub the top of your knees as they hurt a bit from the slight impact. He mutters a quick ‘sorry’ as his hand replaces yours, massaging the area softly.

There’s an unspoken agreement when your eyes meet again. He wants you to make the first move this time. So you do just that.

You wrap your arms around his neck as you close the distance and kiss him gently. It doesn't take long for Choso to take charge and deepen the kiss as he cups your face in his hands and stands up, pulling you up with him without breaking contact.

When your lips part, breathing heavy, he takes a step back to pull off his t-shirt. You close the distance once again as your hands move up to his hair. You pull his hair tie out, letting it drop to the floor and lacing your fingers through his black locks to free them. Your eyes scan his face to take in how pretty he looks with his hair down.

He leans down within seconds to close the distance between you. His kisses get frantic and messy as he grabs your ass with one hand while the other snakes around your waist, caging you between his arms.

He moves away to hastily pull your hoodie over your head before throwing it to the side. He’s towering over you with your bodies flush against each other’s. You lean back till you’re falling on the bed behind you.

Choso sits up as he hooks his fingers into the waistband of your pants and pulls them off roughly. A shiver runs down your body when you see the way he’s looking at you. His chest heaves as his breathing gets heavy, his voice comes out as a stern command, “Strip for me, baby.”

He moves back to stand at the edge of the bed to observe your movements intently. You turn your back to him, sitting on your knees. Your hands move to your back to unclasp the hook of your bra and you throw it across the floor. You turn around to face him, your hands covering your chest.

You lean back, supporting yourself on your elbows with your palms still covering your nipples. He damn near loses his mind when he hears you purr, feigning innocence, “Sorry… my hands are full, do you mind?” as you part your legs.

He doesn’t waste any time as he leans down to grab both your ankles, yanking you as he pulls your body near the edge of the bed. You let out a tiny squeal as your hands move to the sheets as you steady yourself.

Hooking his fingers into the hem of your underwear, he takes it off slowly as his eyes scan your entire body to memorise the view into his mind forever. When he discards the piece of fabric behind him, he grabs your right foot. He brings his lips to the top of your foot, peppering wet kisses up your leg till his face is just inches away from your pussy, his eyes locked in your gaze the entire time.

You can feel his hot breath, closing your eyes as you wait for him to kiss you where you really crave the touch of his lips. However, you open your eyes again when you feel him move away. He’s repeating his movement on your other leg, kissing all over your leg to rile you up.

When he bites the skin near your left thigh, you groan as you grow impatient and hook your leg on his shoulder in an attempt to pull him down closer.

“Patience, love.” he teases you as he moves up to kiss your stomach instead.

“Choso please…” you plead as your shaky hands move up to his hair.

“Tell me what you’d like me to do baby… since we’re so big on communication.” he teases. You say his name again as if to scold him, but it comes out more like a desperate whimper.

He’s on his knees near the edge of the bed as he repositions your legs to place them on his shoulders. He’s so close that the lack of his touch is agonising. He only needs to lean down a few inches to end your misery, yet he holds back, enjoying the way your body is reacting to his teasing.

“Eat me out baby… plea-” your voice gets caught in your throat and instead turns into a soft wail when you finally feel his lips on your skin. His fingers intertwine with yours, locking them to your side to keep them from moving as his tongue parts your folds with a gentle pressure.

You bite your lower lip to keep yourself from moaning out loud. His movements alternate between licking up your entrance and sucking at your clit. You arch your back and whimper as his tongue dips into your hole.

He groans as his hands press yours deeper into the mattress to keep you from moving too much. You look down at him with knitted eyebrows and you feel as if you’re about to come just by the way his eyes look at your face.

“Taste so good baby…” he mumbles between kisses. When he notices you trying to restrain your moans, he lets go of one hand to slowly push two fingers inside you. He’s pleased when he’s able to elicit the desired reaction out of you as you moan his name, followed by a number of cusses while he pumps his fingers inside you at a steady pace.

He goes back to sucking your clit while fucking you with his fingers. The combination of the two is deadly as you feel yourself getting close to your release. Your free hand grabs at his hair as your whole body starts shaking.

“Fu- Choso, don’t stop… don’t stop, ahh–” your voice strains as your head dips back and you close your eyes. You start shaking uncontrollably and as if on cue, his other hand moves up to apply pressure over your lower abdomen. You moan his name out loud with ragged breaths as you reach your orgasm.

You try to push his head away, not being able to handle how sensitive your pussy feels. But Choso doesn’t relent as his tongue laps at your folds to lick you clean, causing tears to form in your eyes due to the overstimulation. He stops when he hears your voice break, still panting as you come down from your high, your body twitching under his hold.

He moves up, kissing your stomach, the flesh under your boobs, the valley of your chest and finally licking up your throat till he’s levelled with your face. He kisses the corners of both your eyes to erase the trail of tears that was left behind.

Your hands roam all over his back as you pull him down against you to kiss him on the lips one more time – he tastes of your cum with a slight hint of salty tears. Your legs wrap around his waist as you move a hand down to palm his erection.

He breathes out a quiet ‘fuck’ when your hand rubs him up and down from above his pants. You feel as if your brain is about to short circuit when you pull your lips away from his and briefly see a string of saliva connecting your mouths.

“Choso, please fuck me.” you beg softly. He nods before kissing your forehead softly as he says, “Your wish is my command, princess.”

He gets up quickly to pull his pants down along with his underwear together, freeing his cock from its restraints. He’s, what one would call, well-endowed… to say the least. You feel yourself getting wet at how thick and veiny his dick is. You move back up to the centre of the bed as he makes his way to the bedside drawer to grab a tiny silver pack.

When he climbs up on the bed, you reach your hand out to caress his thighs. He tears the pack open with his teeth before rolling on the condom in a well-practised motion. When his eyes meet yours, they soften as he smiles at you. You smile back at him before you bite your lip, feeling the butterflies in your stomach.

He moves to sit with his knees just below your hips and leans down to spit on your folds, moving his fingers to spread the spit around your hole. He lines himself up at your entrance, slapping his dick over your pussy a few times before coating it with your wetness.

He looks up at you, pausing his movement to speak, concern lacing his voice, “Let me know if it hurts, okay baby?”

You feel the blood rush to your head at his words and you nod frantically. He hooks your knees over his shoulders before slowly pushing his tip in. You let out a broken whimper at how good he already feels as chills run down your spine at the sensation.

He leans forward till his chest is flush against yours and he has you in a mating press. He doesn’t break eye contact as he pushes inside you slowly till he bottoms out. Your eyebrows knit as you try to keep your eyes open.

A low grunt escapes from his throat as he moans your name when your walls flutter around his dick. Choso wets his lips as he grabs a pillow from the side to place it under your lower back.

“You good?” he says, his voice strained.

“Never been better.” you breathe out, looking at him with lust-filled eyes that are pleading him to not tease you any further.

He supports his body weight with his left forearm rooted firmly in the space beside your head while his right hand comes up to your throat. His hold is firm as he tilts your head to the side with his thumb, dipping his face in the crook of your neck.

As he bites and sucks all over your neck, you feel your walls clench around him. He bites harder when he feels it, earning a moan from you in return. You plead, urging him to fuck you already.

“Not…” he whispers as his tongue flicks at one of your nipples, “...yet.” he repeats the movement on the other bud as well. Although everything he’s doing feels good, you grow desperate in the anticipation of feeling his dick fuck into you.

You wrap your hands around his wide shoulders as you speak, “Baby, please don’t make me beg so–.” Before you have a chance to finish your sentence, he pulls out to thrust deep in one quick motion.

You scream his name way too loudly and you’re pretty sure Sam and his girlfriend heard you. Even if they didn’t, it would be impossible to miss the sounds of his balls slapping against your skin as he starts ramming into you with a steady pace.

His movements are precise, pulling out till only his tip is inside you before slamming all the way in. You shut your eyes, feeling every thrust and your nails dig into his shoulders when it gets too much to handle.

Your right leg slides off his shoulder slightly and you press it against his bicep, you can feel the sticky sweat on both of your skins as you keep on whispering lewd praises at him.

“You fuck… so good.” you moan breathlessly as his movements get sloppy. “Don't st- mhm- make me yours.”

“I’m gonna cum… fuck.. if you keep talking like that, love.” he groans, picking up his pace as the hand he had on your throat moves down to stimulate your clit. You’re kissing his shoulder when he does that and it causes you to bite into his skin to contain your moans.

A few more sloppy thrusts and Choso cums as he bites your neck a little too hard. You wail his name out of pain. He licks over the bite to soothe it a bit when he realises it as his pace slows down before pulling out completely. You miss the feeling of his dick inside you but he quickly lowers himself to fuck you with his tongue instead. His mouth and his fingers work together and it doesn’t take long for you to cum on his tongue once again.

When your breathing steadies, your grip on his hair loosens; just now realising that you’d been pulling his hair instinctively. He’s still peppering your folds with soft kisses. Your eyelids feel heavy as you pull at his bicep. He understands what you want and pulls himself up to face you, caging you between his arms.

His face looked fucked out and you know yours is the same way. You cup his face with your shaky hands.

“Hi,” he gives you an innocent smile.

As if he wasn’t just fucking you into kingdom come.

“Hi,” you smile back as a blush creeps up on your cheek, suddenly feeling exposed and vulnerable under him. He kisses your lips softly and you close your eyes as your arms wrap around his neck. He leaves tiny pecks on your cheeks, eyelids, nose, chin till he’s covered your entire face with soft kisses.

You giggle under him as his lips move down to your neck. He nudges his nose so that it tickles you. You know what he’s about to do as he brings a hand to the side of your abdomen to tickle you there.

You scold him, still giggling, before it escalates, “Choso! No! Please… baby I’m tired.”

“Well, if you ask so nicely…” he says as he stills his movement to sit up, but not before giving you another quick peck. You sit up to make your way to the bathroom to pee and you see him move to help you.

“I can go by myself,” you let out a chuckle but you'd be lying if you said your legs weren't feeling like jelly.

“Say yes for another round and you won't be able to.” He laughs as he takes in the way your naked silhouette looks, the bathroom light illuminating your figure before you close the door behind you.

If it were up to him, he'd be more than glad to stay up all night to hear your sweet moans, commiting to memory the way you scream out his name.

When you return, you find him standing near the bin as he ties the condom in a knot and puts it in the torn pack before dropping it in the bin. It’s a simple act yet you find it very attractive that he’s so organised.

You get back to the bed as you watch his movements intently. He bends down to grab his sweatpants from the floor and rummages through the pockets to find his phone. When he touches the screen, it lights up again, making him squint his eyes.

“Why don’t you just put it on auto-adjust?” you laugh.

“Because then it becomes too dim even in broad daylight at times.” he complains as he places the phone on his bedside table.

“Wait, do you want to set an alarm? I meannn, I’m all for missing brunch if I get to fuck you all day instead.” he says as he lies down next to you and pulls you into him till your back is pressed against his chest.

“Choso, I'm tired!” You giggle and he hums in response. You twist your head to inhale his scent.

“Your perfume’s faded.” you note.

“Then what do I smell like now?” he questions and you turn around to face him completely, wrapping your arms around his torso.

“You smell of sweat…” you kiss his lips, “and sex…” you tug at his bottom lip with your teeth briefly, “... and me.”

He smiles into the kiss, “Is it your new favourite scent?”

“Maybe.” you tease.

“Guess I have no choice but to smell like it all the time now.” he says as he kisses your earlobe. You laugh and roll your eyes at him. He pulls the blanket over your bodies, pulling you impossibly closer. You continue to lazily make out for another 30 minutes or so, whispering sweet nothings, till you eventually fall asleep in each other's arms.

You don’t get to sleep much as you wake up when daylight breaks in through his window, softly lighting up the room. You find Choso sleeping with his head on your stomach, the blanket has since shifted to the edge of the bed. In the gentle morning light, you can see his tattoo better. You slowly caress the lines of the figure and it might be the prettiest tattoo you’ve ever seen. It’s red spider lily flowers peeking out from under the larger dragon and tiger tattoo.

When your fingers gently move over the scratches your nails had ingrained into his skin, you hear him groan softly. You pull your hand away, whispering a soft ‘sorry baby’ but he slowly brings his right hand over to intertwine it with your left hand. He pulls it to his lips, kissing the top of your hand.

He bites the skin gently, earning a quiet laugh from you. He opens his eyes to look up at you. His movements are lazy as he moves up, kissing above your belly button before coming up to rest his chin on your chest.

You run your hands through his hair slowly as you speak, “I’m sorry about your back… I'll make sure to cut my nails next time.”

“No, don’t. You can scratch my back all you want… battle scars, baby.” he snorts at his own joke, “Besides, I’d say I did a lot more damage than you.”

His fingers move the stray strand of your hair away from your neck as he observes the trail of hickeys running down from your neck to your breast.

“Oh god…” you groan.

“What?”

“Mia…” you sigh.

“You don’t want her to know?” He speaks softly but sounds almost hurt.

“What? No, it’s not that. Believe me, she’s gonna do a happy dance since I'll stop being so insufferable in front of her,” you laugh before continuing, “but I had promised to get the remaining items on the list for her in the morning. She’s gonna be so pissed when she doesn’t find me in my room.”

“Ahh… no worries, we can go pick it up on our way, we still have time.” he smiles at you.

“Sooo, round 2?” you blush as your fingers dance over his bicep.

He laughs as he comes up to kiss your cheek, “You didn’t have to ask.”

You fuck for another two hours, exploring multiple positions that have you seeing stars as you chant his name on repeat. When you’re done, every single part of your body feels sore – even your throat isn’t spared as it feels sensitive from deep-throating him. You stop only because you decide it’ll be too late to get home on time if you stayed any longer.

Despite Choso’s protests claiming you’d save time if you showered together, you take turns to freshen up. You tell him no and push him in the bathroom, he pouts dramatically but closes the door behind him as he obliges nonetheless.

When you’re both dressed up and ready to leave, he pulls you in for a hug. You bury your face into his chest while he’s nesting his against your neck. You breathe in the freshly applied oud-jasmine scent and sigh, feeling intoxicated. He squeezes your body into his and you wrap your arms around him tighter as you both stay still in each other’s arms for quite a few minutes before you decide to leave.

Choso drives your car to the grocery store and asks you to wait in the car while he quickly gets the necessary items. It doesn’t take very long and you reach your apartment shortly after.

“Man… Mia’s gonna flip when she finds out we’re finally dating.” you smile, excited as he parks the car in the parking lot of your building.

“Dating?,” he questions, “Whatever gave you that impression, baby? We’re so platonic!”

Before you have a chance to react, he cups your jaw with one hand to pull you in for a kiss. You laugh into the kiss and slap his chest playfully.

“Kidding, you’re stuck with me now.” he adds, looking at you with a soft smile.

“You’re the one who’s trapped baby… heart and soul.” you say, trying to mimic his voice with the last words. It’s his turn to roll his eyes as he pulls you in again and kisses you slowly.

The feeling of his lips against yours is so addicting and you don’t want to leave. If it were up to you, you’d stay in his arms forever, and then some more.

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