#but also Miles and that lifted foot

[smuthospital]

🎃⭐️Texas Chainsaw Massacre x reader⭐️🎃

Art by: Minilev

Premise: You go hiking with a friend and this bitch has the audacity to leave you alone. You end up hitchhiking with some hippies, but their van gets a flat! Oh no! Good thing there's a farmhouse nearby. Maybe they can help

Note: I had this in the drafts for awhile. I decided to whip it out for halloween. Enjoy. Say one thing bad thats not constructive criticism and its a block. Tired of these fucking kids smh. Also, imagine everyone with a soulthern accent

-Dr. Smut

Minors DNI

Warning: Non-Con, side charicter death, mentions of gore, kidnapping, fem reader

"So uh..thanks for picking me up." You say with a nervous smile. You refrain from coughing as the strong smell of marijuana floods your nose. Right now, you're in a classic 70s Volkswagen van, hitchhiking through Texas. Your friend convinced you to go backpacking with her, but a quarterway through, she ditched you to continue the trip with her new boyfriend. Some junky she met at a gas station. You can't exactly turn tail and go home because she took the car, and stranded you in the middle of nowhere so, you had no choice, but to catch a ride with some hippies.

"No prob, sweet cheeks. Anything for a pretty lil' lady like yourself." The driver looks back at you for a moment and winks. You think he may like you. You cringe slightly. "Eddy has a crush on you! Ain't that right, Ed?" A girl next to you wearing a tie-dye crop top pokes Edds back a couple of times. "Well, who wouldn't?" He chuckles. You play with your fingers nervously. You've been driving along a dusty, desolate path through some empty part of Texas for a while now. You've always been perturbed by the idea of Texas. Americans and with their guns and hot temper and all. It seems you may have watched too many scary movies. You haven't seen a soul for miles, let alone a house, just tall grass and more tall grass.

The car suddenly jolts and you're all jostled around. The girl sitting next to you clings to you as the driver slams the brakes. You gasp for air, your heart pounding a mile a minute. "Huh!? W-what the!?" Edd shouts before hopping out to investigate. You cautiously slip out the back and join him. Edd lifts a spiked wire. It's still stuck in the now flat tire. "Some asshole must'a dropped it here while delivering somethin'," he says as he drops it back on the ground. It popped the back tires. You pull out your phone. No service. Of course.

"Do you have any spares?" You ask, hoping to get out of this creepy place. "Unfortunately these are the spares, sweet cheeks." He sighs. "Weren't you supposed to buy more, Ed?" Ann shouts from the window. "This is no time to argue! We have to get help!… Look, There's a farmhouse right there. Let's hope someone's home." He says, walking towards it.

You hesitantly follow them to the creepy house. "I'm gonna check the farm, you two knock on the door." Edd doesn't give anyone time to respond before he walks off. You walk up to the front door and Ann knocks. You feel like you're being watched. You shift from foot to foot nervously. A few minutes pass and no word. Not even a sound. "What the? Where's Edd? If no one was home, he should be back by now!" Ann looks around. You begin feeling incredibly anxious. "Let's go find that idiot," she says and walks off quickly, you follow behind her. You can't leave her to do it by herself so you agree. You walk over to the farm and see…the gate open.

"H..hello?" You call. "E-Edd?"…No response. The two of you cautiously walk into the house. It smells like wood and iron. You see a red smudge on the wall…weird. This is getting scary. "Ann…I think we sh-" You're cut off by a blood-curdling scream from Ann. You quickly go over to the open doorway she's looking at to see a horrific sight. Edd has been cut to pieces. You hold back bile in your throat and grab Ann. "Let's go!" You shout. She snaps out of her trance and follows you to the entryway, only for the two of you to halt in your tracks.

Standing there is a giant, his hulking frame filling the doorway. He's the scariest thing you've ever seen in your life. A mask covers half his face, and in his arms is a chainsaw. You make eye contact with the beast and scream. Ann yanks you deeper into the house, hoping to find an exit. The man follows you, hot on your trail. You see a back door and try to open it, but it's locked. Cassie then barely avoids losing her arm as she dodges the giant.

He hasn't tried to attack you yet. You grab a chair and smash it through a window. You pick up a plant and throw it at the man, who cornered Ann. He's completely unphased, but pauses and looks at you as if to warn you. You toss his warning to the wind and jump on his back. "Ann, go!" You scream. Ann runs towards the window but stops when another man shorter than the man you're currently on top of, smashes a hammer onto her head.

You hear a crack and she falls to the floor, limp. "Ann!" You cry. Your body was then slammed to the floor by the hulking, chainsaw-wielding psychopath. You whimper and crawl backwards. You hit a wall and he lifts his chainsaw towards you. You're thankful It's turned off. You close your eyes and wait for death. You feel the blade lightly touch your collarbone…and then gently move down between your breasts and to the junction between your spread legs…he rubs your thigh with the chainsaw lightly, as if thinking. You look up at him in confusion. He tosses the saw to the side and grabs your face in his large hand. He tilts your head from side to side, examining you.

"Think she's pretty, Tommy?" The man who just attacked Ann asked.

'Tommy', the giant holding your face grunts and nods. You're horrified. Does this monster think you're pretty? "Yeah, I agree, Tommy. Good thing you didn't turn her into dinner… though, I don't think you were gonna. You had your eye on her since their car landed in our road trap." He laughed. Trap!? This was all a setup!? Did he say dinner!? Your head is spinning.

Tommy looped his bur waist arm around your waist and hoisted you up, placing you on his shoulder like you weighed a small sack of potatoes. "H-hey! What are you doing? Put me down!" You shout, pounding your hands on his back, but it doesn't even look like he knows you're hitting him. You hear footsteps and look up to see an old woman looking over at you. “P-please help me” you whimper. She smiles down at you sweetly.

"Well, I do say, you sure found yourself a sweet little thing. Ain't that right, Thomas.” The hulking figure above you grunts in agreement. You cry as you realize she has no intention of helping you in the least. “She has a pretty voice too…Take care of my Tommy, girl!” She warns, glaring down at you. “Tommy. Get'er to pop out a few farmhands, will you?" All blood drains from your face. They…want you to…what? Tommy carries you down into a dark, creepy basement. You almost puke. You see dead bodies hanging from hooks and dismembered limbs and bones strewn about….is that Edd? You're carried down a hallway and into a room. The room is empty besides a dirty mattress in a corner. He throws you on the mattress and begins to undress you immediately.

You scream and try to stop him, but he's just too strong. "P-Please stop!" You cry. Tears flow down your cheeks and you hiccup. Tommy leans down and wipes away your tears, not calming you in the slightest. He strips you down to your bra and panties and takes a good look at you, drinking up your body. You can see the lust in his eyes. He grunts in excitement and removes his bloody apron. You curl your body up and hide yourself from him. He softly strokes your cheek and hugs you like you're a teddy bear. He's oddly gentle, but you feel he's losing patience. He taps your shoulder a few times, silently urging you to show yourself to him. when you don't, his taps become a little harder. He grunts in annoyance. He presses himself into you, trying to get closer. You feel his hard cock through his pants and try to shuffle back.

He grunts in frustration, yanking your arm and knees apart, forcing your body to reveal. You need to do something!…" Please,… don't hurt me, Tommy" He only stares into your eyes. You can see emotions swirl in his eyes before he lets go of you and stomps out of the room. Looks like he's giving you time to cooperate. You bring your hands to your face and sob. You look up. You have to get out of here! You hope to god you can do this. You get up and tip-toe towards the door as quietly as you can. You slowly open it and slide it open just enough for you to fit through, which proves to be quite difficult as it's very heavy. You don't know how the monster did it before.

You continue to quietly make your way down the dark hallway, missing the dark shadow to your side. You try not to look around too much at the carnage before making your way up the stairs. You find the window you previously broke now boarded up. You take a deep breath, preparing to make a run for the front door. You haven't heard anyone yet so you think you're still in the clear. You make it to the front door and just as you're about to try and open it, your body is slammed against the wall, your breath knocked out of you. You cough and groan. You feel dizzy. You look up to see Tommy staring down at you with a look of anger. Was he waiting for you to try to escape?

You grit your teeth before lifting your knee to knee him in the crotch, but he anticipates it and grabs your leg, lifting it. He makes space for himself between your legs and lets his large hands roam your bare midriff and up to your breasts where he proceeds to rip off your bra, revealing your chest to him. You whimper in pain and try to hide yourself, earning yourself a shove into the wall, banging your head slightly.

The corners of your eyes go dark for a few moments. Your head stops spinning when he leans down and slides his tongue up your cheek. His other hand reaches down and roughly grabs at your clothed cunt. He makes sounds of excitement once again. Saying you're terrified would be an understatement. You feel his fingers cup and wiggle around down there, not knowing what to do, but liking the feeling of doing it.

You again try to shove him off as best you can. He grunts in annoyance and moves the hand previously on your chest up to your throat. Your whimpers and please turn into choked gasps and gurgles as he squeezes. He gets even closer and you can feel something hard rub against your lower stomach. "Get her, Tommy, get her!" You hear from behind him. He grunts in response and tears off your underwear. He brings it to his nose and inhales. His eyes roll back a bit as if smelling the most heavenly scent imaginable.

You now realize he's probably never held a woman before and he's completely deprived of any sort of warm human touch. "Common, Tommy, gimme that! You get to have her, the least I should get is her undies!" His brother pleads. Tommy contemplates holding the small bit of cloth in front of him before tossing it back, which his brother catches and desperately presses to his face, moaning into the fabric like it's an oxygen mask.

Tommy grabs your hair and begins dragging you back down to the basement. You scream in pain and grab onto his hand for any relief as you're forced to the ground. "No! Please! Ahh Stop!" You cry out. He drags your naked body down the blood-crusted steps and makes his way back to the room you dread. He tosses you onto the mattress once again. By the time you manage to get up on your knees, you hear a clinking sound and turn to see him undoing his belt.

You crawl into the corner as he gets on his knees before you, his shadow casting over you. He unbuttons his shirt and lets it fall off. You now know that trying to inflict pain on him is futile. Muscles that scream he could crush you like a soda can. Not only is he as big as a fridge, but he also looks like an off-season pro wrestler. You can see a very prominent bulge struggling to free itself. The size of the tent itself is intimidating.

His eyes lock on yours as he slowly unzips his belt and frees his aching cock. You look away and feel his weight settle on the bed closer to you. You can feel his heavy breathing on the side of your face. He grabs your legs and yanks you beneath him, positioning himself at your entrance. You feel his bulbous tip rub up and down your folds. "Please…" Your eyes widen and you trail off as your eyes lower to what's prodding at your cunt. You want to look away, but morbid curiosity wins. It's almost unbelievable. His cock like himself, is too big. It's long, very thick and veiny. It looks like a beer can. You can just tell he's smiling under his mask.

He slowly pushes the tip in. You try to scoot back, but he grips your hips with his massive hands and pushes forward, but fails entry, seeming too big. He grunts in frustration. He tries again, this time managing to push the tip in. You scream. It hurts so bad. "No, y-you're too big!" you gasp, squirming in place. He holds your hips tighter and continues pushing forward, impaling you on his cock, all the way to the base.

Your mind blanks. You're unable to think cohesively. You're in so much pain. He lets out a groan of pleasure and doesn't wait for you to adjust to his size and just starts moving. It feels like your organs are moving around to accommodate his massive size. You look down to see a large bulge in your lower stomach. You whimper and groan as he thrusts. "W-why?" You croak. He looks up at you before lifting your knees, pressing them to your chest and leaning on you. Your eyes roll into the back of your head as you feel him push deeper into your womb, the tip of his cock threatening to push through your cervix. He nuzzles his face into the side of your neck, cooing softly to you affectionately while playing with your hair as if to say 'I love you'.

You cry beneath him, moans being forced from your lips as his hips plow into yours. Tommy grabs your breast, rolling the nipple between his fingers. You can hear him making happy sounds of some sort between grunts. He suddenly picks you up and gets off the bed with you in his arms, skewering you on his cock. He raises you up and down like a human fleshlight. You uncontrollably moan into his shoulder. His hands grope your ass as he starts to force you up and down faster. It feels good. You can't help but feel shame.

He grunts loudly and forces himself as deep as he can. You whine as you feel a rush of hot cum flow into you. Rope after rope, he fills you up. You feel so hot inside. Your stomach bloats from the sheer volume he fucked into you. He pants and looks at you, rubbing your cheek with his. He slowly lifts you off his cock, cum pouring from your abused cunt before setting you down on the mattress. He covers you with a thick warm blanket and brushes your hair from your face, stroking it with his thumb lovingly. If you knew this was gonna be a one-way trip, you would've brought some pillows.

[stevieschrodinger]

Link to Part One

Link to Part Two

TW mentions of human trafficking, rescue, injury, trauma

Steve locks Eddie in the car which, yeah, okay, it makes Eddie jump a little reflexively at the quiet click of the lock. And it might just be habit, or whatever, because it’s a really nice car.

Or maybe he’s even doing it for Eddie’s safety.

It still feels like he’s been locked in, though, and Eddie finds he’s...really not a fan of how this feels.

Either way, when Steve comes back less than ten minutes later and opens Eddie’s side of the car, Eddie’s still not sure how to feel about it. Suspicion is hard to shake.

Steve kneels right there on the floor of the lot, “swing around,” Eddie does, watching as Steve pulls antiseptic wipes out of the bottom of the bag, opening a packet and lifting Eddie’s foot. Eddie hisses when the wipe makes contact, it’s cold and, even though surely most of the wounds have scabbed by now, it still stings quite a bit, “sorry.” Steve looks up at Eddie earnestly, big eyes and floppy hair and, well, the moles are cute.

And having an Alpha kneel on the floor for him, that’s kind of nice too. Maybe Steve really is that good looking.

He wraps Eddie’s feet in a bandage, some tube bandage over the top, Eddie still slurping on his peanut butter chocolate shake. He’s going to have the absolute worst shit later, he knows it, too much rich food all at once, after a really long time of non at all, but honestly, so worth it.

“When we get home, I’ll set you up in one of the spare rooms, and maybe we can order you some clothes?” Steve pulls the bandage comfortably tight around Eddie’s foot, a nice gauze pad wrapped around the sole for cushioning.

“Errr, I mean, I, before, I was usually a good will kind of shopper, you know? Maybe Target on a good day?”

Steve just blinks at him for a second, before that clearly sinks in, “don’t...don’t think about the money, if that’s what you mean, we can get you some clothes, really, I don’t mind.”

And Eddie’s sure as fuck not going to look a gift horse in the mouth, Steve’s already broke the bank on Eddie, what’s a little more, right?”

Eddie whistles, he can’t help it. Objectively, obviously, he knew Steve was loaded. There’s a difference between knowing that and…seeing it. This is like a fucking mansion. Well, it’s not like a mansion, obviously. It is a mansion.

Automatic electric gates, a drive that’s got to be a half mile long...and lawns. Trees. Land stretching off into the distance.

The house is fucking nice. It’s kind of sprawling...just the garage looks fucking massive on it’s own.

Steve sort of hovers around Eddie as he limps over the threshold, and, yeap, just as nice inside as it is outside. Very sleek and modern, big open spaces, lots of glass. Dark wood and bookcases filled with leather books and big paintings that look impressive but aren’t...well. Eddie’s not a fan, really. Eddie spies a building out the back, also lots of glass...Eddie’s money is on indoor pool.

“Something smells good,” Eddie says, as he limps further into the house, “smells kind of homey.” Which is true, something here smells vaguely relaxing. Kind of...comforting. Safe.

Eddie looks around as he gets further in, and the place is so big it is kind of a walk, it’s...really nice, but also kind of soulless. It doesn’t look lived in at all. And, Eddie frowns, something occurring to him for the very first time. Steve’s a good looking Alpha, and he’s fucking loaded, “will your, erm,” Eddie flounders, “partner, mind me being here?”

Steve laughs, seeing Eddie through to the lounge to sit on the couch, “don’t think I would have been able to play my part today if I were in any kind of serious relationship. Hagan would have known if I was seeing anyone, the press loves that shit.”

And yeah, all of that makes total sense, and Eddie feels kind of stupid for not putting that together. But it...doesn’t really make sense, considering Steve is, still, clearly, very hot and very loaded.

“Okay,” Steve plops a laptop into Eddie’s lap, open to a clothing website. “just open tabs on some stuff you’d like, and then give it back to me when you’re done. You’re going to need some clothes while Hopper tracks down your uncle, okay? I’m going to go and set up a room.”

Eddie’s just sort of rolling with it at this point, so he nods and smiles and then blinks down at a Tom Ford Slim-Fit Button-Down Collar Checked Cotton shirt...that’s nearly seven hundred dollars.

And Eddie would never, in a million fucking years, be caught dead in it. Honestly, he thinks he actually prefers the white nightdress.

Eddie looks at the drop down menu, clicks on ‘cashmere’ for shits and giggles, and then laughs to himself when the very first listing is a black turtle-neck...for over a thousand odd dollars. Fucking rich people are batshit.

Eddie manages to find a drop down that lets him filter out everything over two hundred and fifty dollars, and then he searches by lowest price first. He starts opening tabs, mostly inoffensive lounge wear – a large portion of which is very, very unfortunately beige.

Eddie hears Steve coming before he sees him, “just do it please Carol,” and he sounds...exasperated by whoever Carol is. Steve comes back and takes the laptop. He very very briefly frowns at Eddie over the top of the screen, but it’s over so fast Eddie’s not entirely sure he saw it, “you think you’ll want something more to eat later?”

Eddie did eat his weight in McDonalds a couple of hours ago...but he hasn’t been really full for years, “uhm, yeah, in a bit, maybe?”

“Sure, I’ll see what we have.”

And then Eddie just...sits there. He can’t actually remember the last time he just...sat on a couch. The only place the Omega at the ranch are allowed to sit is either the floor, when they’ve been told to, the table, but only when eating...and probably their beds in the dorm.

Sitting here feels kind of naughty, actually, sitting here, relaxing, comfortable and warm. Eddie touches the lush, velvety feel of the couch, it’s really nice, really soft-“chicken and pasta?” Eddie nearly jumps out of his fucking skin. Like he’s just been caught doing something he shouldn’t. Logically, he knows that isn’t the case, but his feet are tingling regardless.

Steve can actually cook, who knew? Well, it might only be a simple dish, browned off chicken chunks in something creamy and mushroomy, sitting on some pasta, but it’s absolutely delicious.

“We should probably get someone to look at your feet tomorrow.”

Eddie shrugs, nearly vibrating with excitement at the sight of garlic bread and trying his best to hide it, “always been fine before.”

“Still, I wouldn’t want them getting infected. Do you want me to tell Hopper anything about your uncle? I presume he will be busy for a little bit but…?”

Eddie swallows but...nods, Steve getting his phone and Hoppers card, “he’s called Wayne Munson, he’s my dads brother. He lives in a trailer park in, uhm, Hawkins. Indiana.”

Steve taps at his phone, “that’s not actually that far, we could...probably drive that, maybe in a day, once you feel up to it. I’ll see what Hopper says, see if he gets back to us tomorrow, I figure we've both had a long day.”

And that sounds...well. Eddie's running out of reasons to be suspicious, to question this, to question Steve. He has a little kernel of hope, real, genuine hope, growing inside him now...that this is true. That he's going to be free. That he's going to see Wayne.

Eddie nods, keeps eating, is thrilled when Steve offers him a beer, nodding happily. Steve withdraws it at the last second, “wait, just how old are you?”

“Errr…twenty one?”

Steve laughs, “try again,” but he does hand over the beer.

“Eighteen. I was there for a couple of years, maybe a bit longer, they got me walking home from school. Pretty sure my parents wouldn’t have, you know, noticed, probably best I don’t go back there, anyway. Quite a few Omega came through in the time that I was, you know, there...”

Steve’s staring off into space though, looking somewhere over Eddie’s shoulder, clearly not listening.“-oh.”

“Errr...Steve, you okay?” Steve looks like his brain has just stalled. Like completely shut down, “Steve, man, you’re freaking me out a bit here.”

Steve frowns, finally showing some life, his fork still literally hanging in air, half way to his mouth, “Tommy Hagan is probably being arrested.”

“I, err...I mean, yeah? I fucking hope he is?”

As Eddie watches, a bit of chicken falls off Steve’s fork and splats onto his plate, “right now, other than me, you, and the FBI...no one knows that. That Tommy’s being arrested, arrested for something fucking terrible.”

“Riiight…”

“He’s being arrested for something he can’t come back from. It’ll got public. His names about to be mud. His stocks are going to tank. Every part of everything Tommy owns is about to go up in flames.” Steve’s fork clangs onto the plate, “I’m so sorry, I have to go to work.”

“I...what?”

Steve’s already picking up his phone, his keys, sliding on his jacket, “help yourself to anything you need, I’ll be back...at some point.” Steve’s already calling someone, “I need you in the office, right now. I want Wheeler, from legal, make sure finance is there, actually, make sure Henderson has availability tomorrow,” Steve comes back from the front door, sliding a business card in front of Eddie, “no, right now, I’m on my way, twenty minutes.”

Eddie looks at the card; it’s Steve’s, has his email, office number and mobile on it, presumably so Eddie can get hold of him. Eddie’s pretty sure he just witnessed the first steps of a hostile take over, or something.

And now he’s in this massive house, all alone.

Link to Part Four

@stylelovechild @steddieonthen @marklee-blackmore @sticknpokelightningbolt @resident-gay-bitch @somegirlsomewhere @mugloversonly @weekend-dreamer7 @lololol-1234 @anne-bennett-cosplayer

[maeumi-jng]

Can i request princess treatment from enhypen ❤️😭

princess charm school

pairing: enhypen x gn!reader

synopsis: in which enhypen are enrolled and on the honour list at princess charm school.

warnings: established relationship, endearments, swearing, cringe cringe, fluff, but i'm so soft for all of them 😭, proofread-ish

library: enhypen bookshelf

author's note: i'm not sure when by the princess treatment kinda got mixed in with dating headcannons. but still! hope this was to your likingggg ♡︎ thank you so much for requesting!

heeseung

there's two sides of princess treatment: the emotional part of it and the royalty part of it. heeseung takes great pleasure in putting extra effort in the latter. he's the extra mile type of guy when it comes to princess treatment.

he takes the royalty part so seriously. like that's his job. what else is supposed to do?

heeseung takes you out shopping, more than happy to sit down to watch you try on clothes. he really gets into it, choosing what clothes he thinks you'll look good in.

if he even catching an inkling that you're having somewhat of a bad day, best believe when you return home, a trail of fresh rose petals lie from your front door and lead you to the bathroom, where you find heeseung lighting some of your favourite candles.

you'd raise a brow, "hee, what's going the occasion? the petals, these candles... is that our record player... in the bathroom?"

heeseung would simply smile. "i thought you sounded sad over the phone so i ran you a bath," he said nonchalantly, shrugging as if this required no effort.

you'd also be leaving a dinner party of a close friend's. both of you and heeseung decided to call it a night but got mildly distracted when the thought of late night ice cream.

the closest ice cream store? a twenty minute walk away. an uber would've made it a mere seven minutes.

but you and heeseung were convinced it was more romantic to walk. so were you going to walk those twelve thousand seconds just to fulfil your craving? yes.

about ten minutes into your journey, you found your feet beginning to ache. you couldn't pinpoint the origin of the pain, possibly your new shoes that you haven't broken in yet or the fact you and heeseung danced for way too long.

heeseung, who was walking next to you, hand intertwined with yours, raised a brow when he felt your head slump on his shoulder. "what's wrong, baby?" he asked, mild concern spreading throughout his voice as you both came to a stop in the empty street.

"my feet hurt, hee. i think i'm getting a blister on the back of my ankle," you sighed, rotating your foot, wincing at the brush of your shoe against your pained skin.

heeseung pursed his lips, barely thinking for a second when he suddenly lifted you up.

a yelp left your lips. "heeseung! what are you doing?!" you shrieked, feet waddling in the air while his arms were tucked under your waist and knees.

"i'm carrying you to the ice cream store. can't have your feet hurting any more, can we?" he said with the most casual tone you had ever heard in your life.

"heeseung," you hissed out, cheeks burning in the dark. "let me down! this is so embarrassing!" you whispered, hitting his back lightly.

heeseung shook his head. "there's no one even here. now stop worrying and relax," he scolded you, laughing lightly at your reaction.

you quickly realised that any attempt of yours to get out of this was futile. sighing, you tried to calm your body despite your keen awareness of heeseung's warm arms holding you tightly to him.

you hung your hands around his neck, staring at his face quietly. heeseung turned slightly, taking a glance at you. "what's going on in that pretty head of yours?"

you smiled, shaking your head in dismissal. you leaned forward, pressing a long kiss to his cheek. "thank you," you said with every ounce of earnestly you had, "i love you, hee."

heeseung smiled in response, thankful that night was so dark, disguising his flustered cheeks. "i love you, sweetheart. more than you'll ever know."

jongseong

the epitome of princess treatment. it's not just secondhand nature to jay. it's innate. genetic, if you will.

before you even began dating, jay was always giving you princess treatment. he's so attentive to everything you do.

before you realised he liked you, you were always catching jay's eyes as he gripped onto to every word that fell from those pretty lips of yours as if your word was his command (it most definitely is). whenever he was making a decision, jay would ask for your opinion, texting you with every passing second if he couldn't be in front of you.

princess treatment, when possible, should be healthy and balanced. but jay can't follow through. not when you're right in front of him.

there's a lot of talk about jay and his black card. not to make it a personality trait, for he is so much more, but when it comes to you, no expense is too big or too little. reminiscent of svt's woozi giving his black card for vernon to buy bubbles, jay would give be taking it out as if he was doing god's work by doing so.

oh you need your nails done? jay's got it.

hair appointment? done.

also, jay thinks 50/50 can go to hell. he is paying for the both of you and that's final. he won't even let you utter a syllable, telling the waiter in advance to take his card.

domestically, jay likes to spoil you by cooking for you, especially if you can't cook to save your life, doing the laundry, making you breakfast before you wake up, taking your chair out for you to sit even if it's just the two of you.

"jay... let me help you," you whined, sitting at the kitchen table and watching him prepare your picnic basket for your outing this morning.

jay hummed, finishing putting his freshly made fruit salad in a container. "you're already helping me, sweetheart. just looking at you makes me feel happy and at ease."

you slumped, pouting as you rested your cheeks on your arm. jay smiled in amusement, his heart doing small little flips. he leaned in across the table, placing a quick peck on your nose. "fine," he relented. "you can help me by taste testing the fruit salad."

you blinked blankly at him before breaking out into a small laugh. "i don't know, jay... that's a really difficult job you got there," you teased.

jay narrowed his eyes at your sarcasm. "keep it up and see how long you have this job for, babe."

you raised your hands in your defence. "whoa... take a chill pill, mister. you're in luck. i happen to be a certified taste tester."

"really?" jay humoured, hands resting on the table as he looked at you with raised brows. "certified by who?"

"the best, most handsome, sweetest, loveliest boyfriend ever?" you suggested, batting your eyelashes coyly.

jay couldn't even suppress the wide smile from breaking out. he nodded in amusement, reaching out to grab your hand. "okay, okay. come on, my certified lover. i do actually need you to taste it."

jaeyun

everything this man does revolves around you.

it's a historical fact.

look it up.

jake is pretty sure he lives for you... that he breathes for you. entirely wrapped up in the belief that you were made for him and he was made for you. in short, a simpleton if you've ever seen one.

his favourite things consist of helping you put your shoes on, especially when you're getting ready for something formal, kissing you at any given time, and constantly holding your hand.

you'll be going to put your shoes on and jake will quickly shove your hands away. "no let me." and as he does them, he'll leave small kisses on your knees or the side of your leg, just as a reminder that he loves you... like a lot.

you could also be in middle of talking to him and jake will suddenly interrupt you by kissing you. when you look at him with furrowed brows and flustered cheeks, he goes: "just because."

you're trying to kill someone... just because?????

jake is also a flower man. it's flower galore up in here. there doesn't need to be an occasion. he just likes giving you flowers. another just because.

you just closed the door to your car and you turned to jake to ask a question, but instead you're greeted with a bouquet of colours. "jake, what the– when did you get those?"

"before we met today. do you like them, baby? they're honeysuckles!"

the eager boba eyes peering at you while he pushes the bouquet towards make you fold an instant. you give him a warm smile, taking them from his hands. "i love them, jake. thank you so much."

later that day you go home and read what honeysuckles symbolise: everlasting love, true happiness, and sweetness and affection.

you smiled so hard that night that your cheeks were hurting the next day.

jake is also very dramatic. if you didn't know before, you know now.

you were both out for a morning walk after being cooped up in the house due to the harsh rain. it was a lot sunnier and brighter this morning, even if the paths were still stained with the rain, it screamed for a walk.

you and jake were both chitchatting, admiring the nature as you walked, when suddenly he brought out his hand over your waist, stopping you. "WAIT!"

now you're standing here baffled, eyes wide with confusion and slight fear because why the fuck is this man screaming so early in the morning? "holy shit– what? what happened, jake?"

jake's brown eyes averted to the path and then you. "there's a puddle."

hold up.

what?

you blinked blankly at him. an awkward laugh slipped past your mouth. "i– okay? and?"

jake sucked in a sharp breath, retracting his hand from your waist and instead holding it out to you. "give me your hand."

you raised a brow, slowly giving him your hand without thinking too much. you watched as jake leaped over the puddle and waited for you to carefully walk over it with your hand in his.

you gave him an incredulous look which only made him give you an impatient one in return. sighing, you stretched out your leg, just avoiding the puddle as jake pulled you into him.

jake wrapped his arms around your waist. "see? you're all dry. isn't that better?" he whispered, briefly kissing your forehead.

you found it difficult to bite back the smile eating away at you. you shook your head, laughing quietly to yourself. "you're a cheeseball, jake. you know that?"

jake grinned at your words, hands tightening around you. "your cheeseball, you mean."

you blinked, peering at him through your lashes. "yes," you agreed. "my cheeseball."

am i... delusional? 🤭🤧 (don't answer that!)

sunghoon

sunghoon's princess treatment is for you and only you. only you see it and only you get to experience it.

whenever, it's just the two of you, the side of sunghoon you see is almost unbelievable. alone in an elevator with all the space in the world, yet sunghoon can only cling to you, hand constantly around your waist. or when you're in the car, his hand rests on your leg because it's only secondhand nature.

sunghoon, however, does have his public moments. he always has an umbrella just in case and it's big enough for the both of you. but every time it suddenly starts to pour down and sunghoon opens the umbrella, he only puts it on you. he doesn't really care if he's soaked in rain one day and sick the next, as long as you're fine and dry, he's a happy guy.

to be honest, sunghoon isn't that talkative of a guy. but for you, if you can't say something or order something, he'll hundred percent do it for you. or if someone says something bad or upsetting, trust, sunghoon is going to be on their ass about it: ice cold glare and a whole lot of things to suddenly say.

sunghoon's favourite form of princess treatment, however, is helping you get ready in the morning. like honestly, you don't need it. you seem to have everything sorted. but sunghoon can't help it. the urge to help you is a need not a want.

you and sunghoon would both wake up, particularly unbothered by everything. after ten minutes of you staring at each other and smiling like idiots, you decide to get out and take a shower. by the time you finish, sunghoon is still lounging in bed, only coming out of the sheets when you were standing in front of your mirror in your selected clothes for the day.

as he does every morning, sunghoon would take off the towel wrapped around your head and put it aside. he'd comb your hair (under the insistence that it was better than brushing your hair), gently taking out any knots before helping you blow dry it.

amongst all of this, you're just smiling at sunghoon through the mirror. he doesn't really see you since he's so focused on helping you get ready.

to be honest, even though he has a younger sister, he didn't really learn anything from her when it came to hairstyles. but this cutie decided to spend his time trying out different hairstyles. he tried them on his sister and you, whenever he had the time. so every morning, sunghoon would ask you what you wanted and he'd be more than happy to serve.

if you thought it ended here... well, you're wrong.

makeup... whether you wanted to go all out or just put some lipbalm on, sunghoon would put himself in harms way just to do it. he loves everything about it. the intimacy, the proximity, your reaction, how pretty you look afterwards... everything.

needless to say, you love being sunghoon's princess.

seonwoo

listen... everyone and their mother knows about seonwoo's princess aka you.

why?

his personal instagram account was practically a fanstagram of you. seonwoo spent a lot of time, posting about you, you and him, and then you again.

for most of your time together, you expect it to be documented in some shape or form. seonwoo liked to take mirror selfies with you or post pictures of you on your dates together. even if your face wasn't in it, he liked to post it.

seonwoo's favourite, however? candid photos.

he can't verbally express how much he loves them. so seonwoo just posts a bunch instead. he's just in awe. because how do you look so pretty all the time? why do you make him suffer in such a sweetly evil way?

seonwoo also throws all of his skepticism and doubt away when he's with you. he will do anything for you and try anything. he always always lets you pick what to watch. he doesn't care what it is as long as you're happy.

another flower guy. but instead, he'd rather border on getting yelled at by a stranger for picking flowers from their garden rather than just going to a florist. seonwoo, by that point, decided to just pick up gardening as a hobby. it's not the cleanest hobby in the world which freaks him out time to time but it's totally worth it in the end when he sees your smile.

seonwoo also never ever ever lets you carry your own bag. he'll carry your for you or he'll put your stuff in his own bag. he doesn't want you to strain yourself, yk? 🤗

another guy who's a tad bit dramatic. if seonwoo's giving you princess treatment, he is going to be so fucking adamant about it.

for example, you're in the car. you and seonwoo both decided you wanted to go grocery shopping because you're cupboards and fridge were looking a bit empty.

upon arriving to the supermarket, you unbuckle your seatbelt and turn to open the door but seonwoo literally slapped your hand away from the handle.

"what the heck, seonwoo?!" you turned to him with the most baffled expression because seonwoo isn't there anymore. instead, he's fucking running outside of the car to get to your side and open the door for you.

seonwoo would beam down at you as he opened the door, lowkey out of breath from sprinting from one side to another.

you blinked blankly, a small smile creeping onto your face. "you're so whipped," you teased, moving your legs to get out the car,

seonwoo rolled his eyes, grabbing your hand as you got out of the car. closing the car door, he moved his hand, intertwining your fingers together. "you're the one smiling like a kid who woke up on their birthday," he retorted, his own smile teetering on his face.

you pressed your lips together while seonwoo gave you a pointed look, knowing he had caught you. you sighed, resting your head on his shoulder as you walked into the store. "we aren't getting mint chocolate ice cream," you casually said.

seonwoo gaped at you, eyes wide. "okay, okay. i take it back. i'm sorry. you were right," he conceded, pressing a kiss to your cheek. he whispered, "i am so whipped."

jungwon

another epitome of princess treatment guy.

he just likes you so much... how can he not treat you so well?

if jungwon catches you staring at something you like for a while when you both shop together, he'll probably buy it for you when he uses going to the bathroom as an excuse to do so. he enjoys your reaction when you come home from the trip and finish washing up to find the item resting on your bed or dresser.

"what the? wonnie," you gasped, turning your head to the culprit. "how did you know?" you jutted your lip, eyes turning soft at the grinning boy.

jungwon walked towards you, pressing a kiss on your shoulder while his hands naturally found their place around your waist. his chin nestled into your collarbone while he spoke. "you looked like you wanted it, that all."

you were practically speechless. "b-but, that didn't you mean you had to buy it," you said, in complete awe of the kindness of jungwon's heart. you sighed, turning your head to bring him into a long kiss.

unknown fact but acts of service should be jungwon's middle name. if you had any trouble at all with anything, he'd do it for you. freshly done nails and dishes? he had them. the lid on your jam jar sealed a bit too tight?

got a sweet tooth at ten in the evening? jungwon would either take you out or do what he thinks is the best idea: bake you a fresh batch of whatever you wanted. you were the only reason he stocked up on so many ingredients. from brownies and cupcakes to ugly looking macaroons and meringues... anything for you.

another thing jungwon often did was the whole shoe thing. but with a slight change and an addition to go along with it.

you had both just attended a family wedding. you were all having a great time, dancing, chatting, taking pictures, devouring the wedding menu... but all this socialisation took energy and you're social battery was on the brink of dying out.

you were seated at your allocated table when jungwon brought you a glass of water and sat next to you. you gave him a small smile, taking a big gulp of the water.

jungwon raised a brow after eyeing your shoes next to your chair. "sucky shoes?" he guessed.

you sighed, resting your chin in your hand. "sucky shoes," you confirmed by repeating his words. "they're a pain my ass," you mumbled.

jungwon frowned at your misery, soon grabbing your feet to rest them on his lap, capturing your attention. "jungwon, what are you doing?"

"just relax," jungwon whispered softly, bringing his fingers to slowly rub soothing circles into your ankles and feet. you couldn't believe it. he was massaging your feet for you.

you pouted, eyes soft once again. "wonnie," you murmured, unable to follow up with anymore words.

he only smiled gently, continuing. "does that feel better?" jungwon queried after a couple of minutes. you wordlessly nodded, sporting the most thankful expression you could muster for your voice had failed you.

you mended your brows together when you watched jungwon take off his shoes and begin to put them onto your feet. "jungwon-ah, yah, what are you doing? we have to go back out soon." you asked, feeling panicked all of a sudden.

"it's okay," jungwon reassured, "you need shoes that don't suck. besides, i still have socks," he said, wiggling his foot.

your mouth fell open. how on earth did you get so lucky? "jungwon," you called out, making him hum in response as he just finished doing the last shoes. "marry me?" you asked softly.

jungwon blinked, a wide smile sprawling on to his face, dimples popping right out at you. "of course," he responded, "but give me some time and i'll ask you instead, hmm?"

you grinned at his words, nodding. for the rest of the evening, jungwon stood next to you, in his socks, more than happy. as the event came to a close and everyone began to leave, you'd walk out, still in his shoes, as jungwon tangled his fingers with yours, carrying your shoes in the other hand.

👑 -> jungwon 🤧

riki

riki is the definition of princess treatment in combination with young love. you don't know it because he's kind of embarrassed to tell you, but he's always keeping an eye out for you.

riki's already got the basic things covered: opening the door for you at all times, listening to your words with the greatest attention known to mankind, more than willing to hold all the clothes you gathered in the store, covering all the edges of objects so you didn't hurt yourself.

but then there were the moments that made your heart flutter to the point where the both of you had to consider whether you were malfunctioning or not.

you were both walking around town when he'd suddenly stop you. "what's wrong?" you asked.

but riki said nothing. instead he just bent down to the floor after moving in front of you and began tying your shoelaces.

"riki-ah," you chuckled, "you could've told me."

riki shrugged, tying a tight knot. "you should make tight knots," he told you.

"otherwise i'll trip, i know," you teased.

riki shook his head, standing back up, making you furrow your brows. "i can't have you falling for anyone else."

it was so stupid how riki could say the most heart-stopping things so casually. it was infuriating yet it made you flush with embarrassment instead.

but that moment had set in stone that riki always did your laces up when they came undone. something about making sure you were only falling for him.

another day, you were both eating at a cafe. you had ordered some new things to try and you were quite excited, stuffing your face with food. you were about to get riki to try yours when you spotted the frown on his face.

you swallowed your bite, turning your head to him. "riki? what happened? do you not like your food?"

riki remained quite, hand stretching out to pull your chair closer to him. your eyes widened at the sudden proximity. a smile settled down on his face. "that's better."

no because what the fuck? how on earth were you supposed survive this?

and then there was the time it was raining. like pure good rain. not a shower or some light little pelts. rain.

riki isn't as prepared as the others. an umbrella? newsflash! no one is carrying an umbrella all the time. but what riki did have was his cherished leather jacket.

so as the rain pelted down, drenching the both of you and the smell of the earthy hugged you dearly, riki took off of his jacket, raising his arms to cover your head as you both ran together, trying to reach some shade.

"riki!" you squealed, feeling the cold rain stick to your skin. "put it on yourself! you're going to get sick," you scolded.

riki laughed softly, running a hand through his wet hair. he peered down at you, holding the most gentle look in his brown eyes. "it's okay. i just don't want you to get sick."

you both slowed down your run to find any inch of shade. you stared at him while he continued to hold his jacket over your head.

"what?" riki queried, chest rising up and down as the rain continued to trickle down his body.

you stretched out your hands, hanging them around his neck as you pulled him closer to you. you reached up on the tips of your toe and pressed a kiss to his cheek, feeling the coldness of your skin melt against his warmth.

you pulled away while riki looked at you with an unreadable expression. you laughed gently. "nothing," you shrugged, hand reaching out to grab his hand. "now come on! we need to get out of the rain!"

riki blinked blankly, watching you take him with you. he thought his heart stopped.

riki thinks knows that he's entirely in love with you.

© maeumi-jng | do not copy, post (repost is fine!) or translate anywhere else! thank you ♡︎ requests here!

[wynnyfryd]

Trailer park Steve AU part 40

part 1 | part 39 | ao3

They're lying on their backs, Steve's head on Eddie's shoulder, Eddie running absent-minded fingers through Steve's hair. Led Zeppelin plays on low from the radio beside them, and the conversation ebbs and flows in sleepy bursts of disjointed thought. Talking just to talk. Because they like it; because they can.

"...Did you see Wheeler almost eat shit in the paint aisle this morning?"

"We should paint some stars on my ceiling. Make 'em glow in the dark..."

"God, what I would not give for more pizza."

"Who even eats cold pizza?"

Eddie shifts beneath him after a while, sitting up to bounce his legs and get the blood flowing again. With his weight leaned back on his hands, Steve can't help but notice the long line of his torso. Everything on display through the thin undershirt: the smattering of dark ink, the outline of his ribs, the cut of his slim waist. Steve wants to touch him.

"You know," Eddie says, surveying the empty room, the vinyl glinting in the lamp light, "it's really not half bad for a bunch of kids who thought they were gonna be hanging ornaments all day." He knocks his knee against Steve's leg. "I'd say you're well on your way to making this mobile house a mobile home."

Steve snorts at that, and Eddie pinches playfully at his side until the snort turns into a really undignified laugh and Steve rolls in on himself, curling toward Eddie, begging for mercy.

"You want to tell me what brought all this on?" Eddie asks. His voice is quiet and welcoming, eyes sparkling with some gentle offer of reprieve. The first rest stop sign after a hundred mile stretch of empty road.

Steve's mouth works; opens and closes and opens again, like it'll prompt his voice to sound or his brain to figure out the words. He still doesn't know how to explain — the fear, the paranoia, the way this place was starting to cling to him like black mold. "Just..." he shrugs. "Needed it, I guess."

Eddie gives him a long look. Unwavering and piercing; there's more pus in the wound that he's trying to lance, but he doesn't seem interested in drawing blood tonight.

He releases Steve from his gaze and goes back to his casual stretching — rolling his neck, popping his shoulders, shaking out his legs, his ankles, his feet — and then he gasps "Steve!" in a delighted tone that Steve does not care for at all. Usually means he’s about to get teased within an inch of his life.

"Hmm?" Steve lifts his head to look.

Eddie’s wiggling his right foot, drawing attention to the outer edge of his borrowed sock. "Is that a hole I see?"

Steve follows his line of sight, and sure enough, there's the smallest little tear by Eddie's pinky toe. “Oh, fuck off,” Steve rolls his eyes, “you can barely even see that.”

Eddie spreads his toes out wide, making the hole more obvious. "My, my, my,” he tuts, shaking his head with a big, disappointed sigh.

"You're such an asshole,” Steve mutters. Eddie's beaming; Steve flips him off.

"Well congrats, baby boy,” he drawls like a fucking pest, “now you're officially trailer trash."

"Hey!" Steve’s not sure if he likes that. Makes him blush to his ears; makes something sour roll in his gut.

Unfortunately it also kind of makes his dick twitch.

"Oh?" Eddie leers. His eyes dart to Steve's crotch, and then he shifts so he's hovering over Steve with Steve flat on his back, face on fire, pulse kicking hard. A vein throbs in his inner thigh. "Don't worry, Stevie." Eddie bends to nip at his jaw. "I meant it as a compliment."

"How is that a compliment?" Steve wants to sound annoyed. Is annoyed. But Eddie's skimming a light hand up his side, barest pressure that leaves a trail of tingling warmth in its wake, so the words come out more breathy than he intends.

"Because," Eddie whispers. Steve can feel his smile pressed against his skin. Eddie kisses up his jawline until he reaches his ear; mouths at the lobe and sucks it between his teeth, a sharp bite that makes Steve hiss. "All my favorite things are."

Steve bucks under him. "Trash?" he asks, breath catching.

Eddie's tongue traces his ear. "Mhmm."

His hand wanders to the hem of Steve's shirt, worming his fingers underneath, tickling the trail of hair below Steve’s belly button as he explains that all his favorite things are second-hand. Recycled and discarded items he’s restored with loving care.

Steve’s breath goes harsh and ragged, and he tries not to think about how that might apply to him.

Discarded.

Restored.

Favorite.

Maybe even—

He can’t let himself think the word.

—

part 41!

tag list in separate reblogs under '#trailer park steve au taglist' if you'd like to filter that content. if you want to be added tomorrow please comment and let me know (must be over 21; please either verify in the comment or have your age visible on your blog)

[sacredthefran]

Birthday Breakfast

Authors Note: Okay so uhhhhh...this was supposed to be a blurb but I couldn't stop myself - but its still a blurb if that makes sense? Idk I'm tired. (also it's not edited because I'm lazy) It’s my first time writing Noah too…please be nice to me 😭

Warnings: Oral (f! receiving) lets be honest...we all know Noah's a munch. 18+ MINORS DNI

Word Count: 1.8k

Just thinking about how you would make breakfast for Noah on his birthday. He loves to sleep in so you knew that you had a couple of extra hours to get everything made just the way he likes it. As you were taking a chocolate chip waffle out of the maker, you were startled to feel calloused tattooed hands gripping your waist, rubbing small circles into your hips.

"Baby....you're supposed to be sleeping."

"You left the bed." He hummed into your hair before giving a quick peck to the top of your head.

"So?"

You removed his arms from around your waist - moving across the kitchen to the cabinet that held the dishes. Specifically the black plates that had a golden accent on the edges - you couldn’t stand the plate but Noah on the other hand insisted that you two couldn’t leave the store until you purchased them. You could feel his boba eyes staring you down as you moved across the kitchen, humming quietly to yourself as you plated everything - even going the extra mile to grab whip cream and making a smiley face on the waffles.

You knew that it seemed childish, but it was something you loved doing for him. Growing up he didn’t really get to experience moments like this, where his birthday was celebrated, where he was appreciated, where he was shown love.  

“Okay, cover your eyes.” 

“Love, I’m no-” Noah stopped his protest when he looked down and saw you looking up at him and giving him the biggest puppy dog face you could come up with. 

You couldn’t help the giggle that escaped your mouth as you watched him slap his long fingers over his eyes, even going the extra mile of tilting his head up to the sky as he heard the clanking of the plate hitting the counter. 

“Open.” 

A toothy grin graced Noah’s features as he took in the sight before him - hell, even a light pink dusting was on his cheeks. He slowly lifted his head up and if you knew better, it looked like he was blinking away a tear or two. 

“This is great and all…..but I’m hungry for something else.” 

You watched as his 6 foot figure started making its way across the kitchen counter to tower over you. His coffee colored eyes turning black with lust as he took in the sight of you. You were dressed in an old Bad Omens shirt and were wearing a pair of skimpy red lace panties - his favorite. 

“Noah..”  Trying to move away from the tall man, you found yourself being trapped against the island with Noah’s arms on either sides of you.

“What’s the matter princess?” 

Averting your eye contact from his, you could feel your thighs closing together involuntarily. Hating the way a single sentence from Noah could make you drip. 

“I didn’t shower.” 

You mumbled, hoping he would get the hint of what you’re getting at. Last night you two had fucked for hours, nonstop. 

“And why would I care about that?” He tilted his head sideways - leaning down to close the gap in between the two of you. 

“You know why.”

 Noah brushed your tangled hair behind your ear, giving your earlobe a lick before whispering, “Oh, because my cum is still in your pussy? Is that what it is?”. He paused to hear your breath become shallow. “You act like that would turn me off.” 

The dark haired man spoke the last sentence while making sure to press his body completely against yours - his hardening dick pressing against your hip bone. Air left your lungs as he closed the gap inbetween your lips, a hungry pace being set by him. Your hands wandering up and down his back as he made sure to grab your ass cheeks - giving a rough squeeze every couple of seconds before slipping his hand to the front of your panties feeling the dampness that was pooling in between your legs. 

“Would you like that? Trying to deny me of what I want, when your pussy’s soaking. My dirty girl.” 

You hated that a moan slipped out of your mouth as Noah spoke that sentence, his fingers circling your clit over the lace - hardening the bud. His other hand found its way to your throat, gently wrapping around it and giving a light squeeze, an evil smirk appearing on his face as he watched your pupils black out with lust. 

“Are you going to be good for me and give me what I want? Or do I need to take you upstairs and tie you up?” 

“I’ll be good.” 

Noah leaned forward to give you peck, squeezing your throat one more time before taking the bottom of your shirt and ripping it up over your head. A loud groan left his body as he saw your tits out in the open for him. Bending his neck down, he captured your right nipple into his mouth, wrapping his mouth perfectly around it, switching between the motions of sucking and licking - not wanting to  leave your other nipple feeling neglected, he raised his hand and mimicked the actions of his mouth on it. 

Looking down, you saw him with his eyes closed as he was enjoying the taste of your skin, your back was arched over the counter at that point but Noah didn’t pull away, he followed wherever your body went - putting your hands in his hair, gently tugging on it. 

“So needy.” He mumbled against your skin, popping your nipple out of his mouth. “What do you want?” 

You didn’t respond to the man in front of you - giving him a blank stare.

“Good girls get rewarded for saying what they want.”

“I wa-” You trailed off, feeling yourself blush as you tried to tell him about what was on your mind. 

“Use your words.” He hissed out, placing kisses all over your chest. 

“I want you to eat my pussy.” You whispered - if you weren’t red before, you certainly were now as he looked up at you with a cocked eyebrow. 

“Huh? Didn’t hear you.” 

“I want you to eat my pussy.” You spoke louder this time, your voice echoing throughout the house. 

“Good girl.” 

Noah nipped at your left nipple before starting to lead a trail of kisses and spit all while sinking down onto his knees. He stopped when he reached the top of your panties, looking up at you with a smirk, leaning forward and giving a quick peck to your clit - an evil chuckle leaving his mouth as your knees buckled. 

“Someone’s impatient.” He whispered out the words while his mouth was still near your clit, the hot air adding to the intensity of the moment. 

It felt like your skin was on fire every time he ran his hands over your thighs, purposefully getting close to where you needed him the most then pulling away to run over the lace material on your hips. He kept up this teasing game for what felt like hours - smirking to himself when he could see your slick leaving a wet mark on your panties, dipping his fingers into the waistband of the material, slowly dragging it down your legs. 

“Fuck.” Noah dropped his head back, letting out an animalistic growl as he took in the sight of your bare pussy. 

In a flash he grabbed your right leg and threw it over his shoulder, moaning as he could see your wetness starting to coat the inside of your thighs. He knew that he couldn’t tease you anymore - mostly because he could feel the beads of precum dripping out of his cock as he took in the sight of you. He needed to have a taste. 

Wasting no more time, Noah dove right in and gave your opening a kitten lick - both of you moaning out, you from the feeling and him from the taste. Noah was a beast, once he started he couldn’t stop. Noah licking up and down your slit like a man who hasn’t had a meal in months. A pitchy moan leaving your mouth as he worked his way up to your clit, wrapping his lips around it, applying the right amount of suction. 

Placing one hand on your left breast, toying with your nipple as you reached your other hand down and weaved it into Noah’s hair - your hips beginning to move involuntarily.

“That’s it princess. Use my face.” 

He took his mouth away from your clit, just to flatten out his tongue to give you more access to what you needed from him.  His pointer and middle finger were gently circling around your entrance before entering inside of you - rubbing your walls in a perfect way. 

“Oh….fuck.” You groaned out as you felt the white heat building in your stomach - his fingers curling into your g spot every couple of seconds.

An involuntarily moan would spill out of Noah’s mouth every time he felt you clenching around his fingers, your cunt was squeezing his fingers so tight - fuck, making it harder for him to move his fingers in and out of you. He could feel his own release starting to build as he watched your head tilt back in ecstasy, fucking his face. The dark haired man suddenly shook his head aggressively, catching your clit on the bridge of his nose -him tightening his grip on your hip, making sure you couldn’t lift off of his face even if you tried. 

“Noah..fuck..I’m gonna cum.” 

You were a blubbering mess as you could feel your release getting closer. Noah taking his fingers out of you - placing that hand on your other hip, forcing you back into the kitchen island as he continued his assault on your clit. His tongue flipping rapidly as you had no choice but to stand there and take it, reaching down you pulled at his hair, his eyes popping open and staring back at you. Your chest heaving up and down as your legs started to shake - Noah circling your clit even harder with his tongue now. 

You couldn’t fight  your body anymore, letting out a loud shriek as your orgasm washed over you - your eyes rolling back into your head as he sucked your clit into his mouth, milking your orgasm. 

Only given a few seconds to come down from your high before you were met back with the feeling of Noah peppering kisses up your body, humming gently as he made his way back up to your mouth. 

“You still with me?” He questioned, placing his hands on your cheeks, looking deep  into your eyes, feeling himself becoming mesmerized by your fucked out look. 

“Yeah…just give me a second.” 

“Actually, we don’t have a second. I need to feel you wrapped around me.” Squeals leaving your mouth as Noah scooped you up into his arms, carrying you bridal style down the hallway leading to your bedroom.

“But the food.” 

“Do I look like I give a fuck?”   

[reasonsforhope]

"Thousands of demonstrators converged opposite the White House on Saturday to call for an end to Israeli military action in Gaza, while children joined a pro-Palestinian march through central London as part of a global day of action against the longest and deadliest war between Israel and Palestinians in 75 years.

People in the U.S. capital held aloft signs questioning President Joe Biden’s viability as a presidential candidate because of his staunch support for Israel in the nearly 100-day war against Hamas. Some of the signs read: “No votes for Genocide Joe,” “Biden has blood on his hands” and “Let Gaza live.”

Vendors were also selling South African flags as protesters chanted slogans in support of the country whose accusations of genocide against Israel prompted the International Court of Justice in the Hague, Netherlands, to take up the case...

The plight of children in the Gaza Strip was the focus of the latest London march, symbolized by the appearance of Little Amal, a 3.5-meter (11.5-foot) puppet originally meant to highlight the suffering of Syrian refugees.

The puppet had become a human rights emblem during an 8,000-kilometer (4,970-mile) journey from the Turkish-Syrian border to Manchester in July 2001.

Nearly two-thirds of the 23,843 people killed during Israel’s campaign in Gaza have been women and children, according to the Health Ministry in the Hamas-run territory...

“On Saturday Amal walks for those most vulnerable and for their bravery and resilience,“ said Amir Nizar Zuabi, artistic director of The Walk Productions. “Amal is a child and a refugee and today in Gaza childhood is under attack, with an unfathomable number of children killed. Childhood itself is being targeted. That’s why we walk.”

London’s Metropolitan Police force said some 1,700 officers would be on duty for the march, including many from outside the capital...

The London march was one of several others being held in European cities including Paris, Rome, Milan and Dublin, where thousands also marched along the Irish capital’s main thoroughfare to protest Israel’s military operations in the Palestinian enclave.

Protesters waved Palestinian flags, held placards critical of the Irish, U.S. and Israeli governments and chanted, “Free, free Palestine.″

In Rome, hundreds of demonstrators descended on a boulevard near the famous Colosseum, with some carrying signs reading, “Stop Genocide.”

At one point during the protest, amid the din of sound effects mimicking exploding bombs, a number of demonstrators lied down in the street and pulled white sheets over themselves as if they were corpses, while others knelt beside them, their palms daubed in red paint.

Many hundreds of demonstrators gathered in Paris’ Republic square to set off on a march calling for an immediate cease-fire, an end to the war, a lifting of the blockade on Gaza and to impose sanctions on Israel. Marching protesters waved the Palestinian flag and held aloft placards and banners reading, “From Gaza to Paris. Resistance.”"

-via AP News, January 13, 2023

[roosterforme]

Always Ever Only You Part 16 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: You're convinced you and Bradley could go on the same date a million times over, and you would find something new to love about it each time. You don't want the weekend to come to an end, but at least you get to enjoy time with a favorite visitor on Sunday evening. 

Warnings: Angst, swearing, fluff, smut, pregnancy discussion

Length: 5000 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

This was written to accompany my series Is It Working For You? along with a bunch of my one-shots and other series, but it can be read on its own! Check my masterlist for the reading order. Always Ever Only You masterlist. Gorgeous banner by @mak-32

Bradley was dressed and lounging back on the pillows with his arms tucked behind his head. You were getting ready to go out, and he was thoroughly enjoying watching you put on your red lingerie. His favorite set.

"We could just stay in," he murmured as you clasped your bra and rolled your eyes. Your face was made up and you were standing at the foot of the bed wearing barely anything at all. "We should just stay in."

You scoffed and said, "You should let Tramp out so we can leave in twenty minutes. I want to eat hot sauce with my sexy husband."

"Fine," Bradley sighed with a smile, pausing in the doorway to watch you slip your red dress over your head. The same one you wore on your first date together. The one Bradley loved you in every time you wore it. And then he walked through the kitchen to let Tramp outside. Your new French press was on the counter along with the half unpacked Amazon box that neither of you had time to get to all week. But he reached inside and pulled out one of his new notebooks and took a pen out of the drawer.

Bradley had been working late all week for various reasons. He'd missed a lot while he was deployed. Plus the Slayer and Dean court-martial was moving ahead. And also, Maverick had offered him the chance to meet some pilots fresh out of flight school with the promise that Bradley could help with some training exercises in the coming months. He was tired. Next month was his thirty-seventh birthday. He was feeling his age.

He clicked the pen in his hand and opened the notebook to the first page.

My wife does this thing, and it drives me absolutely wild. When I tell her I'm tired or point out a gray hair in my mustache or mention that I've been feeling my age, she just laughs at me. Sure, I can still run ten miles and lift weights for hours on end, but she can wear me out in an instant. Emotionally, mentally, or physically. She can say one sentence to me like, "I want to go eat hot sauce with my sexy husband," and I am emotionally tanked for the rest of the day. Because I fucking believe her. She actually does want to eat her favorite food with me. And she actually does think I'm sexy. And she's too smart, so trying to keep up with her mentally drains me every single time. And physically... Well. That's where she manages to

"You ready to go, Roo?" you asked, walking into the kitchen looking exactly like you had more than a year and a half ago when you and he were just starting to fall in love. Well, he was already half in love with you by the time that first date rolled around. And by the end of the night, he was a goner.

"What's wrong?" you asked, reaching out for his hand with a little crease between your eyebrows.

"Nothing," he rasped as his eyes dipped down to your cleavage. "Just thinking about how I don't even have to try to play it cool tonight, unlike on our first date." He leaned down and kissed your lips softly and then added, "You look fucking incredible."

"I don't care what you say, we're not staying in for the night," you whispered, running your fingers along his tattoo and pulling him in for a kiss that was clearly at odds with your words.

"Whatever you say, Sweetheart," Bradley replied. He let Tramp back inside and then walked out to the Bronco with your hand in his. And then he got to do one of his favorite things. He opened the door for you, helped you climb in, and buckled your seatbelt. But as he started to pull his right hand away from your body, you caught it and held him close.

"Hey," you whispered. "I don't have to try to play it cool tonight either."

"No?" he asked, his eyes fluttering closed as your lips met his.

"No. I love you so much," you replied. "And I would go on the same date with you a million times, because each time would be a little different, and I know I would remember them all."

Bradley could feel goosebumps on your arm, and your eyes looked a little vulnerable. Last time you and he had visited the hot sauce restaurant and the pier from your first date, it had been on your birthday. And you cried that night. A lot. Because you wanted to be pregnant, but you weren't. He briefly wondered how many other times you'd cried for that reason that he didn't even know about.

He wanted a baby. He still did. But it wasn't his top priority. He understood now how much you'd let it hurt you month after month. And it wasn't the same for him. He knew that now. And he didn't want you to feel like you were failing yourself, your relationship or him ever again. Because you weren't. You were more than enough.

"I remember every minute I've ever spent with you, Sweetheart. And I dream about it when I'm deployed. And I want to have decades of stuff to remember."

"Just keep feeding me hot sauce."

"I fucking plan on it."

-------------------------

The ride up to Del Mar was beautiful. The sky faded from orange to purple as Bradley drove and sang along to his Motown playlist with his hand on your thigh. You thought about how you had a panic attack on your birthday after the negative pregnancy tests, but the memory of it didn't hurt as much now.

"What are you thinking about, Baby Girl?"

You glanced at your husband out of the corner of your eye as he parallel parked the Bronco in front of the restaurant. "Honestly?"

He met your eyes briefly as he straightened out the tires. "Yeah, honestly."

"I still want to have a baby, Roo," you said easily, this time without your heart aching. "I still think about it. But it doesn't make me upset like it used to."

He killed the engine, and coaxed you over to his lap. "Come here." When you were settled on him with your hands on his shoulders, he kissed you. "I still think about it, too. I still want it. But not at the expense of this," he added, gesturing between his body and yours before he let his big hand settle on your hip. "I don't want anything at the expense of this."

You took a deep breath and nodded. "Neither do I. And I know we agreed we can talk about this at length in a few more months, but I don't want to stop trying. And if there's still something wrong after a year, maybe we can talk to some doctors?"

"There's nothing wrong with us, okay? There's never going to be anything wrong. But if we still don't get pregnant, there are other options," he told you gently. "Like... fertility treatment or adoption agencies. But whatever we do, it's 50/50. We do it together. And I promise I'll take care of you better than I did before."

You were silent for a beat, because these were things you'd already thought about. "Yeah?"

He nodded. "I'm just saying, if we want a baby, there are other ways to make it happen. But I'm never going to stop wanting to fuck you, so don't think for a second that we're taking that off the table."

You shook with silent laughter before your giggles bubbled over. "Okay, we won't take that off the table, Roo."

He kissed your cheek and said, "Keep your pussy on the table." But he was laughing too, and you felt really good inside. His hands were heavy on your hips, and his lips were nipping at your neck. "Just let me feed you hot sauce and love you, and then we'll figure the rest out later if we even need to. I wanna give it a little more time, okay? Some more time with you off birth control. Some more time with us just being us. Like this."

"Yes," you agreed. "This is perfect. This feels good."

Now he was rubbing his mustache along your cleavage, and you knew you needed to get him inside the restaurant while you still could. "I'm hungry," you whispered.

"Me too," he agreed with a smirk.

"For dinner," you clarified with a laugh.

When you finally got him inside the restaurant, you could hear his stomach growling, so you didn't feel too bad. "Order two meals you want to try, Baby Girl," he said casually once you were seated.

You loved it when he let you do that, which was most of the time. And he always let you finish whichever one you liked better. And he never complained. You could feel his eyes on your body when you walked around to look at all the hot sauces on the shelves. Every time you glanced at him across the restaurant, he gave you a little nod or a wink. And there was no doubt in your mind that you were just as attracted to him now as you were the first time you were here.

When you brought some that you wanted to try back to your table, a brand new bottle of your favorite green sauce was sitting next to your favorite beer. "How am I supposed to deal with you, Bradley?"

"It's your favorite. And it's a tradition."

You laughed. "You bought me a whole case of 12 bottles online."

"You go through a bottler per week."

"That's actually fair."

Then your meals were delivered to the table, and you doused both of them in a rainbow of sauces and started eating. The two of you ended up sharing both meals, because you couldn't decide which one you liked better. And that one beer made you feel calm, and now Bradley's cheeks were rosy. After your conversation in the Bronco and the past week with him, you felt like all of the weight and pressure you put on yourself was easing up.

After dinner, you were laughing as he led you down the sidewalk with his arm wrapped around your waist. And you couldn't keep your hands off him either. "Why are we passing the Bronco? We should go home."

"Not yet," he whispered in your ear.

You gasped. "Are we going back to the silent disco?"

"Well," he rasped, looking at you with a wince. "Not exactly. I've been trying to get you back there for one, but they always seem to be when I'm deployed. But I had another idea. Let's walk down the pier."

You snorted. "You just want a handjob."

"Please," he replied, leading you across the street and down the pier. "Give me a little credit. I don't just want a handjob."

"Well that's good, because there are a lot of people out tonight," you whispered as he spun you around so your back was pressed against the railing and you were looking up at his face. "You're really handsome."

His cheeks were still rosy, but you thought perhaps your words had deepened the color. You ran your fingers along his scarred neck and across his cheek and into his hair. His eyes closed as he enjoyed your touch, and you studied him closely. He looked a little older than when you met him, with a few gray hairs here and there and maybe another wrinkle or two on his face. He'd been through a lot since then. He had the scars on his arm to prove it. But you didn't want to add emotional scars; he had plenty of those already. You just let him melt into your right hand as your left rested on his chest, and you looked at your diamond ring.

It was yours now, but sometimes you still thought of it as Carole Bradshaw's ring. Not in a bad way. Just as a form of recognition. It felt like an honor that you were wearing something so special. Maybe that was thanks in part to the words Bradley had read to you from his notebook. His recent thoughts and musings. But it was clear that some things were more important than others.

"I love you," he murmured, eyes still closed. "Are you ready for your newest playlist?"

"What is it?" you asked, his question pulling you back to the pier and the grin on his face.

"Just a little something I've been thinking about and finally put together." He pulled his earbuds out of his pocket and held one up for you to take. Then he tucked the other one in his own ear and kissed your nose. "It's all the songs I can remember from the silent disco. Plus what we listened to in the car that night. Oh, and a surprise track. Because I know you'll think it's funny."

Your heart swelled as you slid the earbud into place, and a few seconds later, the Cher song that played at the silent disco was on. And your heart was beating a little faster. And you couldn't stop smiling. "You really remembered all the songs we heard that night?"

Bradley shrugged. "I may have missed some. We'll add them if you remember more, okay?"

"I love this," you gasped, throwing your arms around his neck. "I love you."

He kissed your jaw and whispered, "I told you... I remember every minute I've spent with you. Or at least the way you've made me feel at any given time. Maybe the memories of some of the songs are a little hazy for me, but I remember how fucking good you made me feel that night. And how I was proud to be there with you. I still feel that way."

"Fuck, Bradley. You can't make me cry while Britney Spears is playing."

He laughed. "Okay. Let's dance then."

-----------------------

It was dark out. The other people who had been enjoying the view of the ocean from the pier had dissipated. An orange glow from the scattered lampposts softly lit your face like a dream. Bradley had taken to singing all the songs to you, just to hear you laugh and sing along yourself. The random mix of pop songs and '80s ballads and romantic Motown tunes kept a smile on your face. You laughed when Hey Soul Sister played, and you threatened to text Nat. And the whole time, Bradley held you close with his hands at your hips and waist.

"Oh," he said when the music went silent. "That's the end of the playlist."

"It's over?" you asked, leaning back against the railing and looking up at him longingly. You removed your earbud and handed it back to him.

"Baby Girl, it was almost three hours long," he informed you with a laugh.

You tipped your head back and groaned. "It was perfect." Then you gasped softly as his lips found the pretty expanse of your neck and chest which were on display for him. He was sucking gently on your collarbone as you said, "I knew I was in trouble after the first time you brought me here. You were so sincere that night."

Bradley hummed against your warm skin. "I was already thinking about spending the rest of my life with you."

"No! Stop it. We had just met." Your voice sounded breathy as he drew little shapes along your dress with his thumbs, your head still tipped back.

"Didn't matter. Already knew."

Your hands slid up from his shoulders into his hair, and he nibbled along the tops of your breasts as you made the sweetest little sounds. Your nipples were tight peaks against the fabric of your dress, and when Bradley ran his lips lower to feel you, he groaned. The texture of your lace bra filled his imagination with possibilities.

You tilted your head up, and when he met your eyes, you had the audacity to look surprised. "You're hard, Roo."

He raised one eyebrow at you, just short of rolling his eyes. "Listen... when two people love each other very, very much..."

Your laughter filled him. "Oh, is that how this works? You know, that sentence can be interpreted a lot of ways."

He had to close his eyes as you gently squeezed his length through his jeans. "It's how it works with you." He huffed out a breath when you licked his ear and added, "You make me greedy. I want everything."

You hummed softly as you unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans. Bradley glanced around to make sure you and he were truly alone as you whispered, "Then let's have everything. Even if it takes some time."

"I love that," he groaned as your cool hand dipped inside his boxer briefs and closed around him. One stroke and he was putty in your hands.

"And we'll start with the handjob that I was seriously contemplating giving you on our first date."

"Oh fuck, Sweetheart. You're too much." Bradley bucked against your belly as you ran your thumb along his balls. He'd let you go a little further with this, but then he was taking you home for the night. Just a little more. Each stroke was incredible as he kissed your lips.

But when you started asking him questions, he should have known he was in trouble. Because you always got unbridled information out of him when you put him in situations like this. "What do you want for your birthday, Roo?"

He was watching your hand pass over his tip as he grunted, "Another sexy calendar."

"That can be arranged," you said sweetly. "And how do you feel about me starting to save up some money for a first anniversary trip?"

"Do it," he growled as you rubbed at his precum with your thumb. But then he wrenched his hips away, and your eyes were transfixed on his cock as it leapt for you.

"You don't want to finish here?" you asked, your eyes moving up his body to his face as you licked him from your thumb.

After he zipped himself carefully back in his jeans, he said, "I don't want to ruin your dress, and I don't want to get arrested. Let's go home." He didn't even wait for you to respond. He just turned and picked you up for a piggy back ride back to the Bronco.

The drive home was similar to that very first date. After you kissed him while he fumbled with your seat belt trying buckle you in, he turned on another playlist before he started the engine. But this time he was driving to the house that you shared, not the apartment you used to live in with Maria. And he didn't have to leave you for the night to prove to himself that he could, and that maybe he was good enough. He was your husband now, and you had deemed him good enough for you.

Bradley's hand was gripping your thigh as he saw the craftsman down the block. As soon as he was pulling into the driveway, you were crawling toward him, and he barely had the Bronco in park before you were straddling his thighs.

"I want you in every way." That sentence was the best example of how you wore him out emotionally. It was fucking beautiful, and he could spend all night just thinking about it. But you were kissing him now, and he was already aroused again as he finally turned the key in the ignition.

"You own me." You really seemed to love that response as your lips stayed gentle on his and your hand drifted down his body to his zipper again. It was so dark outside, even in the neighborhood, but Bradley could see the question in your eyes as you pulled back a little bit. Maybe you wanted to make sure he wanted this, too. Maybe you wanted him inside you instead of anything else. He just wanted to be with you. "Anything you want, Sweetheart."

"Okay."

He shimmied his jeans and underwear down his hips, lifting you up as well with a soft laugh. Then you took his hands in yours and guided them slowly up under your dress. He was treated to the sight of you unzipping your dress and unclasping your bra and pulling them down so he could see your pretty tits and peaked nipples. But then his hands froze under your dress.

"You changed your underwear. Earlier tonight. After I left the bedroom."

Your laughter had your tits bouncing just enough to distract Bradley and lure his lips to them.

"Oh!" you gasped as he sucked on you. "I did. I know you like the red ones, but I wanted these instead. Do you know which ones they are?"

That was a ridiculous question, and you knew it. He ran his thumb up your slit and could feel the satin fabric and the fancy embroidered letters as you bucked. He sucked harder until you called out his name and braced your hands on his shoulders. You were wearing the underwear you had specially made for the honeymoon.

"Of course I know, Mrs. Bradshaw."

"You passed the test!"

Bradley tugged your panties to the side and thrust up into you in one fluid motion until he bottomed out. "That's a test I will always pass."

Your hands were scrambling around his neck as you leaned in closer and kissed him. He led your hips in a slow roll with his hands on your ass and whispered, "Just. Like. That."

You kept the pace going, already panting softly as he brought one hand back up to your tits. His other fingers trailed around your hip, and he tucked them inside the front of your panties. As soon as he brushed your clit with his knuckle, you whined for him. "Daddy."

It had been a while since he heard you call him that. And fuck if he didn't love it. But you looked almost surprised that you'd said it out loud, eyes wide as you rode him.

"I fucking love it when you call me that," he crooned as he pinched your nipple. Your pussy was already fluttering around him as you kept that perfect tempo. Bradley pressed his mouth to yours as you babbled incoherently, and it was just a lost cause as you raked your fingers through his hair. He came inside you as he kept pressing his knuckle to your clit.

"Come on, Sweetheart," he coaxed as your movements sped up and then slowed as your cries echoed inside the Bronco. Then your lips were all over his before you abruptly broke away.

Your voice was a sweet little gasp as you said, "Don't make a mess on the upholstery."

With a laugh rumbling deep in his chest, Bradley opened the door and lifted you down from the driver's seat. "Just one of the many reasons we're married."

--------------------------

You and Bradley were lounging in bed on Sunday morning, and he was doing a really poor job of making you want to leave to meet Cam and Maria for brunch.

"Aren't you supposed to be golfing today?" you asked with a laugh as he pinned your wrists over your head on the pillow.

"Yep," he replied softly. "Supposed to meet Jake, Javy and Bob in less than an hour."

You sighed as his lips met the underside of your breast. "Shouldn't you be getting dressed then?"

"I'd rather go for round three and then drink champagne in the bathtub with you."

Now that did sound nice. The weekend had been so much fun. Going up to the hot sauce restaurant had been perfect. You were exhausted all over from having sex and taking Tramp on long beach walks and staying up too late watching movies last night. And Bradley finished reading his notebook to you and promised he'd start from the beginning all over again. Frankly, you could use a nap already, so you weren't really sure how Bradley was doing so well at the moment.

"I'm supposed to go to brunch," you whispered, and Bradley rolled off of you with a groan.

"I'll get side eye for a month from Maria and Cam if you don't go," he said. "So I guess I'll just go play golf."

"We can do round three later," you promised, kissing his ear as you climbed out of bed and started to get ready. "You want me to bring you back some avocado toast?" you asked with a smile.

He made a disgusted face. "You know I hate that stuff. I'll just day drink and eat protein bars like a normal person until you feed me dinner."

"If I decide to feed you dinner later."

Bradley's face looked panicked. "You have to. Please? Sweetheart," he called, springing out of bed and following you to the bathroom. "Please?"

"You're ridiculous, Bradley. Go get a pack of chicken out of the freezer, and I'll make you some Marry Me Rooster tonight."

"Thank you." He kissed you so long and so passionately, you actually felt a little dizzy when he walked out of the room. "He's ridiculous," you muttered as you pressed your fingertips to your lips.

When you finally made it to brunch fifteen minutes late, Cam was glaring at you. "Maria wouldn't let me order anything until you got here. And I'll just bet you're late because Lieutenant Commander Mustache was doing something nasty to you."

You burst into laughter as you slid into the booth next to him. "I mean... I was just helping him with his golf clubs."

"The two of you are fucking filthy," he replied, flagging down the waitress while you and Maria laughed.

Brunch with the two of them was always fun, and you were on your second mimosa when Bradley texted you.

Bradley Rooster Bradshaw <3 <3 <3: Jake wants to know if we can watch Jeremiah tonight if he can manage to get Cat to agree to go to a movie. I told him I had to check with the boss. He laughed and said he should have just texted you instead of asking me... oh wait, I think he's texting you now. Why did I even bother? And then you got a text from Jake asking very nicely if he and Cat could drop Jeremiah off later on their way to a movie. You told them both yes, and when you got home from brunch, you started to clean up the living room. You found your underwear from last night on the coffee table, and your bra was draped over the arm of the couch.

"Don't look at me like that," you told Tramp. "We were just having a good time, okay?" Then you smiled, because you knew that your pup was going to love licking crumbs off of the one year old visitor and following him around the room. "Your friend is coming over. I expect you to be well behaved."

-----------------------------

"He's just so fucking cute."

"Roo! Stop swearing in front of the child!"

Bradley looked up at you from all fours on the living room floor. "Isn't he too young for it to matter?" he asked in all seriousness.

You were gaping at him like he was an idiot, and he started laughing. "The last thing I need is Cat mad at me because his first word is the f-word."

Bradley rolled his eyes. "If he doesn't learn it from me, then I'm sure he'll learn it from Jake."

"Yeah, well that's Jake's problem," you muttered, ducking back into the kitchen to check on dinner.

Bradley scooped Jeremiah up and said, "You're so freaking cute. Is that better?" The little bubble of laughter he got in response was most likely a yes, so he just went with it. "Let's see here. It's almost dinner time. And then I'll bet my hot wife will read us that book about trucks that you liked so much."

"I'll read it now," you said as you walked back into the room. "Dinner is not quite ready yet."

"Hell yes, she's going to read it to us now," Bradley said as he and Jeremiah crawled across the floor to the diaper bag where the book was stashed. He unzipped it and watched the kid reach in and pull everything out including the book. "Nice work. But my knees can't take much more."

With a groan, Bradley scooped him and the book up and carried them to the couch where you were sitting with Tramp. And you looked calm and relaxed as you held the child on your lap and opened the book. Your voice was so sweet, and you were so beautiful, Bradley noticed that Jeremiah seemed more interested in you than the story at times. And it made him smile, because that was pretty much the same way he always looked at you, too.

But he was done stressing about all of it. Bradley was in love with you, and the weekend was everything he wanted. Having a kid like Jeremiah all to yourselves would be a cherry on top of an already perfect life. And if you and he were both still keen on the idea next year, there were options to be discussed at length.

Bradley let himself hope, just the tiniest bit, that maybe you and he would get lucky before then. But he wouldn't drown in that hope like he had before. And he wouldn't let that hope overshadow how great things were right now. But he wouldn't abandon it either. He laughed as he thought about how insightful his notebook entry was going to be later tonight after Jeremiah got picked up.

"Should I read it again?" you asked, looking up at Bradley.

He kissed your cheek. "At least one more time, Sweetheart. We can't get enough of your voice."

You smiled as he and Jeremiah settled in to hear the favorite story again.

------------------------------

The perfect date to do over and over. Little Jeremiah is too sweet, I'm just hoping Cat and Jake are enjoying themselves, too. Just hang in there guys... Thanks to @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 17

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[saturnsorbits]

Limitless

Fandom: Jujutsu Kaisen, Warnings: Suggestive, Word Count: 1k.

Summary: All you want is for Gojo to turn limitless off, even if just for a moment.

A/N: This is my first time writing Gojo and it was kinda fun, I'm ngl.

'Turn it off!’ You whine, eyes wide, lips already pulling out of their forced frown. In your hand a paper ball is hidden, it's yellowed edges sticking out from between your fingers as you coil back your arm and prepare to throw.

You'd only come into the classroom to see if he had planned next semesters syllabus (he hasn't), but he has a way to bring out the inner child in everyone.

Reclining in his chair, Gojo lifts one of his ankles to sit atop his knee. His limbs are long, stretching out impossibly as he tips back and balances the chair on it's back legs. He folds his arms behind his head and grins. 'And why would I do that?'

You tilt your head and attempt to growl. 'Turn it off.'

'Nope.' He pops the 'P' in his mouth like a piece of bubblegum.

'Satoru.'

He licks his lips, bringing a fresh blush to the skin there. 'Mmhmm?

'Turn it off...' You pout, crushing the paper projectile in your hand. '… Please?'

Even underneath the blindfold you can tell he's rolling his eyes. His eyebrows shift, rising up on his forehead. 'You're just going to throw it at me.'

Letting your hand drop, you toss the paper ball in the air and catch it. 'But what if I don't, huh? What then?'

Another roll of his eyes.

'Oh, come on. I didn't take you for such a chicken.'

A devilish smirk takes your lip, one Gojo's not too sure he likes, but before he has time to bother to come up with some witty, off-the-cuff retort you're... Clucking, at him.

'Bawk... Bawk, bawk, bawk.'

He laughs. The noise bubbles up his throat and trickles over his lips, floating through the air like a ribbon of smoke that threatens to sink into your lungs with each inhale. Your silliness makes something twist in his stomach. It's something he hadn't thought could be elicited by someone else, not since he'd called one of those shabby old dorm rooms his own. 'Seriously -.'

'Bawk!'

Gojo rocks back on his chair. 'You know...' He hooks a thumb under his blindfold and lifts, exposing one frozen eye. 'I could just turn it back on as soon as you throw it.'

You shrug. 'So turn it back on when I throw it then.' Looking at him has always been hard. You'd compare it to looking up at a Greek statue, if you didn't know it would inflate his ego impossibly. Still, the metaphor fits. There's a beauty about him, that's hard to deny, but there's also an... Emptiness. A bone-deep chill of stone sadness, a prison – one you're not sure he's all too thrilled about being trapped in.

He tips forward, slamming the front legs of the chair on the floor. Throwing out his arms, he barks a laugh. 'Fuck it. Go on. Hit me...'

The silence that follows makes him nervous, despite the Six Eyes telling him you've yet to raise your hands to throw your projectile. He waits, something he's never been good at, with a breath locked in the back of his throat. He'll have time to thwart whatever you have planned. He's more than sure of that.

It takes a particularly skilled sorcerer to be able to gradually, undetectably, channel cursed energy into an inanimate object, but it's hardly difficult for you. The energy tickles as it leaves you, bringing goose-flesh to the surface of your arms.

Gojo knows what you're doing. He's not stupid. He could detect the slither of energy dripping down your arm if he were fifty more miles away.

But, you know that too: Don't you?

His brow creases, mind whirring as he tries to fathom what hair-brained scheme you were coming up with. Letting his head loll back on his shoulders, he snorts a laugh. God, he really did fucking love it when you were up to no good.

Readying your arm, you slip your left foot forward in what could be considered a throwing stance. You wind back, let your weight sit in your back foot and then, you toss the ball of paper.

Gojo bites the inside of his cheek. As soon as the paper leaves your hand, he's reaching to catch it. He keeps his posture deliberately relaxed, knees parted, legs spread, spine curved into the cushion of the chair. So what if he wants to look cool. There's no rule saying he can't want to impress one of his fellow teachers: he's checked. The paper hits his palm as planned, his hand closing around it like a claw. He's about to laugh, to toss his head back and deliver a witty retort about your throwing skills, but he's not given the chance.

'Turn it off, Satoru.'

You're so close he can feel the breath you use to say his name on the rim of his ear. There's a pressure on his shoulders, your hands curled around him as you settle more firmly in his lap.

Or you would, if he would just turn that damn...

Gojo turns off limitless.

He's bonier than you'd expected. His thin limbs covered with a healthy, but scant layer of muscle that twitches when it finally bares your weight. So, too are his shoulders. The bulk at his back provides a cushion, while you thumb brushes clean over the jut of his collarbone.

You press closer, rolling your hips up and into his pelvic bone. Already you can feel the soft swell of his cock as it twitches, roused by the heat of your cunt.

He drops the paper, choosing instead to take hold of your waist. His hands flatten, palms flat as they slide down, down, down and cup your ass. Kneading at the flesh, he takes hold of you like he owns you, delivering a healthy slap to your left cheek as a wide grin takes his lips.

'It's off.' He cocks an eyebrow, licking over powdered sugar lips. You raise your eyebrows and wriggle your hips to check, making sure to show him just how wet the few drags of your cunt across his rapidly hardening cock has made you.

The muscle in his jaw tenses. He can smell you from here – your desperation - as it drips from you and soaks your underwear. If he plays his cards right, which he always does, he'd bet he'll be able to get a taste of you in the next ten minutes.

He smirks 'So, what now?'

-> Masterlist

[rahhhbananas]

✭ ✭ ✭ 𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐒 (𝐄-𝟒𝟐 & 𝐄-𝟏𝟔𝟏𝟎) 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐘/𝐍 𝐀𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐎𝐋𝐎 𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐏𝐋𝐄𝐓𝐒 ✭ ✭ ✭ ft. the morales brothers

summary. Basically the title

warning(s). He/Him pronouns, foul language, this is au where both Miles are identical twins! E-42 Miles is called Milo so there won’t be any confusing with the two!

guide. red = Miles E-1610, purple = Miles E-42 (aka Milo), blue = Y/n (ofc)

a/n. Rlly wanna make this a series so pls don’t flop 😭

Miles: Oh my god….Shorts or jeans?

Milo: Shorts.

Miles: I gotta go shorts too.

Y/n: I’ll go…shorts too.

Milo: *literally breaks his neck to look at Y/n* You’re a fucking idiot.

✭ ✭ ✭

Y/n: Usualy it’s like, if your arguing with Mill it gets violent. Me and Miles argue, we never hit each other.

Y/n: Umm…ever

Milo: Sometimes words just aren’t enough.

Miles: No..they are.

Y/n: *still babbling*

✭ ✭ ✭

Y/n: *hiding after seeing some random guy*

Milo: *laughing* He’s hiding

Miles: It’s a guy with a dog?

Y/n: *still hiding* Exactly.

Miles: What’s he gonna do? Fall..

Y/n: I just don’t like men..

Y/n: Is he gone?

Miles & Milo: No.

Miles: Y/n, lock the door, lock the door!

Y/n: MILES!

Y/n: *looking around* Heyyy…sir.”

✭ ✭ ✭

Y/n: Someone asked me why I’m gay..

Miles: When will they learn..

Milo: Why? Why, Y/n?

*Long silence*

Y/n: I don’t wanna…

Miles: Okay…

✭ ✭ ✭

Miles: The other night, I slept on his floor. On his rug…

Milo: I told you, you could come sleep in my bed. With me.

Miles: Yeah, but I’m not going in your room bro, like I didn’t want to disturb you.

Y/n: My rooms more comfortable.

Milo: You wanna come snuggle??

Miles: No, you sleep like a weirdo.

Milo: I DON’T SLEEP LIKE A WEIRDO

Miles: if you had a rug, I would’ve just slept in your room

Milo: bro-

Y/n: No- Milo has nothing in his room! I feel like I’m in a fucking dungeon.

Y/n: ITS DARK-

Miles: It’s like a prison cell- it’s literally a prison cell.

Y/n: Yeah

Miles: I saw this video of this guy, locked up for life- because he murdered someone at 13

Miles: And, they were doing and interview, and they were like “Oh! Can we like come in, and see what’s in your cell?” He has MORE things in his cell than you do-

✭ ✭ ✭

TV: I don’t think, you cuddle with your brother.

TV: Soo..

Miles: *moving the camera to Y/n and Milo*

Milo: Is she fucking serious!?

Y/n: I mean- I agree!

✭ ✭ ✭

Miles: Also, not that I hate crocs!

Miles: Cuz…like, sometimes you can pull them off. I guess.

Milo: Yeah, if you’re a nurse.

Y/n: *lifting his foot up, to reveal his crocs*

Miles: Also, imagine the-

Miles: *gasp*

Milo: *laughing*

[existslikepristin]

Tags: NSFW, TheLounge, Dreamcatcher, Handong, female reader (or potentially a force-feminized male reader your mileage may vary), just a little quick-read ficlet about how Handong is a pervert, is that a foot fetish?, you should probably worship Handong’s body, she got them wander-y eyes and hands, woah woah woah you don't think this is inappropriate do you?, are you a dirty little reader?, oh you're a dirty little reader alright, Handong can tell

Just A Little Vanity

Handong strikes quite the figure. Most anyone would, sitting as she is on an armchair ornate enough to be mistaken for a throne. Your particular point of view is that of extreme artistic foreshortening. Mere millimeters away from your eyes, her bare foot takes up most of your field of view, obscuring even her crossed, mile-long legs. Her face, appropriately for such protracted limbs, seems distant and yet no less beautiful. Beyond those gorgeous, exposed legs, her fashion sense is as ostentatious as the tower-like structure of her body. Shaggy faux fur on denim, bedazzled camo, and pearls. Hair so platinum it might as well be chrome, reflecting blacks, blues, whites, and silvers. One slender finger adorned with two unreasonably large rings taps gently against her cheek.

“What to do… what to do…” she muses, “with such a naughty little girl like you.”

“Make me please you?”

She sighs heavily and presses her big toe against your lips. “Shush, you. It was not a question. Did you hear a question mark?” she demonstrates her meaning with her tone well enough for you to recognize the rhetorical nature of the question. The rest of your suggestions will have to wait.

“You…” Handong says, stroking your jawline with the same foot, “do not get to wave that delicious butt of yours in front of me all day and then just get what you want. There are consequences for teasing me.”

Although you're not going to say anything about it, you can’t help but think that perhaps Handong was planning this all along. After all, she made you wear a tiny skirt today, insisting it would be fine without safety shorts, and then she found any and every reason to be behind and slightly below you. It was certainly less than subtle. You'd been feeling her eyes burn a hole in your helplessly visible underwear all day. At least it kept your ass warm in the chilly spring air.

Yes, it was all a trap. Not a particularly clever one, and also not one you mind being caught in. Though it'd be nice if she let you kneel somewhere other than the hard floor.

Handong continues to caress you with her foot, lifting your chin, turning your head to either side. She inspects your face from each angle.

“Done talking back?” she threatens.

“Yes,” you talk back. Cheeky, but technically compliant.

She smirks with you, appreciating the irony. “Good. I would hate to have to send you home without a snack.”

Oh how utterly, coquettishly subtle.

“Please, no, Handong. I'm so hungry.”

She lifts her foot, and your jaw with it, snapping your mouth shut. “Shut up already. I am looking at you.”

It's unclear how those things are related, but you keep yourself from saying anything.

With a flourish, Handong uncrosses her legs, spreading them wide so you can briefly see up her skirt. “Surprise,” no underwear. But you can't look long. Her upper body spans that vast distance in an instant, putting her face nearer to yours, going from practically a pinprick to vision-encompassing, menacing you from above. Those slender, metal and jewel laden fingers grasp just below your chin, holding your head still. You only feel four fingers, giving you the impression that she's sticking her pinky out as if you're a fancy glass of wine. You can't wait for the dinner party.

Handong clicks her tongue, half-lidded eyes traveling up and down. They linger on the down stroke, reminding you of the other piece of clothing she'd demanded of you. Your chest is barely covered, the neckline of the shirt so low that it really shouldn't be called a “neck"line anymore, but perhaps a “nipple"line. As she pulls you forward, you're sure she can see far, far more than the shirt's designer ever intended. Handong's light dusting of a blush and perverted twitch of a lip key you in further.

“Mmm,” she hums, “I could just take a bit out of you.”

You bite your tongue to stop yourself from correcting her verbal spelling error. She tends to make more mistakes when her mind is meandering down your clothes.

She urges you up with a slight pull. Anybody normal would close their eyes for the impending kiss, but Handong’s eyes stay open and predatory until the last possible moment.

When you’re close enough, she strikes. Your lower lip is caught between her teeth and she nibbles softly before she kisses you proper. Her breath hisses between the gaps at the corners of your lips, greedy more for you than the air. She pries your mouth open with hers, invading you unreasonably quickly. She’s got a different metric for what constitutes reasonability though. You’re her toy. She'll play with you according to her rules.

“Handong!” Soomin shouts from across the room, “I’ve called your name three times! Come get your damn coffee! And we’ve got rooms for that!”

Without any additional warning, Handong drops you to the floor, stands up, and glides gracefully past you toward the counter. Watching her go past, you see no small number of other coffee shop-goers staring in your direction.

“Thanks, babe,” Handong flirts shamelessly as she picks up your drinks, “Oh, and I would like to use one of the rooms.”

[ghouljams]

pls pls ghoul, i need to know…what are ghost’s, soap’s, and gaz’ reaction to price “flirting” with the married duck?

At that point in time, Soap knows Duck and Goose so he gets word about it and immediately goes to find Price to laugh at him about it. "Getting shot down by your wife has'ta hurt." All smiles. Really it's great to keep that secret when it makes shit like this funny. He probably calls Goose and tells her about Price's new homewrecker reputation. They both have a good laugh about it.

Gaz, I always think Gaz knew Price was married before he started working on the ranch. It was one of those secrets that gets shared when you don't think you're going to make it out. Price made him promise to find Duck if he anything happened, but when they both made it out Gaz was sworn to secrecy(and like the good sergeant he is he fully planned on taking that to the grave for his captain). So when he hears Price is flirting with a married woman he runs some quick calculations and assumes it's his wife. Then goes "OH SHIT THE WIFE" and races to meet Duck. Which also earns Gaz a reputation for chasing married women.

Which leaves us with Ghost, Price's most loyal dog, and the most important man for Duck to meet as her future son-in-law. I personally think the idea that he unknowingly had any interactions with Duck or made any comments about Price's family is really funny.

It's hard to stop the sigh the leaves him as Ghost steps foot off the helo and into camp. Fucking desert ops. He'd kill for a half decent shower. Still, it's home enough to let him roll his shoulders back into place. The tension in his back won't leave until he's dead in the ground, but at least he'll be able to sleep on a cot and not a bedroll. He trails behind the other soldiers that pile out to hustle to camp, scanning the horizon beyond the tents.

Hell of a lot of doctors runnin' around here, he could see the red cross on their backs from a mile away. Bunch of targets if you ask him.

Ghost breaks off from the rest of the crowd and makes his way to the Captain's tent. The rest of the troop can get cleaned up, his first priority is getting Price the intel he asked for. He pushes back the tent flap and stops short at the red cross and white coat. It's not unheard of for the red cross to come by the camp to request aid or supplies, but it's unusual. Whatever argument had been happening quiets as soon as he steps into the tent.

There's a silent spark of recognition in the doctor's eyes, one that makes Ghost frown. Does he know this woman? He's sure he doesn't.

"I'll be back," the doctor warns Price, her accent is soft, lilting, southern US if Ghost had to guess.

"I'm countin' on it," Price replies, a little too genuinely for Ghost's liking. The doctor nods and gives Ghost a friendly smile before brushing past him. Not many lookers like that around camp, Ghost doesn't bother hiding the way his gaze follows the woman as she leaves.

"She's pretty," Ghost hums, staring after the doctor.

"Married too," Price tells him without looking up from the map on the table. Ghost nods any interest he'd had gone with that comment.

"She got a sister?" Ghost jokes, wandering towards the table to start marking points of interest.

"She's got a brother." Price huffs, annoyed with this line of questioning. Interesting.

"Cowboy's not my type," Ghost takes the offered pen from his captain, leaning to circle a few squares on the grid. Potential entry points he'd spotted from the helo, or lifted from the shreds they'd found at the base his team had raided. "Any particular reason you know so much about a married woman?" He prods.

Price stays silent. It's better than being lied to. They both know Ghost will keep quiet no matter how he answers, but lies aren't something that passes easily between them. It's better to be quiet than truthful sometimes. Ghost nods once, short, without looking up from his work. It's none of his business who the captain has an affection for, as long as it doesn't interfere with his work.

He bumps into the doctor again around camp. She seems to have made herself comfortable, more at home around the soldiers than any of the other red cross folks. Ghost gives her a polite nod and tries to step around her. She catches his arm, and drops it just as quickly.

"Lt. Riley," She starts.

"Ghost is fine," better to be informal with civilians, makes them more comfortable.

"Ghost," She smiles, "You haven't stopped by for your physical."

"Don't need one." He replies, gruff, hopefully enough to drop the subject. He does his best to look down his nose at the woman, to glare and intimidate. It's the easiest way he's found to interact with medical professionals. Most military doctors find it easier to let him deal with whatever is bothering him than try to wrestle compliance out of him.

Half an hour late he's sat on a cot in the medical tent in just his shorts and mask while the doctor jots down figures onto a chart. He's not entirely sure how she got him in here. Fuck he hates doctors. At least there's been minimal poking and prodding, nothing past the required. She hadn't mentioned any of the more alarming scars, hadn't tried to get his balaclava off, didn't shine a light in his eyes, hell she hadn't hit him with any of his usual triggers.

Suspicious.

"Everything looks good," The doctor hums, "Anything you're concerned about and want to share?"

"No," Ghost tells her shortly. Even if there was he'd be a fool to tell. A medical discharge is the last thing he needs.

"Figured," She nods like she understands, and sets her chart down to dig through her pockets. The doctor holds out a golden candy on a short white stick. Ghost eyes it suspiciously, tugging his tee back over his shoulders. "I have a daughter around your age," The doctor supplies, "She still insists on getting a sucker after exams, thought you might appreciate one too."

After a moment Ghost takes the offered sucker, pulling his fatigues back on. He ignores the friendly good-bye the doctor offers him in favor of unwrapping the candy. A daughter, huh. Christ, Price sure knows how to pick 'em. Flirting with a married mother, what a recipe for disaster.

[neteyamsoare]

The Things He Does.

༉‧₊˚. Featuring. Tsu’tey x fem! Omatikaya! Mate! Reader.

༉‧₊˚. Anonymous Request. Sia, Sia oooo I can give you one for Tsu’tey if you really don’t mind, and also if you’re comfortable with it! Only if you’re comfortable, fr 💞 what are your thoughts on a little thing talking about all the ways Tsu’tey shows he cares/loves cause you know this man isn’t saying it— he feels likes a giver and not a taker, like he shows more clearly by doing than saying cause we’ve seen how he hesitated in the first movie trying to find the right words to say to Jake once they got along. I can imagine to someone he loves, it would be much harder to find the right words?

༉‧₊˚. Summary. Words don’t come easy to Tsu’tey so he shows his love by doing things to make you happy.

༉‧₊˚. General Tags. Fluff and a bit suggestive.

༉‧₊˚. Content Warnings. None.

༉‧₊˚. Word Count. 951.

༉‧₊˚. Index. Muntxatan — [Husband], Sevin — [pretty], and Tiyawn — [love].

༉‧₊˚. Notes. Anon if I could kiss you right now, I would. Thank you for being my first Tsu’tey request. I hope I did your request justice. | Sorry if it’s bad — if it is pretend I never posted it :).

༉‧₊˚. Extra. Comments, likes, and reblogs are highly appreciated but not pressured. 🤍

༉‧₊˚. Starred Links. Navigation + Masterlist + Prompts + Taglist

✰ So let’s talk about it when it comes to telling you how he loves/cares for you, let’s be honest, he sucks at it, and can’t find the right words to describe it to you which makes him angry leaving you to comfort him. So he figures out other ways of telling you by showing you. 

「 Acts of Service 」

✰ This man would do anything for you even if it’s a small thing like holding a basket so that you wouldn’t have to lift a finger. 

“Ma Tsu’tey, I can handle holding it, it’s a basket of fruits, it’s not heavy.” You say as you try taking the basket from him but he would gently smack your hand away and continue to your and his hut. 

“Tiyawn, I got this, you just worry about walking your sevin ass in front of me.” He smirks as you try the freckles that begin to glow. 

As soon as you and he reach home, he’s already watching the fruits and chopping them up as you come up behind him, wrap your arms around his waist, and lay your head on his back.

✰ He loves it when you walk in front of him and it’s not just that he enjoys the view, he just wants to protect you and would rather sacrifice himself than have you getting hurt under his watch.

✰ When you are walking with him through the forest, he’d hold back branches so they won’t hit you.

✰ If a threat came ever so close to you, he’d step in front of you, ears pinned back, and hiss at the animal challenging it to dare step foot near you and the animal would whimper and retreat. You’d take his hand in yours and lay your head on his shoulder as you continue your walk to your and his training spot.

「 Gift Giving 」

✰ Having learned how to weave from a young age, Tsu’tey would make you pretty tops that would easily become your favorite pieces to wear. 

​​✰ He would also make you beautiful necklaces that would match whatever top you would wear and you’d be the happiest girl on Pandora that you have a talented man like him. Your favorite necklace to wear is the one that matches his colors.

✰ He would smirk when he sees you wear the stuff he makes you and as a bonus to it, other men would know who you belong to and wouldn’t dare try anything if they know what’s good for them.

✰ He’s an amazing listener, you’d talking a mile a minute and he’s still caught on to everything you said. This is a very good skill he’s learned over the years, he uses it as one of the ways he shows he loves you.

You’d be cleaning around the hut you called home ever since you and Tsu’tey mated before Eywa and your ears would pick up the sound of feet crushing against leaves and twigs which would let you know he was coming, that man walks strong and tough. 

“Ma muntxatan, you’re home. I missed you.” You’d immediately bring him in for a hug something he was still getting used to but was getting the hang of it. “I brought back something for you.” You raise your eyebrow bone at him and smile. “What is it?” he chuckles bringing the hand that was placed behind his back and giving you the bag he was carrying. 

When you looked in the bag, you couldn’t help but squeal and Tsu’tey just sat back and watched you. “I remember how you were talking about how you haven’t eaten your favorite berries in a long time so I thought I could surprise you.” You look at him with teary eyes which makes him worried but it goes away when you hug him and kiss him deeply. 

「 Physical Touch 」

✰ Tsu’tey can’t keep his hands off you, he is just in love with your touch so he would just have his arms wrapped around you, head placed in your neck to sniff in your scent while his tail is wrapped around your leg.

“Tsu’tey people are watching us.” You’d say worriedly as you took notice of the eyes that wandered to where you and he stood but he didn’t budge. “Let them stare, I don’t care.” you would chuckle and enjoy the moment. 

「 Quality Time 」

✰ In your and Tsu’tey’s home, he would love to cuddle with you, he is a big spoon for sure. While you lay on his chest, he lets you hear something he wouldn’t let anyone else hear.

✰ His body would vibrate as he’d purr and you swear that was the best feeling you got from him. To know he was that comfortable with you to purr made you happy that he was yours and yours alone, you wouldn’t give him up for anything in the world. 

✰ Your tails would intertwine with each other as the both of you fall asleep.

✰ So when people question how are you able to stay with Tsu’tey, you just look at them with a smile and say, “he shows me how much he loves me and he is the perfect mate for me.” 

✰ Tsu’tey himself would question why you would stay with him when he struggled with words to tell you how he feels and you would just shrug him off, bring him into your arms, and say softly. “It’s the things you do that matter.” you lean in and kiss him softly as he picks you up and carries you to the bed not ever breaking the kiss.

🔖 @livelaughloak @blackheart-stuff @neteyamsbaby @amart-e @almondmilk8 @onlytays @nikkinotfound

© neteyamsoare 2023. | All rights reserved. Do not repost, reupload, translate, modify, or claim my work as your own.

[weemssapphic]

hiii, I hope you are having a great day!

I was wondering... i know it was hard to write lipstick stain buuut would you consider doing a part 2?

hello, i hope you're having a lovely day as well! a couple people asked if i would write a second part so... here it is! ao3 link is in the title <3

for those who haven't read part one: here's a link (it's also in my masterlist)

content/warnings: Larissa takes reader out on a date - nsfw (dom!larissa), age gap (reader is 21+), sexual shapeshifting, praise kink, alcohol consumption, cunnilingus (reader receiving), corruption kink if you squint?

words: ~4.5k

Lipstick Stains - Pt. 2

Larissa Weems x fem!reader

previous chapter | next chapter | series page

Moonlight filtered into the living room of the apartment you shared with your friends, the soft glow a stark contrast to the harsh light coming from the home screen of Netflix that illuminated the television.

You’d somehow managed to field most of your roommate’s questions about your afternoon, wanting to keep the “juicy details”, as Christin put it, to yourself, and soon the topic had moved on to Cassandra’s failing love life, your upcoming midterm exams, and where you would all go for your spring break trip.

Pizza boxes and empty beer bottles were strewn across the coffee table. Christin was nestled in Robin’s arms on the larger of the two couches, Cassandra curled up on the smaller couch, leaving you on a pile of fuzzy blankets on the floor. You didn’t mind - you were wide awake anyway, mind going a mile a minute.

You grabbed your phone from where it layed next to you, beginning to flick through each of your social media apps, hoping for a brief reprieve from the woman that plagued your every thought, from the growing ache between your thighs. The reprieve did not come. Instead, you found your thumb hovering over your contacts app. A quick glance at your roommates told you they were out cold. You scrolled down to the ‘L’s, finding Larissa’s name and opening a new message. 

A glance at the time told you it was 1:34 am. There was no way in hell she’d be up. Even if she were… she’d have something better to do, you were sure of it. You sucked your bottom lip between your teeth, staring at your phone, thumbs hovering over the screen as you debated whether or not to text her. 

A snore to your right brought you out of your daze. You locked your phone, groaning and dropping your head to the floor. What had this woman done to you, in such a short amount of time?

You picked yourself up off the floor, switching off the television and heading out of the living room in the hopes that a cold shower and a decent night's sleep would get your mind off the older woman.

Of course, you were sorely mistaken. You couldn’t get your mind off her, no matter how hard you tried, and by the middle of the week, you couldn’t take it anymore. 

You found yourself pacing your room on a Wednesday afternoon, finger hovering once again over Larissa’s contact, typing out and deleting a message over and over again. Everything you came up with sounded so stupid - so juvenile. Perhaps she’d appreciate a phone call instead?

Fuck it. You pressed the ‘call’ button and lifted your phone to your ear, heart beating faster with each passing ring, until it pounded against your ribcage, struggling to break free.

“Larissa Weems?” Her tone was cool, professional, put together - while you felt like you were coming apart at the seams.

“Hi,” you breathed out. “It’s Y/N. You know, from the-”

“I know who you are.” You could practically hear the woman smirk at the other end of the line. “I was wondering when you would call.” 

At least she remembers your name? That has to count for something?

“Uh, right. Yeah. I was just wondering how you were doing? And, maybe, if you were free sometime?” You stopped your pacing to shuffle from foot to foot, glancing out the window to watch the cars pass by on the street below.

Larissa’s melodic laugh reached your ear and your stomach flipped pleasantly. “I’m doing well, thank you.”

There was a brief pause in which time seemed to stand still as you wondered what she was thinking, whether she was going to try to let you down gently. And then - “What do you say I take you out to dinner on Friday?” 

Dinner? Somehow you’d just been expecting a hook-up, you hadn’t dared hope the woman would show any interest in you beyond relieving some sexual frustration.

“Darling?” You realized with a jolt that Larissa was waiting for a reply.

“Y-yes, of course, I’d love to go out to dinner with you.”

“Wonderful. The earliest I can make is 7, I hope that’s alright.”

“Yeah, that’s fine.” You couldn’t help the victorious grin that was spreading across your face, the butterflies that were erupting in your stomach.

“Where can I pick you up?”

You recited your address and said goodbye to Larissa, barely having hung up the phone before falling back onto your bed and squealing in delight. The panic would set in soon enough when you realized you had no idea where you were going or what you should be wearing.

~~~

Friday came both far too quickly and far too slowly for your liking. Your roommates teased you relentlessly, though they thankfully had the mercy to make themselves scarce when the afternoon of your date with Larissa came upon you.

Robin and Christin excused themselves early to go on a date of their own while Cassandra helped you with your makeup, distracting you with some horror stories of hook-ups with frat boys from her freshman year. 

When it was time for you to get dressed, she gave you a quick hug and shut herself in her room, turning Spotify all the way up to give you your space.

6:57 pm. You gave yourself a once-over in the mirror. You’d opted for a long black skirt and a baby blue silk blouse with just the top button undone. Cassandra had done a great job with your makeup - you didn’t usually wear eyeliner, but you had to admit it suited you, drawing attention to your eyes. You hoped Larissa would like it.

Your phone buzzed and you reached for it automatically. Larissa.

“Hi, are you here?”

“I believe so, though the parking here is a little confusing.”

It was your turn to laugh - she was right, the set-up of the student apartment buildings wasn’t very visitor-friendly. “Yeah, sorry about that. I’ll be right down.”

You grabbed your keys and your wallet, stuffing them into a little clutch that you’d dug out of the back of your closet, praying you were dressed fancy enough for wherever Larissa was taking you. She dressed rather expensively and you were sure her taste was no different.

You took the steps two at a time, somehow managing not to twist an ankle in your heeled boots, and scoured the parking lot for your date, finally spotting the woman leaned against a deep blue Rolls Royce at the other end of the lot, busy typing away on her phone.

Your cheeks warmed as you drank in her form. Her dress was silver, off-the shoulder, cinched at the waist. The fabric rippled off her hips like a waterfall, stopping just shy of her ankles. Her hands were gloved and she wore a long coat and heels that added a few inches to her already impressive height. She was stunning - and you were definitely underdressed.

You waved to her as you approached, finally getting her attention. A warm smile spread across her face and she opened the passenger door for you, gesturing for you to get in.

“Chivalrous,” you remarked, a shy smile playing on your lips.

“I can be.” Her hand brushed your shoulder and she threw you a wink before closing your door and heading over to the driver’s side.

Larissa put the car in drive and pulled onto the street, her right hand coming to rest on your thigh. “I’ve taken the liberty of making a reservation at my favorite restaurant, I do hope you’ll enjoy it.”

You swallowed hard as her thumb began to draw slow, lazy circles over the fabric of your skirt. “I’m sure I’ll love it, Larissa.”

The drive was short, less than 10 minutes, and most of it was spent humming along absentmindedly to the radio as Larissa continued her ministrations on your thigh, shooting you a glance every so often.

She pulled into the parking lot of one of the most expensive restaurants in Burlington. You moved to open your own door but Larissa was faster, having maneuvered swiftly around the car and pulled the door open for you. She placed a hand on the small of your back as she led you into the restaurant and a shiver ran up your spine, your skin burning from the contact despite the layers of fabric between the two of you.

You were led to a booth at the back of the restaurant, away from prying eyes. The waiter brought you a pair of menus as well as the wine list, before tilting his head towards you, an apology already formed in his eyes. 

“Miss, I apologize but I will have to see your ID.”

Your cheeks burned as you rifled through your purse, while Larissa busied herself with the wine list to hide the smirk forming on her lips.

The waiter checked your ID and, once satisfied, apologized again and left you to peruse the menu.

You looked at the woman across from you and saw her shoulders begin to shake with laughter.

“Hey,” you pouted, searching the table for something you could possibly toss at her to get her to stop giggling. “I’m of age, you know.”

“I never doubted that you were,” Larissa suppressed another giggle and, finally, met your gaze. “Has anyone ever told you how adorable you look when you pout like that?”

“I don’t look adorable,” you grumbled, crossing your arms and furrowing your brow, before realizing Larissa had you exactly where she wanted you. “This really isn’t fair, you know that, right?”

“Darling, I never said I played fair.” Her eyes darkened and her voice dropped an octave as she leaned across the table, her hand coming to cup your cheek. Her thumb grazed your bottom lip and you sucked in a deep breath, eyes fluttering shut at the sensation.

“You’re a tease,” you whined. 

“I have a feeling you’ll come to enjoy it,” Larissa shot you a playful wink before settling back in her seat. “Now, let me spoil you.”

If the wetness pooling between the apex of your thighs was anything to go by, this was going to be a long night.

Larissa ordered a bottle of her favorite red for the table and insisted, with a pointed glare, that you don’t pay attention to the prices on the menu. The two of you spoke about art and culture as you waited for your food, and you chattered on about your art history courses. She seemed genuinely interested in your life as she rested her chin on her hand, fully captivated as she watched you with a glint in her sapphire eyes. 

“So, what is it that you do?” you asked. The woman opposite you intrigued you so - by the time your food arrived, you felt you’d been blabbering at her all evening, and you didn’t know a single thing about her yet. 

“I’m the principal of a school.” 

“Oh? Sounds intense. Which school?”

“Nevermore Academy.” Larissa seemed to tense slightly, eyes carefully searching every inch of your face. 

Your brows furrowed as you thought, carefully chewing a piece of your food. “Oh - that school for… uh, Outcasts?” You tried to recall if you were using the correct term - your roommate, Robin, had grown up in the area and told you stories of some local kids in the area who’d gone to Nevermore, vampires and werewolves and the like, though you knew she tended to over-dramatize things.

Larissa’s lips pulled into a thin line and she nodded, knuckles turning white as her fingers flexed around her silverware. 

“That sounds so cool! I’m not really from this area so I don’t know much about it, but isn’t that like everyone’s dream? To have some kind of magical superpower?” 

Larissa seemed to visibly relax, a hesitant smile gracing her lips. “I don’t quite think that’s what everyone thinks, though I’m certainly doing my best to rectify Nevermore’s reputation.”

“That’s a shame,” you shrugged, taking a sip of your wine and smiling at Larissa, trying to ease any remnants of tension that the conversation seemed to bring up - you could tell she wasn’t used to people being accepting about her profession or her status as an Outcast. Was she an Outcast? 

“I don’t know if this is rude to ask but… are you… do you have any… you know? ‘Superpowers’?” You immediately cringed at yourself for sounding so stupid, a blush creeping up your cheeks.

Larissa laughed, the sound like music to your ears. “I do, if you want to call it that.” She looked down into her wine glass, swirling the stem gently between the tips of her manicured fingers.

You raised an eyebrow and cocked your head, waiting for her to continue. She seemed to deliberate for a moment as a long silence stretched between the two of you.

“I’m a shapeshifter.” Her words rolled off her tongue as if she weighed every syllable with great care. She raised her eyes to meet yours, her expression giving away nothing except perhaps a hint of challenge. 

You racked your brain for an appropriate reaction to the admission, sensing your next words would be terribly important to the older woman. 

“Oh…” You let out a deep breath. “That seems like it would come in handy. Thank you for telling me.” You placed your hand on the table between the two of you, palm facing up, wiggling your fingers. 

Larissa looked between your eyes and your hand and, after a moment’s hesitation, placed her own hand in yours, a brilliant, toothy smile lighting up her face. Your skin tingled where hers met your own, lighting up all the nerves in your body. 

You were pleased to find that you hadn’t made a complete fool of yourself, and conversation flowed even easier after that point. Larissa opened up about the trials and tribulations that came with running an entire school, all while your hands were intertwined on the table. 

You’d long finished your meals, the bottle of wine you’d shared was nearly empty when you felt something brush against your ankle and you yelped, nearly jumping out of your seat. 

Larissa suppressed a giggle, giving your hand a squeeze as the tip of her heel grazed against the muscle of your calf. 

“How did you like the food?” Her voice was low and sultry and as she leaned across the table, you caught a strong whiff of her perfume, dowsing you in a steep wave of arousal.

“I-I loved it.” You clenched your thighs together, trying to ignore the building tension in your abdomen and focus on the present moment with your date. “It was so, so good. Really, thank you so much for taking me here.”

“Darling, the pleasure was all mine. But now I think I’d really like to have some dessert, if that’s alright with you?” Larissa’s gaze was intense, all-consuming, hungry - you felt yourself drowning in her eyes, your stomach fluttering at the prospect of what she was proposing. 

You swallowed back a whimper and nodded, unable to concentrate as the pad of Larissa’s thumb traced over your knuckles.

Larissa paid your bill, tipping generously and leading you back to her car. Her hand rested on your thigh again during the drive, inching slowly and tantalizingly higher every few minutes as the pads of her fingers began gentle ministrations against your skirt. You wished in that moment you’d worn something more revealing, feeling desperate for her touch on your skin. 

As the car pulled up a long, winding drive towards a massive, castle-like building, Larissa’s fingers finally brushed against the fabric covering your core, drawing a strangled hiss from your throat. 

“We’re here,” Larissa smirked, removing her hand from your skirt and parking the car. 

“So is this Nevermore?” You bit the inside of your cheek in a vain attempt to regain control of yourself, staring up at the imposing building through the car window with interest.

“It is, I have my apartment at the school. It’s easier that way.”

Larissa led you inside the school. You rushed after her, struggling to keep up with her long strides as she navigated her way through the dark, looming halls, completely empty at this time of night. She stopped in front of a pair of wood-paneled double doors, fishing her keys out of her purse and letting you into the apartment.

Within seconds of the door shutting behind you, Larissa’s lips were on yours. You let out a groan as she pressed you into the door, simultaneously shrugging off her coat and tossing it to the floor. Her hands trailed down your sides, cupping your ass and lifting you off the floor to pin you against the door.

Larissa’s tongue slid against the seam of your lips, coaxing a moan from your throat as you granted her access to explore your mouth. Your entire body was ablaze as she began to pepper your jaw and throat with kisses, moving her lips to your pulse point and grazing her teeth over your sensitive skin.

“Larissa, please,” you whined, the ache between your legs becoming too much. You needed her, you’d needed her since you’d first had her nearly a week ago, and the ache was finally becoming too much to bear.

“So eager.” You could feel the ghost of a smirk against your throat as Larissa carried you effortlessly back through an open doorway, nipping and sucking at the column of your throat. Larissa placed you on her bed and hovered over you, lips connecting with every inch of bare skin she could reach, leaving a trail of goosebumps in her wake.

Her fingers worked at the buttons of your blouse, expertly ridding you of the garment within seconds. Your bra came next and then her mouth was on your breasts, tongue working your nipples into hard peaks as she drew breathy moans from your throat.

Your skirt joined the rest of your clothes on the floor and Larissa trailed open-mouthed kisses down your torso, biting little marks to remember the night by. You yelped when she bit down on the inside of your thigh, arousal leaking out of your core. 

Finally, Larissa’s tongue made contact with your cunt, licking a path up your folds to your clit, circling it once, twice. The scent of your arousal hung heavy in the air, spurring her on as she lapped at your pussy.

“Does this feel good, Y/N?” You could only whimper in response, fingers tangled in the sheets behind you to steady yourself. You were embarrassingly close already, simply from the effect of the woman’s intoxicating presence.

“You taste absolutely divine, my darling,” Larissa hummed, sucking your clit as her fingers teased your entrance.

“P-please,” you whimpered, thighs twitching as you brought your hands to Larissa’s hair, fingers tangling in her blonde tresses.

“Please what?” The vibrations of Larissa’s lips against your pussy were driving you wild with need.

“I’m so close…” Larissa plunged her fingers into your cunt and you bucked your hips up in time to meet her thrusts. Your walls began to clench around her fingers as you reached your first orgasm, your moans increasing in volume.

Your gaze wandered down, eyes meeting Larissa’s, and the sight was what made the coil behind your navel snap. Her pupils were blown so wide there was not a sliver of sapphire visible, her cheeks were dusted pink, her hair was coming out of its elegant updo, curls falling messily across her forehead.

Larissa lapped up the juices leaking out of your core as you rode out your high, planting soothing kisses along the insides of your thighs and cleaning you up while you steadied your breathing. 

She moved up your body, connecting your lips in a bruising kiss so that you could taste yourself on her tongue, swallowing your moan.

Larissa pulled back to look at you, the insatiable hunger in her eyes setting a fire ablaze inside of you.

“Y/N, can you be a good girl for me?” Your thighs clenched together with want and you nodded fervently. There it was again - good girl - of course you would be, you would be anything for her.

Larissa slid off to the side of the bed and tugged at the zipper of her dress, revealing the smooth expanse of her back, dotted with pale freckles. She slid the dress farther down, until it reached the swell of her ass, then allowed it to fall to the floor. 

To your absolute delight she’d forgone a bra, and as she turned to face you your breath hitched in your chest, struck by the most beautiful sight you’d ever seen. The peaks of her nipples, hardened by a chill in the air; the slight swell of her stomach, disappearing into red lacy panties; the freckles on her shoulders, sprawled out like constellations.

“You’re beautiful,” you whispered, secretly a bit pleased at yourself with the hint of a blush you were able to produce on the apple’s of Larissa’s cheeks.

“My darling girl,” she cooed sweetly, a contrast to the devious smirk playing upon her lips. “Do you remember what I was telling you earlier? About me being a shapeshifter?”

You nodded slowly, brows furrowing, unsure where the woman was going with this. 

“I am able to shift… certain parts of myself.” Your mind, still a bit hazy from your first orgasm, raced in an attempt to compute what she was saying. Larissa towered over you, waiting patiently until - finally - your eyes widened as comprehension dawned on your face. 

“I would so like to take you tonight, my dear,” Larissa’s voice was low and sultry and you could only nod eagerly. You felt your heart begin to race, heat pooling between your legs at her proposal. She smirked down at you with kiss-swollen lips, lipstick smudged, and you knew you were done for.

Larissa crawled on top of you, planting sloppy, heated kisses along your jaw. It was then that you felt it - an unfamiliar bulge, pressing insistently against your leg through the lace of Larissa’s underwear. 

“You make me so hard,” she groaned. You moaned involuntarily as the older woman began to grind against your thigh, rubbing her bulge against your sensitive skin. Your skin buzzed with electricity, all the blood in your body seemingly rushing straight to your cunt. You needed her inside you.

Larissa pushed herself up to discard her panties, her full length now on display, standing to attention. Your pupils dilated as you stared at her, transfixed, drool pooling in your mouth. You dropped your thighs open, revealing your dripping sex, and Larissa chuckled at your neediness.

“My beautiful girl, so ready for me.” Larissa gazed down at you fondly, cupping your cheek with her hand. She traced your lower lip with her thumb, letting out a moan as you sucked it into your mouth.

“Lay back,” she instructed, and you did as you were told, chest heaving as Larissa crawled on top of you, pressing her body into yours, her skin hot to the touch. She reached a hand between the two of you to grasp her cock and drag the tip up your slit, whimpering at the sensation.

You bucked your hips up, whining needily and fisting at the sheets.

“Darling,” Larissa whispered, her breath hot on the shell of your ear. “I’m going to fuck you so hard you’ll forget your own name.”

Your own breath hitched in your chest as she finally pushed inside of you, letting out a guttural moan as your warm pussy clenched around her length.

She paused for a moment to allow you to get used to the sensation of being filled. “Is this alright?”

“Mhmm. It’s good.” You shifted your hips, watching carefully as Larissa’s eyelids fluttered shut, eyelashes brushing against flushed cheekbones. “How does it feel for you?”

Larissa smiled sweetly, opening her eyes and gazing down at you as a light blush spread across her cheeks. “It feels amazing.” Her expression turned wistful. “No one’s ever asked me that.”

It was something you couldn’t fathom, and with some effort due to your height difference and the position, you reached up to tuck a loose strand of her hair behind her ear, fingertips brushing lovingly against her jaw as if trying to convey an apology for every idiot who had ever slept with her and not cared for her pleasure.

You rocked your hips a bit, causing Larissa to shift above you. “May I?” You nodded, teeth sinking into your lip as she began to slide out of you, then back in, slowly at first, allowing you to adjust to her.

Larissa found a steady rhythm inside of you, rocking her hips against yours, stretching you out with every thrust. She seemed to hit every nerve-ending inside of you, knowing exactly how to move her hips to have you writhing in pleasure beneath her. 

Your hands clung to the sheets beneath you, fingers twisting so hard at the fabric that you might rip it. Larissa’s hands settled on your waist, steadying herself so she could pick up her pace. You stared, enraptured, her tits bouncing as she pounded into you.

Larissa leaned over you so that she could press a searing kiss to your lips as her hands came to rest next to your head.

“Tell me what you want,” Larissa cooed, continuing her brutal pace inside your cunt.

“Oh- fuck, Rissa, use me.”

Larissa’s moans became filthier by the minute and you could tell, somewhere behind the hazy cloud of your impending orgasm, that she must be close too by the way the snapping of her hips was becoming more and more erratic, the way her breath was coming out in short puffs, the way her hand that she used to steady herself next to your head twisted at the sheets with white-knuckled desperation.

“Be a good girl for me and come with me, darling,” Larissa breathed, groaning as she thrusted into you, on the verge of climax.

You came first, your senses flooding with delight as you reached your peak. It was pure ecstasy, feeling your walls clench around Larissa’s cock. You could hear the older woman’s own cry above you and you forced your eyes to stay open so you could watch her, her face contorted with pleasure above you; eyes screwed shut, jaw slack. 

Larissa slid out of you carefully, chuckling as you mewled pathetically at the sudden feeling of emptiness. She slumped onto the mattress beside you, completely spent, slipping her arm under your torso to pull you into a soft embrace. With her body pressed against yours, skin to skin, you could feel that she’d shifted back again.

“That was… wow,” you sighed, nuzzling into Larissa’s chest. She laughed, a melodious sound that you immediately committed to memory.

“It was indeed.” She pressed her lips to yours in an affectionate, loving kiss. “You did so well for me, love,” she murmured, fingertips skating across the skin of your back in soothing patterns. You breathed in her scent, allowing it to wash over you and calm your still racing heart.

“I can drive you home but-” Larissa saw the slight pout of your lower lip and grinned, “but I would love it if you’d stay the night. Perhaps I could entice you with breakfast in bed?”

You smiled up at her, wrapping your arms around her neck. “You could entice me with you. I would love to stay the night.”

Larissa settled back against the pillows, pulling you on top of her, relishing the contact with your bare skin. She pressed her lips to your forehead, watching your eyes flutter closed and listening intently as your breathing slowed before allowing herself to succumb to sleep, a peaceful smile tugging at the corners of her lips. 

x

tags: @enchantressb @rainbow-hedgehog

[seat-safety-switch]

You might be surprised to hear that every arena of human endeavour has weird perverts who try hard to rattle the cage of normal, hard-working people. For me, it's obviously my vast collection of rattle-trap Malaise Era semi-destroyed vehicles. I've always been interested in meeting freaks in other industries and hearing long diatribes about extreme technical details that I don't really care about, so when my cousin finally retired from his job at the newspaper, I lifted his "Press" pass from his bedroom dresser when he thought I was having a heart attack at Thanksgiving dinner.

Turns out I didn't really need to do that, because my dentist is one of those freaks. One of those accidents of geographic proximity brought him to me, and we became fast friends once we each realized what the other had to offer. Dr. Incisor (not his real name; also potentially not a doctor) had a thing for fixing the absolute worst mouths that he could find. Years of working a boring suburbanite dentist clinic had taken their toll on his sanity: fill this cavity, lecture about flossing, do that root canal. Nothing truly ambitious, not at all like the dentists he would read about as a boy in bicuspid-adventure novels.

His deal was simple: he'd pay me in nitrous oxide, under the table. Finally, I could return to the drag strip and beat my rival, Steve "Nipples" Hemingway, in the eighth-mile with the help of a gaseous power-adder blowing its way through the rings of my exceptionally low-compression Slant Six beneath the dimpled hood of one of my many shitrods. In exchange, he expected me to bring to him what he called "project mouths."

If I could locate the worst teeth in the city, and drag them before him, he wouldn't even charge them for dental work. He would, however, broadcast it on his live Twitch channel, which it turns out violated a whole shitload of medical-privacy laws. I told him from the start that he should have dressed up like a cartoon lion, or at least used an anime girl vtuber, but he insisted that the "cowards of medicine" face him on equal footing as he descended into the molar (and moral) hells I placed before him.

I'll never forget his frenzied, angry screaming as they dragged him off to prison for malpractice. Don't worry, I stayed behind to make sure the clinic nitrous tank was safely discharged. Don't want any firefighters showing up. Those folks can be real freaks when they see a cool oxidizer-involved fire.

[silverstonesainz-archive]

when you're missing me...

10 songs, from you to him.

summary: charles goes track by track as he deals with the sadness of losing you. pairing: charles leclerc x fem!reader (affectionately nicknamed dove) word count: 14k (i'm so sorry) warnings: not proofread, poorly translated french -- translation in small font next to french text, cussing, charles being whiney and kind of pathetic sorry, mentions of alcohol, alludes to sexual themes, descriptions of anxiety and poor mental health. probably inaccurate descriptions of the car and its functions. absolutely no interaction between charles and reader until around the 5th/6th song so fair warning. note: here is my first ever f1 fic and of course, it had to be about charles. i have been working on this for about a month now and i am finally done. this is super long, i nearly split it but it didn't feel right. im also a 1000% sure this makes no sense but im posting it anyways. i hope you like it and if not thats okay too! tagging @stressfc and @sidcrosbyspuck bc they've listened to me try to muscle through the end of this. feedback is always appreciated.

Dinner was quiet, just the soft hum of classical instrumental playing in the background with the compliments of silverware clanging against porcelain plates. Charles stares at the pasta sitting idly on his plate, his fork twirling the noodles but never lifting it to his mouth. The girl across from him seems to dwindle on and on about her work, something about a new projects and exciting opportunities. He couldn’t seem to listen tonight, there was something eerie in the air tonight and it made him feel uneasy.  She doesn’t take notice though, too busy enjoying his presence and the fine dining restaurant Charles is treating her to. 

She wasn’t a gold digger by any means, and she was satisfied with the more simpler things life had to offer. It was one of Charles’ favorite things about her, and that’s why when he had the chance he’d treat her to a little bit of luxury that he can afford. She was sweet, bubbly, with a little bite when it comes to things she’s passionate about. Her eyes were warm and bright with life, and on most nights it was enough to set fire in his heart. But tonight, it simply wasn’t the case. 

Dinner was over as quickly as it started, Charles chucking the quick end to the night to being tired and having a long day ahead of him. She was understanding as usual, and it dug a pit in his heart. She bid him goodnight, a quick kiss to his lips, and he watches as she walks away. Charles waited until she was in her building before he driving back to his apartment, the car ride silent. He slows to a stop at a red and idly scrolls through his Spotify account to find a playlist to fill the space. And then he scrolls past one he hadn’t listened to in months. He taps the one titled ‘when you’re missing me’ quick to press shuffle as the light flicks green. His foot is steady on the gas, as the first out of ten songs play. 

Nothing - Bruno Major

Bruno’s soft voice plays over the car speaker, the first verse taking him back to nights spent on the couch with a glass of red wine, a good movie, and his favorite person. He remembers the soft voices, chaste kisses, and gentle fingers tousling his brown hair. He hums along, merging right and off the busy roads to take the side streets. Taking the long way home seemed like the best option for tonight, the twists and turns reminding him of being on the track— his safest place in the world. 

But there’s nothing, like doing nothing, with you. The lyric makes his heart plummet into his stomach before trying to climb up his throat. There’s a sense of nostalgia that washes over him as the song plays on, remembering the feeling of listening to it as he passes the time miles and miles away from you. He smiles at your thoughtfulness, how you carefully picked ten simple songs to fill the time you both spent apart. Ten songs, nearly forty minutes to keep him afloat for maybe days at a time. Forty minutes to make missing you a little less painful.

Or in this case, a little more. 

The first time he heard this song, it was played live in concert and you found a video circulating online of the performance. You gushed on and on about how cute the lyrics were, the sentiment behind the song, and the evident tears glossing over your eyes when you listened to it the first time. You were both just friends at the time, and he could remember the butterflies fluttering in his stomach as you pined for affections that the artist described in his song, his thought taking him to possibilities of him being able to fulfill those needs. But of course, he simply wiped the lone tear that rolled down your cheek and smiled.

“It’s okay, mon cherie.” 

The first time he ever kissed you was to the very same song, a month later. He was just a little tipsy off of his celebratory P1 champagne, footsteps stumbling from the motorhome into your car as you readied to drive him home. He was all smiles, dimples deep and eyes bright despite being slightly hooded with alcohol. 

“Ah, mon amour, it was the best race I think I’ve ever driven. Did you see?”

“I did. I saw the whole thing bug.” 

Charles smiles at the memory of the affectionate nickname, rubbing his index finger against his bottom lip as he remembers the excitement he felt bursting through his skin when he had leaned over the middle counsel to kiss you. He remember your soft, plump lips, surprised but quick to mold into his. It was short, fiery, blurring the lines of friendship the two of you desperately tried to define. The song came up on shuffle, following one Charles’ hazy mind at the time could not seem to place. 

… nothing like doing nothing with you…

Together — Us the Duo

Charles didn’t like too many English songs, and when he did they were ones that play on the radio every thirty minutes. This song, he found deep in her liked songs. One Saturday morning, free from distractions, no responsibilities on either end of the relationship except to be in each other’s company. He likes to think you put this song in the playlist because of the day he found it and played it.

He can hear you singing softly, feel the ghost of your fingers caressing his cheek as the song goes no matter what you’re going through, I’ll be right next to you. Goosebumps rise on his skin at the memory of your touch and the lump in his throat grows larger. This is when he should change the song, change the playlist, switch over to some house music playlist Lando shared with him months ago that he has yet to listen to. But he couldn’t. He eases up on the gas, making another right turn to drive down another straight. 

“You are doing just fine, just take it one turn at a time baby.” 

Charles hung on to every word that you ever said, but these words especially. It was words that he held near to him, at the forefront of his mind whether he was on the track staring down the rear of a Red Bull, or just simply trying to get through a tough mental day. One turn at a time, your version of “just keep swimming.” It was a take from an old movie, and one of your favorite books, but personal to the both of you. 

This song was long forgotten in the last three months. He wishes that he remembered it for all the terrible days he spent up in his own head, without you to bring him down. Maybe, for just 3 minutes and 36 seconds, he could pretend that you were singing it to him. He could hear your sweet voice singing ‘if you ever need a hand to hold, reach out and I’ll grab yours.’ 

The skin of his right hand burned at the memory of yours, and his heart nearly sunk into his stomach. He hated this. He hated being alone, hated that you aren’t in the seat next to him. But most of all, he hated that seeing you was not an option at the end of this playlist.

Hesitate — Jonas Brothers 

The first concert you both ever attended together was a Jonas Brothers concert in Las Vegas. It wasn’t intentional, you fully planned on bringing your best friend with you but her flight was delayed. And although it was between back to back race weekends, Charles didn’t have many obligations before the next one and you were fairly great at convincing him to join you. Of course he knew who the Jonas Brothers are, and of course he knew at least two of their songs. But if he were being completely honest with himself and the universe listening, he only went because you asked him. 

On any normal weekend before back to back races, Charles would be scribbling in his little blue notebook and reading through his self-critical notes from the last several months of the season. He would jot down his ideas and feelings about the previous race, and his hopes and ambitions for the one yet to come. And it was Las Vegas. Notorious for the gambling and glamorous night life. A glamour he could afford for the both of you. And yet, that Thursday night he found himself in the furthest section to the left, the three brothers only about three inches tall from his view, with you screaming every lyric back with such enthusiasm. He wouldn’t trade that moment for the world. 

The night slowed down considerably, Joe’s (your favorite, at least that’s what you yelled to him about fifty times leading up to this very moment) voice booming over the speaker and filling the arena. Your hand was quick to find his own, fingers slotting between his own as you laid your head on his shoulder. You would never know, but he spent the entirety of the song looking down at you. He savored every second your lips moved to the song, the twinkle in your eyes as you stared down at the three piece.

I thank the ocean for giving me you, you saved me once and now I’ll save you too. Charles always thanked the sea and the waves for washing him to shore, right at your mercy. He’d never tell you, but the song brought tears to his eyes. He would never, ever, admit that he shed a tear listening to that very song and the thought of you. It seemed premature to admit to you just several months in that he might be falling in love with you. That maybe, just maybe, you were it for him. 

He pressed a soft kiss on your head, “Je suis en train de tomber amoureux de toi. Et vous ne le savez même pas. Pas encore.” I’m falling in love with you. And you don’t even know it. Not yet.

His whisper was drowned out in a sea of screams as the song comes to a close, and he knows you didn’t hear him. His heart screams at the memory of your glossy eyes as you looked up at him and moved up to the tip of your toes to press a kiss to his cheek. Sometimes he wishes that he would’ve just said it to you, screamed it for all of fifteen-something thousand people to hear and witness. Fuck the idea, the social constructs of timing and whether it was appropriate. He shouldn’t have hesitated to tell you how much his heart swells when you’re near him, how he desires nothing more to keep you close to him for the rest of his days. 

Maybe if he opened his god damn mouth then he couldn’t lived in your affections for longer than he got. 

Charles couldn’t bear to waste gas much longer, so he made a final left turn and back to his apartment complex. He pulls his car into the numbered slot, and takes quick steps to his empty home. Charles tries to ignore the dull feeling of his home, the mess he had yet to clean since returning from the last race, and instead dives into replying to texts he had missed since he decided to take an extra twenty minutes to get home. 

Pierre’s name lights up the screen as Charles rolls into bed. 

I can come up with beer if you need it. I saw you drive in a circle before getting home. Maybe you need beer. 

Charles curses softly, forgetting that his best friend has his location and is more often than not keeping tabs on his habits. He rolls his eyes, replying to Pierre that he can in fact make his way up as long as he has a six pack in hand. The Monegasque does his best to tidy up, tossing laundry in its place and putting dishes in the dish washer. By the time Pierre’s soft knocks are heard, Charles is just about satisfied with the way his home looks. He unlocks the door without opening it, but the Frenchman has no problem letting himself in, greeting his friend cheerfully as he shuts the door behind him.

“I was thinking of inviting Carlos, or maybe Max over with me too. But I figured my company was enough, no?”

Charles lets out a chuckle, sitting at the table and nodding for Pierre to do the same. “Sure, mate.” 

Pierre grins, handing Charles a bottle before sitting across from him. “Knew it.” He pops the bottle open, taking a quick drink before looking at his best friend. “So what now? Why the extra twenty minutes out on the road?”

“You know, it’s really creepy that you keep tabs on my location like that.” 

“I just care. And stop deflecting. What’s wrong?”

Charles nibbles his lip, spinning the amber bottle on the table to watch the liquid slosh against the light. He debated if he should bring up his thoughts of you for the n-th time. Pierre must be tired of it, Charles thinks to himself. He looks up, his friend’s baby blues waiting patiently for him to speak up. He sighs softly, popping open his bottle and holding it up to his lips. 

“Things don’t feel right with Hannah.” That’s how Charles chooses to start the conversation. It isn’t a lie, but it also isn’t the reason for his extra 20 minutes. 

“The American girl?” Pierre asks, leaning back into his chair.

Charles nods, “Yeah. I dunno man… I like her I do but”—

“But she’s not your Dove.”

There it is. Charles didn’t have to say it. His heart seems to crack at the use of your. You weren’t his, no longer his little Dove.

Pierre watches as his best friend nods, finally taking a drink from his beer. There is a blanket of comfortable silence that falls between the two racers. This isn’t unfamiliar territory for Pierre. He is very much aware of the torment in Charles’ head since the break up. He was there for all the drunk nights and silent tears. Pierre has never seen his best friend so torn up over a girl, and truth be told he was worried when Charles jumped into a new connection with the American girl. 

“I don’t know anymore mate… this fucking sucks.” Charles rests his head in his hands, rubbing his tired eyes. “This isn’t normal, to constantly compare her to… to you know. That isn’t fair to Hannah, or really anyone for that matter.”

“No… but it takes time to move past that.” Pierre responds. “It still hurts now, it hasn’t been that long since the two of you parted ways.” 

“Three months mate.”

“Yeah, out of a fourteen month relationship.” 

Charles shakes his head, taking another drink. “Still seems too long.” 

“Well… do you really want to stop feeling this way?”

Charles looks at his best friend incredulously, “What the fuck kind of question is that?!”

“Well Charles, you seem to be the only one holding onto this relationship between the two of you. You just have this… this grip on something that’s over even though it’ll probably never come back to you.” 

Pierre’s nonchalant tone catches him off guard, and even more so that the man in front of him still manages to drink his beer without cowering under his angry gaze. The Frenchman’s word feels like a match is lit in his chest. Charles suddenly couldn’t breathe.

“Switching up your opinions?” 

Pierre raises his brow. “What? No. I still think it’s normal to be strung up on a relationship three months out. But at the same time, Charles you don’t make an actual effort to move forward. I mean even Hannah isn’t much of a move in the right direction considering that they even look similar. Being in a relationship just to be in one, right after one you actually valued isn’t actually a great tactic to moving on. And you’re still listening to her playlist” 

“How do you know that?”

“Okay I didn’t check on purpose, don’t look at me like that. I just happened to be making a new race playlist and saw your activity.” 

Charles groans softly, cheeks turning pink. He was a little embarrassed and made a mental note to change his Spotify settings. “Fuck.”

“Listen, I’m not going to knock you for how you choose to heal and move on. I’m your best friend, and I’m here for you. But I’m just saying… your way isn’t a very good way.” 

—

Race weekends are his favorite. There isn’t anywhere he would rather be than on a race track in any given city in the world. The smell of rubber against the hot asphalt was always something that made him feel most at home. If there was something Charles knew for sure in the world, it’s that he was meant to be behind the wheel of an F1 car racing speeds up to 200 miles per hour. The adrenaline pumps through him simply at the thought of it.

Silverstone is a track he’s fairly comfortable with and has yet to win. But for the first time, Charles didn’t crave to win. Of course, standing on the tallest podium would be a plus, but truth be told he just wanted to get behind the wheel. The two week break was more than enough, much more than he needed. He just couldn’t wait to just sit in the car, uninterrupted for two hours with nothing but the road in front of him and his team in his ears. Charles was more than ready to hop in the car right now, if it weren’t for media appearances and fan obligations. 

Carlos isn’t blind, and he knows his teammate quite well. When the camera shuts off after their hour of filming another C-squared episode, Carlos can’t help but to point out the unusual jitters emitting from Charles. “You good?”

Charles looks up at his teammate. “Huh? Yeah, why?”

“You just seem ready to leave, more than usual.” 

“Just ready to get in the car, mate.” Charles hopes his voice is convincing. Hopes that the fake excitement he placed in his eye is enough to stop Carlos’s inquiries. He was worried that the Spaniard would ask about you, and truly Charles can’t handle another conversation about you and how he’s handling life without you. 

“Aren’t you always?” Carlos rolls his eyes playfully, patting Charles’ back. “See you later. Gonna go workout.”

The two split ways and Charles heads back to his hotel room. The rest of Charles’ day is scheduled to be fairly quiet. There were no other social obligations left for the day, just an hour of uninterrupted rest before an event with sponsors that his PR team emphasized the importance of only ten times in one meeting. But for the next hour, Charles retreats to his room with his little blue notebook and sits at the tiny desk. He begins to jot down notes from the track walk, taking notes of turns that might be of concern to him, and what kind of tires he is likely to start with. He flips between his strategy notes and his idea list, seeing if there are tweaks he can make that he can bring up for discussion before free practice the next day. 

Charles writes until his hand begins to ache. All of twenty minutes fly by before he has to drop the pen between the pages to try and shake the pain away. In the same instance, his phone lights up with texts from his friends who were trying to meet him before their schedules get too busy. He swipes through a few, not bothering to reply and instead opting to lay in bed to relax a little bit. He pops in his AirPods without question, scrolling through his song library in search of a song he could fall asleep to. His bottom lip moves between his teeth as he ponders over your playlist, and finds his finger swiping through his library til he spots that playlist. 

Charles triple checks that he changed his listening activity to private before playing the next song.

If I Could Fly — One Direction

This is by far the cheesiest song that you put on the playlist. But those were your words, not his. He remembers you told him how you even hesitated to add it in but ultimately decided that it was the only song that made sense to you and your reasoning. 

Charles thinks back to Silverstone a year ago. He was in a room much similar to the one he is sat in, but you were there. Granted, you were on a screen on his little iPhone but you were there. It was rather frustrating to be a driver for a struggling team like Ferrari was at the time.  He had you propped up against the lamp, the warm light illuminating his dull features. You watched him attentively, laying on your hands as you wait for him to speak up. You both knew that the race didn’t go as he had hoped, and there weren’t many things that you could say to him that he hasn’t heard from everyone that day. So you sit in silence, waiting for him to say just about anything so that you could pick up on him. 

“Just not the result I wanted.” Charles finally mumbled. He hears you hum, sitting up and pulling your phone closer to your face about to begin your “boost morale” speech, but he cuts you off. “Wish you were here, Dove.” 

You smile, a tinge of sadness in your eyes. “I know. I know and I’m sorry. You know if I could, I would.” 

He nods. “I know. I don’t want to talk about today anymore. I want to talk about your day, I want to talk about you.”

So you indulged. You told him about your day, of all the people you had come across at your job and how you looked forward to your next day off. He hung on to every single word that slipped past your lips. He let you ramble on and on, all the way til he made it to bed and snuggled with you, still on the phone in the same state. 

“Are you feeling better, Bub?” You asked, yawning softly as you snuggled deeper into the covers.

“Yes. Much better. And I see you in two days, so I’ll be even better then.” He smiled, and you smile even wider.

He could never forget your smile, even if he tried to scrub it out physically. He groans softly, turning on his back and letting the voices soak into the back of his mind, drowning every memory of you. 

Right now I’m completely defenseless. Tears spring up and sting his soft green eyes as the song continues to play. He hasn’t cried in a while, at least not while thinking of you. He’s cried in anger, in frustration, but never in sadness and loneliness like he feels right now. He didn’t think a One Direction song would bring him to tears, but yet here he is curled up on the white duvet as tears roll down his pale skin. Fuck he hates this so much. And fuck did he feel pathetic.

“Baise-moi.” Fuck me. He sits up, rubbing the heel of his hand against his cheeks to wipe the wet away.

He sniffles, swiping through his phone to reply to a few texts that sprung up on his phone. He replies to Pierre, the nosy fucker, and Carlos who lets him know that they will meet in the lobby before leaving to the event. Charles makes a silly mistake to scroll even further, past the blue dots of unread texts all the way down to your name. Well, your affectionate nickname. It’s one coined by Daniel ironically, and the only one that followed you around the paddock. Even Mattia referred to you as dove. Your dove, as Mattia would say to Charles. 

The last text you ever sent to him was I’m sorry. He didn’t have the guts to reply, to say that it was okay because truly, he was not. He scrolls up, past all the pining in blue and curt responses in grey. He scrolls past the hearts and the smiling emojis all the way until he finds the long paragraph with your explanation for the song.

There isn’t a day when you’re off in some country while I’m stuck at home, wishing that I could just fly over to you. And I didn’t want to add a One Direction song, it almost feels silly. But it makes sense. And I hope you feel the same way otherwise I’m just some psycho on the other side of this. I know these last couple of races haven’t been what you wanted them to be, and I know that you are frustrated more than anything else. But please know that me and thousands still believe in you. If I could fly all those thousands of miles to see you, then I would. But I will see you in two days time. Then I will make up for all the shit times. See you soon bub, very very soon. Bonne nuit, fais de beaux rêves chérie. Good night, sweet dreams honey

Charles nibbles on his bottom lip, finally pressing skip on the repetitive chorus. He couldn’t take it anymore

At My Worst — Pink Sweat$ (ft. Kehlani)

Charles forces himself off the bed and into the bathroom. His hair is disheveled, the skin around his eyes purple and puffy. He truly has never looked worse. He does his regular skin care, and then attempts to get ahold of his messy hair with some pomade Pierre swears by. It doesn’t work. 

As Charles slips on the black blazer over his shoulders, he nearly wants to throw up. He’d do anything to get out of this dinner, pay anything to just sit in solitude. But alas, his phone vibrates and Carlos is already waiting in the lobby for him. Charles pops his AirPods in, clicking play on the next song on the playlist. It’s more upbeat than the last couple of songs, and if it weren’t for the mere fact it was on a playlist you made for him, he would be bopping along. 

“Finally mate,” Carlos greets, standing from the lounge chair he was sitting in. “C’mon, I’ll drive.” 

Charles smiles at the few fans who were waiting, leaning into some photos and politely turning away autographs due to lack fo time. His teammate doesn’t make any conversation, which Charles is thankful for. He knew it was a bit rude to keep his earphones in but he just needs this. And he thinks that Carlos knows. 

When you first showed him this song, you were in the driver’s seat and singing to him. You wanted to show him your favorite spot to get away, a little bite of paradise that you had never shown anyone. He thinks back to your hair whipping in the wind, sunglasses framing your face nicely as you grinned over at him. The memory of kisses at red lights and giggles along the way burn his lips. He has to rub them again, to remind himself that it was no longer real. 

Can you see what I'm not saying from my eyes?. All I know is love, for you it's real. You pulled your sunglasses to the edge of your nose, shooting him a wink. He laughed, leaning in to kiss you. He never ever wanted to stop kissing you. Never. 

“Here.” 

Charles nods and pulls his AirPods out, placing them back in the case and tossing them into the glove box of the loaned Ferrari. The event goes as every event goes, with forced conversations as Charles tries to wow sponsors about the potential Ferrari has yet to tap with their help. He does his best, but after the fourth conversation he’s spent and wishes that he ended up bringing his AirPods down. But Mattia would have his neck, so he settles for the only beer he is allowed for the night. He watches as Carlos speaks to another aged man, a wide smile on his lips as he shakes the man’s hand and walks away. The Spaniard raises is brows with an exasperated expression.

“Eso fue demasiado.” That was too much. Carlos mumbles, plopping next to Charles. “You doing okay?”

“Yeah. Just tired. Didn’t get to nap.” Carlos clicks his tongue and Charles chuckles.

“What song were you listening to in the car?” The man leans back into the chair, drinking his water.

“Ah… just an old one a friend showed me a while ago.”

“Who? Dove?”

Charles is quick to shake his head, “Pfft, no.” 

The look on his friend’s face shows that he is unconvinced, but he chooses not to comment. “Have you spoken to her?”

“No. Of course not.”

Carlos nods, “Just asking. She still talks to Lando every now and again. Saw them on FaceTime in-.” 

“Carlos, please.” Charles chokes on air, shaking his head and effectively shutting his teammate up. “Sorry… I just can’t.”

There is a pang of jealousy that runs through Charles’ blood. Why wouldn’t you talk to Lando? He was one of your closest friends, long before the two of you were anything. He tries to coax himself off a cliff of insecurity he built himself in the short span of time. Nothing works, and if he didn’t know any better he would think that Carlos could see the smoke fuming from his ears.

“Sorry. Listen, if it means anything at all… she’s not seeing anyone.” 

Charles nods, not sparing another word on the matter. The night dwindles to a close in a bout twenty minutes time, and Carlos drives the both of them home. One AirPod returns to his ear, the song from earlier picking up from where it left off. 

And for you, girl, I swear I'd do the worst.  He would. He would do anything for you. If you called him right this second and asked him to fly to you, he would. Hell or high water he’d find a way. His phone vibrates, and he looks down in hope. But it dies as quickly as it comes, Hannah’s name illuminating his screen in the form of a FaceTime call. He leaves it to ring, looking out the window and patiently waiting for the song to resume. 

-

Silverstone was an absolute shit show. From the red flag to the shit strategy that costed him a podium, he was not doing well. He did his best to keep up with appearances, answered questions with the list of generic answers he had memorized in the back of his head from years of media training. But he knew, there was no hiding the disappointment in his features. You always said his eyes gave him away. 

Charles barely kept it together through the team photo, his hand gripping the energy drink in his hand as he bites down in the back of his mouth to smile at the camera. He has never left the track faster in his life. The ride back to the hotel was accompanied by dull British radio and his phone going off with calls and texts from people checking up on him. He didn’t want to hear it, didn’t want to discuss the day further. When he finally rolls into his bed, his fingers move ahead of his mind, and he calls a name before even reading it. 

It rings once. twice. thrice. It rings until your voicemail plays. Sweet, soft melodic voice reminding him of the beep. He wished you picked up, even if it was to say never to call you again. But he settled for the recording before speaking. 

“Hi… sorry. I just needed to talk to someone but you must be busy. Or…. tu ne veux pas me parler. You don't want to talk to me. That’s fine.” Charles pauses, wondering if this was worth it. But he sighs and continues anyways, “Today wasn’t a good day. Je suis vraiment bouleversé en ce moment. I’m really upset right now. You always knew what to say, so I thought I’d call. Sorry. I lo— Bye.” 

Charles hangs up before he can make himself an even bigger fool of himself. He shakes his head, dropping his phone next to him on the bed. A groan rumbles from his throat, frustration growing within him. He fucking hated his situation. He hated not winning, of slipping through the cracks, of feeling alone while being surrounded by people who want to help him. He hated that in his mind, you the only thing that could cure the sick feeling in his stomach.  

He flies back to Monaco the same night, opting out of a celebratory trip for Carlos. He apologized, promising his teammate a treat of sorts when they see each other again. Hannah was so kind to pick him up, even if he insisted he could’ve just taken a cab. Nonsense, she said on the phone. She was so excited to see him, and Charles felt bad for ignoring her for the last couple of days. Charles held her hand, kissed her sweetly, invited her up, buried himself in her in all attempts to forget about the weekend behind him, to forget that he had made a fool of himself. He wanted to forget that he tried to call you. But as he lays in his bed, watching her chest rise and fall with every breath, he finds himself wishing you had answered. He wished that you were there instead. 

Charles finally gets around to answering some texts, opting to go sit in his living room since the jet lag refused to let him sleep. He sent many ‘thank yous’ to friends and family, curt responses to fool one into thinking that he was fine. He types and types until his eyes are raw and there wasn’t a single text left unread. By the time Charles put’s his phone down, it’s nearly three in the morning. His mind is a jumble of thoughts, of the hopes of the future and troubles of the past. He grabs his little blue journal on the table and begins to write furiously. He writes every hazy thought, laying the words out on the page before him until his hand burns and eyes are blurred with tears. His breathing turns heavy, heart racing, the anger finally getting the best of him. He has to drop the pen on the table. Every part of his body is burning with exhaustion, but his mind continues to race and effectively keep him awake. 

Life moves in waves, and Charles feels as though his dip is deeper than most times he can recall in his brief 24 year stint on earth. There were many lows, but he always knew that he’d find a way up and out of it. But now, with his career, wounded ego, and more so his injured heart, it seems that the riptide continues to drag him under. It’s began to get harder and harder to breath in life, and he was worried that it would continue to feel that way. He was worried that he wouldn’t be able to swim up, and that scared him.  

“Charles?” 

The Monegasque jumps in his seat, turning to see Hannah watching him from the door frame of his room. 

“Y’scared me.” He mumbles, standing up and walking over to her and planting a soft kiss on her forehead. “Go to back to bed Han, I’ll be there in a second.” 

Her hand rests on his chest whilst his rest comfortably on her hip. He squeezes gently, smiling tiredly at her. Her large brown eyes dart left and right, searching his face for a clue as to what he might be feeling but found nothing. She couldn’t read him, not matter how hard she tried. “Why don’t you talk to me?”

Charles tilts his head, “Comment cela?” What do you mean?

“There’s something going on in your head, like a storm. And I try to read you, and to understand, but I feel like every time I try you move further from me.” 

Charles’ hand drops from her as he takes a step back, “There isn’t anything to talk about Hannah.” 

“I think that there is. Why won’t you-“

“Ça suffit! That’s enough! Leave it. Please.” 

The man doesn’t notice the way she jumped when he raised his voice, or the sadness brewing in her eyes as they gloss over in tears. He simply walks away to his kitchen, leaving her standing in the doorway, confused and hurt. He can’t feel bad, he can’t feel anything other than exhaustion. Charles pours himself a glass of water, gulping it down before smacking it back on the counter. Any harder and the glass would’ve broken. Hannah walks into the kitchen, and he fights the urge to groan. 

“Do you not want me here? Because I can leave Charles. I’ll go and let you sulk here. By yourself.” 

He doesn’t answer, just sinks his head into his hands and shutting his eyes. His calloused fingers grip the ends of his hair, tugging in attempts to pull him out of the tiredness he is feeling. 

“Charles-“

“Hannah. Please, please, please.” The worlds come out in mumbles. Soft, but very grim. “Not now.”

“I don’t know what else I can do for you Charles.” Her voice is soft, but it was missing something. “How can I help you? Help me understand. Help me help you Charles.”

Guilt eats him up at the sound of her voice, the willingness, the want to be there with him even when he is unmistakably pushing her away. Tears spring to his eyes, seeping through his closed lids and onto the heel of his hands. Fuck, he thinks. He knows his answer, he knows the words he wants to say. It sits in the back of his throat, burning and bubbling past his lips. Charles forces himself to look up from his hands, the light in the kitchen burning his eyes. Hannah’s are soft, worried at the sight of Charles’ red and sad eyes as he looks up at her.

“You can’t.” His voice comes out broken, and she doesn’t fully register what he means. “You can’t help me Hannah. I can’t even help myself.”

She doesn’t respond, just looks at him with sad eyes. Her hand comes up to push his brown locks off his forehead before cupping his cheek. Hannah just presses a kiss to his forehead, lips lingering longer than he’d anticipated. There is a bit of a weight in the silence between them, and it allows the guilt in the Monegasque to fester even more. He coughs out a sob, shaking his head and pulling away from the soft embrace, one he knows he does not deserve.

“I’ll go.” Hannah says softly, “I’ll leave you. And when you’re ready-“

“Hannah, no,” Charles shakes his head, “You don’t get it it. You can’t help me, because I don’t want you to. You aren’t who I need, who I want.”

The girl stood before him, his harsh words causing her jaw to fall slack and tears to gloss over her eyes. There were a string of regrets and hateful words that fall from her lips, accusations of time wasted and the promise of never being able to forgive him. He watched her as she gathered herself and sauntered out of his life. With the slam of the door, Charles released a breath and groaned as he plops onto his couch. And finally, exhaustion takes its toll and pulls him into a deep slumber.

—  

His family boat had finally gotten out of the shop during his little break, and he decides to take it out onto the water. He spent many summer as a child, out in the deep blue. He enjoyed the peace, the feeling of being far away from such a busy world. His father taught him how to drive the boat, and where the best places to dock was. Charles didn’t drive out too far, just enough for his city to be covered by his thumb if he held it out. He strips himself of the blue button up and sits out on the deck. He is quick to open Spotify, playing the next song on the playlist on the boat speaker.

Keep Driving — Harry Styles

Charles lays back, the sun hitting his pale skin and warming him up. He tries to enjoy the sound of the waves against the side of the boat and the poppy beat of the song playing. He tries to enjoy the world around him for what it is, enjoy his solitude for what it is. But even in the peace he’s found himself in, his mind races. He thinks about Monaco and Canada, even the race just a week before. The universe hasn’t been too kind with him, both on and off the track. 

Harry Styles is a world renowned artist, and he would be lying if he said that he didn’t like a lot of his songs. His most recent album was his— and your— favorite. The poppy beat playing over the speaker brings a smile to his lips, the memory of drive out of to the port and this very song playing in his car. He remembers the way the wind whips through your hair, your hand moving up and down in the quick moving air. His sunglasses adorned your face, as did his Monza hoodie. From head to toe, you were dripping in him. 

You turned to face him, a smile on your lips as you leaned over to press a kiss to his jaw. Maple syrup, coffee. Pancakes for two. He would never forger the way your lips felt against him as you peppered kisses up his jaw. Hash brown, egg yolk. I will always love you.

You moved onto your knees, turning in your seat to look at him. As the song sped up, so did you. You sung along with Harry, your voice all the more appealing to him. It was easy to tune the man out and listen to you. He pulled up to his space, putting his car in park and allowing you to finish out the song. A smile curves onto his lips at the memory of you popping off your seatbelt, leaning over the middle console to get closer to him. He couldn’t help himself in that moment, his hand grabbing the back of your neck to kiss you feverishly. Choke her, with a sea view.

Goosebumps prickle his skin, and his shorts begin to tighten at the thought of the cramped backseat and your warmth.

He sits on the bow of Monza, blue notebook in hand as he flips through the pages he had crammed with his thoughts. He stops at one dated two months ago, a letter addressed to you. 

Dove, 

One month without you seems too long. I miss you, but I know you’re doing well and that is the only thing keeping me away. Not having you here with me, at my home race no less, feels wrong. It feels empty. Everything feels empty without you. 

One month of being without you has been my personal torture, and I can’t seem to get anything right anymore. I wish that I could call, to just hear your voice and sound advice. But that would be selfish of me, would it not. So instead I write. I write letters to you, ones you will never read. It’s the only thing that makes sense to do. 

I’m sorry I was no longer good for you, and I’m sorry that it took you walking away from me to realize that I needed to do more. Your happiness, though away from me, is the only thing I find comfort in throughout this fucked up situation I find myself. At least you’re happy. Even if I’m not.

I love you. 

Charles

His handwriting was slanted, sloppy, the words quickly strung out on the page. It was one he wrote two minutes before qualifying, where he earned pole position. He’d imagine you would be happy for him, that if you were there you would greet him with kisses and a tight hug. You would say how proud you are of him, shower him in kind words. He flips the page, the letter he wrote after the race.

Dove. It hurts more than it should. Come home, I need you.

Hollywood Forever — Finneas

The music slowed down considerably, the soft notes of the piano vibrating through the speaker. D major, then G major, in sequence until Finneas’ voice serenades him softly. Bury me in Hollywood, forever… underneath the starry sky. Charles maneuvers his way from the bow of the yacht to the wheel, turning the engine on and turning back around to cruise home. The sun has moved down considerably, nearly kissing the ocean. The sky turns from blue to pink before his eyes, the lights of Monaco flickering on. Home has never looked more beautiful. For the briefest of moments he is able to relish in his city and appreciate. With the accompaniment of the soft music, he felt like he was falling in love all over again. 

Monaco was always his city, but never yours. Maybe that was the disconnect. He always expressed his desire to live in Monaco at the end of his career, to raise his family on the same streets he did. And in all the times he shared those dreams with you, you’d smile and nod, never really saying much. He assumed then that it was because you simply agreed, but maybe you didn’t. 

I don't ever wanna find out how it ends…

This song played at your best friend’s wedding. The couple having their first dance, and in turn invited couples to join them as the song changes. He offered you his hand, which you gracefully took and allowed him to lead you to the dance floor. And though it was crowded with people in love, to him it was just the two of you. His hands rested comfortably on your hips while your fingers played with the hair at the nape of his neck. There were no words, just longing looks that read with so much love and hope. Hope for the future you both dreamed of. Love for one another, one you both believed would never end. Ignorance truly was bliss. 

Missed you harder than I thought I'd get to, we just never had the time. Maybe it was his inconsistent schedule, the fluctuation of time spent together and apart no longer suited your needs. This season had shown Charles his ability to reach new heights, it made reaching for the stars a little less scary. For a moment in time, he had everything in his grasp. And then one by one, they all seemed to trickle through his fingers like sand. Perhaps, he was just no longer enough for you. 

And I don't wanna change the station, because you're the only one I like at 2AM. You would always be enough for him, Charles thought. Even miles away, apart from him, happier without him, it was enough for him. He can live in satisfaction that at least you got it right. 

He ties off his boat onto the pier, pausing the song so that he can continue listening on his drive home. A bag of his belongings slung over his shoulder, and his phone in one hand as he mindlessly taps your name to call you again. Just as it was in Silverstone, your sweet voicemail rings through the speaker.

“Hi. Drove out to our spot today, and was thinking about everything. Thinking about you. I’m sorry I called you last week, it was kind of selfish… well really selfish actually. I’m sorry. I hope you’re well… I hope you’re happy. I really do. I lo—“ He hesitates, throat closing up as the words try to roll off his tongue as effortlessly as it once did. Tears prickle his eyes but he shakes his head. “I won’t call you again. I’m sorry.” 

He ends the call and stuffs his phone in his pocket.

— 

Charles seems to fuck up everything in his path. He can’t hold onto a piece of good very long. The World Drivers Championship was beyond him now, and summer break now marked the halfway point of the season. He was meant to take a break, forget about spinning out and questionable strategy. But he can only spend so many days under the scorching Monaco sun, or nights out at clubs with his friends. His mind was not on break mode, and no matter how much he drank, slept, or swam, he was still thinking of work.

“Charles honey, get off your phone.” His mom scolds, patting his head as she passes him.

He lets his phone slide from his fingers, dropping onto his lap. Charles smiles over at his mom, standing from his seat and walking over to the kitchen. He attempts to steal a bite of food, but his mother slaps his hand away and he giggles. 

“‘M hungry.” 

“I know. But we need to wait for your brothers.” She mumbles, “Go eat a banana or something.” She waves him off and he chuckles. Charles settles on the stool by the kitchen island, taking his mom’s advice and grabbing a banana. 

Staying with mom has always been Charles’ great escape. No matter what happens to him, how far he is, Pascale will always be waiting for him with open arms. Whenever life wasn’t treating him so kindly, she was always ready with a remedy. She loved her sons more than anything, and they are her life line as she is to them. Charles watches as his mom effortlessly maneuvers her way through the kitchen. There is a faint smell of garlic in the air, and it makes the boy’s mouth water. 

“It’s really good that you came to visit, mon doux garçon. My sweet boy. I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too Mama.” He affirms, taking a bite of his fruit.

“Missed your cooking as well.”

She laughs, “Of course you did.” 

There a few moments of silence as she finishes what she is doing in the pan, and then sticking a dish in the oven. Then she finally turns, the beige towel in her hands as she dries off her hands. “What’s on your mind?”

Charles smiles knowingly, looking down at his fingers as he shrugs. “What isn’t?”

“Ay, mon doux.” She shakes her head, “You don’t have to carry the weight all by yourself, you know?”

He looks up at his mom, “Yeah… but sometimes I feel like I have to.”

She nods. Pascale knows her son all too well, how gentle hearted he is and his need to carry the burden if it means making life easier for those around him. She loves her son, and it nearly breaks her to see how defeated he is. But she also knows that he is more than his results, more than the trials and tribulations he is going through in life. 

“You are strong Charles, thick skin, like your Papa. He’d be proud.” She says softly, walking around the counter to press a kiss to the back of his head, “But he would also remind you that it’s okay to not be so strong sometimes. That it is okay to show that you are vulnerable, not okay.”

She gives his shoulder one last squeeze before leaving him to his thoughts. He sighs, pulling his phone out and scrolling through multiple notifications until his eyes land on your name. You posted on instagram, and he is quick to open the app and see. It is a photo of you, sitting by the water, skin glistening in the sun. And your smile, oh your beautiful smile. It made his heart beat a little quicker. But then he really looks at the photo, the background. The blue water, and the fact that you weren’t sitting on sand, but on a pier. He knew exactly where you are.

You’re in Monaco.

He feels his heart come up his throat. You were in Monaco, his city. He felt psychotic, fighting the urge to jump in his car and look for you. He wanted to drive around, pretend to accidentally bump into you and it would be a fairytale reconciliation. But then he hears his brother’s voice, announcing his arrival, and he is grounded. He promised in a silly voicemail you probably never listened to that he would leave you alone. And he will. He’ll do the right thing and leave you alone. 

Charles was quiet for most of dinner, Arthur talking the most throughout the entire meal. So much so that Lorenzo begged him to shut up. Pascale observes the middle child, who sits to her right, idly pushing a piece of pasta around on his plate. 

“Mon doux,” His mom whispers, “please eat.” 

“Désolé maman.” Sorry mom. He nods and continues to eat. 

“Oh, I saw Dove today. She says hi to everyone.” Arthur’s voice is so nonchalant, Charles nearly misses your nickname. His eyes grow wide at the realization and he looks up from his plate to his little brother. Arthur doesn’t spare him a glance, just munching along on his dinner. 

Lorenzo kicks the youngest Leclerc under the table, and it is then when Arthur realizes his mistake. “Sorry. Yeah uh… sorry.”

“Is she well?” Charles asks, ignoring the awkward air between them. 

“Yeah, I think. We didn’t get to talk much, since we were just passing by.” Arthur answers. “Sorry.”

“No. Don’t be. Good that she’s good.”

And that was that. Dinner is quiet for the rest of the evening, and isn’t long until the boys are quietly cleaning up the mess while their mother gets ready for bed. Charles and Arthur wash the dishes, while Lorenzo takes out the trash. The brothers are quiet in their chore, Arthur washing and rinsing as Charles wipes down and puts them away. 

“Is she happy?” Charles asks softly, breaking the silence.

Arthur pauses, confused for a brief moment before realizing what he meant by his question. “Maybe you should ask her.” 

Charles shakes his head, “I can’t. I could try, but I can’t. And I shouldn’t.”

Arthur nods. “I never understood what went wrong between the two of you Charles. Everything was so good, no?”

“I thought so… but I guess I was wrong.” Charles dries his hands as he places the last of the dishes away. 

The day you broke up was not a memory Charles liked to look back on. It was a memory he kept stored away in the furthest corner of his mind. But he knew no matter how much he tried to bury it, there was no erasing the fact it happened. He’d never forget the look in your eyes, the tears on your cheeks as you watched him pace before you. You apologized and apologized, but for what? 

“Why do you think this can’t work out anymore, dove?”

“Charles, I already said why. We’re not in the same place in life. You’re moving a thousand miles a minute, moving so fast uphill and I’m not able to keep up. I can’t keep being your arm candy, the smiling supportive girlfriend while I’m literally drowning in my misery.” 

“Chérie, please.” 

“Charles, I’ve made up my mind. I need this. Don’t make this harder than it has to be.”

He can remember the rage seething beneath his skin. He didn’t understand why you wanted to push him away, why you felt so miserable. He didn’t get it then. He still doesn’t understand. Maybe he should’ve fought harder, but you were already so defeated he didn’t think it was the right thing to do then.

“Do you not love me anymore?”

“Will saying I don’t make it easier for you to let me go?”

Your words sent a shiver up his spine.

Arthur leans against the counter, looking at his older brother who is deep in thought. “She said she’s moving back to Monaco… she found a job in the city.” Charles looks up, and he feels a spark of hope light up in the pit of his stomach. You were here to stay. “She didn’t say where, or what… but you know… you never know.”

With that, Arthur pushes himself up and pats his brother on the back, retreating to his room to go to sleep and effectively leaving Charles to ponder over you. 

Maybe in time, the Monegasque thought to himself, the universe will let our paths cross once more.

—

The last three days of the summer break, Charles spent getting back into his normal routines. Not that Andrea would let him stray from it, but he was granted a couple of cheat days so that he could really enjoy his break. And of course, with the break coming to a close, it wouldn’t be complete if the other nineteen drivers attempted one last hoorah before returning to the track and vying for a win. But of course, twenty men trying to plan to come together required a miracle. And that was something none of them had. At the end of it, the only ones able to attend the “last hoorah” was Charles, Lando, Max, Pierre, and surprisingly George. The rest of the grid was either still in the middle of traveling back, or staying one more day in their little piece of paradise. 

The club was packed for a Wednesday. By the time the boys had pulled up to check in, the general admissions line was a mile long, and the music was already starting to blend into the immense chatter. Charles is thankful that Max had secured a table for the group, and that they didn’t have to wait long. They were sat in the far back, just two tables to the left of the DJ booth. Bottle service was quick, and in no time Charles had a glass of Black Label whiskey between his hands. The music is typical house music, the DJ another one of Lando’s friends. 

From where he is sitting, he can see the entire dance floor, and the second bar which happens to be right by his table. There is a huge crowd of people who had occupied the space in front of the DJ, multitudes of people rubbing backs to fronts and wandering hands. He was almost jealous, wishing that he could stomach the idea of being one of those people. But you couldn’t pump the man with enough alcohol to get him there. He was far too comfortable being a wallflower, quietly observing those around him as he sips on his drink. 

“I bought us a round!” 

Max grins as the lady brings a tray of shot glasses, each of them filled to the brim with a clear liquid. One would assume it’s vodka, but knowing Max it was likely— 

“Tequila!"

Charles grimaces, but he isn’t easily defeated. And one cheesy toast later, he is throwing the foul tasting liquid down his throat. French curse words are muttered beneath his breath as he attempts to shake away the taste. Charles opts to pass on the next two rounds, to which Pierre calls him out for. 

“Party pooper!” 

Charles smirks, sipping his whiskey as he watches his normally composed friends turn into giggly drunks. He looks around the club, eyes scanning the crowd until a sparkly blue dress catches his eyes. He does a double take, but the shiny thing disappears into the crowd. His heart picks up, and he swears he knows who it was. But then his friends are yelling at him and he has to turn away. The time flies by, and soon he is calling every single girlfriend to pick up their respective drive until it is just him and Pierre. He throws his best friend into the back seat of his car with a bottle of water, a plastic bag, and threats if the Frenchman threw up anywhere in his car. As he strolls to the driver side, the sparkle of blue catches his eye and his head snaps in that direction. 

The girl is slumped on the bench, head in her hands as her elbows rest on her thighs. Charles notices the way the girl’s body sways ever so slightly. She was far too drunk to be sitting alone, waiting for God only know who. He walks up to her, and the closer he gets the more familiar she becomes. It isn’t until the girl finally looks up with puffy eyes and mascara stained cheeks does he realize who it is.

“Dove?”

Your face contorts into one of sadness, mumbling ‘oh nos’ over and over as you try to hide behind your hands.

“Dove, what’s wrong?” He reaches out to you, but you flinch. 

“No please.” 

Charles’ heart stings, but he listens to you. “Who are you here with?” You shrug and he can’t help but let disappointment take over his features. “Dove, who?”

“Don’t say it like that, like you’re mad at me.” You slur. 

Charles sighs, “I’m not mad. Just worried.”

You nod, but still don’t answer. Instead, he watches as you turn into a shaking mess of sobs. He doesn’t know if he should hold you, or if there was anything he could say. Suddenly, he was unsure of what to do when it came to you. So he stood there, heart aching as you cry before him. 

“Dove—“

“Charles, please.” 

His mouth clamps shut for a moment before he opens again, “Do you want me to take you home?”

You look up at him, eyes red and puffy, but wide in shock. “You don’t have too.”

“Yeah, but I want to.” You don’t answer, so he extends his hand, “C’mon. I’ll take you home.” 

You nod, reaching out and using his hand to pull yourself up from the bench. Your hold leaves as quickly as it comes, and Charles wishes that your hand stayed in his for a moment longer. He watches as you stumble to his Ferrari, yanking the passenger door and falling into the seat. He inhales deeply, attempting to subdue his nerves before climbing into the drivers seat. Charles thanks the heavens Pierre is snoring softly in the back, and not mumbling any nonsense like he normally would.

“Where do you stay?” 

The drive to you apartment is only 5 minutes further up the road from Charles’ place, and it nearly made him choke. The car ride is silent, only Pierre’s soft snores and mumbles filling the space. When he pulls up to the front, he looks over at you. Your eyes are cast downwards at your fingers, thumbs twiddling in your lap. 

“Will you come back and spend the night?”

Charles chokes. He finally fucking chokes. “Dove, I don’t think…”

“I’m not that drunk Charles. Please?”

This was it, this was his chance. But as he stared at you and your sad eyes, the moment felt wrong. “I’ll walk you up. Okay?”

Your shoulders drop, and you’re quick to shake your head. “No. It’s fine, I can do it myself. Thanks for the ride.” 

The boy is frozen in his seat for a second as you hastily climb out. It takes you slamming the door shut before he scrambles out after you. “Dove!”

“Goodnight Charles!” You yell, not turning back. You can hear Charles’ shoes smacking on the concrete as he jogs up to you. He grabs your arm, skin burning at the contact, pulling you so that are facing him.

“Text me in the morning, then I’ll know you mean it.” 

Your lips fall agape, an argument ready to bubble past your lips. But instead you nod, too tired to argue. So you nod harder, avoiding his gaze. “Yeah. Okay.” 

“Do you still want me to walk you up?”

“No. No I’m okay. Thank you again.” 

Charles stands on the stoop, waiting until you make it past the front doors of your building. It isn’t until he sees you walk into the elevator through the glass doors does he finally retreat to his car and cruise back to his apartment.

Off My Face — Justin Bieber

Charles finally rolls into bed at nearly three in the morning. His body is exhausted, and it doesn’t take too long for him to fall asleep. But that wasn’t before he turned on his music, specifically your playlist, to lull him to sleep. 

His dreams are influenced by the Justin Bieber song, the boy not completely unconscious as the songs plays. The images his mind displays are of you, playing real memories that you shared together. It’s like a movie, he can hear the echos of your laugh and butchered French. He sees flashes of your smile, feels the ghost of your touch.

Your touch blurred my vision, it’s your world and I'm just in it. Even sober I'm not thinkin' straight.

He turns over in his bed, staring at the empty space that you used to occupy. The pillowcase lays unwrinkled, the sheets pressed and untouched. His fingers graze over the material, imagining for a second that you are laying next to him. He can see the way your chest rises and falls, head turned towards the moon while your fingers grasp onto his. Charles nearly caves at the idea of driving back to you, knocking on every door until you answer. And I don't know how you do it, but I'm forever ruined by you.

Sleep finally wins, taking him to a place where all he sees is you. You consume his every thought, every imagination, that night. For the first time, Charles sleeps with a little bit of hope. There are some things dreams can’t truly emulate, and that’s the feeling of your warmth. The sun forces him out of the dirty dream, and he groans softly. His head was swirling, trying to piece together the bits and pieces of  you from his dreams. 

He grabs his phone, bitterly disappointed. 

8:36 am, and not one text from you.

—

Paris in the Rain — Lauv

Charles finds himself sitting at his favorite coffee shop in Monaco, in the furthest booth in the back of cafe. He sips on his coffee, scrolling through his computer as he tries to answer emails and prepare himself for the second half of the season. He slips his headphones on, mindlessly pressing play and allowing the song to play.

It was the next song on the playlist, and the angry part of him wants to change it. You never texted him. It’s been thirty-six hours since he dropped you home, and it’s been radio silence. He was frustrated, ultimately let down by your lack of communication. He almost wishes that he had taken you up on your offer, almost wishes he had chosen to be selfish. 

The only thing stopping him from changing the song is the fact that it’s the one song attached to the perfect memory. Paris in the rain is his favorite memory with you. 

It was one of the first trips you had taken together outside of race weekends. Charles wanted the trip to be perfect, but the weather had different plans. He planned a whole day, only for the overcast and rain to ruin it completely.

“I’m so sorry Dove, this isn’t what I had planned for us.” Charles mumbled, kissing your temple. 

You were more than understanding, and somehow you manage to convince him to go out in the middle of the night, when the streets were quiet and the city half asleep. You were clad in a blue dress, Charles’ linen button top matching you. You both sit on the picnic blanket, eating all the snacks you bought in the hotel gift shop. Then it’s one drop, then another, then another until the drizzle grows heavier and heavier. 'Cause anywhere with you feels right.

He can never erase the memory of your laughter as he chases you around the park, clothes drenched from the rain. He hears you squeals as he picks you up and throwing you over his shoulder, and your complaints that he wasn’t playing fair. It truly was a scene from a book, like a writer describing the perfect moment in which two character will fully admit they are in love with each other. But neither of you had to say anything. Words couldn’t justify the way your hearts wanted to thump out of your chests as you stare into each other’s eyes. 

Don't know how I ever did it all without you.

Charles answers the last of his emails, finally shutting his computer and transferring his attention to his phone. He scrolls through Instagram, sipping idly on his coffee. He double taps nearly every photo on his feed until someone slides into the seat front of him. He looks up from his phone, eyes wide as he meets your gaze. 

“Knew you’d be here.” You say softly. 

Charles takes one more sip before setting his cup down, “Yeah, guess you did.” 

The air between the both of you is thick, tense, awkward. Neither of you speak, instead sitting uncomfortably while you wait for the other to say just about anything. 

“I know I didn’t text and I—“

“Dove, it’s fine.” 

“Charles, shut up and let me talk.” Your eyes grow wide, brows furrowed in an attempt to look stern. The Monegasque nods, leaning back in his seat and waiting for you to speak. “I’m sorry. Moving back has been a lot, adjusting has been a lot… seeing you has been a lot. I was getting used to the idea of my independence and then you try to call me and leave voicemails…”

“I’m sorry.” Charles’ voice is genuine. All the anger that was inside of him dissipates as he looks up at you. “I wasn’t thinking.” 

“Don’t say sorry. It was nice to hear from you… and I’m sorry about everything going on.”

The boy smiles, nodding. “Yeah. Me too.”

There it is again, that awkward air settling between the two of you. Three, nearly four, months of time apart doesn’t make the conversation flow as easily as either of you wished. There used to be a million things that Charles wanted to tell you, the pages in his little blue notebook proving it. But it didn’t feel right, didn’t feel fair to pour out his heartache from the last four months onto your lap. 

So instead Charles scrambles for his book, flipping through the pages and carefully tearing out two pages. He folds them nicely and sliding them over to you. 

“I… I have to go. But I thought that maybe you should read it. I wrote it to you when I got back home from Silverstone.” Charles gathers his things, mindlessly leaning down to press a kiss to the top of your head. “You look good, Dove. It makes me happy.”

You watch as the man walks away from you, shoulders high and steps calm. The paper sits beneath your fingers, holding whatever tormented Charles the night he wrote it. Truth be told, you weren’t sure what you were expecting when you came to the cafe. You half expected Charles to be here, that things would roll out on the table as easily as it did in your head and that maybe you could both come to some sort of agreement on your relationship. 

Yes, it’s been done. Long over, time separating the two of you. But you would be lying if you said you didn’t miss him in the time spent apart. Even if you knew that what you decided what was right for the both of you, it didn’t mean that it didn’t hurt. Four months ago, you were in no headspace to be with Charles. You could no longer be what he needed, or wanted, even if he claimed that you would always be enough. How could you be, when you weren’t even enough for yourself? You remember the anxiety induced thoughts, nightmare of Charles’ resentful stare as you plummeted further and further into your hole of poor mental health. 

Solitude was what you needed, being your own individual person away from Charles is what you needed. And although you live with the pain of breaking his and your own heart, it wasn’t a decision you regret making. 

You carefully slide the paper into your purse, standing and walking out of the coffee shop. Monaco was gloomier than most days, the grey clouds threatening to pour rain on the beautiful city. Tiny droplets tap on your windshield, pit pat, reminding you fondly of Paris in the rain, some months ago.

—

The moment summer break ended, Charles was back to traveling city to city, sitting in his bright red car to race in loops. Laps and laps, the days blurring into the next, but not without thinking of you. You never texted him about the pieces of his journal that he handed off, but you did wish him luck every now and again. You were both in this weird limbo, unsure of where the line is, and just how close either of you can get to crossing it. 

Charles was worried you had thrown the note away, or maybe it was lost. There were no talks about it, not questions, and it makes him queasy. Desperation grows inside of him, festering with the stress and anxiety that had been brewing in the pit of his gut. Andrea looks at him, the way his leg bounces as he fiddles with the sleeve of his fireproofs. 

“You’re gonna do fine mate, don’t worry so much. Just practice.”

The Monegasque looks up at his friend, smiling curtly before grabbing his baclava from the seat next to him. “Right. Just practice.”

He goes through the motions, hopping into his car, testing his gears, patiently waiting until he is allowed to drive on the track. There is constant back and forth between him and the pit wall, Charles making several comments about the feel, and the engineers reporting data back. They comment his poor speed in the first two sectors, pushing him to speed up in the last one. Charles does his best, but is still nine hundredths of second slower than Max. He goes again, desperately trying to push the car to its limit. But it doesn’t perform how he had hoped. He didn’t perform how he had hoped. 

Charles groans, a bit of aggression in his movements as he takes apart his gear so that he can climb out. No one tries to speak to him as he rushes straight to the screen, ready to read and listen to the data gathered from the first free practice. But that only did so much, Charles finishing P3 in the second practice, two places behind his teammate. 

Sunflower — Rex Orange County

When Charles returns to the hotel, your playlist was already playing on shuffle. The music had become his white noise, comforting but no longer something he noticed so much. He really did miss you now, and he finally gives in to the urge to text you. He asks if he could call you before he gets ready for bed. But even once he’s in his boxers, pulling the covers back, there is no response. Charles decides to call you anyways, but the ringing stops almost immediately. 

You declined his call. 

His heart speeds up, attempting to go through every form of social media to see if you were okay. He looked for any signs of life, even texting you to ask if you’re alright. A moment of relief comes in the form of the grey bubble popping up, the three dots showing that you were typing. But your text makes his throat run dry.

Read your note. 

That was it. No reaction, no explanation. Just three words and then silence. Charles tries to call you again, but you are quick to decline. He tries two more times, and each time you deny speaking to him. He texts you, asking what’s wrong. But there is no response. 

I want to know/ where I can go / when you're not around. Panic ensues. Charles is sweating as he throws the covers off his body and clambers into sweats and a shirt that were already sprawled out on the couch. He attempts to call Lando, see if you had told him anything. But the phone rings til the call fails. He calls you again, and you decline.

Dove, answer please. Talk to me. Say something.  Anything.

No response. The boy rummages through his notebook, ensuring that he handed you the right pages. He did. He racks his brain, scouring through his brain as he tries to remember every single word he wrote on that page. He still can’t fathom what could’ve made you mad. Charles spends the night on his bedroom floor, back pressed against his bedside as he waits for his phone to ring with your name. Tryna keep my mind at bay, Sunflower still grows at night.

He thinks of the song playing, tracing the first memory he has of the song. It was a while ago, when you had just started coming to more races in the red garage. It wasn’t a particularly strong weekend for Charles, everyday growing more and more frustrating as he feels his failures in the red car adding up. He was on his way up to you after the debriefing, completely tired and defeated after a terrible 3rd practice and average qualifying. It was late, way beyond a reasonable bedtime, so he was surprised to see you still awake. You were half read for bed, rubbing your face clean of make up and dirt with just a Ferrari hoodie and leggings on. He remembers the song bumping in the background through your phone, they way you bounced from hip to hip as you hum along. 

You didn’t register his sullen face, or maybe you just didn’t want to acknowledge it. You saunter over to him pressing a soft kiss on his lips without stopping your dance. You know you need to get yourself to sleep and dream a dream of you and I, you sing, lifting his arm and twirling in front of him. He found it hard to fight the smile forming on his face, the hard weekend suddenly the least of his worries. 

There's no need to keep an open eye, I promise I'm the one for you just let me hold you in these arms tonight. You wrapped his arms around your torso, forcing his body to move with yours. You watched as his brows relaxed, and a shy smile curves on his lips as he leans in to kiss you one more time.

His phone chimes, your name lighting up the screen.

We’ll talk when you get back. Get some sleep. Good luck tomorrow.

—

More of You — MAGIC!

Charles sits at the top of the Sedici, fingers moving up and down the silver wheel as he waits for you to arrive. His heart is in his stomach, but the feeling was no longer foreign to him. He looks at at the coast, the way the golden sun slowly sinks to kiss the ocean. 

“Hey.” 

He turns to face you, standing up with a smile. “Hi Dove.” He gestures to the seat across from him, and you take it.

“It’s nice… different from the Monza for sure. Do you still have her?”

Charles swivels in his chair, pointing the smaller boat next to him, “Yep.” 

You nod, smiling fondly. You shared many moments with him on that little thing, private moments that you keep secure in your heart. There is a brief moment of silence, certainly not a terrible one, but the both of you have seen better moments. You look at Charles, really look at him this time. You count the moles on his face, the lines beneath his eyes. They were still as bright as they were in your dreams. 

There was no way to start, so you pull out the cream pieces of lined paper. You flip it open, and the crinkle of the paper causes Charles to look in your direction. “My dearest Dove…” 

I stare you, sometimes at night, wishing I could just press rewind… ’cause I just want more. Charles watches you, the way your bottom lips is caught between your teeth as you stare at the words from in front of you. Your face is stoic, eyes darting from left to right as you read the words in your head. 

“It is two in the morning. My body is tired, sore, but my mind doesn’t want to stop moving…” Your voice is sweet, contrasting the sad words of the boy from that early July morning. “I wish- I wish that you were here.” 

You finally look up at him, and that’s when Charles sees the tears glossing over your eyes. He reaches out, your fingers quickly finding it’s place in the palms of his hands. He squeezes softly, encouraging you to continue. 

You look up from the paper, folding it shut as you exhale. “You still listened to the playlist?”

He nods, “Yeah. It helped some… but it’s not the same.” 

You smile sadly, looking back down at the paper to continue. “Every song is hand picked, a piece of us and our story. It is an endless cycle of love, of pining, of wishing that we were right next to each other. Do you still listen to these songs, do you still think of me when you do?” 

“Do you?” Charles asks. 

You hum, nodding. “Always.”

Charles can’t help but smile, nodding softly and encouraging you to continue reading the letter.

“I always find myself wishing that you were here with me, here to celebrate every win, but also to forget about the failures. I’m always wishing that I had more of you.” Drops of tears spill onto your cheek, and Charles releases your hand to cup your face. The pad of his thumb swipes it away.

What is this hold you got on me? Stronger force than gravity…

“But you were right. This time apart was necessary. It was needed, and-“

Charles’ hand drops from your face, resting on your thigh as his thumb rubs soothing circles on on your skin. “I think I needed it more than I thought I did.” He finishes

“I’m happy that the world turns in your favor, I think mine is upside down. I’m still trying to find my way, find my independence in the world, find my identity other than the predestined. I’m finding who I am beyond rubber on the track and all the podiums. And if there’s one thing I know for sure, it’s that I was always meant to love you. Whether it’s in your presence, or from thousands of miles away, loving you has been and will always be part of my story.” 

In my next life, I'll be looking for you. “In this life and the next, mon cherie.” 

You fold the paper once more, slipping it into your purse. Your fingers find his, looping between them. The silence is light, comfortable, as his green eyes bore into yours. There weren’t any words either of you can say, the note saying just enough for the both of you. 

The sun finally kisses the sea, the sky turning from blue to pink. The world around you dims. 

“In this life and the next, Charles.”

[scribbling-dragon]

nighttime hauntings

summary:

(ao3 link)

(4,317 words)

heyy! happy halloween! as a gift have my personal little silly thing that i had a bunch of fun writing, don't question the worldbuilding too much! (you want to reblog this soooo bad and leave me nice little comments in the tags, soo bad <3)

The tarmac is cool beneath his feet – well, paws? They're paws right now, but they're feet a majority of the time. And ‘feet’ refers to anything you stand on, probably, so till feet…just paw-shaped right now – as he waits patiently. Maybe a little impatiently, hopping from one foot to the other, claws clacking against the cool ground.

The bell jingles and he jerks his head up. He almost smiles, before remembering that such an expression is truly horrifying when he’s like this – Scott had made sure to tell him as such when Jimmy last did it to him, and the siren usually prefers to coat his words in much more honey. The insult wasn’t even thinly veiled, it was just an insult.

His tail begins wagging, almost on its own, as the person he was waiting for steps out onto the darkened street.

He lets out a small bark as greeting, watching as his friend looks up, before smiling at him as well. He stops to check the road before bounding across, skidding to a stop at Tango’s feet. The barista is still smiling, that oddly restrained smile that only just shows a peek of his teeth.

“Hey, buddy,” Tango crouches down, reaching out a hand to stroke along the top of Jimmy’s head. “I’ve only got a few things for you today, but I'm sure it’s more than enough.”

Jimmy can’t respond to him right now, but he hopes the wagging of his tail is enough to communicate that even the smallest of scraps are always enough for him; as long as Tango is the one bearing those scraps, he’ll happily take whatever is given to him.

He takes the piece of food – some kind of croissant? He’s not sure what exactly it is, but it’s tasty, even after sitting on a shelf for most of the day – carefully between his teeth, making sure not to accidentally nip Tango. He’d never forgive himself if he did that, even went so far as to refuse taking food from Tango’s hand for the first few months of their little arrangement.

Tango smiles down at him as he finishes chewing, before standing up straight. The small box the scraps came in is neatly folded into a cardboard square and disposed of in the nearest bin they pass by.

Tango walks quite briskly, as though he has somewhere to be. He doesn’t, Jimmy knows. Not in a weird way! Or a creepy one! He just never leaves the house after Jimmy walks him home, choosing to stay inside. He doesn’t think Tango has very many friends, otherwise he wouldn’t be choosing to take the closing shift at a café that operates on disgustingly early and late hours. He would probably also be leaving his house between shifts.

Again, not in a creepy way! Jimmy is just slightly worried about Tango…they may have only had a few conversations in passing when Jimmy has chosen to visit the café as a human-shaped patron, but he likes to think he has a pretty good feel for the man next to him.

Tango’s hand rests on his head as they wait to cross the road, the flickering orange lamp only briefly illuminating the zebra crossing. Jimmy sits dutifully at his side, scanning the darker corners that Tango wouldn’t be able to see into with his subpar night vision.

Only when Tango lifts his hand from Jimmy’s head does he begin to move again, trotting at his heels.

It’s only a short walk to Tango’s apartment building, but it’s a rather dark one. Tango chooses to take more risks than he really should, crossing through darkened alleyways with little fear. The absolute lack of self-preservation has Jimmy’s heart going a mile a minute, jumping in his chest at every flickering shadow or small sound.

He growls at a rat that startled him, an entirely embarrassing encounter that has Tango cooing over him and stroking his ears; he feels hot under his fur, mortification sliding heavy down his spine as he resists the urge to hide his face. He’s only lucky he can’t blush like this, or any blush he would have is hidden beneath a thick layer of fur.

And, as always, the moment of parting arrives with the looming of Tango’s building.

He can’t help the way he slows his steps as they approach, mourning the end of their small journey for the evening. It would be far more convenient to start an actual conversation with Tango, either inside of his workplace or outside of it, the way his brothers have been telling him to. But he’s far more comfortable with everything as it is right now, and these small walks don't give him the opportunity to ruin everything with a blurted sentence that should have stayed internal.

A hand lands on his head, its weight comforting and familiar.

“See you soon,” Tango gives him that same odd smile, lips barely pulling back from his teeth. “Stay safe, alright? I’d be sad if my little buddy stopped showing up to greet me.”

Jimmy would equally be upset if he was no longer able to accompany Tango on his walks home. The city is dangerous at night, especially with all the creatures living within a small radius of each other. Jimmy can name three different vampires that live within a mile of Tango’s home. And those are only the ones he knows. Goodness knows what would happen if Tango chose to walk home on his own down those dark and disgusting alleyways.

Jimmy makes a small noise, ears drooping slightly as he presses his head forward for a final goodbye. The smell of coffee and sugar invades his senses briefly before he’s pulling away again, watching Tango let himself into his building.

Only when he sees the door click shut behind Tango and automatically lock does he turn to leave, trotting down a different alleyway in order to return to his own home for the evening.

=== === ===

Tango’s not entirely sure when the semi-regular routine began. Only that the habit is well-worn at this point, meaning it’s been at least two months. It takes two months to form a habit, apparently, though some people do it quicker than that. He, however, is a creature of habit and takes a while to adjust his routine.

Which is why it comes as a surprise to him when he finds that he’s already packed away several scraps, and bits of food that would go to waste at the end of the day otherwise, into a takeaway container, ready to give to his nightly companion.

He locks everything up inside first. He’s not going to rush out the door and become an incompetent employee just to go and see his furry friend quicker. Even if said furry friend is incredibly cute and really quite endearing, especially when he does the impatient little tippy-taps with his paws as he waits outside.

A normal person wouldn’t be able to pick up on such a tiny sound, but Tango strains his ears as he does one final sweep of the café, listening for the almost inaudible sound of claws clacking against the tarmac.

He smiles a little when he hears it, making his way towards the door, container tucked carefully beneath his arm. The keys jangle as he takes them out to lock the door, turning around in the small porch and locking the doorway.

He gives the handle a small test, finding that it resists, before finally turning to greet his friend.

“Hello, hello. Yes, yes, I'm sorry,” he crouches down to be more on the dog’s level, smiling at it as he reaches out to give it a quick pat on the head. “I didn’t mean to be so late, but, ugh, Tiffany- I've told you about Tiffany before, right?” The dog tilts its head to the side, though its ears perk forward as Tango speaks.

Tango knows full well that he’s currently having a conversation with a dog, but he can’t help it! He works the closing shift on his own most of the time, none of his co-workers choosing to stay past six p.m., when it starts to get a little bit too dark, or too late at night. Most of them are students at the local university, and they all have early lectures. Tango doesn’t mind taking the later shifts – much prefers taking them, actually, seeing as he doesn’t have to lug his stupidly old and stupidly heavy umbrella around with him– especially not when it helps out those he works with so much.

“Yeah, yeah,” he nods along like the dog responded to his earlier question. “Of course I've told you about Tiffany before, she’s, honestly, sorry for what I'm about to say, but she’s such a bitch. She came in, five minutes before closing. I’d been cleaning all the tables ready for closing and begun to stack the chairs, and she comes in and is all like, oh, so sorry darling,” he drags the darling out, “yeah. She says it just like that- and she comes in so sorry darling, but I've just got to have this coffee right now. You’d understand wouldn’t you? Working so late all the time, ugh, it must be so hard. Like, God, yeah, imagine not living off your husband’s money, Tiffany – I know far too much about this woman’s life, like, no, I am being paid minimum wage to sit and listen to you complain about your third husband’s spending habits, I don't actually care.”

He huffs out an exasperated breath, sagging forward momentarily. Still crouching right in front of the dog means he leans forward and directly into the dog, which does a rather valiant attempt to keep him upright.

“Ugh, sorry, I don't mean to complain. You're here for the scraps, I'm sure,” he pulls the box out from beneath his arm, setting it on his lap as he begins opening it, folding the cardboard edges away from each other. The dog whines, scraping its foot against his leg, before looking up at him with its incredibly sad and watery eyes.

He’s not actually sure what kind of dog it is. When he’d first been approached by it, he’d been taking the waste food out to the bins behind the café. He was certain he was about to be attacked by a rabid wolf, or something. As far as he knows, the only werewolves currently living in the city is a tiny pack of three, and all of them live on the opposite side of the city to him. But in that moment he’d been certain that he was going to be mauled to death by another creature of the night.

Instead, the hulking beast of an animal had sat down at his feet and given him the saddest little look ever, eyes large and watering until Tango had offered up a rather squashed croissant to it.

After that small encounter, he’d tried to find out what kind of dog it was, searching for it first online, and then resorting to a dog breeds guide at the nearby library, in the hopes that he might find what kind of dog was walking him home most weeks.

The most he’d been able to conclude was that it was probably at least half-wolf, though the other parent is unknown. Dog and wolf – both dolf and wog had sounded incredibly dumb, and the dog looks more like an overgrown, slightly shaggier family golden retriever than a wolf.

And it still doesn’t have a name.

He offers out the half-croissant he’d saved for it today, watching as it takes the treat carefully from his hand. He’s fed a few street dogs before, though none of them this consistently, and all the street dogs in the past had bitten at his fingers as they snatched the treat from him, desperate and starving, and willing to rip out someone’s throat to make sure they got the treat.

The delicacy with which this dog takes the treat only reinforces the idea that this dog was a family pet, one that was left behind when it only continued growing and the family could no longer cope with having such a large dog.

It licks his fingers for the last crumbs of the croissant before pulling back and looking at him with those same sad eyes.

“On better topics,” he begins, watching how the dog perks up at the sound of his voice. He almost wishes it were smaller, so he could at least try to sneak it into his apartment. “The cute guy came back today,” he strokes a hand absently over the dog’s head as he talks, “I still didn’t manage to get his name, oh, it’s so embarrassing. Joe – co-worker Joe, Joe that we like – makes fun of me for it every time, says it makes me incapable at my job the moment he walks in. I just can’t help it! He always sits at the window, and gets the same thing every single time. I mean, I get the same thing every time, I can respect that, but I still don't have his name.” He buries his face in his arms, ceasing the absent pets he was giving the dog. “Man, it’s embarrassing. I don't even know his name and he’s a regular. He comes in nearly every evening, and just sits in the window, perfectly aligned with the last bits of sunlight in order to make his hair turn golden.”

A wet nose presses against his arm, before an entire head forces its way through his crossed arms. He pulls back with a short laugh, pushing the dog backwards, hands on its chest.

“Ugh, just ignore me. I'm tired,” he sighs, hauling himself to his feet. “I forgot to have something to eat before I left for work, and now I'm starving.” The dog continues to look up at him as he walks, eyes fixed on him, wet and glittering under the occasional street lights. Despite it’s overall air of patheticness, it seems to be doing rather well for itself. It’s certainly not skinny, despite living right on the edges of the city, and it hasn’t been attacked by one of Tango’s hungrier neighbours yet.

…Though, that might be more to do with Tango than sheer luck.

He’s one of the older vampires in this part of the city, and most of the other ones are content to stay out of his way as long as he stays out of theirs. And he may have been rather unsubtle in his fondness for this particular dog, even going so far as to mark him with a small sigil – one only visible to other vampires, letting them know that they should keep their hands off. The sigil is small and unnoticeable when he doesn’t look for it, fading into background noise.

To other vampires, though, it’s like a blaring light that screams at them to stay away or face his wrath. A rather effective deterrent, if he may say so himself.

He crosses into the shadowed alleyways quickly, feeling far more relaxed here than under the pools of lamplight. The dog, however, presses closer to his legs worriedly, a low whine building in the back of its throat for the first few seconds, before cutting off rather abruptly.

Tango hums to himself, reaching down to pat the dog on its head, stroking a hand over the unruly tufts there in an attempt to smooth them down.

He moves quicker through the dark alleyways. The dog doesn’t like walking through them, but it’s far quicker than taking the main streets, even if these are darker and a little more…disgusting. Still, the dog seems happier when they finally emerge from the twisting maze of brick and crawling moss, wagging its tail again and straying a little further from his side.

Still, he feels more than a little bad when he turns to face it on his doorstep, crouching down again to bid it goodbye.

“I’ll see you soon, alright?” The dog tilts its head at the exact same time he does, looking even sadder than it had when he first stepped out the café. It would almost be worth it, getting kicked out of his apartment, just to smuggle the dog inside for an evening. “And I’ll have something better than half a croissant next time, I swear.”

The dog wags its tail twice before stopping again, watching from its spot as Tango backs up towards his apartment building. He gives it one last wave before he pushes through the doors, pulling it shut behind himself.

When he glances back through the glass, the dog is already gone.

=== === ===

Jimmy waited patiently, tail curled neatly around his paws as he watches the door carefully. There’s been movement inside for the past few minutes, despite the closed sign already being flipped. Meaning its almost time for Tango to emerge from the darkness and come greet him with a smile.

He’s been worried about Tango recently. His apparent lack of friends aside, he’s been looking paler than before, almost sick with it, and he’d been stumbling yesterday when Jimmy went in for his usual coffee. He wasn’t able to get close enough to check on him then, standing at the respectable distance that humans normally choose to keep between themselves. But now, shifted and covered in a layer of fur, it’s far more acceptable for him to get that close.

He perks up at the sound of jangling keys, hopping to his feet and crossing the road before the door even finishes closing.

Only to skid to a halt before he can reach the person- because it’s just a person, not Tango.

He begins backing away, only to be caught in the act as the person turns around to face him. Another co-worker, one that Jimmy vaguely recognises as Joe, both from his visits to the café and Tango’s stories about his day.

“Heya there,” Joe waves to him, wiggling his fingers slightly at the end. “Didn’t think you’d be here tonight, looking for your buddy?”

Jimmy doesn’t make any response that would indicate understanding, simply continuing to stare up at Joe. He doesn’t know what to make of Joe, something uneasy prickling along his spine as he stares up at him. He’d never been able to get a read on the guy, but something about him just made Jimmy feel…off. Uneasy. Not unsafe, never unsafe, but healthily wary.

“Aw, well, he’s out sick today. He’s not been looking good recently, so you might not be seeing him for a bit.” Joe locks the door as he talks, turning his head over his shoulder to face Jimmy. He’s still smiling, oddly enough. “I'm sure he’ll be back, right as rain, soon enough! Nothing keeps Tango down for long. Nothing can keep Tango down for long,” Joe laughs. Then stops laughing nearly as quickly as he had begun. “You’d better run along, I've got no scraps for you tonight. Not that you’d take them from me, I don't think.”

Joe watches him for a moment longer, before making a gentle shooing motion.

Jimmy feels as though he's been broken from a trance, abruptly backing up before turning away, beginning a slow trot away from the café as he thinks. He still doesn’t feel good around Joe, and that right there was creepily similar to the time when Scott wanted to show him what a siren could really do with their voice. But there was no urge to offer himself up to the man, only a need to stay and listen to whatever it was he had to say.

Whatever Joe is, Jimmy has no interest in finding out.

Disappointed in how his evening has turned out, he slips into the forest rather than making the trip back across the city. He’s not looking to be teased by his brothers about this when he’s not even managed to see Tango. He’d much rather kill a rabbit, or something.

Or, he turns his head, the iron tang of blood filling his nose, perhaps he doesn’t even need to hunt down an entire animal. There seems to be some kind of injured creature out here that would be far easier to catch than the effort required for digging into a burrow.

He follows the scent deeper into the forest, only pausing to make sure he orients himself correctly and can find his way back to the city later.

The path zig-zags, as though the prey was desperately blundering its way through the undergrowth in its panic. Several leaves are dotted with crimson beads of blood, and the trail is laughably easy to follow. He keeps his nose to the ground anyway, snuffling along the small path of broken twigs and crushed underbrush.

A snapping twig has his ears pricking forward, a pained sound following afterwards.

He leaps forward, crashing through the bush ahead of him and ignoring the thorns that scrape along his sides as he lands. He almost slips on the leaves, skidding a little further than he had expected to.

The scent of blood is incredibly strong here, and it only takes him looking up to realise why.

Tango leans against the tree, another body beneath his own a dark shape. The pained sounds are coming from said body, though Tango seems to be ignoring them entirely, in favour of- in favour of…

There’s a wet sound as Tango pulls away from the person, turning to peer over his shoulder with squinted eyes. Those squinted eyes then rather quickly widen- and it’s the first time that Jimmy notices the red sheen they have to them, almost bright enough to glow.

What catches most of his attention, though, is the blood dripping down his chin, staining most of his lower face with it.

His heart in his throat and feeling as though he’s about to be sick from stress, he skitters back when Tango turns fully to face him. Somehow, he’s managed to not get any blood on his clothes.

He bursts back into a human, clothes settling heavily over him as he staggers to his feet, reeling backwards. “Holy shit!”

“Holy- what the hell!” Tango leaps to his feet as well, wide eyes now even wider. “You're- what!”

“You're a vampire!” He shouts back, confused and also more than annoyed with himself. “What- how didn’t I know? How the hell did you do so well at hiding it?”

“You- I didn’t know that you were a werewolf! Weredog- whatever!”

“I'm a werewolf,” he snaps back. “Not a dog.”

“You sure look like a dog,” Tango plants his hands on his hips, far too confident for someone that looks like he got dunked into a can of red paint. “A big dog, sure, but still a dog.”

“I'm a wolf, thanks,” he bristles. “And you're a vampire! You- is that guy gonna be okay?”

Said guy makes another pained sound.

“He’ll be fine,” Tango says. His voice is more than a little dismissive, only sparing a singular backwards glance over his shoulder. “He’ll just think he had a little too much to drink and ended up somewhere he doesn’t remember going.”

“And he’ll be fine?”

“He might need to eat a little more, replenish his blood. I don't know, man, I'm not a doctor.”

“If you're regularly draining people of their blood, then you need to be a little more careful.”

“I don't- this isn’t a normal thing,” Tango sighs. “I just haven’t been able to make time for the past few weeks so I was…a little more hungry than usual. This is a worst-case scenario.”

“Just, ugh, how didn’t I know?”

“How did neither of us know?” Tango turns the question back around. “God, we must be some pretty tremendous idiots to not have realised. C’mon, don't I smell like blood to your super sensitive nose?”

“No?” He blinks, “You smell like coffee, and sugar.”

“Oh, uh, alright,” Tango’s brows furrow together. “Mind if I get your name, by the way? You kept avoiding me at the café when I tried to ask. Makes a little more sense now, I guess.”

“I, yeah? I'm Jimmy, nice to meet you?” He groans, “This is weird as hell. You're covered in blood and I'm telling you my name.”

“Hey, hey, I've been trying to get that name for a while now.” Tango wags a finger at him, “Don't be weird just ‘cause this is weird- could be weirder, let me tell you.”

“Uh-huh, how could it be weirder?”

“I could ask you on a date now rather than tomorrow,” Tango smiles at him, small fangs poking over his lips as he watches. Waiting for a response. “It wouldn’t be to a café, for obvious reasons, but there’s a nice museum nearby that-”

“You want to ask me on a date?”

“…Yeah?”

“I just, ugh, why? I was going to ask you on a date months ago and decided against it!”

“Aw, you shoulda asked me,” Tango frowns. “There was an even better museum exhibit a few months ago.”

Jimmy opens his mouth to say something, but just starts laughing instead. He can see Tango watching him, from behind the tears forming in his eyes, but he can’t bring himself to stop laughing for another while yet.

“You're an idiot,” he manages between laughing.

“In a good way, or…?”

“Yeah, sure, in a good way.” He sighs, “What the hell, yeah, I’ll go on that date with you.”

“Wait, really?” Tango seems to light up, completely ignoring the blood on his face and the guy slumped over behind him. “Oh, how would you feel about dinner afterwards? On me, I swear.”

“As long as I'm not dessert,” he laughs.

Tango giggles alongside him, “Only if you offer, sweetheart.”