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xuhuihuis · 5 months

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Mr. Ghostface? | Na Jaemin + Lee Jeno

warnings: ghostface!nomin, sub!reader, rolepay, knifeplay, pet names, dumbification, dacryphilia, threesome, throat fucking, fingering, manhandling, degradation, restraints, voyuerism, strength kink, choking

Gulping down harshly at the thought of two men being somewhere in your house at night, in the dark, you can’t do anything about it. There are no lights at all to help guide you around the maze of your house—only the sound of their footsteps and sinister laughter. Slamming your laptop down beside you on your bed before getting up very slowly from your bed, eyeing up the door to try and escape, and starting the hunt. You could hear nothing apart from the sound of your rapid heartbeat, which was drowning everything else out.

So many thoughts are going on in your head, only dreaming about what they could do to you, no matter how good or bad. Their sweet talking on the call earlier had affected you in all the right ways, and you are now under their spell. ‘Fuck it' was the last thing you thought, wanting to put an end to everything and prove the men wrong. Reaching the door handle with a shaking hand and a brave smile, ready to face them wherever they may be.

No light was coming into the hallways, making it harder to see where you were going or where the men could be hiding from you. Now it was going to be down to how well you could hear. You were going to have to do this without a torch, which made matters worse. Your hands now clammy before stepping out into the dark maze. This is what Jaemin and Jeno wanted all along—to see the sheer panic and fear on your face watching you frantically search the house, all to be stuffed with their cocks at the end of it.

Creek, creek, creek

Wincing at every sound from the floorboards underneath your feet, you let the men know where you were, opening the door for them to tease you. Both Jeno and Jaemin were hiding in different parts of the house, making everything harder for you, but they were having so much fun seeing the panic on your pretty face.

‘Over here…’

You turn your head in the direction the deep voice came from, the darkness blocking your view of the man. To him, you looked adorable, panicking and trying to find them both, feeling himself get hard at the look of fear on your face. Every direction was starting to look the same, with every wall blending into one. The whole house was dead silent, apart from the sound of your heartbeat ringing in your ears. The beat got quicker the more you explored the house.

Gulping down harshly and wiping the sweat with the back of your hand before turning the corner but stopping when clashing can be heard from down stairs, a silent tear rolled down your cheek in frustration, losing the war with Jeno and Jaemin. How can it get any worse from here?

You knew this was a bad move, but you decided to go down the stairs, face them, and get it over and done with. From the start, you knew these men were bad news, and now look at what's happened.

Slowly going down stairs one by one, trying not to make any noise in your trail, letting the men know your whereabouts. Letting out a sigh of relief when you reach the bottom and head straight for the front door, ready to escape from it all,

‘Where do you think you are going, Princess?’

Feeling your heart stop beating, you stop in your tracks immediately, turning back around to see him standing in the kitchen. Leaning against the island, he played with the blade he had in his hand. Even under his mask, you knew Jaemin was smiling at you with a wide grin; you could hear it in his tone. Dressed in a compression shirt and cargos showing his muscles and every curve of his god-like body, the dim light in the kitchen makes him look irresistible.

‘What's the matter y/n, you look like you have seen a ghost…’

Titling his head in a teasing manner, the minute he clocked you standing there, he walked over to you slowly. Slowly backing away from Jaemin inching closer to you, but that's when you took the chance to run out of the house, but that failed horribly. Nearly falling to your knees as you back into Jeno, but he takes a hold of you by the waist, catching you moments before disaster.

Jeno’s large stature appeared behind you, and you felt his presence behind you before turning around and seeing him blocking the doorway off. His arms were crossed over his chest, flexing the muscles in his upper body under the thigh fabric of his compression shirt. Both of the masked men started to close in on you like hawks waiting on their prey, slowly advancing forward and closing on you. Tears threatened to fall down your cheeks, as there was nothing you could do but submit to them, even if you had no clue what their objective was. Hopefully ending up with their cocks buried deep inside of your cunt at one point in the night you thought.

It was impossible to think straight now while being pressed up against Jeno’s chest with his arms hooked around yours, holding you in place, not wanting you to try and run away again. He was so strong that it would be possible to break free from his hold, no matter how hard you tried. Jaemin whipped out the same blade that he was playing with earlier to start playing with you, tilting your head up with the tip of the blade.

Silent tears ran down your cheeks, choking on the sobs, and the pounding of your racing heartbeat was still throbbing in your ears. Something snapped inside of you, making you feel brave enough to stand up to them without worrying about what they would say back.

‘If you both don’t leave... I’ll call the police'.

Silence.

Both Jeno and Jaemin stood there looking at each other, thinking of their next move, but they knew you weren’t brave enough to do it.

‘My mom and dad are going to be so mad at me’

Jaemin blurts out all of a sudden in a dramatic outburst with his head in his hands as Jeno turns to him with you, wondering what he was getting worried about. They did have to stick to the script given to them; after all, it was still their job.

‘There are certain rules to survive a scary movie. First, you need to listen to every word’.

Jaemin’s hand wrapped around your neck, applying the slightest amount of pleasure, just enough to send your head spinning. The other hand was slipping underneath your short skirt, ghosting his fingers over your bare cunt, collecting the dripping arousal. You let out a sigh of relief when Jaemin loosens the grip around your neck.

‘Looks like someone already knows rule number 2...'

Jaemin left no time to react before he was knuckles deep inside your cunt, his thick fingers stretching your walls. He pumped his fingers inside of you with no mercy, not caring that you were struggling to stand at this point. Taking whatever Jaemin gave you like a good girl without any complaints whatsoever. Reaching out in front of you, trying to cling onto the kitchen island, but the feeling in your legs disappeared. Falling down helplessly, looking back at both Jaemin and Jeno for help.

Loud cackles filled the room as they loomed over your weak body, unable to stand up on your own without their help. The tears started to pour from your eyes, and you felt humiliated by them already. You tried wiping the tears away, but that didn’t help. You looked like a lost puppy as you looked up at both of the masked men for help, but they weren't moving at all.

‘Pretty baby is too dumb to stand on her own; need us to help?'

Not realising Jeno was now the one with the knife, you squealed when he bent down to your height, pushing the knife against your neck lightly. Taking one last breath before being forced back up onto shaky legs, trying to hold onto something to keep your balance, but the best bet was to ignore the pain as you walked into the living room. As you walked through, the blade was pressed up against your throat the whole time.

Jeno’s smirk told you everything that you needed to know; he was getting off on the confused, scared look you had. He partially felt bad for you knowing what was in store, but they weren't going to tell you anything, forcing you to take everything as it came. Jaemin follows shortly after you, and Jeno is on high alert in case you try and make a run for it once again. They are ready for anything now. The punishment could end up way worse if you try anything, so you stick to their rules like your life depends on it.

Jeno pushed you down onto your knees, pushing your shoulders harshly, using his strength to his advantage over you. Screaming for help now isn’t going to stop the men; hell, they will start laughing if you even try. Jaemin sat on the couch in front of you, his hard cock straining against his cargos, begging for your touch. They prayed no one would walk past and look through the windows to see you on your knees for two men, abiding by their words like their doll.

All of your attention was focused on Jaemin as he took off his pants and boxers, letting them fall to his ankles. His hard, leaking cock rested on his lower stomach, begging for attention. Laughing from behind his mask as your face lit up, you were almost bouncing up and down on your spot on the floor. Jaemin reached down and took a firm grip on your hair, separating it into two pigtails.

Jaemin leaned further back on the couch, groaning through his teeth as his grip intensified, feeling your wet mouth wrapped around his hard cock. Breathing heavily through your nose, you look up at him with doe eyes, choking on your moans, making you look like a real slut. You weren’t able to do anything other than sit there and take Jaemin’s cock as he fucked your throat, treating you like a doll. Jaemin dragged you up and down his length with one hand while the other cupped your cheek, wiping your tears away as you continued to struggle, taking him deeper. Struggling to breathe through your nose as his cock rams down your throat harshly, choking around his length.

Being too preoccupied with Jaemin, you don't realise that Jeno is now kneeling behind you as his large hands take a hold of your hips. Forcing your hips back onto his clothed erection, you can feel every inch of him. Jeno’s thick fingers dig underneath the elastic of the waistband to pull them down and over your hips, revealing your dripping cunt. Gliding his thick fingers into your dripping arousal, he smirked at how wet you were. Spending the whole night aching for their cocks inside of you.

Jeno pulled you off of Jaemin’s cock with force, his heavy cock falling from your lips, grunting from frustration from behind his mask. Dragging you to the middle of the living room onto your knees in front of him, Jeno’s tall figure towers over you. You didn’t dare to ask any questions or fight back; you just sat there and listened. Looking up at Jeno with glossy eyes as he took off his belt before leaning down and taking your hands into his, using his belt as a restraint. Wriggling and fighting back were going to get you nowhere now; you just have to be a pretty doll for the men. Standing back from your frame, he let out a satisfied sigh from behind his mask before he motioned for Jaemin to come over.

‘We are just here to make you feel good, princess. No need to be scared'

Jaemin kneeled down to your height to talk to you, cupping your cheek in his palm and running his thumb over the apple of your tear-stained cheek. He breathed heavily from behind his mask, looking down at your figure sitting there, not able to move an inch from them. You tried to fight back as Jaemin pulled you back up to your feet, pulling you to shaky legs harshly. You didn’t know where to look until Jeno took your face in a tight grip, forcing you to maintain eye contact as Jaemin played with you slowly and painfully.

The only thing holding you up on your own two legs was the strength of the two men—one strong arm wrapped around your waist while Jeno had a soft grip on your jaw, looking deeply into your lust-filled eyes. Jaemin groaned as his soft hands explored the exposed skin of your back, laughing at you as you shivered underneath his touch.

‘Such a pretty girl for us, going to make you feel so good! Isn’t that right, Jeno?’

Jeno nodded his head in response. Both of them really cared for you. All of your body weight fell forward as Jaemin entered two of his thick fingers into your dripping cunt. The sound of your moans mixed with the sound of your dripping cunt filled the room as Jaemin took his time preparing you for his cock. The praise fell off Jeno’s tongue as he wiped any tears away so he could have the perfect view of your fucked-out face.

‘Is our princess ready for my cock?'

Jaemin knew that was a silly question, but he still needed your consent to go further. He got an instant head nod from you as you all laughed. All night, you were waiting for this, and it is actually happening. Taking in deep breaths before Jaemin slips his cock inside of you, holding onto your hips so tight there were going to be marks left, but you couldn't care less. Entering you with a deep grunt and letting you get used to his size, Jeno falls in love with your expressions, feeling his cock twitch as your eyes roll back into your head, finally feeling bliss. Both of the men were talking to you, but it was impossible to hear them over the sound of your heartbeat, but this time in a good way.

Nothing could feel better than this: Jaemin’s thick cock inside of you stretched you out in the best way possible while his best friend held you close. Forcing you up and down his cock, he treats you like a doll, moaning as he fucks you deeper with each thrust, bringing you closer to your orgasm. Jeno was enjoying the show a little too much, fisting his cock off in time with Jaemin’s thrusts, imagining he was the one inside of you and not his best friend.

Your eyes fixated on the beads of pre-cum dripping down his length while he struggled to sit still in the chair. All the feeling in your legs as gone fuzzy as your orgasm is fast approaching. Words tried to form to tell Jaemin, but it was impossible with his reckless thrusts always hitting that one spot inside of you.

‘You can do it, princess; we will be here for you’

‘Cum for us, doll...'

Their words were tipping you over the edge, coming with a silent scream. You were trying to reach out to Jeno, but it was of no use. Everything went numb, your whole body falling limb in Jaemin’s arms as he chased his orgasm, grunting through his teeth as he shot warm, thick ribbons inside of you. He immediately went to hold you with every ounce of love in his body, rubbing his hands over any aches or pains. Nuzzling into your neck as you both watch Jeno chase his own high, watching how his muscles flex under his shirt.

The way he came was pornographic, with long, white ribbons shooting onto his shirt as his back arched, panting behind his mask. All three of you sat in silence, recovering from the intense session, but that all changed when the dark room was illuminated with red and blue flashing lights. Even from behind their masks, you could tell their faces had dropped, slowly turning towards one another. Before you knew it, they were running out of the house, doing their best to get away from the police.

#hard hours #k pop smut #nct smut #nct hard hours #nct hard thoughts #nct dream smut #nct dream hard thoughts #nct dream hard hours #jaemin smut #jaemin hard thoughts #jaemin hard hours #nct jaemin smut #jeno smut #lee jeno smut #na jaemin smut #jeno hard hours #jeno hard thoughts

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leclsrc · 1 year

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has yet to pass ✴︎ cs55

centre image by tony belobrajdic

genre: exes to lovers, slow burn, fluff, humor, slight angst, yearning, some sexual tension

word count: 12.5k

Four years after an angry breakup, the universe is bored enough to nominate Carlos Sainz for GQ Sports’ Man of the Year and assign you to be the writer of his profile.

notes... internet translated spanish lol

auds here... requested, this fic is long! i hope you all like it apologies for the inactivity </3 exes to lovers we have a very love/hate relationship but this was a pleasure to write

You’re half sure your head is about to pop out from how annoyed you are.

At the office, mornings move slowly in the very corporate-desk-job kind of way, but today is notably slower. Your boss had called you in an hour earlier to discuss important matters, and this is your third hour waiting already. Either your boss is a dumbass, or you got the wrong email, which both essentially mean the same thing anyway.

The time on your Panthère tells you you’re curving into the three-and-a-half hour territory, and right as you’re about to get up to get a glass of water, the large wooden door swings open and your name is called through the crack in it. Suddenly the irritation dissipates into nerves, and because Jonathan didn’t specify anything in the email, you realize you could be wading into anything right now. Termination. Promotion. A brick to the head.

“Morning,” you offer once the door’s been shut behind you.

“Sorry for the wait,” he says politely. “We’ve been in discussions with GQ Sports all day. All night last night, too. It’s all proper boring.”

You nod, remaining fairly quiet and waiting for him to break the news to you. He clears his throat, places his hands on his hips and exhales.

“Right, so this is all related to GQ, actually. They’re doing a Men of Sports segment and they asked us to assign one of our writers to an athlete. You’re our best right now, really—your article turnout last year was absolutely stellar. So, there’s, ah… there’s tennis, yeah, there’s footie, obviously, and—under usual circumstances, you’d get to choose one of either. But we actually really wanted to cover racing this year.”

The cloud above your head carrying the dreams of interviewing Leo Messi or Roger Federer pops dismally.

“Racing.” You repeat curtly.

“It’s gotten proper viral this year!” He smiles, gestures to nothing to prove his point. “Every teenage girl’s got a crush or other on a driver. Anyway, we set you up with the racing category, and the segment comes out in around six months.”

“I’ve got a tiny bit of a qualm about th—”

“So it’s decided. GQ’s going to pick out the driver for you, and you’ll be introduced at a gala next week.”

“Wait—” you laugh uncomfortably. “I’m thankful for the opportunity, and wow, thank you for choosing me, really, but do I not get to pick my own driver?” You clear your throat. “I mean, I’m spinning the story.”

“I know,” he sighs. “But this deal moved pretty quick, so a majority of the leverage goes to them. Don’t worry, though—a lot of the drivers will have great stories, I’m sure. You’ve got Lewis, you’ve got the Verstappen guy, you’ve got the Rosberg fellow…”

“Rosberg retired in 2016.”

“Oh, fuck, seriously? Well. Hit me with a brick then.”

—

The gala is a fundraiser to celebrate the season kicking off, you realize when you step outside the car and read the navy blue banner across the entrance to the carpet. It’s all fancy fonts and table placements, but One look at the watches and earrings in this place will tell you there’s more than enough funds already. You digress, anyway, walking inside to find the only one person you’re familiar with in the world of racing.

“Lewis,” you mutter when you locate him, voice dry with dread (and lack of alcohol), “kill me now.”

“On the off chance you’re serious—I’m actually willing to do so.” You slap his arm and he scowls.

“I’m supposed to meet the driver I’m writing about tonight, but the GQ guy hasn’t texted me. Christ, I hope it’s you. At least I have years’ worth of blackmail on you to really sell the profile.”

He only laughs, guiding the both of you to a champagne tower and offering you one. You down it in seconds, suffocated by nerves and the curiosity blooming inside you. “You don’t think it’s…?”

“I think they keep track of those things,” he replies, but his voice is only half-sure. “Conflict of interest and that. But Jonathan did say it was a quick deal?” You nod. “So it’s not impossible, I suppose.”

Big help, you chirp sarcastically, eyes perusing the large room. There are tables populated by celebrities, by politicians, and of course, by drivers. You keep scanning, squinting to chisel your search further, but it’s cut off by a tap of two fingers on your shoulder.

“Hi. I’m Nick, the GQ rep, and I believe you and I have a meeting,” says the man behind you with an excited smile. “Why don’t we…?”

He gestures to the expanse of the room and you nod, falling into step beside him. He introduces the article, the concept of shadowing the athlete to achieve a more immersive piece of work as a result, something novel and innovative.

He’s right in the middle of talking about Jonathan when he stops at one of the cocktail tables and stations the two of you there. “Okay. You’re one of the biggest names in sports journalism right now, so it means a lot for you to want to represent racing. Especially because both Neymar Jr. and Nadal expressed bids to get you to write their segments!”

“They wh—”

“Right, here we are. Meet your shadow—or, subject—for the next six-ish months.” He places two hands atop your shoulders and wheels you around, so your eyes meet those of, “…Carlos Sainz Jr.!”

Yeah. This is fucking rich.

Nick is talking but none of it falls right on your ears. Everywhere in your mind, alarm bells ring at full volume, alerting you to the danger present, almost. You plaster on a fake smile to acknowledge his presence, but his outstretched hand goes unnoticed. Clearly picking up on the tension, Nick gives a sheepish giggle and ducks out of the exchange, leaving the two of you woefully alone.

“Carlos,” you say politely. “What a nice surprise.”

There is a limited amount of phrases that are considered acceptable to say to an estranged ex of four years. There’s oh, what a surprise!, didn’t expect to see you here, you look well. It’s limited because nobody ever thinks to run into their estranged ex of four years, and even then, any sane person would do well to avoid interaction at all costs. So you’re really the luckiest son of a bitch in the world to be situated with a stuffy public interaction, under the guise of professionalism, with your ex-boyfriend.

Your history is heavy in the air. The last time you saw each other, things had been a lot different, but now you’re two professionals. Really. You really are professional.

“I refuse to be within ten metres of the guy,” you say, on your third martini. Lewis faces you with poorly hidden concern, and beside him, roped into your lovelorn matters, so does Sebastian Vettel. “Ten metres. Actually, no. Make it twenty. How can I be arsed to write an all-over-him feature about a guy I absolutely hate and haven’t seen in four years?! I had it all sussed—get assigned to Lewis, write the best feature, then restore his eighth world title.”

“—She’s joking,” coughs Lewis.

“Oh, but now? Now, it’s get assigned to my ex, write like shit, never get recognized for a good piece, and die hungry and alone on the streets of London. You know, I should just call Jonathan and tell him I don’t want this. I’d rather go back to writing normal articles.” You pry your clutch open but a hand stops you before you can.

“Don’t.” Sebastian’s voice is gentle, but firm. “This is a test of character, don’t you think? More than that—it’s a test of how good you are as a writer.”

“True,” interjects Lewis, chewing on a quiche. “If you can write a stellar profile about an ex, I mean—you’re just proper talented. But it’s also about how strong you are now, morally. Emotionally.”

“I’m perfectly fine emotions-wise, thanks,” you retort. Both men shrug, backing off, and you feel like you should be smug about it—but your mind is stuck on the topic even as the night passes.

You end up deciding when you’re kicking your heels off in your flat a few hours later, giving Jonathan a ring despite the late hour. It takes a while for the man to pick up, but he does eventually, with an excited tone colouring his voice—“How’s my star writer? Sainz, huh? Real eye candy.”

“About that…” you start, walking over to your bookshelf and chewing your lip, trying to think of the right way to decline the offer. Your eyes land on one of the several awards you’ve garnered in your profession—in fact, the very first one. Most Promising Journalist, it reads, embedded into the front’s frosty surface.

Four years ago. And you’ve proven it since, if the crowd of glass around it is anything to go by. Why let a petty ex destroy what could potentially be one of your biggest gigs yet? Your segue outside of sports journalism?

“Earth to—yeah, hello? About what?” Jonathan’s voice breaks you out of your thought train.

“… I just, uh,” you say, nodding, “I wanted to say I’m really excited.”

—

Carlos Sainz Jr., 27, is on the rise as one of Formula One’s most talented drivers… (add more info…) His smooth driving style and charm has led him to become one of the most popular figures in the sport, both on and off the paddock. He is also a huge, absolutely irritating, cannot for the life of him be humble!!!, SON OF A BITCH, PRICK, ASSHOLE—AND THE BIGGEST WANKER ON PLANET EAR

“The team will be here in just a minute,” says the lady who’d ushered you into this meeting room in Maranello. You half-shut your laptop in fear she’ll catch sight of your brief Word document meltdown, but she doesn’t seem to notice, setting a glass of water beside you and you stare idly at it while waiting for the rest of the room to enter. You’re expecting Nick, Carlos, Mattia—the boss—and Charles, his teammate. Jonathan’s already beside you playing Candy Crush on his phone, as per boomer law.

This meeting is pointless. You’ve already exchanged the bare minimum pleasantries with Carlos, anyway, and you cannot for the life of you decipher why there needs to be a whole new corporate clash just for this. But here you are anyway, awaiting your ex-boyfriend’s arrival into the room and back into your sweet life.

He enters with everybody else, his hair half-damp and his eyes meeting yours almost immediately. You clear your throat and turn away, standing to shake hands with Mattia. He’s pleasant about it, expressing excitement for the final output and commending your earlier work as a writer. You offer the polite small talk back, discussing plans for the article and the release date.

“Over at GQ Sports, we’re really trying to make this concept as immersive as possible. That requires the writer to shadow the athlete at almost all times, maybe taking a couple days off if needed. That might mean she gets a paddock pass, and things like that.”

“That’s no problem,” Mattia says. “Anything for the article.”

You end up being introduced to Charles, too—Charles Leclerc, who wears a contagious smile and won’t stop letting his eyes frolic in between you and Carlos, like he can sense the history. You suspect Carlos brought him up to speed, anyway, but it’s still a bit amusing. While the meeting carries on, Charles chips in with a joke. “Hey, if you find this guy irritating, you and I are going to get along.”

You laugh a bit, but remain mostly quiet for the sake of being professional. You miss the way Carlos’ eyes linger on you a second too long, focusing on the tail-end of the meeting so you can, for lack of better word, get the fuck out of here.

Of course, though, you’re stopped in the middle of the parking lot by Carlos himself, whose apologetic face is the first thing you see when you turn around with a huff. You’d already known it was him—he was calling your name loudly as he jogged over to you—but it’s still a sour surprise.

“What?”

“Let’s”—he pauses to take a breath—“talk. Listen, I know it must be an imposition for you to write about this, about me. Let me make it clear that I’m 100% okay if you choose to switch athletes. And if you needed any background information, I’ll be willing to give you that.”

“I don’t care what you’re okay with,” you say blankly. “And I’ve got Google.”

“Right.” He stares. “Um. Okay, well, let’s—can we agree, then? To be civil, for the period of time this article will be written?”

You consider the truce. As much as you’d like to be snarky with him and make your disdain all the more clear, you’re also not interested in making a scene or causing any type of fuss around his—and your—colleagues. The glass awards on your shelf flash through your mind, and you inhale softly. “Okay.”

He smiles. This seems a bit more difficult than you thought, for reasons you didn’t even consider.

“Forget anything ever happened,” he says when your hands meet. Something jolts through you.

Yeah, you’re fucked.

—

Your introduction to the actual sports part of the profile goes well, with a flurry of chaos in Bahrain.

Despite Jonathan’s texted reminder from Friday morning (Stick to Sainz the whole time), you find yourself staying in your comfort zone, ergo following Lewis around nearly the entire weekend. Granted, you are itnroduced to a few more drivers—Mick, Esteban, Alex—but also Lando, one of Carlos’ closest friends on the paddock, who makes dirty jokes from the get go.

Still, even Lewis has to remind you you have another driver to actually cover, so you reluctantly detach from him on the race day and begin your search for—

“Carlos,” you utter, breathless from exhaustion when you finally locate him inside his room at the motorhome, which you swear you checked twenty minutes ago. Either he’s avoiding you or he’s truly impossible to find. He adjusts his suit and looks at you with an unreadable expression.

“Yes?”

“I need a couple of words from you.” You smile politely, taking a seat on the couch armrest. “Like, pre-race nerves, jitters, routine. Anything?”

“I have a playlist,” he says, humming. “I like to call family, have a talk with the engineers.” He says it like en-yi-neers, but you already anticipated it. You’ve known en-yi-neers for years. You know how he talks, pronounces everything. “And I say a prayer, trust the car.”

“Trust the car?” You type the last few words onto your laptop, which you’d been toting around all day. It balances on your lap. “Any follow-ups to that, considering there’s been some chatter around the car this year and its supposed faultiness?”

“I just do what I do best,” he replies, steadfast. “The rest is a gamble I’m willing to take.”

“Perfect.” You finish. “That was a great line. Thanks so much, really.” It’s your reporter voice, the one you use for just about everyone else on the paddock. He nods in response, and the room ebbs into silence again. It’s awkward, when you excuse yourself and exit, already planning exactly how you’re going to tell this to Lewis. Halfway out the door, you purse your lips, turn, and then:

“Good luck, by the way.” Your voice falls soft.

He looks up, momentarily surprised. “Thank you.”

You nod a little, smiling as you shut the door.

Carlos ends up getting second place—you’re beside a zealous Ferrari engineer when it happens, walking along the pit lane. Compared to your stoic smile, their reaction looks like the pinnacle of human emotion. Your turmoil is all inward, a melting pot of emotion for the driver. Would it be weird, you think, to feel proud? To feel happy? When things have ended?

Much later, when you’re wrestling for comfort in the throng of cheering Ferrari engineers, you squint to find Carlos on the podium.

You’re aware there are photographers everywhere, with high-def cameras that rival your natural eyesight, even, but still you tug your phone out and snap a few shitty zoomed-in pictures of him in second place, smiling and sprayed with champagne. You think of the profile, of the words you’ll use to capture this moment, the season kickoff. But most of all you think of the way his eyes seem to search for something specific in the mass of people, or the way you wished for them to meet yours.

—

Sainz, a self-proclaimed music lover, loads a pre-race playlist that changes every few locations. He names some of his favorite artists and songs as sources of motivation.

You climb into the passenger seat of his Golf when you finally find him, after a half hour of asking around everywhere. First, it was “in the motorhome,” then it was “in a meeting,” then it was “hanging out with Charles”—none of which ended up being true, anyway. He doesn’t question your presence (he hasn’t much, lately), just lets his eyes wander over to you briefly before you begin asking questions.

“Favorite song?” You get straight to it, stressed over the article. Jonathan has been on your ass about missing a deadline and causing the third world war in the process, or something or other. You sigh when you settle into the seat.

“Not even a hello or a buenas noches,” he says as he pulls out of the parking lot to drive the both of you to your hotel. “What’s this for?”

“You already know,” you say, humming as you sift through notes. “Listen. You did an interview before with Toro Rosso, right? Where you said your favorite artists were Muse, Kings of Leon, and The Killers. Right?”

“What the—you are a serious stalker.” He laughs out loud, eyes still on the road ahead.

“It’s kind of my job, Carlos,” you say, smiling and gritting your teeth. “Just answer.”

“Sí, sí. Yeah, I like that genre. I like rock, I guess… rock, indie, 80’s. You’d be surprised how little of an effect music has on my pre-race routine, though, even if I have a playlist.”

“Tell me more,” you muse. Your laziness to retrieve your laptop results in you scribbling soundbites onto your notebook instead.

“Music is an escape for me, you know? I like it a lot. So as long as something gets me going, I’m good with it. It doesn’t have to be by a favorite artist, or a famous one, or a Spanish one. Though I have been listening to Shakira a lot lately.” Obsessively listens to Shakira, you write. “It’s just release. Lately, I’ve been listening to the same few ones on loop.”

“Care to share?” Music = release. Same songs looped.

He presses something onto the centre console, and music flows throughout the car right after. “This.”

Baby I’m Yours by Arctic Monkeys, you write, and then, all at once, you slowly realize exactly what you’re writing. You stare at the scrawled-on words, the song bleeding into your ears and saturating your brain. You’ve always thought of this song with a weird feeling, one in between nostalgia and hurt, and now it’s on full blast. In Carlos’ Golf, no less, which happened to be the venue for many of your listening parties back then.

Back then—when nobody knew much of this song and it hadn’t yet become an indie anthem. It was just another cover by your favorite band in 2015. It became your song, the song for kitchen dances, the song for long car rides, the song for the red lights, the song for the morning routine.

But now it’s just a song.

“Carlos,” you say. It’s supposed to sound strict, firm, even a little angry. But you’re so affected, it leaves you quietly instead, weakly almost. “Come on.”

“Do you remember when you first showed me this song?” He responds instead, the volume still loud. You allow yourself to smile a little, leaning your head back and watching the cityscape of Bahrain whir past. In a foreign city, you think, you feel more at home than ever.

“Yeah,” you profess. “On my iPhone—what was it then? iPhone 5, or something.” You both laugh a little. The dam has broken, it seems, and topics of your past relationship seem to now be open to discussion. But it doesn’t feel alien, or weird, or uncomfortable. Carlos laughs, makes fun of your old lockscreen, and all is well.

A lot of memories have unwittingly attached themselves to this song. It’s the kind of song where, even in the opening notes, you’re already stunned with the myriad of them. There are the obvious ones: first finding the song, first dancing to it. But it trickles down into the smaller, more niche ones.

The time you got a busker in London to perform it for you both, and danced like idiots at ten-thirty in the evening, while some onlooking geriatric couple watched with mild entertainment. The time you got him a vinyl record of this EP, and left it in the cab before you were supposed to give it to him, leading to you crying on his sofa while he cuddled you and fed reassurance into your ear. The time he attempted to learn the chords to it and broke the string of your decorative guitar.

Like always, Carlos drives one-handed. He’s usually responsible, but if he’s cruising, or driving at a relatively slow pace, he likes to lean back and use his left. His right lays, unmanned, on the centre console of the Golf. You don’t notice it’s there until you finish writing a sample line on your notebook and you lower your left hand absentmindedly, brushing a finger against his in the process.

Your instinct is to jerk away, but Carlos is calm, humming to the song and reading road signs. So you let it rest there, in part to show yourself you’re capable of relaxing, but—and it feels like a heavy thing to admit—also because you like the feeling.

So your hands are there, just shy of each other, barely touching. His pointer finger twitches, almost like he’s trying to hold it back from inviting yours to wrap around it. You let yours brush over them a little bit, pulling away. Then he coughs, and lifts his hand to make a right turn, so you resume writing, eyes downcast.

—

You’d spent the Saudi weekend less with Lewis (in a bid to follow his advice) and socialized a bit more with Lando and Charles, who both proved to be pleasant company. They played table tennis with you and even shared a good chunk of grid gossip.

“Pierre and Yuki have soooo done it,” whispers Charles, scandalized, sipping a G&T from a decorative polka dot straw.

“Shut up!” You clap a hand over your mouth. “I mean, I had my suspicions. But really? They’ve shagged?”

“Oh.” He pauses dumbly, scratching his head. “I meant they’ve done marijuana.”

“Damn it, Charles,” bemoans Lando. “You’re a sodding buzzkill. We’ve all done weed, this is not news. The gay sex would’ve been.”

The afternoon progresses into night, and you seem to be on a roll with the sports component—Carlos gets to P3 in Saudi Arabia. You travel to his motorhome room after the debrief, where you hope he’ll be, and find him packing shit up inside.

“Good work out there,” you say, and when he looks up he finds himself meeting your eyes in the mirror. He fumbles with the zip of his suit and you walk a little closer.

He huffs out a polite thanks, tugging on the zipper harder. The cloth’s eaten it, a problem that’s been plaguing his race suits as of late—a problem, according to his engineer, easily solvable if he’d just be more patient with tugging it downward to loosen. A problem you’re familiar with as well, from his Toro Rosso days of ranting to you about zippers and sewing.

You lean against the wall and maintain safe distance. “I’m going to ask you about the race later.”

“Alright. What specifically?” He begins the mental Spanish-English translation in advance.

“Whatever you can give,” you reply, nonchalant. “Maybe more on the feeling while racing. The different perspectives of P3? Sort of like—yeah, you’re on the podium, but it’s not P1.”

“Thanks for the reminder,” he laughs a little, a bit embarrassed he hasn’t fully undone the zipper yet. “Um, sure. I’ll meet you outside afterward.”

“Thanks. And—” You stop yourself in your tracks, still facing him in the mirror. His eyes find yours again, eyebrows raised from the unfinished sentence. “—Be patient with the zip.”

He chuckles, memories surfacing like bubbling lava. “Right. Bueno.” He turns and throws his hands up, looks like he’s surrendering almost. “Help me out?”

You’re incredulous—it’s a highly compromising position.

But he’s not really smiling, and he seems to be seriously asking you to please help zip him up, so you nod. Nod once then twice, walking slowly over to him and placing two fingers on the zipper. You don’t notice how shaky your grip is until you see the way your hand trembles.

Slowly, you tug. Upward, then downward, then upward again, to loosen the stubborn thing. Your eyes move until they meet his, and you realize how close together you are. From here you can see the faint pink indents on his face from the balaclava, and you wonder almost how it’d feel to stroke over it with your thumb. It twitches on the zip and you remember to yank it again.

“Just give me a second,” you say, but you’re not even paying attention to the zipper.

Just him. Just the proximity. The thoughts of what if—what if you leaned closer, right now? Closed the gap, shut your eyes, let your finger trace over the shape left behind by his balaclava, zip forgotten?

“Take your time.” His voice is deep, gentle.

His eyes pierce yours, the tension growing in between you until you can barely breathe.

You pull and finally, it gives, unzipping the whole way. You blink, breaking eye contact and stepping backwards so fast you almost trip. “I’ll be outside.” The door is shut, the noise damning behind you as you finish an entire cup of water in what you genuinely think to be record time.

—

“Fine. Fifty euros.”

“Fifty?! Cheap trick. Make it two hundred.”

“If you’re in the hundred territory, might as well make it five hundred. Turn this into a serious thing.”

“Deal.” The Brit and the Monegasque clap their hands together in a firm handshake. “Let’s talk terms.”

Charles recites his end of the bet, as clearly as he did when this was first wagered just ten minutes ago. “She and Carlos will start dating before the article is even published.”

“They’re exes, innit?” Lando laughs. “You’re wrong, Charl-ito. They will never date, ever again. Exes don’t date.”

“Unless they’re soulmates,” he reasons.

“Psh, what do you know about soulmates?” The younger raises a condescending brow. “You dated a girl and then her best friend.”

“Back off,” insists Charles petulantly, watching Lando messily write down the evidence of their wager on a small slip of paper. For proof, he’d said, before slipping it into the back of his opaque phone case. He waves it around. “We shall see.”

“You will definitely be paying me up,” Charles says proudly. “Just you wait.”

—

“Care to listen to me?” You hoist yourself onto the stool of this hotel bar, ordering yourself a martini.

“Always,” says Lewis, immediately facing you. He’s always been one of the kindest, most genuine people in your life. He’s known you forever, and he’s the only person here who really knows the extent of your history with Carlos, all the layers, all the fights, all of it.

You sigh and lean against the backrest, deflated. “Carlos and I… I don’t know if this is going to work.”

“The article?”

“Being with him.” You pause to reword it. “Around him.”

“I see. Hasn’t it been, what—four years now, though?”

“Yeah, but…” But why does it feel like you both want those four years gone? The car ride with the song, the eye contact, zip situation after Saudi. You lick over your lips and sit a little straighter.

“Lew, it’s just—and you should know this—when you break up with someone, you’re forced to unlearn all the things you knew about them.” You sigh. “All the… just all of it. The habits, the quirks, the favorite words, the way they like their toast and eggs. And if you can’t, then fine, it’s still okay, because why would you ever need it again? But I haven’t forgotten anything, and now he’s back in my life.”

Lewis stares, with eyes that convey solemnity and a little sadness. He seems to understand, watching you intently, the way your eyes are glassy with unshed tears.

“So now I see him, and it feels like he’s like”—you inhale—“this sounds… bad, but like… I’m… like he’s a lover, kind of. In disguise, a little bit. I don’t know. Like, I have to pretend I know nothing about him, like every little fun fact is a new thing for the profile… but I know everything.” And what a heavy burden it is.

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly.

“No, don’t be. I’m pretty sure this is all one-sided.” You take a long sip. “That’s the price to pay for ending on bad terms, I suppose.”

“Just think,” he muses out loud. “When this is all over and you’re accepting your Pulitzer, you won’t even be thinking of him one bit.”

“Right,” you say. Carlos, Carlos, Carlos. He’s the only thing on your mind. “Right.”

You find a working title for the article later. Carlos Sainz, it reads on your Word document. On racing, gracious defeat, and life’s driving forces.

—

Like every other sport, Formula One drivers have their share of bad competition days. Sainz recalls a time his car failed and caused him to DNF—racing vernacular for “Did Not Finish,” a damning phrase for any driver on the grid.

A double kill vibrates through Carlos.

It’s a consecutive hit that’s both professional and personal, and greatly affects the momentum of the profile you’re busy writing. In Australia he’d been reserved, eyes stormy, walking alone but not angry. He’d congratulated Charles and everything, even offered a few words for the article. The last you saw of him was with a beer, brows knitted together.

Tonight you’re in Imola. He’d been okay after the race, the usual silence that comes with a bad result.

No hard feelings, he’d said. This is the business. Hugged Danny, excused himself; nobody said anything. It’s a normal response to a shit day. You spend the post-race buzz with Lewis and Sebastian this time, but you manage to congratulate Lando on the podium finish when you catch sight of him.

“Maaate!” He cries gleefully when he sees you. “Where’s the muppet?”

“Mourning,” you drone. “Reasonably so, I guess.”

“Tough crowd,” he says, kissing his teeth. “But, yeah. Hey—shots on me!”

“Tempting offer.” You eye the bunch of tequila on the table. “But I think I’ll retire early. I need to send a draft pretty early tonight.”

“All good. Have fun being a loser,” he says, watching you leave.

The hotel, it turns out, is not nearly as fun as the party. Which is common sense.

You spend time writing and rewriting a few paragraphs of the article, stuck on the title of it and honestly wishing you were with Cuervo and vodka right now. You suppose you don’t need one just yet—they usually come to you late, anyways. Jonathan sends you three follow-up emails regarding a draft, so you send him the latest version and read over the file, reciting favorite lines under your breath.

In the middle of reading on the Bahrain P2 and a little segment on Sainz’s favorite Ferrari moments, somebody knocks on your door.

It’s a surprise—you don’t spend much time with people on the paddock, and only few of them know your room number, which leads you to narrow down the person on the other side to a select group. There’s Lewis, most likely of them all. Charles, who you’d grown much closer to as of late. Level with him is Lando. Then maybe, just maybe, Sebastian, to offer late night advice.

It could’ve been any of them, but it’s not. It’s somebody else.

“I’m sorry.” His voice threatens to break. “I didn’t know who else I could talk to.”

“Carlos?” You blink.

You usher him in after, and you hope his mind is anxious enough that it doesn’t pay much attention to your hideous pajama situation (old hoodie, souvenir L.A. pajama pants). You end up on your balcony, both of you facing the frigid nighttime air. It freezes your cheeks, casts your hair backwards. Your eyes slide to his stoic figure, the way even his hair is blown back by the wind.

He’s quiet, but more relaxed, less stiff. “Sorry, again.”

“S’okay.”

You duck back inside and return with two cigarettes and a lighter. “Wanna?”

“Awful habit.” But he accepts it anyway, sticking it in between his lips. It bobs as he speaks, still unlit. “I need this, though.”

“I don’t do it regularly,” you defend, pressing the flame to the cig. He exhales. “Some situations call for them.”

“This definitely does. Bit of a slap to the face, you know?” You nod. “I’m sorry.” The apology carries more weight than it should, and you know why.

Like it’s the most difficult thing in the world, you breathe a few times before you respond in a hushed tone. With your words comes a huff of smoke. “Don’t beat yourself up over it. You gave it your all, took a risk, it went to shit. But you gave it your all is what matters in the end. You put heart into it, which is something not everyone does in sports these days.”

“I feel… complimented.” You both laugh at the lack of good phrasing, so he rewords it. “I meant, I feel, how you say? Touched. It means a lot to be praised by you.”

“Does it?” Smoke again, another whiff of it.

“They only ever want to praise the podium finish, the P1, the title holder.” He lets the words fizzle. “But here you are praising a driver who finished like shit twice in a row. More people should be like you, paying thanks to the underdogs.”

It’s not the underdogs, you think. It’s just because of you.

“More like the shit drivers,” you say instead, in a low rumbling voice. He laughs, calls you stupid in Spanish, and it’s a dead issue.

Later, before he leaves, when the room’s much darker and less bathed in moonlight, you whisper goodbye to him through a small crack in the door. He smiles a bit, and you catch it even with the lack of lighting.

“Thank you.” He says. He means it. You catch his perfume when the door swings closed. It smells like wood.

—

Sainz has off-grid hobbies, one of the most notable of which is cooking. He claims to have a good hold over the kitchen, and cooks several of his favorite dishes on the rare weekend off. Blah blaaahhhh, cooks well. Usually wears funky apron. WRITE THIS PROFILE ALREADY STOP EATING PASTA YOU DIPSHIT

Lando had invited you all to an Airbnb owned by a friend in Umbria, a two-ish hour drive from Imola.

With two free days, you’d followed a small group of drivers—Carlos included—to soak in the rest of Tuscany. Charles and Lando, however, left as soon as you arrived, to check out the last few hours of the farmer’s market. Alex had met Lily at the Eurostar station and they’d gone biking together.

This effectively left you and Carlos alone, which was not an unusual occurrence, but still proved to be a bit tense. With the kitchen free and the fridge stocked, Carlos suggested he cook for you both. Despite your best efforts, you ended up at the island writing and taste testing sauce, chicken, anything he slid over to you on a saucer with a tiny fork beside it.

“You’re going to give me cholesterol problems,” you quip. “This pasta is too good.”

“Cacio e pepe.” He twirls some onto a fork, straight off the pan, and shoves it into his mouth, a low mmmm leaving him once he gets to chewing. You laugh, a stifled sound through the noodles in your mouth at the exaggerated show of delicious food.

“Any favourite food you think is notable enough for the profile?” You type again, backspacing your harsh reminder. Makes a mean cacio e pepe (look up translation later). “Like, food you cook yourself, or even other recipes.”

“This,” he says, pointing to the pan. “This is fuel.”

“Amen.” Loves cacio e pepe.

“And it’s good with chicken.” He points to the oven, where he’s been baking chicken for a bit now. The kitchen smells of it, of the rosemary and oregano and pepper. “Oh, and put that I cook with music on. Let me connect my phone.”

Cooks w/ music. “Why do you need to mention that?”

“Ladies love a chef,” he says simply, letting a familiar song thrum into the woody kitchen. “And I love ladies.”

“Okay, slag.”

“Fuck off!” He begins shimmying all across the kitchen island, cranking open the oven mid-dance to check on the chicken, then continuing to clean the counter. Still he dances, and not very well, either—he always claimed singing was a stronger suit of his, so you allow the fool to be a fool.

Back when you two were still together, Carlos already had a preference for 70’s disco in the kitchen, saying it brought out the dancer in him. Nothing seems to have changed in that department, and you smile with mild embarrassment and amusement watching him dance across the kitchen, using the kitchen towel as a prop and swinging it around.

Loves dancing to The Communards while baking rosemary chicken. “Let me taste the chicken, by the way,” you ask when you finish typing, hopping off the stool and walking to the oven. He continues dancing, hips cocking poorly from side to side to the old song. He retrieves a fork and cuts a piece of chicken, reviewing its doneness briefly before turning with a piece of it stabbed into the utensil.

“Open,” he says. “It’s hot.”

It’s too natural, the way he slowly feeds you the piece. You don’t even realize it until you’re chewing, and by then he’s back to dancing to the song that’s now reaching its end. “It, uh,” you stutter, a bit nervous, “it’s really good.”

“Of course, I cooked it,” he says smugly. You grab a lime from the fruit bowl and throw it, hitting him in the back of the head in retaliation. He turns slowly, still dancing, lips stretched into a challenging smile.

Lando and Charles walk in ten minutes later to Carlos and you, yelping and chasing each other around the wide counter, chicken left atop it and forgotten in favor of the tag game. Charles, toting bags of fruit, faces Lando with a victorious expression. Pay up, he mouths, cocky.

—

It’s much too hot in Miami, but you appreciate the heavy beach culture and the even heavier nightlife.

You work on the profile until your fingers hurt from typing, sending Jonathan another draft for approval. Charles joins you on a cocktail taste test at the open bar until your tongue tastes like gin and your head is a bit spinny. Both Ferrari drivers end up having a shitload of pictures of you sleeping on the leather couch, enough that Lewis ends up getting ahold of them, too.

It’s a 2-3, in the end, with P1 going to Max. The latter throws a party at some place along the beach strip, invites you in one of the only conversations you’ve ever shared with the guy so far. He seems a bit unfriendly, but when you walk into the exclusive club later that night, you find him doing a handstand in front of a beer keg, so that’s that.

FUCK YEAH! Max hollers, following it with a howl so happy it reverbrates in your ears. It’s crowded everywhere, and you’re pretty sure Lewis isn’t here, so you spend a few minutes roaming around, getting a good grip on the vibe of the place.

It’s Carlos who finds you in the middle of the dance floor, nursing yet another drink to aid your lack of social skills. His voice is rough in your ear and it smells like a Jägerbomb, a low laugh escaping it right after. “All alone?”

“Unfortunately,” you tease, turning to face him. “Man, I thought guys were confident in Florida.”

“Cuidado,” he warns, smiling. “This dress is pretty difficult to resist.” His tongue’s definitely been loosened by shots, his eyes half-lidded and looking you up and down. You laugh, raising one eyebrow at the sudden flirty tone, but welcoming it nonetheless, depositing your now empty glass on whatever cocktail table is nearest. Who said you were sober?

“Nobody’s inviting me, so why don’t you and I dance instead?”

He licks over his lips—he never seems to keep his tongue in his mouth—and winks, nodding.

And here in Miami, through the strobing purple lights of this ridiculously expensive club, you wrap your arms around his neck and dance to whatever Calvin Harris song is blaring through the bass.

His hands are all over you, loosening your stiff stature; they wring into the fabric of your obejctively too-short dress, raking it up a bit. You lean back and he leans forward, following you, drawn into you, your noses pressed together and your eyes meeting. Your breath heightens, holds, your fingers moving to his long hair and holding him close to you.

His hand moves over your ass, pulling you in. He smiles, pokes his tongue into his cheek, and you giggle, almost causing your lips to touch. Your mind is haywire from the alcohol, but you can’t really bring yourself to care. The warmth grows between you, closer and closer, the dynamic easy—

And then someone spills their drink on both your feet, causing you two to break apart and laugh off the tension instead. You’d almost fucking kissed. However you’re going to tell this to Lewis, you don’t even know.

And you’re not entirely sure, you think as you rinse whiskey and bile off the tip of your heel in the bathroom, how it sounds like to write Sainz and I almost made out in public on the GQ profile.

—

Nick emails you directly to ask if Carlos can do some test shoots in Miami for the profile cover.

You convince him to agree, even if he thinks he’s no good in front of a camera, and you two show up to a mostly empty warehouse studio. There’s a white backdrop situated toward the back and a tiny-sized crew of people working.

“Hi. Is this for GQ?” You ask the photographer. “Test shots?”

“Oh, hi.” He stands and shakes your hand. “I’m Luke. Big fan of your work, by the way. So the concept today is just plain shirt, long hair, gorgeous face, white background. Good?”

“Bueno,” Carlos says behind you with a smile.

You sit on a chair a few metres behind Luke while he works, watching the shots pop up on his screen every time the shutter clicks. As it turns out, Carlos is a brilliant liar, because every single shot—even one where he was fixing a wrinkle in his tee—looks perfectly usable anyway. Sainz is a natural stunner, you jot down.

It’s a bit awkward to admit you can’t help but stare, but his face is undeniably handsome, especially when he’s in front of the camera. Thankfully for you, and heavily owed to Carlos’ natural skill for modeling, the ordeal’s over in less than thirty minutes, and you begin preparing your stuff to leave.

“Oh, crap. I forgot I had to do a test bridal shoot for R&B’s wedding anniversary in September.” Luke sighs, clicking through the photos rapidly.

“R&B. The… music genre?” You ask, confused and toting your bag on your shoulder.

“Silly! Ryan and Blake. As in, Reynolds and Lively? They plan their photoshoots way in advance, and they always need sample poses to choose from.”

“Oh, I get it.” You smile. “Well, we’re sorry for keeping you.”

“You”—he stops both you and Carlos, pacing in front—“you two wouldn’t… mind, would you?”

“Mind… mind what, now?” Your eyes flit toward Carlos’ and you both laugh nervously.

“Being my mannequins for the bridal shoot!”

Both of you balk, making up all kinds of excuses, but as fate would have it, Luke is very convincing and you’re against the backdrop after five minutes of persuasion. He directs you into different silly, quirky poses—a piggyback ride both ways, smiling goofily, the like. Carlos can’t stop laughing every time the shutter clicks, at how silly the two of you must look.

Luke plays some music to get you both looser, and directs you into a few mocking dance poses. Then he directs you in a partners-in-crime pose, which you love the outcome of. Okay, last one, newlyweds, he says. Carlos, why don’t you get behind her and wrap your arms around her waist?

You clear your throat, letting him do so anyway, his hands big around your frame. “Careful,” you whisper when he’s right behind you. Luke raises an inquisitive brow behind the camera, watches your chemistry unfold through the viewfinder. Your breath hitches a little, but you swallow the nerves.

Look into his eyes, Luke says. So you do, meet them, force yourself not to look away for once and just stare. It’d been easy to do this, because you could just as easily break the stare, but now it’s different. Your eyes flutter, and his stay unblinking.

It’s like that for a minute, just staring, like all the things you want to say can communicate themselves through eye contact alone. Another twenty seconds pass before Luke coughs, breaking the moment.

“I said we were good like a minute ago, guys,” he says knowingly, packing up with a smirk.

—

Lewis advises you to avert your pent up “romantic” tension to another boy. It’s difficult, but you challenge yourself to find somebody anyway, maybe outside of racing, to use your extra paddock pass (courtesy of Mattia) on. The guys in your DMs are all skeevy, or you’ve unfortunately ghosted them, so they’re all out.

After some searching, you end up using your extra pass in Spain, and for James, a Sky Sports sound editor for streamed football games. He’s British and a huge Tottenham fan who you met during drinks with a few reporters the month prior. Not bad, but not necessarily your type; at this point, though, you’ll take anybody above the bare minimum. And James is above it—a gentleman, kind, funny in the quaint English way. He could be taller, but you find him charming enough.

Noise flows through the paddock, chatter and cheering and interviews. “This is so cool,” says James animatedly. “I feel like a regular Schumacher.”

You give a phony, flirty laugh and enter the Ferrari hospitality, raking your hair backwards. “I’m going to get something real quick, okay? Stay put…” You point at a lone chair. “Over there.”

“Alright,” he says with a smile. “I can’t roam arou—?”

“No!” You say, a tad too quickly. “I mean, sorry. Don’t. Just. I’ll be back really quickly.” Before you can even retrieve your phone charger from Carlos’ room, the owner himself walks into the area, squirting water into his mouth and furrowing his eyebrows together when he sees you standing beside a stranger.

“Hi,” Carlos says, a bit bluntly. His eyes are darting everywhere but at you, lingering a bit too distastefully on James’ timid figure. “You are?”

“Her date,” James says with a nervous laugh, pointing a thumb towards you. “James. Huge fan of you. Of the team.”

“Sure.” He offers a tight-lipped smile, hand meeting James’ outstretched one to form a polite handshake.

It’s awkward, is what it is—awkward and stuffy and Carlos won’t look at you. He clenches his jaw a little, smiles, looks up and down. “You, uh… how long have you guys been…?” He waves a finger in between the both of you, almost fearfully, like the answer will cast him into ashes.

“Not—not long, really.” James laughs again to relieve the tension that seeps across the room. “A month?”

“A month?” Carlos repeats, arms crossed.

“We haven’t even, like, had se—”

“That’s—” you cut in, sharp and apologetic, “wow, that’s plenty. Thanks, James. Could you get us some drinks? I’ll have a beer.”

“It’s one-thirty,” he says.

“Yeah,” you respond. “A beer.”

He leaves you both alone sheepishly, and you turn to face Carlos’ intense expression.

His arms are crossed and he rakes a hand through his hair—but he doesn’t say anything. Why should he, anyway, he thinks to himself, staring at you. You wore your hair in a ponytail today, so he sees more of your pretty face. Oh and so does James. Pendejo.

“Are you okay?” You ask, even if he knows you know what’s up.

“Totally. Muy bien.” He shrugs, drinking water again. “Should I not be?”

“Never said that,” you say, raising both eyebrows.

“Okay. Well enjoy the beer.”

So he’s jealous. Fine, sue him. He’s jealous of the British gangly guy you thought was good enough to invite onto the paddock. Barely even made a lasting impression. He gives a small, phony smile and walks back, meeting Charles along the way.

“You look like you’ve just seen a ghost, mate,” says the younger, slinging an arm over his shoulder. “Maybe the ghost of James?” He flicks the guy’s forehead, laughing.

P4, it ends up being. Not nearly good enough. But James is the first to say, “Congratulations, hombre!” in a God awful accent, so it becomes ten times worse, really.

—

“Alright guys, Carlos and I here today with some members of our team, and we’re going to play some fun trivia games.” Charles’ eyes read from the signboard behind the camera, his amusement wholly unscripted as he looks from you to Andrea and back to Carlos.

You honestly don’t know why you agreed to this. It might have been Lewis’ gentle persuasion or your boss’ overenthusiastic persistent voice, or the sleepiness that’s been wearing you down and boggling your mind lately, or—and it’s probably this—the fact that James ghosted you after Spain, because you “clearly have a thing with Sainz, and I don’t wanna be a homewrecker.” Whatever it is, you’re apparently a guest on the C² Challenge segment.

Today is a trivia game against Charles and Andrea, and you’ve all been given a general guide to what the questions entail—math, music, general knowledge, and one scripted Ferrari question at the end. The structure is fairly basic; each team member gets to answer one at a time, both contributing to overall points—and no coaching allowed, for some odd reason.

Charles is a little shit, so he’s made an off-camera bet: loser should treat winner to a round of shots at the next afterparty/get-together. And—who are you kidding, really—Carlos is also a little shit, so he’s game for the bet and has fired you both up to win, spouting Ferrari trivia in your ear should it come up.

“I got it,” you say snappily when he hasn’t stopped pestering you for five straight minutes. “I got it.”

“Oh, did you got it?” He asks sassily. “Okay. When did Ferra—”

“We’re starting in three,” says the cameraman in Spanish, Italian, then finally English.

He holds three fingers up and you hug your tiny dry erase board closer to your torso, readying your camera smile. The video—and the game—start off well enough, a quickfire competition developing between the two teams that infects you and Andrea quickly.

“Stay calm and collected,” Carlos proclaims, lips stretched into a proud smile. “Our team motto.” He elbows your side and you roll your eyes with a smile, teasing.

“I think it’s, ah, always—always cheat, mate,” Charles protests, pointing an accusatory finger.

“You are soooo—tch, I propose we kick Charles for poor sportsmanship,” retorts your teammate, laughing. The force of his laughter shakes the stool he sits on and you bite back a smile, remaining relatively quiet like you’ve been since the start of the video.

The remainder of the game passes with Carlos and Charles neck and neck, you and Andrea working overtime to make sure your teams don’t lose the bet. Eventually it boils down to one question, which Carlos is in charge of answering. Behind the camera, the producer raises a signboard and reads it out: We all know C². What is eight squared?

What a relief, you think. They’ve basically handed the win to you and Carlos on a silver platter. You wait, bumbling in your seat and raising an L sign toward Charles, who sticks his tongue out in response. Excitedly, you watch Carlos cheer for himself and finish writing, turning the board inch by inch until you all see the answer he has written on it.

Everyone stares. Then: “Team Charles wins!”

“Que?!” Carlos blinks, scandalized and a bit amused. He stares at the question then at his answer then, as if dreading the laser eyes, at you. Your eyes narrow, disappointed.

“Carlos. What is eight squared?”

“Eight squared. Eight, and you take another eight, and—it’s right here.” A tan finger points firmly at the number written messily, square in the middle of the whiteboard.

“Eres un tonto,” you quip, remembering bits of teasing you’d used on him years before. “Carlos, it’s 64. Eight times eight, not eight times two.”

“Ay, puta—” He shuts his eyes and laughs. “Lo siento! Sorry, sorry. Sorry! I cost us the win.”

Across you, Charles is coaxing a much more begrudged Andrea into a childish victory dance, pulling his arms up and down to convey the joy of winning. You sigh exasperatedly, but smile . For what it was worth, you had a great game anyway. The noise grows, and you watch the producers pack up, the cameraman parting from the camera for a moment to converse with one of them.

Left alone with you for a bit, Carlos lets his voice slip into a quieter one. “Sorry again. I forgot.”

“Forgot?” Your brows furrow, confused. “What?”

“That, you know”—he points at the lonely 16 on the whiteboard he holds—“it’s supposed to be 64.”

“Oh.” You laugh, a light sound. “Whaaat?! It’s not that deep, Carlos. Seriously, don’t worry about it. It was all fun.”

“Well, I’m glad you had fun,” he says softly, smiling.

“Yeah, me too,” you say, unable to hide your smile. You stay like that for a bit, something blooming in the pit of your stomach you can’t—and refuse to—name.

—

You get two days off, and Charles had suggested you all go to Paris before you go to Cannes, where the Ferrari team is apparently expected for a meeting before Monaco. You’re the one who’d said yes first, even if Carlos seemed to hesitate; he had asked why, to which you responded you’d never been before.

You’d read about it, watched about it, and like every other human on Earth, seen pictures of it. But you’d never been to Paris; work placed you mostly in London, sometimes South America, other times Italy. But Paris was never a destination. So Carlos allowed the greenlight and you flew, with Lando, Pierre, and Esteban tagging along for shits and giggles.

“I’ve waited my whole life for my Eiffel Tower moment,” you say, not even trying to hide your wonder. Carlos got the best room for himself, but invited you in, for the view. He doesn’t tell you he went through hell and back to get precisely this room, so you could peek inside and see the tower.

“Well, you’re here now.” He wedges the hotel balcony door open and walks toward the railing. You follow suit, arms crossed over your torso, eyes stuck on the view. “How is it?”

“It’s as beautiful as I imagined it to be,” you confess honestly, eyes still stuck on the tower, the way it stands alone and glittering against the black of night. Cliché as it is, you feel like you’ve checked one huge box off your bucket list, staring at the landmark like it’s going to evaporate into thin air.

Beside you, Carlos hums in agreement, but his gaze is stuck on something else. “I know.”

“Oh, do you?” You laugh. “Are you in the business of admiring beautiful things?” You tease, looking up at the stars.

Sensing his eyes on you, you slowly avert your gaze until your eyes meet. The light reflects in his eyes, and they meet yours blindingly, beautiful, luring you closer. The joking tone of your words is caught in your throat, desert dry, your lips parted to spout words you’ve now forgotten, lost track of.

Your silhouettes dance against the lights of the city below, two figures admiring the other. His eyes flicker down to your lips, linger there a second too long. You stumble closer, your foot touching his. “…Paris.” The words struggle to leave but they do, quietly, an admission of guilt. “It’s always reminded me of you.”

“Not Spain?” He asks, leveling your volume. You’re closer, so close you feel his breath fan soft against your own face. His voice is deep, accented so thickly, the way it is when he talks with you because he falls into a familiar rhythm of knowing you’ll decipher whatever he has to say.

You giggle, a low, breathy sound. A barely there shake of your head. “I… love it so much, is why. Always have.”

Had there been a pedestrian across the street who looked just a few floors upward, they would’ve found the both of you there, smiling foolishly, blanketed by the night sparkles of the Eiffel Tower and the rest of the city. They would’ve seen the way Carlos leaned in, his eyes on yours and then on your lips, the way you nodded in silent, warm invitation. Come closer, you seem to say. Don’t stray any further.

A lock of your hair touches his jaw, from how close you two are. So close. Everything smells like him, like the musky woody perfume he wears, the detergent he uses. All of that, and everything underneath. The scent of him. Just him.

You hold your breath when you both lean in, eyes fluttering shut and waiting, waiting for his lips to meet yours.

The door shakes with several knocks, Lando’s voice seeping from the other side of it. “Mate, we’re gonna be late for dinner!” He says boredly, letting his fist collide with it a few more times for good measure.

Instantly, you and Carlos separate, both of you clearing your throats, rushed flimsy excuses escaping your mouths at the same time. You’re warm all over, the excitement, the nerves, tapering off into nothing as you walk back inside the room, busying yourselves with anything. Oh, I need to check if Jonathan’s emailed me. Oh, let me go answer the door.

Lando is waiting, expectant, on the other side when Carlos pries the door open. “Mate! Dinner! I texted you like twenty minutes ago and y—oh.” He spots you sitting at one of the lounge chairs in the room, and immediately his brows raise. “Hey, dude. You’re here?”

“Yeah, to, uh—to get Carlos to OK some edits,” you say with a smile, hoping your nonchalance isn’t too shaky. “I needed to get a draft in by three hours ago, so.”

“Oh. Right, obviously.” His eyes narrow a little, but he doesn’t relax much, gaze suspicious and a bit beguiled. “Well, if you’re not busy, we’re having dinner?”

“I’m good,” you decline, a touch too quickly. “It’s getting late.”

“Alright, well it was a courtesy invite, you dipshit,” Lando teases, and everything feels a bit more normal. You just flip him off, and Carlos retrieves his coat, eyes still not meeting yours when you all exit at the same time. Lando makes up for the hole in the conversation, droning on and on about the restaurant they’re going to, and how good it seems to be.

The elevator ride is equally charged, and you spend it humming and interjecting Lando’s words to come across as unfazed, even if you’re so totally not. Once you’re alone you finally let big exhales leave you. You don’t know if it’s from the anxiety of almost being caught, or the anxiety from the kiss unfinished.

—

LOVE the latest draft, Nick & I both. Could we get a deeper angle? Something re: regrets? Would really tie it together! Best, J

“Huh. Do you have any regrets?” You ask, tearing your eyes away from the short email. Next to you, Carlos nods his head slowly. You’re on the beach in Cannes, taking time off before the meeting and people-watching. Charles had joined you for a good half hour before leaving to sleep in the hotel instead, leaving you two to bask in the now setting sun.

“Everyone does, no?” He stretches a bit. The topic is tense. “But yes, I have some specific ones.”

“Like?” You ask weakly.

“I was stupid when I was younger. More immature, more forgetful. You grow older and you think of all the things you could’ve done right, years too late. There’s a proverb I heard once that goes—camarón que se duerme se lo lleva la corriente. It means to—to stay alert. Don’t let things pass you by.”

“And do you think you followed that advice?”

His eyes meet yours. “Do you?”

—

It’s quiet when Carlos walks inside your flat, and already his heart begins to drain, filling with guilt.

He steps over the creaky floorboard, notices your car keys on the table, your jacket haphazardly slung over the rack, your Chanel bag half-open on the dinner table beside an empty wine glass and a sweaty bottle of Cheval Blanc. The bedroom door’s half-open, light bleeding into the dark rest-of-the-place, and when he gently pushes the door to get in, the sight he faces is crushing.

“…Estás bien?”

You face the window, your back to him, in a beautiful, beautiful black dress. Your hair had been up, but it’s unpinned now, falling in loose, messy waves. You hiccup, and then tense. Feigning nonchalance, you croak out, “Yeah, yeah.”

“I’m sorry,” he says honestly. “I didn’t know the thing was earlier.” His eyes hover to the glass award on the bed, one you’d hoped he would watch you receive tonight.

“I said I’m fine,” you say. “Just”—you sniffle—“it’s fine, Carlos, just get out.”

You’re standoffish, and cold, but Carlos knows you’re incredibly hurt. In an attempt to try and coerce a conversation, he stays. “Let’s have dinner tomorrow,” he suggests in a low voice. “On me. Right? To celebrate.”

“Leave me alone, Carlos.”

“I wanted to go,” he insists. “I had a meeting that ended late, and—”

“It doesn’t fucking matter,” you assert, turning. You’ve clearly been crying hard, your face flushed and shiny, a few rogue tears still on your chin. “Just go.”

“I know how much this mattered to you.”

“And yet you didn’t go.” You sniff, wiping fruitlessly at your face. “Carlos, just…” Your voice sounds thin, heartbroken, worn with pain and real tiredness.

“Cut me some slack.” Carlos argues softly.

“No, I just… I don’t even know how things got to this point, Carlos. We used to be so much happier. But now, it’s like I have to demand for your time like everyone else does. Now, I—I cook, I plan dinner, I put my own career on the back burner so I can spend more time with you even if I’ve gotten calls, promotions that you don’t even ever… ever ask about, just everything. I don’t think… I don’t feel you love me that way. Care for me, that way. You’ve never shown it, not lately especially.”

“You should’ve told me,” he says, hurt.

“This kind of thing, it…” you shake your head, wiping your clammy hands on the black silk. “It doesn’t need to be said.”

“Let me make it up to you.” He steps closer but you’re quicker, almost stumbling in your rush to avoid him.

“No,” you protest, “just go, Carlos, just go. Get out and close the door.”

“Cariño—”

“Go,” you say, voice hard with contempt. You refuse to meet his pleading eyes. “Go, Carlos.”

So he does.

He passes by, again, your handbag, with the sleek travel-sized bottle of Santal 33 you keep with you always peeking out, and the Cheval Blanc he’d bought you a few months prior, and the jacket you’d bought with his approval almost a year ago. He lingers in his car for a minute, the rain pelting the Golf noisily.

He drives off, wiping tears from his own face.

And maybe, had he stayed a little longer, he would’ve seen you tearfully emerge from the elevator, into the lobby, then out into the rain, still in your black dress, and let yourself get soaked waiting for him to come back, refusing to believe he’d even let himself leave you so broken.

—

You play Uno to pass the time, your last night in Cannes.

He’s won two games in a row at this point, and you’re almost 100% sure he has a plus four card in his hand, so you play a bit more deliberately, eyeing him with a challenging glint in your eyes. You’re a bit watered down by your earlier conversation, but you feign nonchalance anyway.

Blue 2. Blue 5. Green 5. Then finally, he slaps it onto the deck—a plus four card. “Oh, come on, Carlos,” you say, almost actually irritated.

“I’ll kiss it better,” he says. Suddenly overwhelmed, you push yourself off the counter and storm out.

He follows you, stumbling into the empty balcony and softly shutting the door, voice still colored with laughter. “I’m sorry! I didn’t know you’d be so upset about the—”

You barely hear the rest of his clearly half-hearted, humorous apology. It doesn’t matter to you.

What does matter is everything from the years past crashing on your shoulders like debris, like rain, finally giving under the weight of being so close to him again. Everything. The tangled fog of your relationship, the start, the middle, the terrible end neither of you wanted. You pulsed with want, with yearning, with sadness.

So you ask yourself why? Why? Why? Why couldn’t he have come back? More importantly—why did he let you go so easily?

The truth is, you’ve drowned yourself in work so long you’ve forgotten what it’s like to feel, to be felt. And if Carlos is doing this, all this, all the touching and the tension and the debris and the rain that crash on you like a bruising, torrential storm, for his own pleasure, like this is all a game, then you’ve yearned for nothing.

“This isn’t about the game, Carlos!” It heaves itself out of you in a half-sob, carried by the wind.

He stops—stops walking, stops smiling. Just stops and stares, brows knitted with concern. You refuse to look at him, staring instead at the skyline, arms crossed. The view blurs with tears, lights meshing together prettily.

He stutters your name out in a feeble response. It’s mortifying, the way you start to cry when it leaves his mouth.

You turn then, willing your lips to stop quivering. “Good for you,” you say shakily, “you can—you can fool around, kiss me like it’s nothing, pretend like we never even mattered so you can make jokes about how we’ve ended up here again, back, together.” You inhale, but it’s no use; you’re crying even as you speak. “And I’ll laugh, because it can be funny, you know, fuck it. But… I’m so—”

The wanting shows, in moments like this. Wanting love, wanting comfort, wanting warmth, an escape from work and stress and life. You know how it feels, to be loved. You’d been familiar with it, at some point. You want it again, the ache, the kiss, the pain of it all. More than that, you want him. For just a moment. But all this wanting is so exhausting.

You want this profile to be over. You want to pull him close and tell him how proud you are, but also how hurt you are. You want Spain. You miss Paris. Everything, everything, every memory, every single painful loving thing bursts inside you.

“—tired.” You nod your head, licking tears that have perched on your lip, smiling humorlessly, shrugging. “I’m—I’m tired, and lonely, and being around you makes it worse. Being around you hurts me. It hurts you. This profile was a bad idea, and I should’ve trashed this the moment I learned I’d be covering you. Because I knew then it would’ve turned to shit, and I was right.”

He stares, unmoving. He remembers, too. He’d tell you everything if the words clicked just right. But they never do; they tangle like cotton balls in his throat before he can kneel and name everything he remembers, everything he loved about the two of you. Cariño. Just be mine, tell me everything, tell me you love me.

You wipe a hand over your face. “Let’s just let this go already. You know, we really were good for a while. This… this is maybe just one of those things where we made it in another life, but not this one.”

At his returned silence, you nod, then walk quietly past him and back into the room.

It’s just as empty as you’d left it, dim and lit only by the warm light above the kitchen counter. Your forgotten Uno game lies on the same spot, beside the two empty wine glasses. You stare for a second. Life had been different when he’d lay down his cards just minutes ago.

A coat is tugged from in between couch cushions, your heels from by the door hastily pulled on. Every movement feels heavy, like sandbags are tied to your limbs, your tongue, your eyelids. You turn, one last time, to see the moment suspended in time—and you meet his eyes. Even across the room you feel like you’re drowning in them, dark and solemn.

“Wait,” he says, and even with just one syllable he’s managed to stop your world from turning again. “You’re right. Everything you said. When I’m around you, I hurt. I’m reminded of how awful I was then. It’s painful to be together.”

Eyes meet, eyes blink, eyes close.

“But you didn’t trash the feature. And I still enjoy your company. You could be covering Rafael Nadal or whoever right now. I could be in a jet to Japan. But you and I are here, are we not?”

Only you. It’s only you.

“I’ve missed you.” It rips through him. “I want to be here with you. I want to make the pain go away, so let me.”

“It’s useless,” you protest, tearily. “This won’t work. I’ll get mad, you’ll get fed up, I’ll get bored, you’ll put work before us.”

“Okay.” He paces toward you, nearer and nearer, closing the distance between you both. “I’ll make it work.”

“Carlos,” you weep, “I don’t know why you don’t get it. Life sucks. And all we get are little moments where things are… are good. So don’t waste the moments like this. Let’s not waste the moments on this.”

“You’re not a waste,” he says—and you crumple into his arms, worn, exhausted.

A knot in your heart is slowly unraveling itself. You’ve waited, yearned for so long, and finally you’re in his arms again, with the kind of quiet resolution only he would understand. You left the lights on for him. You’d do it again, but you don’t have to.

You bury your head in his chest, a chorus of apologies leaving him. I’m sorry, he says. I’m sorry, I love you. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Everything.

I love you, you say weakly. I love you, that’s enough. I waited for this to leave, but all it did was hide. The love has yet to pass. It never will.

—

“Yours really is the best selling one!” Nick pulls you in for a hug. “We have Nadal and CR7 on the roster, but Sainz’s is selling like crazy. Your writing is just—” He kisses his fingers. “You are amazing.”

“You flatter me,” you reply gracefully, letting him pull you into another embrace but prying him off a bit faster. You don’t need another Jonathan-esque freakout in the middle of the room.

The GQ party, six months later, almost a mirror of the fundraiser just a few months ago. Only this time, you’re not tacked onto Lewis, and you’re not buzzing with nerves (as much). You had run into Lewis when you entered, and Charles too, and Lando when he spotted you, but none of them are your plus ones to this event.

Your profile is the talk of the journalism scene. Nobody can shut up about it, and it thrills you, excites you, to be witnessing your work be recognized beside Carlos himself. He brings you a glass of champagne and presses a kiss to your cheekbone, smiling against it.

Neither of you notice Lando and Charles behind you, watching like hawks. The elder cackles, presents his hand like a sacrifice and turns to the Brit. “Aha.What did I tell you, chat?”

“Five hundred euros,” moans Lando, slapping a bunch of bills onto it. “You’re an intuitive prick.”

“Those two are soulmates.” They stare at your foolish figures, smiling like idiots, high-fiving even. “The kind that’ll always, always find their way back to each other. Always.”

Lando shrugs. “Hey, honestly, for once, I’m glad I lost a bet.”

“I look great on the cover,” Carlos says, both of you staring at the screen’s display of it.

“Shut up,” you smile, interlocking your fingers. “Well, my writing looks great inside.”

“Really does,” he says. “I’m so, so proud of you, cariño.”

“Proud of me?” You tease, staring up at him. “You made the last minute title change that caused fans to go crazy.” You both turn to stare at it displayed on the screen, smiling fondly.

Carlos Sainz—on racing, gracious defeat, and refinding love.

#f1 #carlos sainz #carlos sainz drabble #carlos sainz smut #carlos sainz imagines #carlos sainz fanfic #f1 x reader #carlos sainz x reader

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lowkeyrobin · 3 months

Note

hi could you please write smth about accidentally revealing your relationship with quackity? preferably with cc!reader <3

of course!! thanks for the request 🫶 ; ik I did a preference about accidentally revealing relationships but doing a little different thing and going in depth w it was fun!

QUACKITY ; softlaunch ❌ hardlaunch ✅

summary ; you and Alex accidentally reveal your relationship

warnings ; language, little bit of buzzed ranting, use of pet names (babe)

genre ; fluff

word count ; 1k

masterlist

You and Alex have been together for about ten-ish months, keeping it on the low since you'd been traveling around for QSMP meetups, events, and the Streamer Awards for a little bit.

You'd finally gotten home, your shared apartment with Alex, with Cellbit and Roeir tagging along. The three were planning to make a 'trying mexican candies' video in the morning while you were planning to edit and maybe stream til you felt tired enough to quit and sleep. The three guys sit out in the living room, watching some TV show as they sprawl out on the couch, buzzed from the aftermath of award winning.

You were more than proud for your boyfriend, but it being so late now, and your need for comfort after being overstimulated for hours on end, called for a little alone time. You sit in your office, the clock reading 1:30am as you hit the Go Live button on your stream.

You decided to chill out behind the closed door, just chatting with whatever viewers were still awake at this hour, or were just beginning their day, depending on timezones. After five minutes, you greet your chat, snacking on some cookies you'd picked up from the store before returning home earlier, a glass of milk sitting on your desk next to the plastic box.

You sit in your very comfortable chair with a QuackityHQ hoodie, with the signature duck in the corner and design on the back, and some long, patterned pj pants, colored dark blue and black with a floral design. They were thin enough to wear in the warm heat, which was perfect for you. You looked tired but didn't really feel that way, like your eyes were sewn open from adrenaline and happiness.

"Good morning, everyone" You chuckle, "Alex just won an award, feeling good! He, Cellbit and Roier got some drinks and have been watching TV on the couch, so sorry if you can hear them. I closed the door just in case but don't mind any shouting or music"

Your chat explodes with messages, congratulating you, even though you lost in your category, and spamming hearts and heart hands emojis. Someone sends in a small donation, asking for clarification why they were at your house.

"Oh, Alex didn't wanna drive all the way back to his place and he had his car parked here from earlier. He drove the other two and we all left together. They're staying the night" You nod, clarifying with a little bit of lying, not wanting to slip up.

You'd known for a while that Alex was just a secretive person over the smallest things, and he didn't know why. You were totally fine being open about your relationship with friends, but made sure to respect boundaries for him. He reassured you in his own panic that he wasn't embarrassed to be with you and didn't want to hide his love for you often.

He explained it in simplest terms as he was weirdly secretive and he didn't want his weirdo stans attacking you or only watching you for him, he didn't want to ruin your fanbase that you built from the ground up. You'd been friends since forever, a good percentage (if not all, then most) of your fans also watched Quackity's content, which kind of made sense to you, but you didn't question it.

"But yeah, it was fun, just like... there were so many people, and so much was happening all at once and shit. I'm just trying to calm down and get tired." You lightly smile, taking a bite of one of your cookies. "I'm so proud of everyone who won and everyone who was nominated, good night for everyone"

You sit and talk to your chat for a while, occasionally listening to the trio's laughter outside your office. Before you can even snap your head around to inform whoever entered that you were live, they were already speaking, slightly laughing, and stumbling.

"Babe, oh my God, I'm so sorry! I accidentally dropped one of your plates in the kitchen and it fucking shattered everywhere, I'm so sorry. I cleaned it up, I just wanted to tell you than wait for you to notice and make you mad, I'm sorry, Y/n/n"

Your jaw hangs slightly agape, and you stare with a silent expression. You slowly turn back to your stream, the chat absolutely exploding with messages. You saw probably a hundred first time chatters even making an expression about it.

"Lex, I'm live" You speak between your teeth, muting your mic. "Ah- uh, it's, it's fine"

He quickly regains his composure, staring over at you, then looking over to your PC, showing that you were a thousand percent live and five thousand people heard him say that. By the morning, it'd be all over Twitter and YouTube Shorts and TikTok, people were already clipping it.

"Shit"

"Alex, holy shit"

The two of you sit in silence for a minute, trying to rationalize what to do. Cell and Roier bust into the office as well, seeing both of you silent before asking, where you both talk over each other very loudly to try and explain.

They both look over to your monitors, confirming you were live. They both laugh in a light hearted way, looking to Quackity.

"You're cooked, dude"

"Rest in peace"

"You say that like I'm embarrassed to be with them, I mean, it's not like that... I think. Y/n, are you embarrassed to be with me? I'm not embarrassed to be with you, I wanna post pictures of us on adventures and experiencing shit so people can see us for us and what we are-"

"My brother in Christ" You sigh with a chuckle, rubbing your temples. "It's said and done, it's fine. And no, I'm not embarrassed to be with you" You turn back to your stream, unmuting yourself under the red LED lights and lamp on your desk.

You sigh and shrug before speaking, throwing your hands up halfway in defense.

"Y/s/n real"

#lowkeyrobin #mcyt x reader #mcyt preferences #mcyt oneshot #quackity x reader #quackity oneshot #quackityhq x reader #alex quackity x reader #gn reader #gender neutral reader #they/them reader #qsmp x reader

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mythmakinvgxz · 4 months

Note

heeeeeeeyyyy!!! i heard blas requests and i’m here haha, can u write blas confessing his feelings to r that’s like her best friend??? plssss

. ݁₊ ⊹ my bestfriend.

˖ ࣪⭑ pairing: fem!reader x blas.

˖ ࣪⭑ tw: none, just fluff!

˖ ࣪⭑ a/n: i always write the longest blas’ fics😭enjoy!

in those days blas was very nervous. the day of the red carpet for the presentation of the film was approaching, and it was his first.

the emotion had given way to nervousness when they told him that he had to bring someone with him. all the other cast members had already decided who to bring.

blas still not: the day before the event, which he spent at your house, he wandered around your room thoughtfully, trying to find someone to take.

“why don't you go with your mother?” you asked, but when you realized that your best friend hadn't heard you, you interrupted his thoughts, repeating "blas." he turned in your direction, looking confused. "your mother, why don't you bring her?" you asked, smiling at him. "no, not her. she doesn't like being in front of the cameras." he huffed, desperate, as he approached the bed.

"this seems impossible." he finally said, laying down next to you and closing his eyes to think. "don't worry, blas. you'll find someone to bring, you won't go alone." you reassured him, stroking his hair. "i hope so." he replied sadly, moving closer to you, wrapping his arms around your waist. you and blas had known each other for a very long time, you had practically grown up together. but as you got older you began to look at him no longer as a friend, your feelings for him grew as the days went by.

so when, suddenly getting up from the position he was in, scaring you, he said "why don't you come with me?" it seemed like a joke to you. his eyes had lit up as they looked at you. "me? have you gone crazy?" you couldn't believe what he was asking you. going to a red carpet, for an oscar-nominated film, with people you didn't know. it seemed like a dream and a nightmare at the same time. "it's perfect!" he cheered, walking across the room, happy as ever. "blas... i don't know."

suddenly blas became serious again, approaching you, with a worried expression. "i mean, i don't know anyone. and i've never been to a red carpet before." his hands took yours, stroking them softly. "i promise you it'll be a great experience, the guys are all kind and very nice. and i've never introduced you to them. this could be the perfect opportunity." he said softly, trying not to force you to make any hasty decisions. "we just have to go there, take some photos and talk to the journalists for a bit. do you think you can do it?" he asked you cautiously, his eyes not leaving yours, not even for a second.

with those simple words, your best friend was able to reassure you, making you feel at ease. perhaps it would have been better to spend the evening there, rather than watching it on tv. after thinking about it for a while, you replied “okay, yes.” blas looked at you hopefully, waiting for the words he was waiting for to come out of your mouth. “i'll come with you.” you told him, smiling at him. blas' hands came up to your face, cupping your cheeks. “you're the best, y/n.” he placed a kiss on your cheek, and when he pulled away his eyes looked at you deeply, full of love and happiness. you were head over heels for him, and hearing that by accepting that proposal you were making him so happy made your heart burst with joy.

his eyes were locked with yours, and when he broke away from that contact, you returned to reality. “perfect, then i'll pick you up tomorrow at 8. is that okay?” he asked you, standing up and heading towards the door, taking his jacket. "yes." you said, still mesmerized by him. "see you tomorrow then." she smiled at you and closed the door behind him. "tomorrow." you said more to yourself than to him, who had already left by then, leaving you alone in your room.

what did you just do?

when the next day came, you spent it all trying to find something to wear for the evening. you didn't lack clothes, you had many that had accompanied you on all the evenings and parties spent with blas and the rest of your friends.

but for the red carpet you had nothing that was suitable. when finally, turning your entire wardrobe upside down, you found the perfect dress. long, with straps, black. perfect.

blas would arrive shortly and, finishing your makeup, you put your shoes on. the anxiety inside you grew as the minutes passed, waiting for your best friend sitting on the couch, destroying your nails. when the doorbell rang, a small sound of surprise came out of your mouth.

you stood up, grabbing your bag and fixing your dress. you opened the door. blas, in front of you, looked at you dazedly for minutes that seemed like hours, unable to take his eyes off you. his gaze wandered from your face, to your body, to your hair. he seemed breathless. "hi." you told him, embarrassed, looking at your shoes. "hi." he replied, still entranced by your beauty.

raising your gaze, you met his full of admiration and love. he smiled kindly at you. "shall we go?" he asked you, holding out his arm to you. “yes.” you answered, smiling. you could feel your cheeks burn with embarrassment as you took his arm. “is there something wrong?” he asked, noticing that you were a little strange. “just nervous.” you replied, looking away as the two of you exited the building. a cab was waiting for you. “everything will be fine, don’t worry.” he placed a gentle kiss on your temple, before opening the door for you.

when the car finally stopped, the worry inside you was enormous. but when blas turned in your direction, it disappeared. "here we are." he said giving you a smile, and getting out of the car to open the door for you. at the entrance there were lots of people taking photos and screaming with happiness. doing your best to make a good impression on people, you smiled kindly at everyone. blas' arm was quick to grab you by the waist, and walking down the red carpet, you joined the other cast members. everything was so new to you that you thought you were going to die of anxiety but blas smiled at you all the time, calming you down and making you feel at ease.

“blas!” someone called him, and when you turned around, you could see a blondish boy with a big smile on his lips, waving at blas. as he approached you, you could recognize him, he was matias.

blas described him to you as the funniest guy to be around. the two of them were very close, and when blas recognized him he immediately hugged him, holding him close. "how are you?" he asked him. “good good.” matias smiled at you and you smiled back. “and who is she?” he asked blas. “this is y/n, my best friend.” happy to have you by his side, he held you close. "hi." you introduced yourself to matias, shaking his hand. "of course! blas always talks to us about you.” matias said winking at you and laughing. “i hope he only says good things.” you laughed embarrassed at those words. “very good things, believe me. right blas?” matias gave your friend a friendly pat on the shoulder. “why don't you come and meet the others?” blas asked you, embarrassed, trying to laugh off what matias had just said. he took you away, turning to matias, glaring at him.

reaching the others, a sea of questions tormented you. what was matias referring to earlier? blas talked to his friends about you? and what did he say? blas' hand held yours as you almost ran towards the others. they were a group of many guys, with their respective girlfriends. one of them approached you with a girl by his side, noticing blas. "hey, man!" they shook hands, laughing and talking a little. then blas, noticing that you were looking at them embarrassed, not knowing what to say, introduced you to him. “agustin, this is y/n, my best friend.” you shook hands with that curly-haired boy, smiling at him. "what a pleasure!" he said "the famous y/n." he smiled at you friendly, your gaze questioning. famous?

"this is victoria, my girlfriend." happy to introduce her, agustin put his arm around her, while the girl introduced herself first to blas, then to you, smiling at you. "pleasure." you said to her as you smiled at her friendly. “i’ve heard so many good things about you, y/n.” agustin said suddenly, still holding victoria close to him. you looked at him questioningly, wondering what on earth he could have heard. "oh yes?" you looked at blas next to you, who had meanwhile blushed and was looking away. "like what?" you didn't have time to get any kind of response, because by now they were all standing next to each other, ready for the photos. blas carried you on the red carpet, smiling softly at you. his arm rested on your waist keeping you close to him. his scent washed over you as his grip on your hip tightened, carrying you even closer to his body. smiling at the cameras, however, your mind wandered elsewhere: what did what matias and agustin had said about you earlier mean? was there something blas didn't tell you? the flashes were blinding your eyes, and luckily after a few minutes the photos ended, and everyone dispersed again.

for a while you found yourself talking to victoria. she was very nice and kind to you, you told her that it was your first red carpet and that you felt a little anxious, and she immediately reassured you. "my first one was a disaster." she told you laughing, while you had taken a seat at a table. "i tripped over my dress as soon as i got out of the car." you burst out laughing together, and you asked her "and what did you do?" "i simply got up. luckily agustin was with me." she explained with a smile on her lips. "you're lucky to have him, you're very beautiful together." you confessed, smiling at her as she watched her boyfriend talk to other guys in the cast. "thank you." she smiled at you in response and after a few minutes of silence, she asked you "and between you and blas? is there something?" that sudden question left you speechless. "between us? no, no. we are good... friends." laughing, you tried to divert attention from that topic, while your gaze fell on the curly-haired boy a few meters in front of you. seen from behind it was even more beautiful. "oh i see." she said, looking towards blas, not entirely convinced. praying that she wouldn't ask you any more questions about him or your relationship, you remained silent, contemplating blas from behind.

the evening turned out to be pleasant and passed very quickly, as you talked with matias, who was really the funniest, just like blas said. he was telling you about some things that happened on set, while they were recording, when a hand fell on your shoulder. it was blas’. turning to him, he said smiling "y/n, we need to go. there's the car outside." "oh, okay." you replied, then turning towards matias, greeting him quickly.

as you entered the vehicle, silence fell. you were both tired from the evening and it was very late. "do you want to sleep at my place?" he asked suddenly, snapping you out of your thoughts. the question seemed strange, but you had asked it so many times that you couldn't refuse. "are you sure?" you asked him, worried about being too much. "of course yes." he replied, smiling lovingly at you. "okay, then." you returned the smile to him. that request seemed strange, and you had become nervous at the thought of sleeping in the same bed as him. it had never happened to you. you used to go to sleep at his place after parties, but now he was having a different effect on you. rejecting those thoughts, you looked out the window.

entering his room you finally took off your heels that were hurting you so much "finally." you sat on his bed, laying down exhausted. he joined you in his room, smiling at you without saying a word. he began to take off his jacket and shirt, putting on a t-shirt to sleep in. "do you want one?" he asked you, looking through his closet drawers. "thanks. i didn't bring anything to sleep in." you giggled and took the shirt blas was handing you. it smelled like him.

you entered the bathroom to change and when you were ready you got outside, founding blas sitting on the edge of his bed smiling lovingly at you. "c'mere." he patted on the covers of his bed, telling you to got under them.

before you turned off the light, the questions from earlier still echoed in your head. you couldn't leave them unanswered. “blas…” you called him, he immediately turned towards you. "yes?" "i wanted to ask you something." you told him looking for the exact words. "anything." he reassured you, stroking your thigh. "what were matias and agustin referring to earlier?" he immediately stopped with that movement and sat better on the bed, looking into your eyes. "before when?" he asked you, trying to understand better. "when they said you always talk about me... is there something i don't know?" nervousness was eating you alive, but you still wanted answers. “oh…” he said, looking around so as not to meet your gaze. “blas?” you leaned closer to him, noticing that he wasn't responding. "what's happening?" you asked him softly, trying not to disturb his thoughts. "i have to tell you something." he told you, suddenly serious. you nodded. "promise me you won't hate me?" "i could never hate you, blas." you smiled warmly at him. he took a deep breath as he said "i like you, i've always liked you."

those words were the last thing you expected him to say and the ones you most wanted to come out of his mouth. he didn't give you time to fully digest what was happening, as he immediately started talking again. "yes, it's true, i always talk about you to the guys, about how nice, sweet, beautiful, kind you are... it’s just because… it's you, it's always been you." he said in one breath. his eyes were fixed downward. you looked at him silently, trying to realize what he had just told you. your best friend had just declared himself to you.

when your gaze met his it was a matter of seconds before you smashed your lips onto his, making them collide in a sweet and long kiss. you had dreamed of this moment for an eternity and you couldn't believe it was really happening.

as you broke from the kiss, trying to catch your breath, he said "so..." his cheeks were red and his voice deep. "are you still asking me if i like you back, after what i've just done?" you asked him, laughing softly. his arms embraced you in a tight hug as the two of you feel between the covers of his bed. his lips were placing sweet kisses all over your faced as you giggled at his movements.

"you're mine now."

#blas polidori #blas polidori fic #blas polidori fanfic #blas polidori fluff #blas polidori x fem!reader #blas polidori x reader #blas polidori x you #lsdln #la sociedad de la nieve #lsdln cast #lsdln fic #society of the snow #fluff

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isaksbestpillow · 22 days

Text

Ossan's Love Returns eng sub masterpost

The legendary queer ossans who paved the way for the post-2018 Japanese bls are back! Haruta and Maki have progressed from coworkers to husbands but their life is still as chaotic as ever and the people around them all kinds of unhinged.

Please watch my favourite show! This is an independent second season so you can jump right in without having seen the previous material. The acting is top-notch, the writing clever and the editing hilarious. This is a laugh-out-loud funny, feel-good show about aging, love, and chosen family.

You can also watch the show on Gagaoolala, but their subs are somewhat incoherent at times and leave a lot to be desired. There are also many jokes and references to Japanese language and popular culture that may go unnoticed, which is why I have included notes for all episodes in this post.

I have a kofi but I appreciate a little comment just as much.

Links and notes under the cut.

How to download:

Download all files onto your computer. Make sure they are in the same folder. You cannot stream the subs on Google drive.

The subtitle file will auto-play on VLC Media Player as long as it has exactly the same name as the video file. It may not be supported by some other players.

Do not reupload to any streaming sites.

Episodes

Episode 1

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Episode 2

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Episode 3

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Episode 4

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Episode 5

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Episode 6

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Episode 7

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Episode 8

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Episode 9

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Special episodes

Haruta & Maki's first night as newlyweds (Tver special)

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Telasa spin-off part 1

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Telasa spin-off part 2

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Episode notes

Episode 1

The first dream of the year (hatsuyume) is said to predict the year.

Shiritori is a word game where you can’t say a word ending in N or you lose. For example: imo - mori - risu - sushi - shio - ossan (lose)

Bashauma Cleaning literally means Carriage Horse Cleaning, but it's a reference to the idiom bashauma ni hataraku, work like a (carriage) horse, so I've translated it to include the joke.

Yabusame is Japanese horseback archery.

Nandeyanen: a classic reply in manzai (stand-up comedy with two people). I had to replace it with something situational.

Hierarchy between supervisors goes kakarichou (Haruta), kachou (Maki), buchou (previously Kurosawa, now Takekawa). I’ve translated buchou to chief just because it’s short, so my translations may not correspond to anglophone hierarchy.

Episode 2

Kurosawa uses hyper formal and humble customer service language at all times, which is weird coming from your old boss since seniority plays a big part in Japanese communication. I’ve tried to retain some of it in the translation since it’s a running joke and a huge part of his character in this season.

In Japanese rock paper scissors (janken) the winner can hit the loser on the head with a toy hammer and the loser has to guard.

Urusee kuchibiru: Kuchibiru is lips. Urusee can have a million meanings from noisy to annoying to picky to fuck off so it was hard to land on a single translation when the full context of this line isn’t yet given. I decided to go with pesky lips since it kind of covers all bases.

Episode 3

Hirugao (japanese bindweed) was a popular drama about cheating that aired in 2014. Hirugao is a reference to a somewhat new idiom heijitsu hirugao tsuma (weekday japanese bindweed wife) that means a wife who cheats while her husband is at work. It was also nominated as one of the trend words of 2015, so I decided to keep it as it is.

Kin'youbi no tsumatachi e ('to friday wives'), also known as Kintsuma, was a popular relationship that aired in the 80s. Making references to popular culture seems to be Kurosawa's thing.

Sontaku: A word that became popular after the Moritomo gakuen political scandal in 2017 and is often used jokingly. I didn't translate it because there is no simple translation as it is a cultural concept rather than just a word and I wanted to maintain the scandal link. Here is a wikipedia page about sontaku. Basically it means to do something the other person wants you to do without them saying they want you to do it.

Convenience store restrooms usually have a poster that says something along the lines of thank you for always keeping the restroom clean.

Dogeza: the ultimate kneeling apology. Not actually used anymore sans some press conferences after a major fuck up.

Before you become a memory, show me your smile one more time: This is actually a Spitz lyric. Takekawa-san's Twitter account is also a reference to Spitz. Here is the song:

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Episode 4

Akito & Haruta: Aki means autumn, haru means spring

Kikunosuke: Kiku means chrysanthemum, the flower of the emperor, so it’s a very regal name, as is Kiku-sama.

Oniisan: Kiku has a habit of calling everyone oniisan/older brother. It’s normal to call strangers oniisan but Kurosawa is a bit past the oniisan age lol.

Soiya, soiya, sore, sore: These are cheers. The scene is a reference to this song from the 80s:

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The bachelor is a cameo by Dean Fujioka.

Shougi: Japanese chess

Teppei’s pun song: o-shiri, o-shiri, hey Siri, douka o-shirioki kudasai ore wa omae no otousan janai. O-shiri means butt so that’s the pun here.

公安 kouan ‘public safety’: I’ve translated this to NSB (national security branch) because I needed a short word that people might repeat many times without getting the meaning. In a previous episode Haruta had to google what kouan is. I dont know how security and intelligence services differ across countries so please don’t pay too much attention to this particular word.

Vivant: A popular suspense drama that aired in 2023. Hayashi Kento who plays Maki actually appears in it haha.

Winter Sonata: A Korean drama from 2002 that was immensely popular in Japan and started the Korean wave

Yong-sama: Japanese fans’ nickname for Bae Yong-joon who starred in Winter Sonata

老々介護 rouroukaigo: Literally 'old old caregiving’. This means an elderly person caring for another elderly person. It’s becoming a social problem in Japan and Takekawa-san is haunted by it at the moment.

Episode 5

The raffle guy is a cameo by Dave Spector. He’s an American tv personality based in Japan and known for his puns.

Happi is a tube-sleeved coat worn during events.

I made everyone swear quite a bit in the ryokan battle scene because they were using the vulgar speech register (except poor Izumi-san).

There were many puns in this episode. I tried to translate them all to the best of my ability, but here they are in Japanese:

akan desuka aka wa ‘is red not good’, translated not red not your color

Wariine Dietrich 'Thanks Dietrich’, translated to thanks a latte

Atamitte attakami 'Atami is warmth’, translated to Sea You in Atami

Hageshiku doui: strongly agree; hage doui: bald agrees, translated to nod nod nod, bald nods (or something along those lines, I forgot lol). This is an iconic line in Japanese and got used a lot in the fandom. It's really common to come up with portmanteau words in Japanese so hage doui sounds like a valid abbreviation for hageshiku doui but the meaning is unfortunate. Hage is commonly used as an insult.

When Kurosawa is not in his customer service mode, he uses a lot of zoomer and internet slang. Kibonnu: internet slang for please originating on 2chan. Ma: short for 'majide', seriously. Kawachii: a new way of saying kawaii, cute. I tried to recreate his speech patterns the best I could.

Daruma-san ga koronda 'the daruma doll fell over’, a game similar to red light, green light.

Nanmaida: colloquial namu amida butsu, a Buddhist chant

Azatoi: Haruta gets called this by Kiku. I translated it to coy due to lack of space, but it’s a cultural word so the meanings may not match entirely. Azatoi is someone who performs cuteness for personal gain. The official subs translated it to 'idiot’, so yeah that’s what you’re paying for…………………..

Episode 6

Valentine's Day is a pretty big deal in Japan. Traditionally, women are supposed to give chocolate to men and men are supposed to return the favour a month later on White Day. Many people actually find this exchange stressful because of giri choco, 'obligation chocolate' given to all male co-workers. In recent years the popularity of giri choco has been steadily falling and it has even been banned in many workplaces, and now many women are instead giving friendship chocolate to their friends. The opposite of giri choco is honmei choko (true love chocolate) given in a romantic setting.

The wedding planner is a cameo by Crazy Coco. She's an ex flight attendant who does comedy videos on Instagram. Please pay attention to the non-Japanese pronunciation of English loan words in this scene.

Sukima Switch: This is the name of the band who contributed the theme songs for both seasons so I left it untranslated. Revival from season 1 plays in one of the scenes.

Nukazuke: A type of preserved food made by fermenting vegetables in rice bran (nuka). The pickling bed is called nukadoko. Nukadoko is a living organism that you can keep using forever as long as you take care of it. There are nukadoko that have been passed down for generations.

Takenoko no sato & Kinoko no yama ('bamboo shoot village' & 'mushroom mountain') are two types of chocolate by Meiji sold at every supermarket. You have dog persons and cat persons, mountain persons and beach persons, takenoko persons and kinoko persons. So it's not just any random chocolate, it's an ordinary everyday product that everyone has an opinion on.

Episode 7

The title of the episode (How do you live) is also the title of a novel by Yoshino Genzaburou and the Japanese title of Miyazaki’s The Boy and the Heron. I’ve been lazy and not translated the previous titles but this one felt important enough to include.

Fukuro/bukuro: bag

Isshou isshoni itekureya: When Izumi completes Haruta’s sentence after asking him about Maki, the line is a lyric from Lifetime Respect by Miki Douzan. It was a big one hit wonder in 2001.

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Single mothers are some of the most socially disadvantaged groups in Japan and their plight is only worsening. 50% of single-parent households live in poverty.

Drag/drug are pronounced the same in Japanese (doraggu).

Anta: This is a rude second person pronoun that stands out because Izumi is usually well-mannered at work and never calls Haruta anything but Haruta-san. I obviously couldn’t translate it literally since it literally just translates to you, so I made Izumi say bullshit.

They make you drink barium at the annual health checkup to screen stomach cancer.

Episode 8

Ending note: This is an English word made in Japan. It’s a bit like an informal will with no legal standing to reflect on your life or express your wishes for your funeral.

Toketsu: blood vomit Tooru futatsu: two talls (Kiku-sama’s rice ball size), hence the slip of the tongue

When you fall, fall forward: originally said by 19th century revolutionary Sakamoto Ryouma

Tabelog is the biggest restaurant review site in Japan.

Episode 9

There were once again numerous puns, word plays and funny expressions in this episode, I did my best. The squid game one was impossible however so I’ve explained it in the subs.

Pokapoka: Onomatopoeia for something that’s nice and warm, such as a mild sunny day. I feel like this line lost some of its charm in English unfortunately. :(

Haganezawa Iruka: Iruka means dolphin. This character has a painfully fake American accent.

The book Maika is reading is titled Heya to Y-setsu to watashi, Room and Y-setsu and Me. Y-setsu is code for waisetsu which means pornography lol.

The Japanese title for My Neighbour Totoro is Tonari no totoro, next-door totoro.

Makkuro kurosuke are the soot sprites seen in Ghibli’s films.

Engacho: Maki does this to Kurosawa. It’s something kids do after touching something disgusting.

TVer special

It’s common in Japan for the wife to handle all family finances and only pay the husband an allowance. I’ve seen some queer couples do it too.

Telasa spin-off 1

This is Sumikkogurashi:

Yakatabune: a fancy Japanese boat for cruises

bubble generation: the generation that entered the workforce at the height of the bubble economy

Telasa spin-off 2

Tsumagoi is a town in Gunma prefecture known for cabbage.

Ikebukuro (‘pond bag’) is a commercial district in Tokyo.

Hotei Tomoyasu is a renowned guitarist. I think Takekawa-san was maybe trying to perform the theme from the yakuza film Shin jingi naki tatakai/New Battles Without Honor and Humanity. I don’t recognise his lyrics from any Hotei song lol.

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Akito and Izumi talk to each other using vulgar speech. It's very different from how Izumi interacts with others.

Maro calls Kikunosuke too kenage. I translated this to persevering but honestly there isn’t a word in English that quite captures the full meaning of kenage. Kenage means heroic or brave but it’s used to praise a weak or powerless person showing courage in the face of adversity, such as a child, so it's not really a compliment.

Ribbon and Nakayoshi are shoujo manga magazines.

The lifetime together line is again a reference to the one hit wonder Lifetime Respect.

#ossan's love returns #my subs #my translations #Youtube

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tyxoxo · 1 year

Note

ohhh in that case, can i request poly relationship with jeno and jaemin + double penetration? and maybe both of them being really touchy with each other

warnings: fruity nomin, dp, anal, rimming, oral (f&m receiving), pussy slapping, fingering, degrading, butt plugs

a/n: this is vastly different from what i envisioned in my head, which isn’t a bad thing. i just had 2 different versions sitting in my docs, contemplating on which one to follow through with. and i decided to go out of my comfort zone and choose the one with a lil’ crack. hope you enjoy!!

@n0hyuck bless u boo! 🫶🏾

Jeno and Jaemin couldn’t hide the shock on their faces, in fact, they were flabbergasted.

You had just suggested to try out their most sought out fantasy, without even knowing.

“Wait, are you serious?” Jeno eyed your lips, making sure he read them right. Meanwhile, Jaemin began to salivate, knowing he heard you right.

“Yeah! I mean… I know how much you love anal, and I know how much you love creampies, so why not?”

You pointed with your head as the three of you sat along the love seat, labeling Jeno for the former and Jaemin for the latter.

“Okay but babe, you do realize that’s a tight fit, especially for two holes?!” Jaemin held up the number 2 sign in front of his face, being careful to not drop his bowl of ice cream that he purposefully let melt before taking a spoonful.

“I knowww, but…I wanna try. I don’t care if I have to tap out or take breaks. As long as I try, i’m happy. Wouldn’t you be too?”

You turned your head back and forth rather violently, searching their expressions for any sort of giving. Praying that they would atleast try this with you.

Something told you in the pit of your stomach that they were only acting surprised for the sake of not blowing their devious cover. There were too many times to count that you suggested trying something new and hearing a flurry of questions about “where this came about?” Only to discover later that they were waiting on you to make the first move.

None of this meant they weren’t experimental. It just meant that they were verifying that you were sure you wanted to take both of their huge cocks at the same time…or indulge in any other wild fantasy that crossed your mind.

Jeno paused upon taking his third bite of his ice cream, lips barely touching the cold, metal utensil. You kept your eyes trained on your pup boyfriend, watching as he leaned forward to look past you and at the bunny that was to your left.

“Are we deciding or are we just gonna sit here and stuff our faces full of ice cream?”

You broke the silence, head falling backwards in an annoyed sigh. Maybe this is where they drew the line. But based on the amount of times you all spooned together, sweat slicked bodies kissing sloppily on your shared bed,

how was this any different, besides the addition of some double penetration.

“We’ll do it.” Jaemin made the final call, holding in a smug grin as he slurped his Neapolitan ice cream straight from the bowl.

“What! Really?!” You jumped in your seat, causing Jeno to clutch his bowl for dear life, in fear of spilling his dairy treat.

“Yes, now go get yourself ready. You’ll need all the preparation you can get.” Jeno’s tone had turned serious, reminding you that this wouldn’t be a walk in the park.

You hurriedly rose from the couch, grabbing your long finished bowl of ice cream to put in the kitchen sink.

“Okay!! Give me twenty!!” You yelled, the last bit of your sentence turning into a yelp upon Jeno giving a harsh slap to your ass as you skipped off to the kitchen.

The rush of adrenaline would only grow bigger the more you prepared. And hopefully it would be enough to drown out your embarrassment if this ended up being a massive fail.

—

As soon as you closed the door to your shared bedroom, you darted towards the chest that was always kept underneath the bed. In it, was an assortment of toys, collars, and most pertinent to tonight’s events, butt plugs.

Over the months of making things official with this “whole throuple thing”, it only took a few weeks to train yourself up to the various sizes of plugs. Even with three inches in diameter being the largest, it was nowhere near the girth of your partners, not by a long shot. And trying to find anything larger proved futile, even with the help of Jeno’s advanced internet surfing skills.

You rummaged through the box, eventually grabbing the glimmering metal toy. All five of them adorned a heart shape at the base, with rose gold being the unanimous color of choice for every single one.

You tugged along your bottom lip, heart dropping into your stomach at the realization that this was really happening; that they would stuff both your holes full tonight.

With a firm grip on the toy, you powerwalked out of the room to the bathroom, beginning your prep that had no guarantee of being 100% advantageous, but the least you could do was keep the positivity alive,

for your asshole’s sake.

By the time you finished, it was well past twenty minutes. But it was worth it. You did all of the proper washing, and freshening up, in addition to welcoming the toy inside your puckering hole.

You hoped that Jeno or Jaemin didn’t hear you gasp from the pressure as you inserted it slowly. But considering the Shonen anime blasting from the living room tv, you were drowned out accordingly.

With a brief, mental pep talk, you stood up quickly to force yourself through the initial discomfort. Staring at your now-naked figure in the mirror helped the tightness subside, albeit at a snail’s pace.

The amount of times you jogged through the house at times like these were too many to recall, but it was all part of your jittery excitement. Jaemin was the first to notice you frolic back to the bedroom with your clothes in hand, slamming the bedroom door to get their attention.

He nudged Jeno square in the oblique, dragging his boyfriend’s attention from yet another anime opening.

“She is something else…” Jaemin chuckled with a shake of his head, even rubbing his eyes to accentuate his amusement.

“Well I hope she’s ready. It’s been well over twenty minutes and i’m catching blue balls just sitting here…” Jeno palmed himself, veins tensing along the hand that he used to pat down his obvious boner.

He sounded annoyed, but all in good fun, or atleast Jaemin hoped so. Because otherwise, he would split you in half if another minute passed.

“I think she’s good now. Let’s go check.”

Jaemin grabbed the remote, turning off the tv while Jeno headed down the hall to the bedroom. The bunny followed close behind, eyes lowering to view his pups tiny waist that flashed through his oversized tank top.

Upon opening the door, their mouths almost dropped. You were already getting to work, legs butterflied out on the king sized mattress: one hand rubbing along your clit and the other tugging at your raised nipple with every subtle roll of your hips.

Jeno and Jaemin always took a moment to bless their investment in a huge mattress, allowing all sorts of fun to be had without the worry of tumbling overboard.

You felt the bed dip from both of their weights combined, smiling with your eyes closed to let your wild imagination run free. Just like you guessed, it seemed that Jeno was the one to your left, attacking your chest with open-mouthed kisses and fiery touches. You could tell just by the coarseness of his fingertips, roughed up from hours of practicing guitar.

Your back arched into his suckling lips, and even further into Jaemin’s touch as he cupped your cheek, turning you slightly towards him for a searing kiss.

You could still taste the remnants of his ice cream, which was surprising considering the time had passed. But based on his love for the dessert, there was no doubt he went for back seconds in that timeframe.

You moaned into his mouth, feeling cooled off from the iciness of his tongue.

Electric shocks surged from your tummy, all the way down to your core as you felt their hands interlock and make the journey together.

You let their fingers replace yours, raising and swinging your arms back behind their heads to guide them towards your lips.

What followed left you speechless, too breathless to even keep up with their tongues that explored every inch of your mouth. With more than just two people, lip smacking filled the room, maximizing the filth that you loved and craved so much…

The way their combined fingers worked your pussy caused you to pull back for air, chest rising and falling in copious amounts. But you were finally able to see your two treasures, multi-tasking while they devoured each other's mouths.

Saliva began to pool along the corners, spilling past their jawlines and ending up in droplets on your ribs.

Your head fell back, but not without a whine that rang up to the ceiling above.

It was all considered a dream, to be able to witness moments like these. And for them to be so in tune with each other, practically rubbing your clit in the same speed and intensity was enough to make your juices flow onto the sheets below.

Jeno was the one to break the kiss, leaning forward to get a full view of your drenched hole clenching around air, begging to be filled with anything that offered a release.

His clothed cock was poking against your thigh as he lay there watching you wiggle under their united touches; his second head overly eager to move things along. Jeno always had the least amount of patience out of the three, but he could hold out on his aching cock to watch as he buried his fingers deep into your pussy.

He raised his head back up towards you this time, eyes scanning the way you tugged at your bottom lip, the way your eyes screamed “fill me up, please.”

As he descended his tongue to yours, you felt his middle and ring fingers push past your lips, easily sliding inside your wet hole at first. He swallowed the moans that fell from your mouth, tongues darting out consistently to wrap around each other.

Jaemin sucked along your neck, setting as many lovebites as he could while rubbing your clit in circles.

“How does it feel Nono?” Jaemin hummed behind your right ear, kissing anywhere that hadn’t had proper attention.

“Bitch can barely take my fingers.”

Jeno growled into your mouth as he struggled to bury his digits to the knuckle, not even caring if his words weren’t coherent enough for Jaemin to hear through his lustful kisses.

“Let me feel…” The bunny propositioned, wanting to see just how tight you really were.

Jeno obliged, switching places so smoothly, like they had done this exact scenario before.

Jaemin accompanied you now, sliding in slower than Jeno but with just as much enthusiasm.

“You’re so tight love, and we haven’t even seen your pretty little ass. Are you sure you can take us both?” Jaemin cooed against the curve of your armpit, finding more places to plant tender kisses.

You knew all too well that Jaemin wanted his teasing to get to your head; to happily ruin your decorum in exchange for a cum slut that kept begging for more.

“I c-can, I can do it.” Your voice barely came out in a sigh against Jeno’s tongue, feeling your orgasm creeping closer in the depths of your walls.

With the onslaught of pleasure, you felt yourself crumbling between your two treasures. They both quickened their pace, Jeno even slapping your clit in unpredictable bouts of energy.

“Prove it.” Jeno spoke through the harsh slaps, the height of his hand getting higher and higher as you responded to the addictive sting.

They both carried you to your release, with Jaemin adorning a cheeky grin to complement his almighty foreplay. Jeno was already at work undressing himself, keeping his eyes on your climax in the process; not wanting to lose sight of what he considered lewd art.

“Look at the mess you’ve made.” Jaemin brought his drenched fingers up from your core, letting all three of you admire the way his digits shined under the dim light.

Jeno was naked by the time he saw Jaemin play with your juices; his own essence shining along the tip of his cock.

You had just started to come down from your high, breath being swept away yet again upon seeing Jaemin scissor his fingers in midair. Your juices spread like delicious sap, clinging to the webs of his fingers with every alternating motion.

No other words were spoken as Jeno grasped Jaemin’s wrist, bringing his boyfriend’s glistening fingers up to his drooling tongue.

There’s no way you could’ve prepared yourself for that—witnessing Jeno suck Jaemin’s fingers clean like it was tonic. Staring at you with hooded eyes, with a look of pure ecstasy.

The subtle pop as he finished was the last you could recall before a flurry of motions swirled past your body. Jeno managed to flip you onto your stomach within seconds, rushing to get behind you so he could see if your training paid off.

You automatically perked your ass in the air, settling with a downward dog while you waited for Jaemin to undress.

Jeno’s tip kept leaking, like a steady heartbeat now that he saw your butt plug. You’ve worn them before, but it was as if he relived the very first time he ever saw you with it—the rose gold metal and how it sat so perfectly inside you.

absolutely mesmerizing…like it was made for you.

Jeno fell to his knees, hands immediately coming up to knead the soft flesh of your ass. You wiggled your hips in response, along with a subtle whimper from his intense massage. The way you shook it effortlessly, would forever be burned in his mind.

And the way the heart shape sat so snug between your cheeks made him release a guttural growl from deep within.

“So fucking perfect…” He whispered with two matching slaps to your skin, adding another for good measure.

You yelped each time, and a third was yet to be heard as Jaemin was already poking his tip at your mouth.

You were in your own world, for once; somehow missing the fact Jaemin stripped himself naked and positioned himself in front of you.

“How does it look back there?” Jaemin inquired: already knowing the answer. But hearing it would make up for what he missed.

“Fucking incredible.”

Jaemin chuckled upon hearing the expression, always amused by Jeno’s laconic personality. He peered back down to your fragile form, swiping his tip along your lips to get a reaction.

“C’mon, open up.”

It was hard to do as your energizer bunny said, especially when Jeno was pushing your butt plug in and out and at an achingly slow rate. You were sure it was to see how your tight hole contracted at the sudden emptiness, just calling out to be stuffed again.

By the time Jeno sat there probing you at a faster pace, you finally welcomed Jaemin into your mouth.

It was the perfect setup: you throating Jaemin like it was your last night on earth, and Jeno swiping the flat of his tongue from your clit up to your plug, like the savage tease he was.

Each time you moaned on Jaemin’s cock, he thrusted faster, loving your hums of pleasure that surged around every inch.

“I love when you moan on my cock—feels so good.”

His hands explored wherever he could touch, but he found it his favorite to pet the top of your head, admiring your willingness to be facefucked like a whore.

You fought through the jabs against your uvula, trying to keep your eyes staring up at your boyfriend. But the feeling of the plug leaving you for the last time caused that familiar feeling in the pit of your stomach to grow. Jeno’s tongue darted inside your puckering hole, switching the direction of his wet muscle to swirl in circles.

If you managed to cum from just rimming alone, they would never live it down. Maybe even brag to their friends that their cumslut of a girlfriend loved her ass being eaten from behind—an unhealthy amount.

Jaemin was beginning to feel the same high as you, and telling by the lack of rhythm behind his thrusts, he was undeniably close.

His grunts had turned to moans, and a thin sheet of sweat coated his abs like polished gold.

“Jen…please. I need to fuck her, now.”

Usually Jaemin kept his composure, but the need to fill your pussy crept closer to the devil on his shoulder. There was just something about a creampie that he adored so much.

Jeno ignored him, not intentionally.

But he had managed to fight through the tightness in his balls to tongue fuck you…so why stop now?

Jaemin took it upon himself to prop your head up with a single finger, giving you a look that you knew all too well.

Snap Jeno out of his drunken daze.

You backed your mouth off of Jaemin’s length, crying out to Jeno like you had lost your owner.

“Jeno! Please! Fuck me…fuck my ass please!”

Your desperation proved successful, causing him to undergo the transformation that would potentially leave you cock drunk for the rest of your life.

Jeno rose to his feet, choosing to keep the position that would allow him to indulge in your backside as much as he wanted.

Meanwhile, Jaemin laid down on his back, shimmying down until he was eye-level with your breasts.

Based on the fluidity in their movements, there was no way they didn’t have this sitting in the back of their minds for months.

You stayed still through it all, knowing they would guide you like they always did, regardless of their so-called naïveté.

“Spread those legs for me…” Jeno spoke from behind, caressing the back of your thighs as a cue for you to adjust.

Upon his command, you had switched from downward dog to a more simplistic doggy, allowing Jaemin to rest his legs in between yours and hang off the edge of the bed.

“Are you sure you’re ready?” Jaemin looked up past your chest, hands squeezing your hips in case of your need for ressaurance.

“Im read-oh fuck!”

Jaemin was the first to enter, to your surprise. You were always caught off guard by his girth, but knowing another stretch was coming, caused your entire body to shake as his groin met yours in a single stroke.

To finally have something, anything inside you after all this time, made you feel as if you were floating, ascending to absolute nirvana.

Jaemin smiled at his own stunt, pride blooming at how delicate you were. His grin continued to spread wider as you struggled to hover your upper half above his own, eventually burying your face into the covers for mental support. You gripped the sheets on both sides of his head, not realizing you could’ve confided in him—rather suffocated him with your breasts squished against his face.

You felt so full.

Jeno was not far behind, first wanting to savor how you reacted to Jaemin’s cock. He knew he would achieve the same results; being just as thick, if not thicker than Jaemin.

“Can’t wait to claim this ass again. All mine.”

His last words still couldn’t have prepared you for this. You jerked forward from the initial burn as he started out slow; but just like you predicted, no amount of training could’ve prepared you for the unique contour of his cock.

For your sake, Jaemin stayed still inside you to the hilt, allowing Jeno to inch further and further inside.

Jeno felt resistance barely a quarter of the way in, much to his liking. He hissed as he came to a stop, knowing it would take a while before you could adjust.

All you could do was breathe through the initial discomfort, knowing the pleasure would come eventually.

“You’re doing great baby, take your time.” Jaemin leaned his head over to the side to touch yours as he continued his praises, affectionate touches aiding in your journey towards an accomplished trial. One that you managed to propose all by yourself.

Jeno was sure he would get yelled at now, as he began to bottom out despite your initial struggle. But somehow, the pain was subsiding quicker than both of you thought.

Your hole accommodated every ridge, every vein, and before you knew it, Jeno had already exited out; only to piston inside you with a powerful grunt.

“Fuckkk. So tight, mmh, can barely move…”

Jeno’s unhinged vocabulary paired well with his harsh slaps to your ass, occasionally adding a death grip to the flesh of your flushed skin.

“Taking both of us so well…”

The stark contrast in Jaemin’s tone and choice of words offered the right amount of balance, causing you to finally set a rhythm for them to follow.

You produced as much strength as you could, managing to suck Jeno further inside each time your cunt met the base of Jaemin’s cock. They returned the same amount of energy, tugging on your skin with each connection that drew you closer to your release.

The sounds of skin slapping from not only two but three bodies filled the room, and soon enough, bed creaking followed.

“Don’t slow down, please don’t stop.”

Jaemin was the one begging now, wanting to chase the satisfaction that almost made him feel unworthy of receiving it.

You were unreal.

Jeno and Jaemin felt beyond lucky to have found someone like you. A total freak that wasn’t afraid to ruin their image if it meant you could get whatever you wanted. And here you were, with two boys that went absolutely feral over you; all the more welcomed to be wrapped around your finger.

“Its t-too much! I’m so close!”

You finally formed the words that had been hidden behind moans the minute you felt your stomach tie itself in knots.

They too felt their respective releases, bound to erupt if you kept up with the pace that you did. Just the mere sight of your thighs quivering, breasts bouncing, and ass jiggling was enough to make that familiar band snap between all three of you.

“I can feel it, goddamn. Keep squeezing, just like that.”

You cried out into the sex-filled air as a whirlwind of euphoria washed over you like a hurricane, collapsing onto Jaemin yet again as you felt white heat shoot inside you from both ends.

Jeno mustered a few more snaps with his hips before you clenched down so hard that his thrusts came to a freezing halt, jaw hanging slack at your ability to get him stuck.

Jaemin shoved himself upwards, tip practically hitting your womb as his cum jetted out in thick spurts.

Your entire body convulsed for what felt like the lapse of a moon, but you wouldn’t trade the response for the world.

The only comprehensible thing now, was getting out of this position without making too much of a mess. But you could always leave it up to them to do your bidding.

Nothing that a bit of cum play wouldn’t fix.

The three of you eventually steadied your breathing within minutes. And you tried to suppress a giggle as you watched Jaemin splay his arms outwards in a surrender, him even matching your cheeky grin.

When you looked back, Jeno seemed to be looking for hints of a round two, still eyeing your backside as if he didn’t just fill you to the brim with a shotglass worth of cum.

“Oh my god. You are exhausting!”

You yelled back at him, rolling your eyes at his unbelievable stamina.

He took it upon himself to give a dumbfounded look, refusing to believe that cleanup and bedtime was in order.

“Whatever…”

He got back at your scolding by exiting you without warning, to which you whined not only from his lack of subtlety but from the slap to your ass cheek that he gave as a parting gift.

Jaemin followed suit but with way less savagery. You purposely gave him a loud peck on the lips before he slid from underneath you; hoping Jeno heard it. And before you could prepare for the wave of cum that would flow from your holes, he jumped on the bed, lips showing an obvious pout.

You remained in all fours as you shook your head in disbelief, deciding to give him a kiss for his great work.

To say your guts were rearranged, was an understatement.

#jeno smut #jeno hard hours #jaemin smut #jaemin hard hours #nct dream smut #nomin smut #jeno x reader #jaemin x reader #request #mxm

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waltermis · 7 months

Text

The Oscars

MASTERLIST ↠ SINGER!READER UNIVERSE

Summary: It’s time for the Oscars

Warnings: swearing, most likely inaccurate stuff about the Oscars… I tried to collect as much information as possible, but it is entirely likely that I messed the whole thing up.

Pairings: Scarlett Johansson x fem!reader (romantic), Scarlett x Lorelai Philips (platonic), Scarlett x Quinn Jones (platonic).

A/N: Happy birthday, Scarlett ❤️❤️

↠↠↠

Scarlett sighed nervously as she watched the people around her bustle and hustle in her hotel room, attempting to get her ready for the Oscars. She silently hoped that she would be nominated for at least one award but never voiced her thoughts out loud, not wanting to be disappointed if she didn’t get nominated. Looking around her busy room, she really wished that you could’ve been here.

You’ve been on tour for over a year now and the last time she was able to physically see and feel you in person was 7 months ago when you performed for 3 nights in Atlanta. She had a couple of reshoots for Black Widow there, and when you had told her that you would be having a concert there, she instantly bought tickets to see you perform. She bought tickets for all 3 nights, singing/screaming the words to the songs until her voice was raspy and on the verge of going away. She bought tickets for your brothers, your dad, and the rest of her family to go with her, to support you. She had so much fun watching you sing and dance; seeing you have fun with your dancers and backup singers on stage had her so mesmerized. And watching the way you interacted with your fans, she really understood why you loved them so much.

She gasped lightly, getting pulled away from her thoughts when her hairstylist accidentally tugged too hard on her hair. “I’m so sorry, Ms. Johansson.” Quinn apologized quickly.

“It’s okay,” she reassured. “And how long have you been my hairstylist?”

“6 years-ish, give or take,”

“And how many times have I told you to call me Scarlett?”

“Too many to count,” they said, sheepishly.

“Exactly, so are you going to start calling me Scarlett?”

“It’s very unlikely,” the two of them laughed at that. “Are you excited for tonight?” they asked.

“Yeah,” Scarlett replied, “I think it’ll be really fun,” she smiled while they added the finishing touches to her hair.

“And done.” they said, showing her hair in the mirror.

“I love it, thank you.”

“You’re welcome, now go get your dress on. ‘Cause I’m pretty sure Lorelai’s head is gonna explode.”

Scarlett looked over at her manager, who was standing in the corner talking on her phone, and Quinn was right, Lorelai looked beyond stressed. “She looks like a headless chicken.” she said, grinning.

Quinn burst out laughing, which caught Lorelai’s attention. “Shit shit shit, go to the bedroom now!!” They pushed her off the makeup chair. She quickly ran into the bedroom and put on her dress. Looking at herself, she smiled softly. God did she wish that you were here right now.

She decided to pull out her phone and give you a call. The phone rang for a couple seconds before your voicemail came on. “Hi, this is Y/N; I am currently not available at the moment. Please leave a message after the beep and I’ll try to get back to you as soon as I can.” Scarlett smiled at the sound of your bubbly voice.

Beeeeeep

“Hi baby, I was just calling because I missed you. I’m just about ready to leave for the awards tonight and I wanted to hear your voice. Call me back tonight when you’re free? I love you.” She hung up.

“Scarlett!! Are you ready?” Lorelai asked, a little panicked, knocking excessively on the door.

“Yeah, let’s go.”

In the car, Scarlett pulled out her phone and began to watch reels of you singing during your tour on Instagram. She honestly couldn’t be more proud of you, she knew you always wanted to be a singer, but that dream didn’t solidify until you first sang in the first Pitch Perfect movie. She saw how hard you worked for this, and knew that you deserved every single round of applause you got after each song you’d sing.

↠↠↠

Scarlett stepped out of her car, putting on a practiced smile for the cameras. She looked at the paparazzi and her fans who were screaming and crying out her name. She got her picture taken and was led to the section where interviews were taking place. She did a couple of them, she even had one with her co-star and friend, Florence Pugh.

Soon, Lorelai was ushering her off to the next part. Scarlett smiled as she greeted Cole Walliser; he was the one in charge of the GlamBOTs; the camera that moves extremely quickly but the footage taken is in slow motion. After he instructed her on what she should be doing, Scarlett did her iconic over the shoulder pose into the camera and smiled happily. The speed of the camera startled her for a moment, but she was quick to regain her bearings. She thanked him again, and then joined her manager in one of the more secluded areas as an usher led them into the building.

Scarlett smiled softly in thanks at the attendant who led her and Lorelai to their seats. Getting inside the building took quite a bit of time; with the amount of celebrities showing up in it was bound to get crazy. She sighed, gently wiping her hands on her dress. “You nervous?” Lorelai whispered quietly.

“Little bit,”

“Don’t be,”

“I kinda wish Y/N was here…”

“I know,”

“Not that I don’t love your company.” Scarlett amended quickly, “I just– I just miss her. I mean, I haven’t seen the woman in 7 months!”

“I know that too,”

“And I know that she’d be able to calm me down in a second if she were here. I know that she wouldn’t care if she won an award tonight, cause she’d think that all the other nominees deserved it better.”

“That sounds like Y/N,” Lorelai laughed. “Now before you can go into a spiral right now, do you think you’re gonna win tonight?”

“Maybe…? I mean there’s so many other people to consider before me,”

“Hey, don’t sell yourself short. I know you, and knowing you, I know you’ll get a nomination, I’m sure of it.”

Scarlett smiled a genuine smile at Lorelai, “Thank you,”. Lorelai winked at her, before the night began.

Scarlett smiled brightly as each nomination was announced. She had to admit, even if you weren’t here, she was having a nice time. Her heart had skipped a beat when she heard Taika Waitit’s name get called when ‘Jojo Rabbit’ won Best Adapted Screenplay. She quickly stood him and congratulated him, sharing a moment of joy before he went on stage. “He deserves this,” Lorelai said, watching as Taika started his speech.

“He really does, this was one of the best scripts I’ve ever read.”

“I know…. I saw the movie.”

Scarlett scrunched her eyebrows together. “Hey, do you know why you have an empty seat beside you?”

“I don’t know, maybe someone wasn’t able to show up?” Lorelai guessed.

“Probably, I wonder who couldn’t make it.”

↠↠↠

“How’re you feeling?” Lorelai asked, a little bit later. They were now watching the little clips put together for the award of Best Documentary Feature.

“The nerves are still there but I’m good.”

“Good,” Lorelai smirked, she had a strange look in her eyes as they began clapping as the winner was announced. Scarlett gave her a suspicious look but paid her no mind as she listened to the speeches.

Soon enough, Mahershala Ali came out to present the award for Best Supporting Actress. Scarlett held her breath, squeezing Lorelai’s hand lightly as her heart beat out of her chest.

Mahershala began his speech. “Most every actress and actor I know wants to build a lasting body of work choosing roles that do more than just speak to them personally, but with the hope of their performance will resonate with others. The five women nominated Best Supporting Actress have done just that.”

The short clips of multiple different movies began, starting with Laura Dern in Marriage Story. Then she saw herself as Rosie Betzler in ‘Jojo Rabbit’ play on the screen. She sighed happily, feeling exhilarated that she was nominated. She smiled even harder when she saw Florence was also nominated. “Here are the nominees for performance by an actress in the supporting role.” He paused, “Kathy Bates, Richard Jewell. Laura Dern, Marriage Story. Scarlett Johansson, Jojo Rabbit. Florence Pugh, Little Women. Margot Robbie, Bombshell.”

“And, the Oscar goes to……. Scarlett Johansson, Jojo Rabbit.” Everyone in the crowd cheered as Scarlett stayed frozen in her seat. It wasn’t until Lorelai nudged her lightly did she realize that she had really won. Hugging a couple of friends quickly, Scarlett headed up onto the stage, smiling bashfully as everyone continued to clap. “Congratulations,” Mahershala said, giving her a quick hug and a kiss on the cheek.

“Thank you,” she smiled, taking the award as he handed it to her. She walked up to the microphone set up in the middle of the stage, standing in front of everyone beaming proudly when the crowd began to clap even harder.

Suddenly, Scarlett felt two arms wrap around her waist from behind. She spun around quickly, alarmed. She was fully prepared to scream out when she stared into a pair of eyes she’s longed to see in person for the past 7 months. “Oh my god,” she whispered, her words barely audible. Scarlett let go of her award as she wrapped her arms around your neck, hugging you tightly. With your quick reflexes, you manage to catch the award before it hits the ground and you hand it off to Lorelai who was waiting to receive it at the bottom of the stage.

You returned Scarlett’s hug just as tightly, cupping your right hand over her neck and wrapping your other arm around her waist, pulling her into you. “Hi baby,” you whispered into her hair, kissing her temple. You closed your eyes for a moment, cherishing the feeling of her finally being in your arms again. You didn’t realize how much you really missed her until just now.

You felt her body shake and gently you removed her from your body, keeping her at a nice distance. Scarlett had tears streaming down her face as she reached for you. “No,” she whimpered, her hands coming up to clench at your clothes. “Too far,” she clarified, tugging you closer still.

“Okay, I won’t go too far, but why’re you crying?” you asked, gently turning her body so her back faced the stage. Delicately, you brushed away her tears while you tried not to ruin her makeup. Thank god for waterproof makeup.

“I just missed you so fucking much,”

“I missed you too,” you kissed her head again, relishing the fact that she was with you for real and that it wasn’t a sick dream.

“What the hell are you doing here? I thought you were still in Rome!”

“I was… but I thought I’d stop by before my next show in a couple of days.” you replied, smiling warmly at her.

“What’re you wearing?” Scarlett asked, once she’s got a good look at you.

“What? You don’t like it? I think I’m dressed very nicely for the Oscars,” you teased, tugging at your hoodie and sweatpants, and then scrunching your face up, showing your face without any makeup.

“I think you look great.”

“I know… I was supposed to be at the house before you came here to actually be there for you but my flight got delayed because of the weather,”

Scarlett gasped, “That’s why you didn’t take my call!”

“Didn’t see it, had my phone on airplane mode. Anyways by the time I landed, the event had already started. And when I actually got here, they were presenting your award. I didn’t have time to change, if you can’t tell.”

“You look beautiful,” she said. “And I love you very much,” she murmured into your neck as she buried herself back into you. “And I appreciate you being here for me,”

“I love you too,” you mumbled. “Now, I think there’s an entire room full of celebrities waiting for your speech.” you quickly pulled away, making sure that you didn’t smear any of her makeup. Hastily, you reassured Scarlett that you would still be there when she was done with her speech but she wasn’t convinced. Instead, she clasped your hands together behind her as Lorelai handed her back her Oscar and headed back to her seat.

What the two of you didn’t realize was that during your reunion, the microphone had picked up everything you’ve both said and there wasn't a dry eye in the audience. Anyone who knew you and Scarlett knew that you were perfect for each other. And anyone who’s heard of you knew that you were the power couple that dominated every industry. You were the ‘it’ couple. One of the only couples the world knew that clicked as well as the two of you did.

You stood behind her, beaming with pride as Scarlett started her speech, her hand still grasped tightly in yours behind her back. “I’m so sorry about that, um, I haven’t seen her in 7 months and yeah,” she chuckled lightly, “I just wanted to thank everybody who got me here. I want to thank…” the rest of her speech faded away from your ears as you admired your girlfriend. You knew without a doubt that this would be the person that you’d spend the rest of your life with. “I also want to thank my partner in crime, Y/N,” you snapped back to reality at the sound of your name. “Without you, then none of this would’ve been possible, you helped me remember my lines and perfect my German accent, which was not easy, by the way, and yet, you never wavered. You never doubted for a second that I couldn’t do this, and I am so grateful to have you in my life. I love you more than words can ever express.” You smiled, kissing her cheek before you led Scarlett down the stairs to get her name engraved into her award. You stood beside her the entire time, holding her hand tightly, squeezing it periodically to reassure her that you were still there. And then again, when she went to get her picture taken. The media had a field day at the sight of you with Scarlett, dressed in old baggy clothes. However, you didn’t care at all. The only thing important to you was Scarlett.

The only time you let go of her hand was when an attendant needed her to return to her seat. You smiled at her comfortingly, “I’ll be back in a bit, love. I need to change into more appropriate clothes for tonight. I’ll meet you back at the seats.” Scarlett nodded before walking away, finally understanding the empty seat next to Lorelai when she saw she had moved down one spot.

“You sly bitch,” Scarlett whispered to her. Lorelai simply smiled before turning back to Cinematography clips.

Soon, Scarlett grew restless wondering where you were. As if you knew about her worries, you immediately appeared beside her, taking a seat next to her, dressed up like everyone else. You were wearing a black mermaid dress with no straps and shimmers decorated the fabric of the dress. Your hair was released from its messy bun and lay to rest on your shoulders. Your makeup around your eyes was dark but simple, just a bit more eyeliner on your waterline.

Scarlett’s incessant staring started to make you nervous and self conscious. “What? Do I look weird?”

“How is it possible that in only a couple minutes you can look so gorgeous while it takes me hours to look like this.” she gestured at herself.

“You look absolutely amazing,”

“You really think so?”

“Definitely,”

“Even if I probably had snot and tears running down my face earlier?”

“To me, you looked like an angel.”

↠↠↠

Everyone began clapping again as Rami Malik walked up onto the stage. “It is truly an honor and privilege to be here celebrating the transformative performances as displayed by these five nominees; they're powerful, profound, and indelibly etched in our history and in our hearts.” You smiled excitedly at Scarlett when you saw her picture from Marriage Story show up on the big screen. Your jaw dropped when you saw your performance for ‘Palm Springs’ appear on stage. “Here are the nominees for performance by an actress in a leading role. Cynthia Erivo, Harriet. Scarlett Johansson, Marriage Story.” You cheered loudly. “Saoirse Ronan, Little Women. Charlize Theron, Bombshell. Y/N L/N, Palm Springs.” This time, it was Scarlett who was cheering loudly for you, as you smiled shyly.

“And the Oscar goes to…… Y/N L/N.” Standing up, you had tears in your eyes as you gave everyone a hug. Scarlett gave you a quick kiss before you walked up onto the stage. “Congratulations,” Rami said, when he hugged you.

“Thank you,” you smiled as he handed you your award. Walking up to the microphone, you looked out into the crowd.

“I don’t know if any of you saw it earlier but I literally just arrived…” you laughed lightly, “Um wow… I did not know that I would be winning an Oscar tonight, or else I would’ve been more prepared. Truth be told, I was only really here to support my girlfriend, Scarlett Johansson. I had no idea that I would be winning something too. So, I’ll make this quick, I just want to thank Max Barbakow who even gave me the chance to audition for the part of Sarah. I also want to thank the amazing cast and crew, without you here then there wouldn’t be a movie to make and I am so grateful for all of you. And finally, I want to thank my incredible girlfriend, Scarlett Johansson. If it weren’t for you then I would’ve never even thought about taking this role. You have guided me and supported me through this entire project and I can’t thank you enough. I love you so much more than you’ll ever know. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have about 7 hours left here before I have to fly off to the next destination on my tour. Congrats to all the nominees and the winners tonight!”

Speedily, you walked across the stage and out the back to get your name engraved. You stopped for a couple pictures before you returned back inside. You came back in just as they announced the last winner for Best Motion Picture. The event soon came to a close.

You grinned along with Scarlett as everyone around you congratulated the two of you. Florence even came to tackle you into a hug. After arranging a date to hang out together again, you and Scarlett headed through the back where Lorelai and her driver were already waiting for you inside the car.

You opened the door for her, letting her in first. On the way back to the hotel, the two of you were sitting as close as you could with your seatbelts on. Your arm over Scarlett’s shoulder while she kept her face buried in your neck, trying to memorize your smell. The two of you spent the rest of the night talking about nothing and everything.

THE END

↠↠↠

3292 words

#scarlett johansson #scarlett johansson x reader #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #the oscars #singer!reader universe #singer!reader #scarlett x reader #avengers #marvel #mcu #marriage story #jojo rabbit #rosie betzler #Nicole barber

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munsonsmixtapes · 27 days

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Would it be possible to request (in the extent to which you are inclined to write it, if at all ❤️) a house party (maybe at Steve’s because he’s a little shit) where the mutually pining Eddie and the reader are SABOTAGED into a rigged game of 7 minutes in heaven which, needless to say, changes the nature of their friendship 👀

Thank you so much for the request, lovely! I love this idea!

Eddie x gender neutral!bestie!reader

You couldn’t believe you had let Eddie drag you to yet another one of Steve’s parties. They were always just another excuse for people to get drunk and you never cared for the company either. You didn’t understand why Eddie liked them so much, but you could never say no when looking into those big brown eyes. They always got you into trouble.

You stood by Robin and Nancy the entire night since Eddie took the opportunity to make some deals and you didn’t want to ruin them. But maybe you should have stuck with him since all the girls did was tease you about your little (huge) crush on the metalhead.

They had been trying to set the two of you up for years to no avail and were getting tired of sitting by and watch the two of you pine when it was obvious that you had feelings to each other.

That night, they were finally going to set you up with a little game of seven minutes in heaven. But knowing how stubborn the two of you were, they weren’t sure how it would work, but were still eager to try.

“We should all play a game,” Nancy suggested, maybe a little too enthusiastically. You weren’t into the usual party games and knew that whatever she was going to suggest was definitely something you were going to sit out on.

“Uh, no thanks.” You tried to back up, but Robin just grabbed hold of your arm, pulling you into the living room where everyone was already gathered.

“No, you have to. I promise it’ll be fun.” Her words didn’t sound promising, but you gave in, not wanting to disappoint her nor Nancy.

“What’s the game?” You asked and they both just smirked at you. That couldn’t have been good.

“Seven minutes in heaven,” they replied in unison and you just rolled your eyes in response. No fucking way were you playing that stupid game. The only person you wanted to play with was nowhere to be found and you didn’t want to be locked in a closet with anyone else but him.

“No way,” you shook your head. You couldn’t do it. You felt like it was a betrayal to Eddie even though you were sure that he didn’t feel the same way. You were always just going to be his best friend.

Nancy made you sit down on the couch next to Eddie who just shrugged at you when your eyes made contact. So apparently he had no idea what was going on either. That made you feel a bit better.

“Everyone ready to play?” Robin asked.

“No,” you and Eddie replied with a grumble and the girl just smiled in your direction.

Her eyes lit up and you felt your heart hammer in your chest as you realized what was happening. It was all a set up! You didn’t know why you hadn’t seen it sooner. It was all just another one of Robin and Nancy’s weird ways to set you and Eddie up.

Eddie on the other hand, was just plain clueless to the scheme and was honestly up for anything at that point. Anything to get over you. He had been pining for too long and instead of doing something about it, he decided that the best way to get over you was by getting under someone else.

What a stupid plan that was. All he could ever see was your face and it was driving him crazy. Maybe if you were the one he was under, he’d be able to get over it. Maybe that would have solved everything once and for all.

“I nominate y/n and Eddie to go into the closet,” Nancy smiled at the two of you. Both of your eyes widened at her words and once she realized that you weren’t standing, he pulled the two of you to your feet and pushed you both towards the closet.

You hesitantly went inside and Eddie followed, closing the door behind him. You quickly turned on the light and it illuminated the room, showcasing the beautiful man before you. His hair was pulled back and he had finally let his beard grow out like you had been begging him for once. Maybe if you had gotten the guts, you would have made a move and kissed him so you could feel his scruff against your face.

Eddie looked at you and couldn’t believe that you still weren’t his after all of the years he had spent pining for you. Why couldn’t he just stop being a baby and admit how he felt for you? Sure, being rejected would hurt like a fucking bitch, but at least you would have knowing the truth.

“We don’t have to do anything,” you assured him, playing with one of the loose threads on the end of your shirt sleeve.

“I know,” he nodded. “But…I’d like to…you know, if you wanted to.” He said the words so shyly that it was cute. He had never behaved that way in front of you before. He was always so confident, so sure of himself. It was weird seeing him like that.

“You would?” You didn’t think he had any interest in doing anything with you that the game entailed.

“I would,” he nodded enthusiastically and your heart melted.

“Oh.”

“Can I kiss you?” You swore your knees were going to go weak at hearing those words. You never ever thought he’d ask you that and weren’t even sure if you were awake. With your luck, you’d wake up to find that it was all just a surreal dream.

“Yes.” As soon as the words left your mouth, Eddie took your face in his hands and pressed his lips to yours, his scruff scraping your skin just like you had imagined.

Your arms wrapping tightly around his waist as you took what you wanted from each other, the kiss rough and heated. His hands moved to your hair, pressing into your scalp as he licked into your mouth, your tongues swirling together.

As soon as a moan fell from your lips, he pulled away, not wanting it to get too heated. He pressed his forehead to yours and a huge smile breaking out on his face that you mimicked.

“God, I’ve been wanting to do that since I can remember,” he breathed and you grabbed on tighter to his waist so you wouldn’t collapse to the floor.

“Me too,” you replied, feeling like he deserved honestly since he was being so open with you.

“I love you.” Your mouth fell open at his admission and you peppered his face in kisses in response while he let out the most adorable giggles.

“I love you too,” you told him and he just smiled before capturing your lips in another kiss. Needless to say that the two of you definitely spent more than seven minutes in the closet. You had a lot of lost time to make up for.

#stranger things #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x gender neutral reader

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queenshelby · 3 months

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OSCAR SPECIAL (PART THREE OF FOUR)

Given Cillian’s recent success, I decided to jump ahead a little in my fics and give you a little Oscar Special. But don’t worry, I will cover off everything in between in due course and, for some fics, this Oscar part will hopefully get you guessing, while for others it will constitute a happy ending!

The Director (Oscar Special)

18 months later....Media Snippet - E! News

"Cillian Murphy has just arrived at the red carpet, looking absolutely dazzling in a black suit and bowtie. Simple but exquisite nonetheless," one of the reporters said to another, a microphone hoisted between them.

The other beamed, while staring at the earpiece, where notes were fed to her. "And I can confirm that he arrived with Oppenheimer assistant director Y/N Y/LN as well as close friend Enda Walsh, both of whom he had worked with last year on his most recent movie called "Small Things Like These," she said, equally envious and enthusiastic as she watched the actor stroll down the red carpet.

"There is no sight of his wife Danielle Murphy which has sparked rumors afloat that they might be having marital troubles," her partner chimed in with, positioning a camera and focusing it commendably on Cillian without causing a scene.

"According to sources, it was rumored already last year that Danielle Murphy has moved out of their joint home shortly after filming of 'Small Things Like These' wrapped up, although no official statement has been released confirming it," she responded before the other reporter chimed in, announcing the arrival of yet another actor who was no other than your husband James McKibben.

"There is James McKibben, dressed in a white tuxedo! He's looking utterly fabulous as well!" the other reporter said, noting James' presence on the red carpet. The camera flashed as he walked down the glossy red surface, charisma and self-confidence emanating from him with ease as security held him back from where you were standing with both, Cillian and Enda.

"And here is a bit of trivia for you," the same reporter then announced quietly, pressing the microphone against her lips as if she was telling a secret. "Word has it that Murphy took out a restraining order against McKibbin following an incident at Universal in July last year," she paused for dramatic effect before going on. "It's not entirely clear what happened, but my guess is that involved Y/N Y/LN who, just earlier this year, filed for divorce from McKibbin," the reporter stated, feeling a little too much glee for having what seemed like an inside scoop before she went on to assess Cillian's chances of winning.

"Well, let's just say that everyone in the industry is rooting for Cillian this year. He has been nominated for an Oscar for his portrayal of Robert Oppenheimer in the film "Oppenheimer", a true masterclass in acting," the other reporter gushed, addressing the first one.

"You've got it. All eyes are on him tonight and whatever the rumors floating around may be, none of them will matter once he holds this statue in his hands," his colleague responded, sounding equally enamored with Cillian's acting range and talent that could very well help him win.

Hours later, he did, indeed, win the Oscar for Best Actor, and just like the reporter said, all eyes were on him as he accepted the award with grace and humility.

"Oh my god," he stammered almost nervously as he was handed his trophy. "Thank you so much for this great honor. Thank you Christopher Nolan and Emma Thomas for giving me the opportunity to play such a monumental role, one that I am still trying to process as the words come out of my mouth, and to all the cast and crew for their unwavering support throughout filming. I wouldn't be here without them," Cillian said with perhaps a slightly trembling voice.

It was not every day you get to be nominated for an Academy Award, let alone win one and, with that, his final thanks went to his adult children who believed in him along the way.

As expected though, Cillian did not mention his wife Danielle, whose absence after almost twelve years of marriage sparked rumors of ongoing troubles between them.

An usher arrived to signal him off the stage and waved to the audience before taking a seat again right next to you.

"I am so proud of you," you whispered in Cillian's ear, your lips brushing against the delicate outer shell in a way no one noticed.

"You know I couldn't have done it without you, right?" he then whispered back while, discreetly, taking your hand into his and giving it a firm squeeze, as if he needed you there just as much as you needed him.

The weight of the Oscar in his hand was surreal, the sheer scale of his victory even more so, but with you by his side, the feeling was no longer uncanny, but rather, comforting but what would come next, at the after party, was going to be an utter surprise for you both.

Timeline Note for my fic:

Filming Oppenheimer - September/October 2022

Filming STLT - January/February 2023

Oppenheimer Release/Press Engagements - July 2023

Award Season 2024 - January/February/March 2024

To be continued...

Tags:

@sunbeamseas @saint-ackerman @oatmealisweird @naxxsstuff @amanda08319 @r-m-cidnah @elysiannook @cillshot @infireddabdab @tastycakee @harrysbestiee @lilybabe22 @adalynlowell @henrywintersdearestgirl @ietss @thatgirlthatreadswattpad @ryiamarie @axionn

@heidimoreton @nela-cutie @futurecorps3 @delishen @nosebleeds-247 @thirteenis-myluckynumber @gills-lounge @hjmalmed @lost-fantasy @tiredkitten @sidechrisporn @smallsoulunknown @charqing-qing @hopefulinlove @aporiasposts @shycrybaby @me-and-your-husband @hjmalmed @lacontroller1991 @galxydefender @aporiasposts

@galxydefender @hunnibearrr @saint-ackerman @lunyyx @gentlemonsterjennie1 @ihavealotoffandomssorry @nadloves @lost-fantasy @nolucesn@mcavoy-girl @hjmalmed @bloodybagels @obeyme4life @richiesgroupie @blushykiss @tatumrileyslover @teawithsatanx @orijanko @rhaenyra4ever @xcinnamonmalfoyx @budugu @nadloves @kmc1989 @bloodybagels @obeyme4life @richiesgroupie @forgottenpeakywriter @smailaway @sophiaaguirred

#cillian murphy #cillian murphy smut #cillian murphy x you #cillian murphy imagine #tommy shelby #cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy x y/n

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destinyc1020 · 1 month

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My Movie Review: "Challengers" 🎾

**Caution...May Contain Some Spoilers**

Okay okay..... Here we gooo! Another film review.... 😁🙌🏾

Y'all.... I have so much to say about this movie lol. 😅 I'll just be honest, like...I had some mixed feelings about this one!

Okay, so first of all.... I had a great time going to see this movie. My girlfriends and I all went to one of those theaters where you can order REAL food and alcohol, and they bring it right to your seat. 😁 We decided to treat ourselves to this one, and just have a "girl's night out" watching it.

Our little theater was quite packed too! Saw a lot of date-night couples watching this together lol. 🤭 I think I saw another group who was doing a girl's night out.

So anyway....

The movie ended up being an enjoyable rollercoaster for all of us lol. It definitely kept my attention, it wasn't boring at all, and it gave many of us several things to talk about/discuss long after the movie was over! I LOVE films that make you think, and that have you talking about it afterwards. Even if we disagree, it's just nice to see a movie like this that sparked a good discussion afterwards. 😊 Here were my Pros/Cons and random thoughts that I had during and after this movie lol....

PROS

Everyone's acting was solid in this! I already knew that Mike and Josh are stellar actors (I've seen them in other projects before, and both have done theater if I'm not mistaken), but ZENDAYA!! Zendaya babeeeee....She surprised me in this one! Dare I say it?? I think "Challengers" was her best acting job yet on the big screen. 👏🏾 She really embodied that "Bad B*itch"/Boss vibe very well imo. She was definitely believable! LOL 😅

The CINEMATOGRAPHY! Omg the cinematography in this film was so good and on point. I loved how the camera would change perspectives during a match (especially the end match) and would switch and show you the ball's pov, then the pov of the players, and whatnot. It was dizzifying switch and camera change for sure lol, but it was very creative. I honestly think that this film could be nominated for an Oscar just for the cinematography alone. 😊👍🏾

The music .... The music was a pro AND a con (more on that later) for me. It had a really hype techno beat throughout the movie, and that really helped to keep the movie hyped and show the fast-pace of the sport. I really liked it! It was catchy lol. 😅

Zendaya was GORGEOUS in this movie! I kept looking at how flawless her skin was in this. It's so rare that we get "adult" Z in her films lol, so it was just nice and refreshing to see her finally playing more of an adult in a big screen role, and seeing her be the desirable/sexy/attractive one in a film for a change. She really looked amazing in this. 😊 I'd love to see her do more roles where she's playing the object of desire. We need more woc in roles like this.

I loved the subtle ways in which Luca shows that tennis is basically like a relationship in this film. I loved that metaphor. I think the little subtle hints for the movie were quite creative, and it's one of those films where I think it would be good to watch at least twice in order to catch more of the subtleties and how the sport related to their relationships and inner dynamics throughout the film.

I LOVED that scene where Patrick and Tashi met up with each other, and it's so WINDY and wild. Just like their relationship.... Windy, unpredicatable, destructive, yet exciting... Unlike her boring relationship with her husband lol. LOVED the subtleties in this film.

I loooved seeing Zendaya in her "Bad Gal" element. Yaaass! 👏🏾 I love it! I think it's harder playing a villain or someone who's not redeeming honestly.

Hahaha I have to give a shoutout to Darnell.... Good seeing him on the screen. Glad he was able to add another big major film on the big screen to his roster lol. 😜

Zendaya's body was BODY GOALS in this film.... 🔥 Can I just say?? I was like, "Dang.... let me keep going to the gym". 👀 And then, the other thought I had was, "Shooooot....no wonder Tom came back ROTFL." 😅🤣 Lemme stop lol.

I loved the anticipation for the final match, and it really kept you on the edge of your feet lol. 😁

CONS

Now for the cons.... 👀

Was it just me?? Or, sometimes the music in this movie was a bit TOO loud Lol. For example, there was a scene where Patrick and Tashi were talking in the hotel, and the techno music is SO LOUD that I could barely even make out what they were saying (and it seemed important too). Maybe it's just me.... But at times, the music was drowning out the dialog, and I didn't like that. Anyone know what Patrick and Tashi said to each other at the hotel when the music got to be so loud lol? 😅

I STILL hate that "my little white boys" line ...UGH! It's SO CRINGGGGGE! 😫😩🙈

I definitely saw a LOT more sausage and moons than I expected to see in this movie lol... 👀 😅 I meannnnn.... Idk... Is male frontal nudity EVER really necessary?? Let's be honest lol. I honestly don't think so. I kind of wonder why it's even needed?? (I say the same thing about female frontal nudity as well). Idk, sometimes I wonder why certain directors make that choice to add that in, when it's not even necessary 9 times out of 10. I just don't like things being done gratuitously . Like, gratuitous sex scenes for example.

I'll be honest, I didn't really care too much for some of the plotlines and writing in the film.... 😬 I'll also just come right out and say it... I kind of wish that Z had done a slightly different film than this for her big-screen lead role debut. I kind of wish it weren't such an "adult" film with a ton of sexual themes and elements. I kinda wish too that Tashi was not personified in the way that she was. It's one thing to be a very determined and dedicated athlete, but another thing altogether to be the stereotypical cold, icy, attitude-having diva. I also look at this from a woc/black woman's pov as well. Part of me feels like we as Black women are so hypersexualized (and seen as "grown") , and stereotyped as having "attitudes" from such a young age, and it just makes me feel like women/female actresses shouldn't have to get naked or be overly sexualized in order to win awards or get good critical acclaim for their roles. (I read that the film Emma Stone won an Oscar for this year, "Poor Things", had a lot of sex and nudity in it as well....🥴) Don't get me wrong, I'm not a "prude", but when it comes to WOC, I just want better for us since we're already so stereotyped and stigmatized. Like, why couldn't Z's big-screen lead role debut be the Ronnie Spector Biopic film?? Or, why couldn't it be a film like "Hidden Figures" where she's playing a black female mathematician who aids in the space launch? I don't feel like you have to resort to sex or get undressed in your underwear to be taken "seriously" as a "serious actor", but maybe the meaty roles for adult women in Hollywood that don't add that in are really scarce. Anyway, that was my only gripe. 😊

RANDOM THOUGHTS & QUESTIONS

When people claimed that there wasn't any real redeeming character in this film...boyyyyy...they weren't KIDDING!!! 🤣 I don't mind characters who aren't perfect or aren't the best though, so that didn't bother me. My only question was.... Why on earth did Tashi hate Patrick so much?? Does anyone else know?? 😅 I kept waiting and waiting during the movie to see some big REVELATION of something really HORRIBLE that he did to Tashi in order to deserve the type of hate that she dished out to him, but I couldn't figure out anything?? I mean, I know they dated each other at one time when they were younger, but I don't see why she's still hating on this man in her 30's when they dated in their teens and early 20s lol. 😅 She's out here married and even has like a 6 year old kid and is STILL hating on this man.... WHY?? 😅 Can someone PLEASE explain that to me?? Cuz right now, I can only surmise that the only reason why Tashi is so mean to Patrick is because deep down, she's still attracted to him, so she has to hate on him in order to curb that HAHAHA. 🤣 Maybe I'm just a Patrick-sympathizer lol, but I can't really see how he was a bad boyfriend or how he did anything wrong?? Yes, he shouldn't have slept with Tashi (Art's WIFE), but HE was single.... TASHI was the one married, so really, SHE was the main one at fault here as far as I'm concerned lol. 😅

Why did Art and Patrick like Tashi so much?? I mean, aside from the fact that she was gorgeous (obviously lol)....She seemed like such a ballbuster and treated them like crap lol.

Mike has a cute butt lol 🤭

Josh does a really good American accent. I only heard it go out and switch off like maybe once or twice lol. Only slightly lol. 😅

BTW, in case you were wondering...I'm Team Patrick lol.... 🤭 He was just a washed up bum of an athlete lol. I feel like Art and Tashi were way more manipulative. Jmho. I do kinda feel bad for Art though on some level, cuz it was CLEAR Tashi was in a boring, lifeless marriage and didn't really love him anymore lol.

I saw people in our audience gasping and covering their mouths during some of the sexual scenes lol. I could tell a couple of the girls in the theater were fans of Zendaya and had never seen her in such a role before hahaha. Some were laughing at some of the sexual stuff and it was like uncomfortable laughter/giggling lol. The guys included lol. 🤭

I'm not sure what awards this film will be up for, but seeing as how it's a film by Luca, we might actually see Z getting an Oscar nod for this!! Or, at the very least, maybe engaged in a FYC campaign. I can see it. Luca is very well-known...his film CMBYN garnered Oscar nods (including an Oscar nod for Timothee), and Z is Hollywood's Darling atm, soooo idk y'all! We might be looking at "Oscar-Nominated Actress" Zendaya next year! I guess we'll have to see lol. 😊

I looooved that Z was able to work with such a renowned and well-liked film director. I'm glad she got that experience. She's been working with some great directors lately (ie. Luca, Denis, etc), and I love that for her. It seems like FFC was also eyeing her for one of his roles at one time as well. So, I'm so proud of our girl!!! 👏🏾

OVERALL

Overall.... Definitely a fun, joyride of a film. 😊 VERY creatively done. So far, I haven't really been THAT impressed with Luca's films (CMBYN being the other one I've seen), but his films def make you THINK, long after they're over, that's for sure lol. The movie was fun and enjoyable to watch. There were just a few things that I felt could have been better imo.

OVERALL SCORE: 6.5/10

#my film review #Destiny's Film Reviews #challengers #destiny reviews movies #my movie review #sorry for the delay

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scoonsalicious · 2 months

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Pocket MCU - Iron Man 1/?

In Which Pocket and Tony Have a Video Call.

Word Count: 979

Scene In-Movie @ 10:30

So, I decided to re-watch Iron Man tonight, and I started thinking about how Pocket would fit into existing MCU narratives. So, here's a little bonus, taking place during the first Iron Man movie. This might turn into something, it might not. For now, just a little fun thing I did, mostly so I could write more Pocket/Tony (even though she hasn't been given the nickname 'Pocket' yet). Enjoy!

“Only you would fuck a girl who called you a war profiteer,” you told Tony over the video call from your office in New York. “She still upstairs?”

“Miss Potts should be taking care of her right now,” Tony said as he fiddled with the engine of his 1932 Ford Flathead Roadster in his Malibu garage.

“How’s that working out, anyway?” you asked, your interest piqued. “She’s lasted loads longer than any of your other personal assistants.”

“She’s good,” Tony said, taking a piece of the car’s engine out and putting it aside. “Very efficient.”

“I like her,” you told him. “I think she’s been good for you.”

“Yeah, well, I wouldn’t need her if you just moved out here permanently,” he told you.

“And just leave the New York office to Obadiah Stane? I don’t think so,” you said.

“I don’t know why you hate him so much, Kiddo,” Tony said, turning his focus away from the car and fully onto you.

“He’s the one who hates me,” you clarified. “I’m just matching his energy.”

“I think you’re reading too much into it. He’s a little wary of you, that’s all.”

“He hates that you nominated me for Chief Technical Officer,” you said. “He officially opposed the nomination in front of the board.”

Tony frowned. “When the fuck did that happen? Why wasn’t I informed of it?”

You rolled your eyes. “Maybe if you spent a little less time shooting craps and fucking Vanity Fair reporters, and actually attended a board meeting every once in a while,” you said.

“I’ll talk to him,” Tony assured you.

“No, don’t,” you protested. “It’s bad enough he thinks I’m just another one of your fangirls. The last thing I need is for you to make a demand on him for my sake.”

“Well, what do you want me to do?” he asked you. “This job is yours– it should be yours. You’ve earned it.”

You sighed. “And I appreciate you saying that. Thing is, I’m not going to prove that by having you tell people. Only way it’s going to happen is if they see what I’m capable of, and if I leave New York for Malibu, they never will.”

“Did I ever tell you you’re very annoying when you make a valid point that goes against what I want?” Tony asked you.

“Frequently. All the time. Why do you think I enjoy doing it so much?”

“You know, I think I liked you better when you were just a stripper,” he said.

You stuck your tongue out at him through the video feed. “Yeah, well, whose fault is it that I’m not anymore?”

“You could always join my flight crew, if you ever wanted back on the pole,” he teased.

“Please,” you scoffed at the suggestion. “You call them dancers? They should be ashamed of themselves.”

“Hey now, what they lack in rhythm, they make up for in other… areas,” Tony smirked.

“Do you ever get tired of being a giant slut?” you asked affectionately.

“Not yet, but if I do, you’ll be the first to know.”

“Maybe second,” you told him.

“Whaddaya mean?”

“I don’t know– maybe you should tell Miss Potts first,” you grinned. You looked behind him to see the woman in question coming down the stairs through the glass door behind him. “Speaking of which, it’s her birthday today, so be nice.”

Tony’s eyes widened. “How the hell do you know that?” he asked you.

“I pay fucking attention, dumbass,” you said.

Pepper Potts entered the basement, talking on the phone. “You are supposed to be halfway around the world right now,” she said to Tony as she tapped something on her tablet.

“Hey, Pepper,” you called.

“(Y/N), hi,” the other woman said. “How’s the nomination going?”

You shrugged. “Oh, you know, just roadblocks from the patriarchy. No big deal.”

Pepper nodded understandingly at that.

“How’d she take it?” Tony asked Pepper, interrupting your conversation.

“Like a champ,” Pepper offered.

“Which translates to ‘like an obnoxious bitch,” you chuckled. Pepper winked at you over Tony’s shoulder. “You owe her a raise, Boss,” you told Tony.

“You give a raise,” Tony said. He directed his next words to Pepper: “Why are you trying to hustle me out of here?”

“Your flight was scheduled to leave an hour and a half ago,” she told him.

“That’s funny,” Tony said as he continued to play with the engine of the Roadster. “I thought with it being my plane and all, that it would just wait for me to get there.”

“This is the flight to Afghanistan?” you asked, and Pepper nodded at you.

“I mean,” Tony spoke over you, “doesn’t it defeat the whole purpose of having your own plane if it departs before you arrive?”

“Ignore him, Pepper,” you said, turning to face your computer monitor. “Tony, if you don’t get your ass to the airport right now, I’m going to hack into JARVIS’s system right now and swap all your playlists from metal to nineties bubblegum pop.”

“You wouldn’t.” Tony said, standing up and wiping his hands on a towel.

“Don’t test me, Boss,” you threatened. “This is a huge-ass contract.”

Inside Tony’s garage, the opening notes of Hanson’s MMMBop began to play.

“Fine, enough! You win, you tiny monster!’ Tony grunted, throwing his towel down.

You immediately cut the music. “Get on that plane,” you warned him. “I’ll know if you don’t.” You gave him a Look. “And Pepper, tell him to stop pulling your pigtails, okay?”

Pepper blushed, but she just nodded.

“Give Rhodey a hug for me,” you told Tony, “and let me know when you land, you absolute dipshit.” You disconnected the call.

“You know,” said Tony, turning back to Pepper, “sometimes I regret ever meeting that kid.”

Pepper smiled. “No, you don’t.”

Tony grinned at her. “No, no I don’t. Not even for a second. Now, about that Jackson Pollock painting…”

#Pocket MCU #Unwanted prequel

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harrysfinelinevol1 · 2 years

Text

track 5

harry styles x famous!reader

summary: you have been invited on the late late show to play spill your guts or fill your guts with your ex boyfriend harry. after the game he reveals something to you which makes you question everything. (this takes place just after fine line has come out)

word count: 3.3k

warnings: very slight smut at the end, eating gross food? idk

Sometimes, you did really question how you ended up in scenarios like the one you were currently in. You always knew that a downside of fame would be the appearances you would have to make and the awkward interviews you had to sit through but this was just pretty strange.

A movie you were starring in had just come out and you were incredibly proud of it. It was one of your best performances and there were rumours circulating of an Oscar nomination heading your way. You were going through a long week of press appearances and premiers but this appearance really topped them all.

You were currently sitting across from your ex-boyfriend, a table full of disgusting food between the two of you and a set of questions off to the side, which you knew would contain questions about your relationship. When your manager mentioned doing this segment and appearing on the Late Late Show, you had always presumed you would be doing this alongside James Corden. However, after you had agreed to it, your manager kindly let you know you would be interviewed by the one and only Harry Styles.

You and Harry had dated for about a year, and you had a very happy relationship together and still were friendly with each other. You hadn't had an explosive break-up that everyone had said you had, it was amicable. Both of your careers were dragging you in different directions and soon it became impossible to sustain a relationship. That didn't mean you weren't sad when it ended, you had loved Harry and the year you spent together had been one of the best of your life, but it just wasn't meant to be. You still texted him occasionally but you had pretty much removed yourself from his life, knowing it would be easier to get over him if you did. Since you broke up, he had gone on to release another album and you had starred in Little Women, one of the biggest films of the year.

You had to admit though, despite it being amicable between you and Harry, playing spill your guts or fill your guts with him wasn't at the top of your list of ideal interviews. You had had a slight temper tantrum with your manager when you found out until she told you to stop being childish and just to get on with it. You had huffed and whined about it but eventually just did what you were told, knowing you were more than capable of putting on a brave face and pretending to be happy for the camera. You were an actress after all.

You sent him a small smile as you lowered yourself into the seat opposite him, which he returned with a much cheekier smile. You realised he was enjoying watching you squirm and you weren't having any of it. Raising an eyebrow at him, you sent him a silent warning with your eyes but a warmer smile grew on your face. Despite everything you already felt comfortable around him, sort of falling back into the way you used to be with each other.

At that point the director came strolling up to you both, slightly smirking at the scene of the both of you eyeing each other up across the table.

"Right guys, I'm sure you already know the general gist of the game, but there's a pile of questions beside you and luckily for you, some disgusting food you get to eat on the table. When it's your turn, ask the other person a question and the other person can decide whether they want to answer the question or eat the food to avoid answering. Very simple. There's a bucket beside you to spit out any food, as well as a glass of water and a napkin. If at any point you feel really sick, please just raise your hand and we will halt filming. Hopefully, that won't happen though," he joked and both you and Harry didn't really smile back, not exactly thrilled about the idea of potentially throwing up on live TV.

"All good," he asked and you and Harry both nodded.

"Perfect. Ok you're on in a minute," he finished and rushed back over to his spot behind the camera. You adjusted your outfit. You now realise wearing a white suit was maybe not your best idea.

"You look beautiful," Harry muttered from across the table and your head snapped up.

"Oh, um, thank you. You look very smart too," you complimented back, checking out his brown suit and the way it hugged all his best features. He did look really good but you would never admit it to anyone.

"30 SECONDS PEOPLE," a crew member shouted and you gathered yourself, trying not to look too flustered at the fact that Harry had just called you beautiful.

"And 5, 4, 3, 2, 1.. Go Harry," the director called as you heard the theme song playing.

"Hello and welcome back! We are now joined by the lovely Y/N L/N!" Harry announced as the audience cheered. You smiled and waved into the camera, thanking the audience for their support.

"Now Y/N," he said turning dramatically to you and you couldn't help the small smile that grew on your face. He was a natural host. "How are you feeling about this."

"I can't believe I agreed to this really," you joked and the audience laughed.

"You haven't played this before," he asked and you shook your head.

"No first time," you said as you grimaced at the food.

"Ok so this is our first time..." he began and the audience whooped in response, both of you laughing as you clocked on to what Harry said.

"Not like that!" he teased and everyone laughed. "Ok, ok, settle down, let's take a look at what's on the table tonight."

He grabbed the table to begin swivelling it to show the audience.

"So first we have jellied moose nose," he announced and the audience groaned.

"Yeah, ew," Harry mimicked them as he moved the table to the next one and began reading out all the gross food on the table. Your stomach turned slightly at the thought of putting any of it in your mouth. Eventually, Harry finished going through the food and turned to you.

"Ok Y/N, you're going to go first, and just to clarify, the producers have not shown us the questions, correct?"

"Unfortunately they have not," you responded cheekily.

"Ok, so you'll choose the food I have to eat if I chose not to answer," and you agreed eagerly, sort of excited to start playing.

"Ok Harry, you're going to be eating... Fried Tarantula!" you announced moving the dish over to him and laughing as he groaned into his hands.

"Delightful, thanks Y/N," he bantered.

"No worries. Right," you leaned over and picked up a question, giggling to yourself when you read what was on it.

"Oh god," he muttered.

"I am 26 years old. Your friend, Emma Corrin, is also 26 years old. Who is the most talented 26-year-old?" you asked and the audience gasped as Harry threw his head back laughing.

"Come on!" he groaned as he picked up the knife and fork and cut a bit of the fried tarantula. You grimaced as he held it up to his mouth.

"Oh Harry," you sympathised and he looked at you deadpan.

"Yeah you feel bad now, don't you," he teased and you shrugged, very amused by the situation. You almost gagged as he quickly popped the tarantula into his mouth and chewed on it, his face scrunching up as he reached for the bin next to spit it out, the audience cheering loudly.

"Eww," you groaned, as Harry took a sip of water.

"Wow, that has an aftertaste!" he coughed as he took some more water. "Ok. Er... it will be a prawn smoothie for you," he grinned as he moved it over to you and you winced.

"Nooo, I hate prawns," you groaned as Harry picked up the question card.

"I know," he teased and the audience went mad. Rolling your eyes you waited for him to ask the question. He snorted as he read it and you were filled with dread.

"Rate all the One Direction members, from worst to best," he read and everyone cheered as you raised your eyebrows, trying to work out if you could answer this. You rested your chin in your hand as you thought about the question.

"I'm offended you're even thinking about this," he chastised, giving you that signature cheeky grin.

"I don't know how to answer it, you're all so nice," you tried and he shook his head.

"Ok," Harry said sarcastically, not believing a word you were saying.

"Shut up! You are!" you exclaimed and he chuckled.

"Drink the smoothie," he told you and you shook your head.

"No!"

"Go on then answer!" he kept pushing you, with the audience egging you on.

"Ok um... from worst to best...uh... ok," you stuttered and Harry groaned.

"Come on!" he said as the audience cheered louder.

"Liam, Zayn, Louis, Niall, Harry," you quickly rushed out and the audience screamed in delight while you buried your hands in your face.

"I haven't met Liam or Zayn, it's not personal," you explained and Harry shrugged.

"I'm first, that's all that matters," he smirked and the audience went wild again as you blushed a bright red, begging Harry with your eyes to move on.

"Right, for that, you're gonna be eating some bull testicles," you shot back, swivelling the gross-looking food in front of him and he pulled a face when he saw them.

"Mmm lovely," he said as you reached for the next card, heart racing a bit when you read what was on it. Harry looked nervous at your reaction and you wickedly grinned at him.

"I've actually really wanted to know this," you started and he gulped, genuinely worried about what you were going to ask.

"Which songs on Fine Line were about me?" you questioned and everyone lost it. You were giggling away as Harry clapped a hand over his face, the audience begging him to answer. You knew there was no way on earth he would answer and you were right as he pulled the napkin out with a flourish and tucked it into his shirt, poking the testicles around with his fork, staring at them disgusted.

"So er... I'd say track..." he teased and you laughed loudly.

"Just don't look at it," you tried.

"Oh yeah, that fixes everything," he scoffed as he cut a little bit of the testicles onto his fork. He sat there sighing for a bit, staring at the gross food on his fork.

"What are we doing?" he pondered and you chuckled. Quickly, he lifted the fork up to his mouth and popped the food in, grimacing immediately as the taste hit his tongue. After chewing a bit, he spat it out, almost gagging.

"The texture was just horrible, ugh," he gagged as you chuckled, very much enjoying this now.

"Y/N. For this question, I am going to give you... some ant soup," he said as he moved the grey-looking liquid in front of you.

"Ugh, I'm not eating that," you groaned and Harry picked up the card, cackling as he read it.

"Think you might be love. You are one of the most recognised actresses in the world, who is the worst person you have ever worked with?" he asked and you buried your face in your hands, realising there was no way you could answer this.

"Who is itttt?" Harry teased as you glared at him, tentatively picking up the spoon.

"I can't answer that," you said as you quickly spooned the disgusting soup into your mouth. It was worse than you imagined, you quickly swallowed it and then reached over for the water, chugging it to rid your mouth of the taste. Harry was laughing the whole time as your face screwed up in disgust.

"That was horrific," you gasped as you stopped drinking water.

"To be fair, watching you eat that made me feel sick," Harry sympathised.

"Ok," you said as you gathered yourself. "Uh Harry, you shall be having some fish eyes tonight," you chose as you spun the table around and he groaned.

"Lovely, can't wait."

"Alright," you said as you reached for the card, smiling when you read the question. "If you get this wrong, I'll be very upset. Before the show today, you said you had thoroughly enjoyed my recent movie, Little Women. Which March sister did I play in the movie?" you asked and the audience all began whispering, paying keen attention to Harry to see if he knew the answer.

"Oh god," he teased, pretending to have a real think about it and you pretended to act annoyed.

"Oh come off it Harry," you sighed as he pretended to deliberate for a bit longer.

"You played Meg March," he said seriously and your jaw dropped. He'd actually got it wrong. Then suddenly his face broke into a grin and you realised he'd been messing with you.

"Only joking, you played Jo!" he teased and the audience all applauded him for getting it right while you scowled at him.

"I actually thought you didn't know the answer for a second there," you giggled as he clapped his hands in delight and turned to the camera.

"That was Spill your Guts or Fill your Guts, we'll be right back with more Late Late Show!" he exclaimed as the audience cheered loudly and the camera's panned away. As they called cut, you and Harry were ushered to the side where you were offered water and gum to get the horrible taste out of your mouths. You laughed along with him as you recalled the horrific things you ate as you prepared yourselves for the interview section of the show. Just as you were about to go back on, a wave of confidence came over you and you stepped up beside Harry.

"So which tracks was it?" you questioned and he looked down at you and smirked.

"Most of them," he said sincerely and you were taken aback slightly, not expecting that at all.

"Really?" you exhaled, suddenly feeling quite nervous.

"Bar a couple, most of them were about you. Track 5 in particular, your voice is literally at the end of it," he chuckled and you shrugged.

"I haven't heard that one," you whispered, ashamed that you hadn't properly listened to the whole album yet, even though Harry had already seen your new movie. However, he didn't look offended at all.

"Go listen to it. I've gotta go back on but you have a couple minutes. Enjoy," he said as he winked at you, slipping back through the curtains to set up. You quickly scrambled about on your phone, willing Spotify to load so you could listen to it. You clicked on the song called Cherry and the music started floating out of the phone speaker.

By the end of it, you were a wreck, you had no idea Harry missed you so much. You began reading the lyrics for his other songs on the album and realised how many of them pertained to you. The album was mostly about you.

"Fuck," you whispered as you quickly snuck outside and went over to where Harry was sitting.

"Drinks after this?" you whispered in his ear and he nodded quickly, trying to stop the grin that was fighting its way onto his face.

"Cool," you said as you rushed backstage again, nervously wringing your hands.

You tried to keep your cool throughout the interview, but all you could think about was the songs that Harry had written you. Your head was a bit of a mess and Harry could see that, but he made sure that he focused on the questions he was asking you and you gave pretty good responses, all things considered. After the interview and the show had wrapped, you quickly went back to your dressing room, to get your mic off and then you began listening to the entirety of the album. Sunflower was your favourite, the tune reminding you of early mornings in your kitchen with Harry. A knock on your door pulled you out of your stupor and you opened it nervously to be met by a grinning Harry.

"Enjoying yourself?" he asked referring to the fact that Cherry was on repeat for the 4th time this evening. You rolled your eyes and grabbed your stuff.

"Come on H. I think we've got a lot to talk about," you acknowledged as you headed out the door and he nodded as he followed you.

You talked all evening. You talked about how you both desperately missed each other and how you had both been really sad when you broke up but you agreed that it had been right at the time. You talked about what you had been up to in the year and a half you had been apart. Harry talked about writing the album and how, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't get you out of his head when he wrote the songs which is why so many were inspired by you. You mentioned the guy you had briefly gone out with and Harry's eyes darkened and he told you that that was why he wrote Cherry. He told you that it had been one of the sadder periods of the last year when he really thought it was completely over between the two of you and there was no chance of reconciliation. He opened up about the fact he had never really left you entirely and he always still had one foot through the door. You agreed and said you had been in denial for a while that it was truly over. It was getting late in the night when you both looked at each other and realised you had spent the last 4 hours going in circles and avoiding the most important question that was hanging over the both of you.

"I don't think I want us to be apart again," Harry mumbled and you nodded. Both of you were a bit tipsy and feeling quite emotional.

"Neither do I. I should never have let you go," you admitted and Harry cursed under his breath.

"Y/N I... I never stopped loving you. I don't know what the future has in store for us but I just know that I want you in it," he professed and you were quite taken aback. The chat had taken quite a turn.

"Please say something, love," he begged as he reached across the table to take your hand.

"I miss you," you blurted out. "I miss you so much it hurts and I want to be with you again. I never stopped loving you either."

"Come back to me Y/N," he whispered and you nodded, wanting nothing more than to be in his arms again. He tugged on your hand and you rose up out of your seat and walked over to settle on his lap. You didn't care that you were in the middle of the bar as you crashed your lips into his, savouring every moment with him. You couldn't believe this was happening but a small part of you always knew you would find your way back to each other. You were made for each other

And, that night as Harry had you on your kitchen counter with his head buried between your thighs, he looked up at you cheekily again.

"You know, you heavily inspired a certain song on that album," he smirked and you rolled your eyes knowing where he was going with this.

"Harry I swear to god if you say I inspired..." you started but he cut you off.

"Watermelon Sugar," he grinned and lowered his head back onto your folds again. You couldn't even lament him for it, as your moans filled the kitchen and your heart swelled to the point you thought it would burst.

You were home.

turns out, i can actually write shortish fics. this popped into my head one day and i knew i had to write it. i hope you enjoy!!!

sloane xx

#harry styles blurb #harry styles x reader #harry styles #harry styles fluff #harry styles imagine #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x you #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #x reader #harry styles and reader #harry styles reader insert #spill your guts

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