#but they also played some deep cuts I didn’t know as well | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

satoruhour · 9 months

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SL*T HIM OUT !

a/n: sometimes it doesn’t hurt to be more of a freak than ur man is...! im sorry to the babies who voted 4 fluffy sugu. also not tagging bc this intro is alr so damn long 😭

warnings: soooo filthy, lots of dirty talk, freaky!reader, modern au!gojo, online voyeurism / exhibitonism. implied cockwarming, unprotected sex, creampie / breeding kink, light spanking (like once), gojo’s friends listen in, reader calls geto, m! masturbation (gojo), cult leader!geto, public sex (in front of his cult), clit stimulation, exhibitionism, power play (?), pussy slaps, squirting, unprotected sex, creampie / breeding kink (geto), exhibtiionism as well, oral (m receiving), handjob, semi-public sex (in a car), cum shot, implied creampie / breeding kink, cum eating, brief daddy kink @ the end (nanami), lie back oral (m receiving, basically an upside down bj lol), deep-throating, face-fucking, fingering, clit stimulation, spitting (in TOJI’s mouth!), cum eating (toji), n*sfw under the cut

✶ GOJO

gojo thought his best friend and him were truly nasty people, exchanging videos of fucking their sneaky links, lewd photos of his cock in some chick’s mouth and sharing hookups between themselves several times, but when gojo had gotten together with you, it’s like the only time he’s got one-upped by someone repeatedly.

you, with your bright, blinding smiles and kind disposition being such a filthy slut behind closed doors. gojo can hardly hold in his moans as he tries to focus on the game in front of him, but you decided that cockwarming was too much of a waiting game that you’re disobeying your boyfriend and moving your hips.

“f— fuck, angel, didn’t you p-promise?” he’s already felt your cunt clench around him too many times for him to be saying stupid shit like that and it’s clear he’s not even following his own rules when his hips jerk up from his gaming chair and into your dripping cunt. it’s leaking so much he’s sure he needs to change the covers of it, soaking his cock and balls that there’s a wet patch of your juices under him.

“you’re moving too, though,” you click your tongue with a grin, not caring about his friends on the game with him as you bounce fully, now. “j-jus’ can’t resist my boyfriend’s fat cock, now, can i?”

gojo swears lowly at the praise and by now his control over his character in the game is lost to pleasure, too intoxicated with how your cunt squelches around his length and his hands leave his controller to cup your ass. his hips are meeting yours in shorter, desperate thrusts.

“w— wanna call, suguru, baby?” you’re whining into his neck and you can feel the brief nod; he was never opposed to your whorish ways, hearing the receiver pick up almost immediately and geto’s face comes on his display: shocked, half hard already and bothered.

“stretchin’ this pussy out s’much— mmh—” you turn back momentarily to give geto on the video call a drunk smile and a wave, interrupted by gojo’s harsh smack on your ass and a loud moan falls from your lips when he snaps his hips into yours, stark blue eyes trained on your cockdrunk face.

“who’s making you feel this good, slut?”

a hand goes up to squeeze your cheeks together and in gojo’s peripheral vision he can already see geto stroking his cock. his friends are probably disgusting too, muting their mics and jerking off, but a dirty girl like you loves it, don’t you?

“y— you are, ’toru— shit!” sat on gojo’s cock for too long makes you like this: crazed, filthy, and mixed in with geto’s impatient hand on his cock and gojo’s words in your ear? it’s not difficult to cum with “yes, yes, yes”’s leaving your lips, back arching into gojo’s hand as he fucks you like a fleshlight, sloppy thrusts hitting you deeper and deeper in you, you swear you see heaven with tears lining the corner of your eyes when gojo shoots his long awaited cum right into your puffy pussy and gojo’s head dig hards unto his headrest.

but gojo knows you aren’t done, moaning softly into his ears for you to turn him over and ways showing suguru what he can’t have.

“look at how much i’ve bred my pretty girl, suguru,” geto’s eyes stay locked as his best friend tugs his cock out of you, cum spurting out in loads and staining your pussy white that it’s got him reaching his climax with a choked groan, hands squeezing ribbon after ribbon of cum out of his cock and you watch, entranced. gojo swears he feels you clench and he grins. “maybe one day you’ll see your cum seeping out of her, heh.”

✶ GETO

geto never liked humans — he’s made that much clear when he turned his back on jujutsu high and committed to his cause — but sometimes when pussy’s just too good, he can’t help but fuck it once in a while, or in this case, every day since you loved it.

“this— f-fuck—” geto’s slamming into you from behind, both hands wrapped around your biceps so hard it might as well make marks, but you hardly care when it holds you up so well as you take his throbbing cock repeatedly. your body’s limp, letting him use you in front of his cult.

“this— is how you breed— a cute little human—” suguru struggles to speak through his thrusts, hardly focused on his followers watching with gaping mouths and possibly tents in their pants. gross men, they were, but he doesn’t give one fuck knowing he’s the only one to have your pussy every single time. geto stays hypnotised by your dripping cunt sucking him in, clenching just as you lock eyes with one of his followers. “you could be getting treatment like this but—”

“g-geto-sama— harder, harder!” you whine when he yanks you up and hooks a hand under your knee. it drives him deeper into you easily, large cock reaching all the spots in you that you can feel your knee buckling. don’t worry, geto’s got you perfectly, but he smiles when you’re spreading your legs more.

“but you’re too busy being shitty fucking monkeys.” geto swears into your neck, robes removed hastily so he could have all of you and he switches positions again and carries you with both legs over his arms, shutting your pleas up for his cock by pulling your back against his chest and shoving him back into you from behind with a bit of your help.

you’re spread out like a buffet so nicely now, feet dangling lifelessly like a doll as his hips piston up into you from below and your praise falls from your mind for a moment. “suguru— s’deep, gimme more, please—!”

he doesn’t mind when you’re more than his worshipper in his quarters at night, muttering out a soft yeah? just for you to hear, fingers slapping your clit roughly and you’re jerking roughly, tongue lolling out and eyes rolled to the back of your head. it’s so hot, and suguru’s so strong, holding you up like this.

“this is how real men fuck,” geto declares as dramatically as always, continuing to land smacks on your pussy before you’re tensing up and your head falls on his shoulder, squealing.

“cumming— sugu! g’nna cum— haah…” geto simply laughs when your body fully surrenders to him and you’re squirting all over the floor, juices littering the tatami mats and onto some of the faces of the followers, convulsing so much around his cock that he’s cumming soon after you, pumping you full just like the many times he’s done to you privately.

you feel him twitch in you and you don’t mind the drool leaving everyone’s mouths at that point, planting a sloppy kiss on his lips as you hear his praise against your lips — “that’s a good whore, taking all my cum like an obedient cum dump.”

✶ NANAMI

nanami wasn’t aware of your high sex drive when you first dated — so when you’re dragging him past the higher-ups and the many sorcerers into some random limousine and slamming him against the door, he’s pleasantly surprised, although not too pleased at gojo shouting into the open air how yeaaahh! nanami’s getting some toniiighht!

sure, he might’ve been a little held back — he was never one for anything public, but feeling your hand tugging on his to rest between your legs and how your might not have worn underwear tonight, he was thinking he might need to do something about it.

but nanami is usually too afraid, so he willingly lets you pull him instead into one of the random limos outside the fancy gala venue. at this point there’s too many sorcerers at the event that he isn’t even sure who the driver escorted here, but it turns out to be one of tokyo’s, unknown of your current need to have nanami down your throat and up your pussy.

nanami’s cheeks burn when the driver recognises his voice.

“ah! nanami-san, back to jujutsu high?”

all the while, you’re yanking at his pants and pulling st his underwear, him torn between letting you do what you want and having some decorum in front of a junior. but you’re whispering against his half-hard cock, pressing light kisses on his leaking tip that maybe it isn’t so bad succumbing to you sometimes.

“needed your cock since i saw you in this suit, kento— mmfgh—” you’re quick to descend on his dick, not caring if he was still hardening. that was your favourite part, feeling him stretch to his full size while still in your mouth, words a mere whisper that you’re grinning at the possibility of getting caught.

“shit—” nanami groans softly when you bob your head, thankful the partition was slid close and all cars for sorcerers are usually muffled pretty well for confidentiality (gojo requested it, god knows why) — because from here he can hear you slobber over him unforgivingly and noisily, not caring about consequences one bit.

“angel, you gotta be quieter… fuckkk…” you lick a long stripe up his cock, his ears picking up on the way you play with yourself under your dress and nanami scoffs at how much audacity you had, pulling you off immediately and pushing you into the seats.

though, nanami’s streak of confidence is lost once he feels his tip prod at your hole. he can feel you squeeze around him so tightly that you take over, collecting your slick easily by drawing his cockhead along your folds. it’s so disgusting and hot, hearing the slick squelch around before you’re pushing him into you and you’re letting out a drawn out moan.

“kentooo…”

“nanami-san? everything okay?”

you giggle softly, shouting across to the driver, “everything’s well, tsugimo-san!”

“ahh— (y/n)-san, i was unaware you were here too—” hips push back on his cock and nanami bites his lip so hard he tastes copper. you’re so wet you get right in, buried right up to the hilt, hissing softly at the way your ass ripples against him, “boring party huh?”

you laugh, “soooo boring,” it’s disguised as a whine, moving your lower body back on nanami and it’s a wonder he’s able to stay so still in the vehicle — while he’s gotta praise tsugimo for driving so steadily, he thinks it’s because of his fear of getting caught that makes him so still and rigid.

the thrill is unlike any other, though, so he takes the chance, hooking both hands under your neck and pulling.

“sorry to hear that, (y/n)-san! well, rest up back there.” oh, poor tsugimo had no idea you were getting your guts arranged by your lover, head tipped back all the way while your back arches and your moans are shamelessly loud. nanami bullies his cock into you, too in love with your tight, pretty cunt as he tries to keep his grunts to a low.

“c’mon, c’mon, c’mon,” nanami rasps despite the loud pap! pap! pap! of his balls that’s he’s convinced he’s going to get a warning letter tomorrow but at least he’ll have this memory to jerk off to next time: your sweet cunt gushing around him, arousal giving away the racy things you were doing. he can feel his approaching high, the twitching of his cock obvious enough that you notice too until you’re forcing yourself off of him. nanami’s a little disappointed in not being able to paint your insides white but—

you’re skilfull (and excited) by the way you’re manoeuvring yourself onto the carpeted floor of the limo, pushing nanami that he falls back onto the leather seats and both hands wrap around his throbbing cock.

“give me all your cum, kento,” you mumble, the two hands pumping him hastily straight up offensive as you fill the car with the slickest noises. tongue outstretched and your warm, soft hands moving at a steady pace has nanami cumming with a muffled groan and jolting hips, angry tip spurting so much semen into your mouth. your arms never stop, milking him dry as you suckle on his cockhead, slurping up the cum that threatens to spill out.

“mmhh— s’much…” it has your lover panting, watching you smother his seed along the bottom half of your face messily and he thinks maybe, maybe, this could be his second favourite place to cum on.

“...cum. need some more, daddy.”

✶ TOJI

toji chuckles when you beg with another flutter of your eyelashes, simply leaving a soft peck on your lips and he drags you gently — a entire 180 from how how he’s got you on your back now, getting your pulse up from how his cock is past your face and reaches your throat.

“ya sure you want this, baby?”

you roll your eyes, tugging on him and making him let out a soft groan, letting you have your way as you stroke him needily. you’ve been wanting to have him down your throat while on your back for the longest time, wanting to feel that uncomfortable stretch of your jaw and getting his cockhead as deep as you could into your mouth—

you’re already doing your own thing, swirling your tongue around toji’s tip and playing with his balls, before you feel the other pump himself, spitting on his palm to get it wet just a little before easing himself into your throat. the stretch is delicious with how big toji is, seeing himself bulge in your throat by how deep you were taking him.

“oh— s-shit, that’s it. mouth so fuckin’ warm—” you moan around his cock, mouth stuffed full and hands kneading at his thighs that he takes it as the green light to go. it’s slow, at first; he’s afraid to hurt you and yet you’re humming around him, gargling on his dick so dirtily that he can’t help but thrust.

it’s a hundred times better than you going down on him normally, letting him fuck your mouth upside down. toji smiles when you guide his hand to your clit with no problem and as he leans forward he reaches the hilt in you. you whimper around him, the smile spreading into a sick grin as he rubs lazy circles upon your clit.

“m’slutty girl needs it that badly, hm?” toji accentuates each word with slaps against your pussy, already so wet from being in such a provocative position and having your boyfriend’s shaft in your mouth — toji laughs when he inserts his fingers and your hips buck up, while his never falters; he’s always been the best at masking how he felt.

toji moans at the way you gurgle on his cock, slipping out momentarily to let you breathe. it’s nice seeing you so slutted out, drool dripping down your face paired with a grin. you spit on him from below, stroking his cock for a bit before he’s back in your mouth. you clamp down on his fingers when he starts to set an relentless pace, slamming into your mouth while needy moans send vibrations up his body.

“takin’ me like a good lil girl, aren’t ya?” toji swears lowly at the way his fingers disappear into you, both holes of yours filled to the brim. “g’nna cum, doll.”

your forearms close around his thighs, head falling off the edge of the bed as you hollow your cheeks even more and breathe through your nose. his hips are turning sloppy and loose now, losing its pace altogether as he ruts into your warmth.

“take my load down your throat, baby— f-fuck—” it’s abrupt when toji cums, thighs pulled taut under your hands and his hips still. his fingers also lose control, hand cupping your cunt instead as ribbons of his cum flood your throat. you’re swallowing part of it, popping his cock out of your mouth and turning over onto your knees.

the sheer size of toji always excites you, towering over you but you ignore the throb of your pussy to shove your lips onto his, making him taste himself — it’s spit everywhere, leaking from the corners of your mouths and when you pull away there’s a string of saliva connecting the both of you.

you simply thumb his bottom lip, the familiar scar running against the pad of your thumb and toji only slyly smiles, opening his mouth willingly. he’d never let anyone do this, but you gather a glob of saliva and spit it into his mouth, a mixture of cum and drool and toji just fucking loves how lewd you are.

“thanks, mama,” toji lands a playful slap on your ass and you giggle, “doin’ so well, always.”

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buckys-wintersoldier · 1 month

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Light after Dark | Bucky Barnes

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 -> Boyfriend!Bucky Barnes x Girlfriend!Reader

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 -> You ex-boyfriend never treated you well but when Bucky steps into your life it changes and he shows you how much he loves you. Would the behaviour you had with your ex-boyfriend be there because Bucky looks distanced.

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 -> 10.057 (it’s long but worth it, guess so)

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 -> (E) 18+, Minors DNI, angst, abusing ex-boyfriend, violence, slapping, shouting, wound/scars because of abuse, smut, non/dub-con, manipulation, blowjob, deep throating, nipple play, handjob (male!receiving), cum eating, fingering (fem!receiving), oral (fem!receiving), protected p in v, multiple orgasm, belly bulge, praises, fluff

𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓 -> Hello hello! It's me, again. Got bit of an angsty idea. Let's say that reader has an abusive ex, and this dude was physically and emotionally draining. She never had a single nice thought about herself in three years. She always thought she had big thighs, or wide hips etc etc. And let's say that she does have some scars from her ex, whenever he used to beer bottles at her they'd crash and cut her. She always thought she was not worthy, because he used to cheat on her all the time. Now, presently, we're with Bucky. And nowadays Bucky has been a little irritated and distant. And you think the worse, and your defense mechanism come up. Back with your ex, you used to cook good food and make so much effort (but your asshole ex never bothered) Bucky is confused why there's whole royal course of a meal on the table when he comes home. You don't want to point out the obvious and say it's for nothing, but it's really because you don't want him to leave. Bucky knows something is up, but how does he approach the situation???🤭🤭🤭This was pretty long lol (Again you don't have to write this if you’re uncomfy😌😌) Okie BYE!! @amathslutsguidetofandom

𝐀/𝐍 -> Thank you so much for the request. I absolutely love it and I hope you like what I made with that. Also wanna thank my best friend @imtryingbuck for listening to me, and helping me with some parts during writing.

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 | 𝐁𝐔𝐂𝐊𝐘 𝐁𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐄𝐒 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

“Come one, can’t you get your shit together? It’s not that hard,” he shouted at you, throwing his hands up while he looked at you.

His expression was disgusted, and he was disappointed — because of you, like he always was. You just asked him to help you with the plates, but he was annoyed, mad that you couldn’t do it without annoying him. You didn’t want to annoy him; it was never your intention, but you’re tired — working hard in the household every day, sleeping only half of the night — and he never appreciates what you did. He wanted to have a meal — a proper meal — but you presented him with something he didn’t want to eat that day. How could you dare to cook soup when he wants meat?

“Take your plate and sit on the floor,” he told you, pointing next to him on the ground.

“P—please. I’m sorry,” you whimpered.

He rolled his eyes, and not even now have you done what he told you. Alex placed his hand on your shoulder, pushing you down until you were sitting next to him on the floor. He used his hand under your chin to tilt your head up, forcing you to lock in with him. Alex let go of your chin, smirking at you before his hand met your cheek painfully. You hissed, tears building in your eyes, but you swallowed harshly and looked down on your plate, which was lying in front of you.

“Shut your mouth. I don’t wanna hear a fucking word."

Your body started to tremble, but you stayed quiet. Alex laughed, turning to the plate in front of him and sliding the spoon through it a few times. He hadn’t tried the soup you cooked; he stared at the plate. That’s nothing a person like him would eat; Alex deserved better than soup. He deserved to be treated well. He turned his face, seeing you sitting in the same position since he smacked your face. You weren’t saying a word; your hands were shaking, and you tried to hide your tears. He took the plate in one of his hands, holding it above you. With a sadistic expression, he let the soup fall down on you.

“Oh— sorry. I forgot you’re not the trash,” he said.

You whimpered, feeling the hot liquid covering your body and burning your skin. Alex watched you and the way the soup soaked your clothes. He then stood up and pushed you to the side; you were curled up in yourself, crying silently while he just kicked you. Alex walked out of the kitchen, leaving you a whimpering and crying mess lying on the ground. Alex just left the house when you started crying more.

Almost half of the night you were lying on the ground, your body trembling, and you cried until there was no tear left anymore. You loved that man; you feel in love with him because he was caring; he made you feel good and appreciated you. But you feel like you were the reason for him being the way he is now. Maybe you were too fat, maybe your food wasn’t good, maybe you didn’t do things like you should do then? You often thought about it already — sleepless nights while Alex was sleeping next to you, smelling like a bottle of alcohol itself while he wrapped his arm around your waist.

Somewhere in the night, you heard the keys in the door. Your body tensed immediately while you pretend to be sleeping on the couch. Alex knew you weren't, and even when he would wake you up, he was drunk and frustrated.

“Babe, come here now. You little bitch,” he shouted through the house, and you sat up. “I won’t repeat myself, slut.”

You slowly walked toward him, holding your arms tightly around your body to cover yourself a bit. He grinned when he saw you walking closer to him; you look so small, while he felt so good looking at your scared form in front of him. Alex was holding a bottle of beer in his hand, and he took a sip, groaning when he noticed that the bottle was empty.

“Alex, y—you should go to bed,” you mumbled, and he raised his eyebrow.

You dared to say something, telling him what he had to do. He didn’t think twice when he lifted the bottle and smashed it against your head. The glass broke and left a bloody wound on your head. You whimpered and tried to hide the tears from rolling down your cheeks, but he saw it, and it made him chuckle even more. Now you knew that you shouldn’t tell him what to do, or else Alex would show you that you were his own little toy to treat and fuck you however he wanted.

“Get on your knees.”

“P—please. C—can I just clean the wound?”

“Get on your knees, or I will give you more than just this one to clean. Fucking little bitch,” he hissed, grabbing your chin harshly.

You whined, trying to turn your face away, but he was too strong for you. So you needed to look directly into his eyes while he leaned closer, and you smelled his breath — which smelled like nothing but alcohol. You pushed the urge to look disgusted away, but when he leaned even closer and captured your lips with his, you tried to pull away from him. His tongue slid over your lips, and when you weren’t parting your lips, he just smacked your cheek to make you hiss in pain. Then you opened your mouth, and he was able to guide his tongue into it. You felt disgusted, but you loved him, and when it was what he wanted, you wouldn’t deny it; otherwise, he would still do it. He has control over your relationship, as he showed you. Alex pulled away from you, leaving you panting while he smirked and pushed you down on your knees.

“Suck my fucking dick. Other girls would beg me to suck it, so why are you complaining about my dick, huh? Thinking you’re pretty? You’re not; have you seen your ugly, fat thighs? I would be ashamed to show them someone,” he said, and you nodded.

You didn’t stop the tears from rolling down your cheeks; you felt so ashamed and embarrassed for looking the way you do. With shaking hands, you gasped his belt and unbuckled it. Opening his pants before you shoved them down his legs. You saw the outline of his dick in his pants, but he wasn’t hard. When you looked at his dick a moment too long for his liking, he cleared his throat, grasped your hair, and pushed you closer.

“Do you really think I will be turned on when I see you? You’re just a little ugly slut,” he said, laughing about the tears in your eyes.

You knew you weren't the most beautiful person, but even when you heard that for three years now, it was still hurtful. Alex always told you that he could have everyone, that everyone wanted to be with him, but he was together with you, even when it’s just because you couldn’t be without him — that’s what he was always saying.

You pushed his boxers down as well, revealing his soft cock. Alex took his shaft in his hand, stroking himself a few times before he pulled you closer and tapped his dick against your lips. You opened your mouth slightly, and when he managed to push into you, he immediately rammed his dick down your throat. He never paid attention to how you felt when you had sex; he didn’t care. You gagged around his length, trying to get used to it, but he had already started to thrust into you. His cock always slid down your throat, and his balls slapped against your chin. His hand in your hair guided you over his cock, and he slapped your cheeks a few times, causing more tears in your eyes.

“You’re such a fucking little slut, aren’t you? That’s the only thing you can do. Sucking my cock."

Your nails were digging into your tights, trying to ground you while he held you on his cock. He was deep in your mouth and throat, and you tried not to panic, but when he didn’t let you pull back, you wiggled softly, trying to move away from his length. But he didn’t let you move away; he was holding you with his cock in your mouth in place. When he was finally letting go of you, you pulled away and breathed deeply, crying quietly, while he grabbed your chin once again. His eyes darkened as he looked into yours. And you knew you shouldn’t have tried to pull away from him.

“Do you wanna kidding me? Making a scene like that?” He asked, looking disappointed at you.

He didn’t wait for an answer before he pushed his dick back inside your mouth. His hips thrusted forward, he groaned, and you felt his dick twitch in your mouth just before he came in your mouth. His cum was sliding down your throat, and he pulled away, smacking your face again before he pointed toward the couch.

“A—Alex.”

“Can’t you just keep your mouth shut? You annoy me. You’re my girlfriend, and your boyfriend wants to fuck you now.”

When you woke up next to your boyfriend, your pussy was aching. He fucked you rough, never minding if it would hurt you or if you enjoyed this sex too. You were slowly getting up, and you felt disgusted with the mixture of sweat and cum on your body. So you walked to the bathroom, trying to be as quiet as possible to not wake him. You really needed a hot shower, so you did exactly that. A hot, relaxing shower was perfect for your arching pussy and your tensed muscles, but when you heard Alex shouting that the breakfast wasn’t ready, you panicked again. You should have done the breakfast first and then thought about a shower. He swung the door of your shared bathroom open, narrowing his eyebrows.

“Do you think you could take a shower before making breakfast for me?” He asked, and you shook your head.

“I’m sorry—“

He walked closer, towering over you and pulling the towel away, leaving you naked in front of him. Alex looked your body up and down, slapping your breast and causing you to gasp.

“Have you looked into the mirror? Look how ugly you are, and your pussy, only great because she is still tight,” he said, turning around to took a shower as well.

You wrapped your arms around your body, trying to cover it. He is right; you’re ugly, and you can’t even look at yourself in the mirror. Your body is covered with scars — scars he caused with beer bottles or when he just hit you hard enough. You bent down to lift your towel, wrapping it around you, and got out of the bathroom to change into leggings and a t-shirt. Then you made your way to the kitchen, preparing some breakfast for the two of you.

It didn’t take long until Alex walked into the kitchen. He smirked at you when you looked so small compared to him since you tried to make yourself small around him. And especially because he can see the respect or more fear you have in your eyes when you look at him. You placed the plates on the table, both of you taking a seat, and you ate in silence; you didn’t want to annoy him. When he was finished, he looked at you, shoving his plate closer to you.

"You already made better food. I want you to clean until I come home from the meeting,” he told you.

“Oke,” you said, taking the plates to put them in the other dishes to clean them later.

Alex went to work, and you needed to clean. You weren’t really motivated to do so, but you didn’t want him to be angry at you again. So you started in the kitchen and then went to the living room. When you were almost finished, you heard Alex coming back home, and your muscles were immediately tensed.

“Lunch?”

“I cleaned and haven’t-“

“I don’t mind. You have to bring lunch to the table, and you didn’t once again,” he said.

“Thought I told you that when you’re not doing what I said, I will break up. You want that? No? But you did it, no. Lazy ass didn’t do what she was told.”

You whimpered, but he shook his head, pointing to the door of the apartment. And grasped your arm to pull you closer to the door. It was raining outside, and you knew he didn’t mind; he would let you wait outside until he allowed you to come back into the apartment. Alex went back inside and left you in front of the door. Your clothes were immediately soaked because of the rain, and you felt the cold all over your body. You were freezing, but he wouldn't let you into the apartment until he wasn't mad anymore. So you sat on the ground, your back against the wall, and your legs were pulled against you while you wrapped your arms around them. You cried quietly, trying to warm yourself up a bit while the cold rain was wetting your whole body.

"Hi, are you oke? Aren't you freezing?" A soft voice asked, and you looked at the man in front of you.

He was kneeling, offering you his hand, but you just smiled at him. He saw that it wasn't a real one, but he didn't want to pressure you. His brown hair was as wet as you were, but he didn't mind. He also didn't mind taking off his jacket and placing it over your shoulders.

"Thank you," you mumbled.

"I'm Bucky, and you?" He asked softly, his hand resting on your knees.

The warmth of his body warmed you a bit as well, and his steel blue eyes and the smile on his lips warmed your heart. You admired his blue eyes; he looked soft and beautiful.

"I'm Y/N"

"And what is a pretty girl like you doing outside in the rain?"

You blushed and turned your face away. Bucky smirked, looking at you, while he tried to find out why you were sitting there with a bruise on your pretty face. He hadn't seen that one before, but when he did, he reached out to slide his fingers over your face to turn it toward him. You hissed, trying to escape his fingers even when his touch was way softer than Alex's. Bucky removed his hand and waited until you were ready to face him again.

"I'm sorry; I didn't know I would scare you. I don't want to hurt you, but where are the bruises from?" He asked, and you shook your head.

"Nothing, really. I just- I just walked against the counter yesterday. I was stupid and ignored the open door of the counter. And I'm sitting here because I forgot my keys," you tell him.

Bucky nodded. He didn't really believe you, but he didn't want to push you either. When he noticed someone opening the door behind you, he got up to face the person behind you.

"You little slut, didn't I tell you to get pizza?" Alex asked, ignoring Bucky, who furrowed his eyebrows.

"Alex, you didn't say that you wanted pizza," you said quietly, looking at your hands.

"Don't dare to talk back, or you can spend the rest of the night here as well," he shouted at you, and you flinched.

Bucky's jaw was clenching when he saw the way Alex treated you, and when you got up from where you were sitting, Bucky reached out to grab your shoulder and pushed you behind him. Alex was laughing about it; his eyes were piercing into Bucky's.

"Do you think someone like him would treat you better? You're nothing but slut, a dumb little bitch," he said to you even when he was looking at Bucky.

You whimpered softly, but before you were able to say something, you saw Bucky's arm flying forward, and a moment later, your boyfriend was walking backwards, his hand covering his nose while he hissed in pain. Bucky just broke his nose with one punch, and you saw the blood slowly running down his chin, and Alex's hand was covered in it as well. You weren't sure if you felt scared or thankful that Bucky protected you for your boyfriend.

"Fucking slut. I'm gonna break up with you; fuck your new lover; he won't love you the way I loved you," he said, shutting the door and leaving you with Bucky in front of it.

Bucky turned around, seeing you crying, and, with widening eyes, looking at him broke his heart. He didn't want to scare you more, but he was just too angry at Alex for treating you the way he did. Bucky smiled nicely, opening his arms for you to decide if you wanted him to hug you or not. You hesitated a moment, but his warmth and the way he protected you made you crave more. So you walked closer toward him and let him wrap his arms around your shoulders, pulling you as close as possible. You placed your hand on his chest, inhaling his sweet-mint scent, and closed your eyes for a moment.

For the first time in years, you felt saved and loved. Someone could really like you the way you are. Bucky didn't know you, but he gave you the warmth you never got from your ex-boyfriend. His touches were soft, and you enjoyed the warmth and softness of them.

"You will come home with me. You can sleep in my bed then; I prefer the floor in the living room," Bucky said.

You were freezing, and when Bucky already offered you his bed and maybe a warm shower, you would definitely say yes. So you nodded softly, and Bucky lifted you up, his hands resting under your thighs, and you wrapped your legs around his waist while you placed your hands around his neck. You looked at him with a smirk, and Bucky grinned just as much as you did. Only then did you realise his beautiful blue eyes, which light up when he smiles, like he did.

"Can I take a shower then as well? And Bucky, I think I'm too heavy for you to carry me home," you say quietly.

"You can also take a long, warm bath if you want to. And don't worry, you're not too heavy for me," he chuckled and gave you some butterflies in your stomach, causing you to giggle softly.

"I'm home, doll," Bucky shouts through the apartment you both live in now.

Bucky takes off his jacket and shoes and makes his way into the kitchen. He inhales the smell of the food deeply, smiling when he sees the plates filled with his favourite food on the table. He walks around the table, wrapping his arms around your waist, and pulls you flat against his broad chest. Bucky places his chin on your shoulder and looks at you while you're cooking.

When Bucky picked you up that day, you met him for the first time. He brought you to his home, and like he said, you were allowed to take a long, warm bath, and you slept in his bed. It was the first time in forever that you felt safe. Bucky made breakfast in the morning — a lot of breakfast because he wasn't sure what you liked to eat, so he made pancakes and French toast, and he offered you cereal. When you finished the dinner, he asked you to look over your wounds, and when you allowed him to do so, he picked you up to carry you into the bathroom and placed you on the edge of the bathtub. Bucky slowly moved his fingers over your thighs, and when you looked away because you were ashamed, he told you how beautiful you are.

Bucky took off your shirt, revealing a lot of scars and wounds all over your body. The hiss that left his lips made you flinch, but he assured you that he was just shocked that such a beautiful person like you has an ex-boyfriend like Alex. Bucky cleaned all your wounds; he didn't say that you were ugly. His words surprised you every time because he always admired your body, and he still does. The two of you came closer when Bucky offered you to stay with him, so you both would have someone, and you said yes, but your behaviour with your ex-boyfriend needed time to slowly fade away.

Bucky was really confused when you were always up before him when you made the meals and always studied his expression to see if it was good or not. With time, Bucky learned to tell you that the food is good, that he would like to cook with you together, and that he is going to help you with the dishes. Bucky took care to always tell you when he got home and to tell you what he would like to eat, or he told you to decide. When you were unsure, Bucky helped you decide, but he never pressured you. His only intention was to make you happy because he could never get enough of your beautiful smile.

Whenever you were looking into the mirror and a disgusted expression was on your face while a few tears fell down your cheeks — you wanted to be at least a bit handsome — Bucky smirked and was standing next to you, and he wiped your tears away with his thumbs. He took off his shirt and showed you the scars on his own body. The bunch of scars around his metal arm, but also the others. He showed you a side of himself that was also just a broken man, and you fell in love with that side just as much as you fell in love with the strong Bucky who would punch everyone to protect you.

When you suddenly got woken up by a scream and you were scared your ex-boyfriend was shouting at you, you needed a moment to remember that you were with Bucky. It confused you at first why you heard a scream, but when you heard another and then a noise that sounded like a punch, you got up to find Bucky sleeping on the floor in the living room. It wasn't new to you to see him lying there, but when you saw the tears rolling down his cheeks and the sweat on his forehead, you walked closer to place your hand on his shoulder. He woke up immediately and tried to wipe the tears away, but everything in his body told you that he had a really bad nightmare. You sat in his lap; your arms were around his neck, and you were sliding your fingers through his soft brown hair. Bucky had his face hidden in the crock of your neck. You being close to him is just as helpful for him as his being close to you to feel safe and comfortable.

You never judge him for having nightmares, for not being comfortable around too many people, or for struggling with his scars and mental health sometimes. And he gives you the same; he never dares to judge you. Bucky tries to show you how beautiful you are, that you're worth it, and that you are and can be more than you think. And he loves you the way you are, just like you love him the way he is.

Slowly, you get used to being good the way you are, and Bucky will never shout at you or hurt you. But for a while, he has looked irritated and distant. He comes home late, and even when he says it's nothing, you feel like you have done something that makes him mad or that he loves you less. So you try to be better, clean the apartment more often, cook what he loves, and try not to be too clingy around him.

"It smells beautiful," he says, kissing your neck softly.

You lean into his touch, smiling, while you finish the dinner. His hands are trailing up and down your sides, and you feel the goosebumps erupting all over your body. You love his soft, warm touches, his kiss all over your neck, and the way his breath hits your soft skin.

"There is something in the oven," you say, and Bucky takes a step back to walk to the oven. "You can just take a seat; dinner is almost done."

Bucky looks slightly confused. Usually, you wouldn't mind his help, but for a few days, you don't ask or let him help you with food and dishes anymore. You cook a lot of what he loves, and the meals are almost royalty meals. He doesn't mind eating your food because he loves what you do, but he wonders why you suddenly act like you did when he first met you. He walks around the table and takes his seat. He looks at you with a soft smile, but he still doesn't understand why you put so much effort into cleaning and cooking.

"How come you cook such royal meals?" He asks softly but sees you flinch.

You constantly feel like you have done something wrong; maybe that's not what Bucky likes? Maybe you shouldn't have cooked that? Bucky wants, probably, a pizza. You feel the tears building in your eyes, and when you turn around, you see Bucky's smile fading away. He looks with a worried expression at you while he gets up and walks closer to you. You shake your head, walking backwards and crashing into the kitchen counter behind you.

"Doll, can I please come closer? I can stand here when you feel comfortable, but please let me come closer," he says, and you hesitate a moment.

Bucky stands a few meters away from you, waiting for you to allow him to come closer. When you nod slightly, Bucky steps closer and wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you as close as possible against him. Your head rests against his broad chest, and your tears are soaking his t-shirt while he holds you tightly.

"B—Bucky I'm sorry. I didn't want to make the wrong food. I cleaned the house today; please don't be mad for not cleaning enough," you say quietly.

"Shhh. Doll, you didn't do anything wrong; why do you think that?"

"B—Because you look so distant. Don't you love me anymore? Am I too ugly or too fat? I—I can do a diet."

Bucky's eyes widen, and he slides his hands down to your thighs and picks you up. He shoves the pots away from the cooker. He then turns around and carries you to the bedroom of the two of you. Your arms are wrapped around his neck, and you try to wipe the tears away when he places you on the bed. Bucky stands in front of you and smirks softly, then he gets on his knees in front of you. His hands slide up and down your thighs until he reaches the hem of your shirt.

"I love you. I love you so much. And the missions with Sam were really exhausting, especially because John is always trying to tell us what we have to do. But I love you so much, and you are beautiful exactly the way you are. You're not fat or ugly; you're perfect the way you are," Bucky tells you. He then pushes you down and towers over you with a wide smile on his lips.

Bucky captures your lips with his soft and plumb ones, his hands sliding along your sides, and you sigh softly into the kiss. Bucky deepens the kiss, his tongue slipping through your barely parted lips, and he groans when you place your hands in his soft hair and tug at them softly.

You've never had sex with Bucky; he didn't pressure you since you were uncomfortable with it because of your ex-boyfriend. But right now, it feels perfect — the way Bucky has his lips on yours and his hands all over your body. You feel a heat in your lower stomach, which makes its way between your legs, and you can't help but moan about the feeling. When Bucky pulls slightly away, your eyes widen but are filled with lust, the pleasure written on in your expression, and Bucky smiles about it. He kisses down your jawline and to your neck, biting softly and licking over your soft skin.

"Bucky, please," you whimper.

He smirks, kissing your lips once again, before he plays with the hem of your shirt and pushes it up. You sit up, letting him remove the fabric from your body, and he groans about the way you look underneath him with lust in your eyes. Bucky kisses your collarbone, down to your breasts, and unclasps your bra so you can take it off as well. His big hands capture your breasts, palming them softly, and he earns soft moans from you. Bucky licks a strap down to one of your nipples; he kisses it softly before he takes it into his mouth, his tongue twirling around your nipple. You arch your back, pressing yourself more against your boyfriend, who chuckles.

"You're beautiful, doll," he mumbles, nibbling at the soft skin of your breast.

You blush and hide your face with your hands, giggling softly. Bucky looks at you, grasping your hands and pulling them away from your face. He leans closer to kiss your lips softly.

"Don't hide that pretty face of yours. You’re so beautiful; I wanna see you, please," Bucky says, pouting, and you smirk.

You lean closer and peck at his lips, just as softly as he did. Bucky moves his lips down your collarbone and to your other breast, kissing around your nipple before he takes it in his mouth as well. Suckling softly and scratching his teeth over the sensitive skin. You moan, tugging at his hair and pulling him even closer. Bucky slides his hands from your breasts down your stomach, kissing the way down and giving every inch of your soft skin attention.

“Do you want it? If not, we can wait until you’re ready to have sex with me,” Bucky says, his fingers playing with the waistband of your pants.

“I want it, please, Bucky. I need you,” you mumble, blushing once again.

“You’re cute when you blush,” he chuckles.

Bucky opens your pants, trailing his fingers along your skin while he pushes your pants down. He then kisses the way back to your belly and smirks when you wiggle in anticipation. He pushes himself up, removing his shirt as well as his pants, before he leans over you again. You can see his growing bulge in his boxers, and the outline of his cock is visible. A little wet spot forms where his tip is, and you reach out your hand to touch his cock.

“Wanna touch it, babydoll?” He asks, and you nod, your eyes focused on his covered cock.

Bucky grins, getting up the bed once again, and pushes his boxers down. His cock springs free and slaps against his stomach; the red tip is leaking with pre-cum, and you see the vein running along the underside of his shaft. Bucky gets on the bed next to you. You sit up, looking directly into his eyes, while he smiles at you. You slide your fingers over his abs and to the base of his cock. Bucky looks at your fingers, his hand wrapping around yours, and he brings both of your hands to his shaft.

“It’s oke, doll. I won’t do anything unless you want me to,” he says, leaning closer to kiss you before he wraps your hand around his shaft.

You smile when you feel the softness of his length. He is huge, but with Bucky, you feel safe, and you know he wouldn’t do anything when you say you don’t want him to do so. His hand lets go of yours.

For a moment, you just look at his cock in your hand and the way his pre-cum is leaking down his tip. It’s glistening softly, and you swipe your thumb over his slit, smearing the cum all over his tip. Bucky groans softly, smiling when you slowly move your hand up and down his shaft.

“Do you like that?”

“It feels wonderful, babydoll.”

You giggle, swiping your thumb a few more times about his tip until Bucky can’t hold back and thrusts forward into your hand. His eyes widen, and he looks at you, but there is no discomfort, so he relaxes and lets you continue to massage his dick.

“C—Can I touch your balls?” You ask, cheeks heating up.

Bucky nods, and you look at his balls before you use your other hand to bring it to his balls, taking them into your hand. They are soft, and you roll them in your palm, causing Bucky to groan.

“Babydoll, you’re doing so well for me. But when you continue, I won’t last long,” Bucky says.

You grin, moving your hand faster and wrapping it tighter around his shaft. Your other hand is massaging his balls, and when you swipe your thumb once again over his tip, Bucky grasps the sheets and thrusts his hips forward.

“Doll,” he says, looking deeply into your eyes.

The blue lights up when he smirks; they are slightly darkened because of the lust, but they show you nothing but love. When you stroke his cock a few more times, Bucky throws his head back and comes into your hand. He breathes heavily, and sweat is covering his forehead. His seeds are covering his tip and your hand, and for a moment he is worried that you could feel uncomfortable with it. But you just stroke him until he comes down from his high, and then you look at your hand, his cum slowly dropping from it, and you move it to your mouth, so you lick a bit of it away, moaning softly at its salty taste.

“It tastes good,” you smirk, tapping his cock again, and Bucky moans.

When Bucky catches his breath, he pushes you back down so you lay next to him. He spreads your thighs and slides his fingers up and down your thighs further until he reaches your panties. Your face is turned toward him, and he’s focused on your expression, making sure you’re oke. When you nod softly, Bucky guides his hand over your panties and caresses your fold through the fabric. You moan softly; he knows how to touch a woman to make her feel good; he immediately hits your clit and you buck your hips. He then slides his fingers further down, feeling your panties damp, and he smirks.

“Can I take your panties off?” He asks, and you nod, but place your hands on his cheek and press your lips on his.

Bucky moves his lips perfectly against yours; he’s deepening the kiss before he kisses your neck and collarbone before his focus is back on your panties. His fingers circle your clit through the fabric, and you moan quietly, arching your back. Bucky takes the waistband of your panties between his fingers and pulls them down, revealing your pussy. He rolls himself on top of you before he pushes you further down in the bed by your hips. He is then lying between your thighs and smirking at you.

“You’re so wet and so beautiful,” he says, placing a kiss on your pussy.

Bucky’s eyes are focused on your pussy, his fingers trialing through your folds, and he parts them slightly. Using his tongue to lick along them to your clit. Circling around your sensitive spot before he sucks at it softly, making you gasp. You have never felt so much pleasure during sex, and Bucky hasn’t really touched you yet. His fingers trail back down to your soaked entrance. He pushes his digit against it, smirking at the way you push yourself more against his finger.

“You’re cute when you’re desperate for more, doll,” he says, placing his lips once again on your clit.

One of your hands finds its way to his hair, tugging at it and pulling Bucky closer to your cunt. He chuckles against your pussy, causing vibration, and you whine. He slowly pushes one of his fingers into you while his other hand holds you down by your hips. You only then know that he used his metal hand to push inside of you. The sudden cold of his finger feels great compared to the heat in your pussy. Bucky thrusts his finger in and out of you, smirking about the way your pussy is clenching around his digit and sucking him inside. His mouth doesn’t let go of your clit while he does so, enjoying the sounds that are leaving your lips. They are like music, and he could listen to your soft moans all day.

“Bucky— please. It feels so good.”

“You’re tasting so sweet, doll. Can’t get enough of your pussy.”

You smirk, throwing your head back when he adds another finger and pushes them as much as he can into your tight hole. You’re soaking his fingers, and when he curls them, he finds your sweet spot. The moan that leaves your lips is erotic, and you look at him with shock in your eyes about that sound.

“Don’t worry, doll. Just found your sweet spot,” Bucky chuckles, licking down your folds to your entrance.

His tongue joins your fingers, and his lapping at your entrance swallows all your juice. His fingers curl inside of you, hitting always your sweet spot, and you feel the knot in your stomach growing. You haven’t felt a pleasure like that in years, but Bucky is so soft with you; he never says anything bad about you or your body. Bucky loves you; he loves your body; and he shows you that, every day, he makes sure you know how much you’re loved by him and that you’re the most beautiful woman for him.

“I feel soy squeezing my fingers; if you wanna come, then do it. Come all over my fingers, doll,” he says, placing his mouth back at your entrance.

His words, the way his tongue is working over your folds, and the way his fingers are always hitting your sweet spot make you come. Your cum is floating out of you, but Bucky doesn’t dare to miss a bit of it and takes it all. Eating you out like it’s the most delicious meal he's ever had. And he fucks you with his fingers and his tongue through your orgasm; your breath hitches whenever his tongue slides over your folds. Your pussy feels so sensitive, but Bucky is so soft. He earns more soft moans until he pulls his fingers out of you and kisses your clit once more before he places his chin on your lower stomach and smirks at you.

“How are you feeling, pretty girl?”

“Great, thank you. And you?”

Bucky chuckles, you’re always so nice. Even when it’s all about you, you always make sure that he is fine too. That both of you feel comfortable.

“I’m good too. Do you want to have my dick now?” He asks, grinning.

You nod, running your fingers through his soft hair. Bucky kisses your stomach, pushing his elf up until he kneels between your legs. His big hands are caressing your thighs. Bucky’s cock is hard again, and the tip is touching your pussy when he moves closer to you.

“Could you give me a condom? It’s in the drawer from the bedside table.”

You turn yourself a bit around, reaching for the drawer, and open it. You grab a condom and give it to Bucky, then you close the drawer and lay down more comfortably again. Bucky opens the package of the condom, taking it out and throwing the package away. Your boyfriend grasps the base of his cock and pulls the condom over his dick.

You’re spreading your legs further apart when Bucky settles himself between them, his cock still in his hand, and he taps the tip a few times against your clit. He smirks at you, sliding his dick through your folds, and covers his cock with your arousal. You moan softly when he reaches your entrance, pushing his tip softly against it. You whimper softly when Bucky slides his cock once more through your folds. He loves the way you look through your lashes at him; your lips are slightly parted, so desperate for his cock.

"Bucky, please," you say quietly, pushing your hips toward him.

Bucky lines himself up with your entrance and pushes slowly inside of you; his cock is huge, and he stretches you like no one has before. He gives you a moment to adjust to his size before he pushes further into you. Your back arches, but he doesn't hurt you; the pleasure is breathtaking, and you grasp the sheets. Bucky chuckles, pushing balls deep into you; he then leans closer and captures your lips with his. His cock is filling you perfectly, and you clench around him, causing him to groan into your mouth.

"You're so tight, warming my cock so perfectly," he groans.

"You're so deep," you moan when he pulls slightly out to push back into you.

You both chuckle, and Bucky takes one of your hands, brings it to your stomach, and places it on your lower abdomen. He then thrusts his cock into you, letting you feel him through your skin and causing you to moan even louder. Feeling his cock that way turns you on beyond belief. He moves his cock in a slow but steady rhythmus inside of you. Your walls are squeezing him, sucking him deeper into the warmth of your pussy.

Bucky's balls hit your ass whenever he pushes his dick balls deep into you. His dick is glistening with your arousal, and Bucky looks the whole time into your eyes.

You're beautiful when you lay underneath him like that. Your other hand makes its way to his back, and you try to ground yourself while Bucky holds your other hand, still pressed on your stomach. With every thrust you feel him against your hand, he cock is hitting all the right spots, and he smirks when he hits your sweet spot harder than before.

"That's what you like?" He asks.

"Scared that I will break when you're thrusting harder into me?"

He shakes his head, laughing while he speeds up his thrusts. Your mouth drops open when he causes a pleasure inside of you that you have never felt before. It grows in your stomach and makes its way down to your pussy. Your eyes widen while you breathe heavily, but you still push your hips more against Bucky to show him to fuck you harder. And he does; he pulls almost completely out of you to thrust back inside of you. His breath hitches, and he closes his eyes when you squeeze him harder.

"I won't last long when you squeeze me like that, doll," he says, pressing his lips to yours.

You smirk, clenching your walls on purpose to make him groan against your lips. His tongue slips into your mouth, and his thrusts become harder and faster while you're not far away from the edge anymore. The pleasure in your stomach is growing, and Bucky growls. When he hits your sweet spot a few more times, he feels your orgasm just as close as his own, speeding his thrusts up. Bucky doesn't want to come before you do — or at least when you do.

"B—Bucky, I'm so close."

"I know, me too. Come with me, doll," he mumbles softly.

He pushes his cock into you; you feel every inch of him inside of you; his lips are slightly parted like yours; and his breath hits your soft skin. The feeling of him feeling you completely inside of you causes you to come all over his cock. You moan his name and its music to his ears, hearing you moan his name while he is buried balls deep into your pussy. You're squirting all over his cock, and Bucky grins while he comes as well. He comes in the condom, still thrusting into you while you both calm down from your high. Bucky lets go of your hand, sliding it over your stomach and your sides, caressing your skin. He places kisses all over your neck while you catch your breath and run your fingers through his soft hair.

"Are you oke?" He asks, his blue eyes slightly worried that he could have been too rough.

"I'm— it was perfect."

His expression softens, and he pulls slowly out of you. You hiss about the sudden emptiness and grasp his muscular arms to pull him back. Bucky chuckles, placing his fingers at your pussy and strokes your folds softly. You're clenching around nothing, while Bucky admires the way your cum is dripping out of you.

He then sits up and helps you sit up as well. Bucky removes the condom and gets up from the bed, making his way to the bathroom to throw the condom away. You're looking at him, smirking. He is adorable, sweet, and caring. He never tells you that you're ugly because of your scars; he just kisses them when you struggle because of them and tells you how beautiful you are. And you're doing the same; whenever he has nightmares or suffers from his past or scars, you know exactly how to cheer him up. A lot of kisses and cuddles always help that soft, big man, and with the way his eyes are shining, his lips curl up to the softest and most adorable smile.

You rest your back against the headboard of the bed, waiting for Bucky. He throws the condom away and runs warm water into the bath; he buts your favourite bubble bath into it as well, before he makes his way back to you. He smirks, picking you up with no effort and getting back into the bathroom. Before you can say something, you're sitting in the bathtub, surrounded by a lot of bubbles and your favourite scent. You squirm softly when you feel the warm water on your sensitive pussy. Bucky gets into the bathtub behind you, wraps his arms around your waist, and pulls you as close as possible.

"I love you," he mumbles, taking some of the foam and putting it on your hair.

You giggle when it rolls down your hair and tickles your skin softly. Bucky rubs his hands softly over your stomach, drawing small circles on it while you lean back, resting your head against his broad chest. Bucky plays with the foam, placing them everywhere on your body, and chuckles then.

"You did so well for me, babydoll. Your pussy's feeling so good around my cock," Bucky says, kissing your neck softly. "Made for my cock."

You chuckle, sliding your hands over his legs. But he is right; it was perfect, and he was so soft that you weren't scared when he pushed in; you felt safe, and you knew he wouldn't do it when you didn't want it.

"My pretty doll, I'm so in love with you. How about I prepare some popcorn and pizza after the bath while you decide which movie we're going to watch?"

"Sounds like a good idea," you say, turning around to kiss him.

Bucky washes your hair, trying to avoid letting shampoo come into your eyes, and he manages to do so. When you turn your whole body around, you're washing his hair. When you put the shampoo in his soft brown hair, you give him some fresh hair styles. Laughing about the way he is pouting when you giggle about his hair. You kiss his pout away, causing him to pout again to get more kisses.

When the both of you are finished, you get out of the bathtub, and Bucky holds a towel to wrap around you, kissing your forehead softly when he walks to the bedroom and dresses himself, giving you panties and a t-shirt of his. You smirk, dress yourself, and comb your hair. Bucky makes his way to the kitchen, preparing the popcorn and the pizza. When you're finished in the bathroom, you walk into the living room, placing all the pillows and blankets on the couch and letting yourself fall into them. When Bucky came with the food and drinks into the living room, he burst out laughing. Only your arms and legs are visible from underneath the pillows. He places the food and drinks on the small table and lifts the pillow on top of you, smirking.

"Does the pillow eat you?" He asks, and you chuckle.

"No, I just like to cuddle."

You sit up, moving a bit to make some space for Bucky. He lets himself fall down next to you and wraps his arm around you, then he takes the popcorn and hands it to you before he places the pizza in his lap. With a smirk, you look at the pizza and then into his blue eyes.

"Needy boy," you mumble into his ear.

You slide your hand over his chest to his stomach until you almost reach his cock, but then you take a slice of pizza and bite into it with a grin. You turn on a movie, Bucky, and you like that your head rests on his shoulder while he has his hand around your waist and pulls you as close as possible.

"Just as needy as I'm," he says, making both of you chuckle.

Bucky takes some popcorn from the bowl, which is standing between your legs, so he has to grasp between your legs like you do when you take a slice of pizza from him.

"Bucky?"

"Mhm?" He asks, half asleep, and pulls you even closer against him.

You smile softly and run your fingers through his soft hair. You move some strands out of his face and lean closer to kiss him. Bucky growls and makes you lie on top of him, his arms holding you tightly pressed against him. His fingers draw small circles on your soft skin, and he hides his face in the crock of your neck.

"Y-You know about my things, which are still at Alex's house, right?" You ask carefully; you don't want to upset Bucky.

He hums in response and looks at you, his blue eyes as soft as always. He leans closer and captures your lips for a passionate kiss, showing you that you don't have to worry about telling him about your ex-boyfriend. Bucky knows you love him just as much as he loves you. And he understands that you want to get your personal stuff from your ex-boyfriend.

"A—And I wanted to ask if— could you maybe come with me to him?"

Bucky immediately nods, rolling both of you over so you're underneath him, and he smirks at you. His soft lips grace over yours and along your jawline to your neck, where he bits softly into your skin. His hands move smoothly over your sides, caressing your skin and causing goosebumps all over your body. You sigh softly and enjoy the warmth and softness of Bucky's touches. He is always so soft and careful with you, like you could break into his hands when he doesn't pay attention. But you don't complain; Bucky is everything for you — the love of your life and your best friend.

After a lot of kisses, cuddles, and a good breakfast, you're ready to go to your ex-boyfriend and get your personal stuff. Your hands are sweating, and you dry them on your pants. Your body is slightly shaking. Bucky recognises that; he wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you flat against his broad chest. Your head rests on his chest, and you listen to his heartbeat.

"He won't hurt you again, babydoll. I'm taking care of you; I'll protect you, and he won't do anything when you don't want it." Bucky mumbles and pushes you softly away.

He presses his lips against your forehead, which helps calm down your nerves. Bucky opens the door for you, holding your hands tight in his while you two walk along the street to the apartment you used to live in a few months ago. When you see the entrance of it already, you panic, stay still, and inhale deeply. Bucky turns toward you and places his hand on your cheek, sliding his thumb over it.

"Doll, you're stronger than you ever were. This man never broke you, and he never will. He can't harm you; I love you, and I won't let him touch you again," Bucky says softly.

He knows how hard it can be to accept a trauma you're carrying in your soul. Wounds that turn into scars, but it needs more time as a cut on the skin. Bucky knows how much you suffered because of your ex-boyfriend, but he also sees the strong woman behind all that pain. He loves you for the person you are, not for the person he wants you to be. When you nod, he leads you further to Alex's apartment. He knocks with a strength you're not used to at the door, and then the door is opened by a man you feel like you don't know.

Alex has messy hair; his beard isn't shaved like he used to, and he has dark shadows underneath his red eyes. He looks like he hasn't slept for a while, but when he sees you, he smiles. A smile you had only seen on his lips when you first met. The one you fell in love with. But when Alex sees Bucky standing next to you and holding your hand in his, his smile drops.

"Hi, I—I would like to get my stuff, please," you mumble.

Surprisingly, Alex nods and takes a step to the side, letting you and Bucky walk into the apartment. When you look around, everything looks similar to the day he threw you out of the apartment. The only difference is that there are clothes and trash on the ground. Bucky lets go of your hand, staying next to you to make sure Alex isn't doing anything. You're walking through the apartment and picking up your things, putting them in a bag you brought.

"Can we talk, please?" He asks when you walk back to the floor, where he is still standing.

You nod carefully, and Bucky kisses your cheek before he walks a step to the side to let the two of you talk. Alex runs his fingers through his hair and his hands over his face, and then he inhales deeply.

"I'm sorry, I—I Baby—“

"Alex, please. We're not together anymore."

"I never wanted to hurt you. I love you. I haven't had a girl since you moved out. Please, I love you. Give me one more chance to show you that I love you. I will be a better boyfriend this time," he says, and you see the tears falling down your cheeks.

You shake your head. And his eyes widen. Realism hits him when he sees that you don't feel the same for him anymore. He sees in your eyes that you moved on, not only in your eyes; you look in general different from the time you were together with him.

"I'm sorry, but I moved on, and you should do the same," you say with such strength in your voice. You never thought you would talk to him like that without fear.

"Please, you— I love you."

"You were strong, and I was not. And you used it — you used it against me. When all is done, there is nothing to say. You have gone, and so effortlessly, you have won. You can go ahead and tell them. You can tell your friends now what you want; you can tell the girls you fuck now how shitty I am and how bad I'm in bed. I never did what you wanted or the way you wanted. Tell them all; I know now that you fucked them all without feeling ashamed to cheat on the girl you have at home, the one who loved you and expected to be treated like you did. To be abused by her boyfriend while still loving him. Shout it from the rooftops; write it on the skyline; all we had is gone now. Tell them I was happy even though my heart was broken. All my scars were open, but I found someone who doesn't mind them and helps to heal them, someone who loves all the scars you caused."

Bucky smirks when he hears your words, and his eyes light up when he hears you tell your ex-boyfriend what was inside of you for so long. And you were finally able to tell him how you felt and how you now feel.

"I know I made mistakes. But I love you."

"Everyone does, but you betrayed me. And falling out of love is hard, but falling for betrayal is worse. And you betrayed me so often. Broken trust and broken hearts — you broke both our hearts; you broke mine when we were together, and yours broke because I moved on. And thinking all you need is there, building faith on love and words, only empty promises will wear. Alex, I loved you, but I moved on, and you should do the same," you say and nod before you walk to Bucky.

He smiles widely at you, his eyes shining in the most beautiful way you have ever seen. You place your hand in his, and he takes the bag before you two make your way to the door and get out of the apartment. When you close the door behind you, you breathe shakily, and you feel like all the pain and fear are fading away. You walk a few steps, but Bucky just can't hold back anymore and stays still, turning around and wrapping his arms around your waist.

"I'm so proud of you, doll. I love you so much. I would tell the whole world; I just do it. I will tell the world how much I love you," Bucky says with a grin, and twirling the two of you around, he then leans closer. "I love you so much, and I'm proud of you. I don't even have words for that; you're the most beautiful woman, and you belong to me; you're mine just as much as I'm yours," he whispers into your ear.

"Thank you. I love you too, Bucky," you giggle, then you smirk playfully. "So, where do you want to go to tell the world that you love me?"

"I already did. When I whispered in your ear that I love you. Because you're my world, my perfect world," Bucky says, kissing you softly.

You feel some tears of joy rolling down your face when you realise his words. No one ever said more meaningful words than Bucky does. He is definitely everything for you, and you are grateful to have such a wonderful and loving man as your boyfriend. One who sees you as the only and most wonderful woman, someone who doesn't even look at other women, and one who tries to make you laugh as often as he can. Bucky is the love of your life, and you're grateful that destiny brought the two of you together and that the two of you discover every day another thing you love about one another.

𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓: @kandis-mom @sergeantbarnessdoll @identity2212 @km-ffluv @lunaalovesyouu @blackhawkfanatic @armystay89 @suz7days @randomawesomeperson102 @rogersbarber @sebastianstanisahotmf @bucky-barnes-lover @felicitylemon @cjand10 @bookishtheaterlover7 @casa-boiardi @futurequeen2018-blog @flstrawberry @capsbestgirl77 @nervouseden @vicmc624 @kpopgirlbtssvt @ordelixx @angelbabyyy99 @mostlymarvelgirl @somegirlfromasgard @buck-buck-buckaroo @lov3lys1ns @etherealdisneyvillainness @s-a-v-a-n-a-34 @jiyascepter @princesscore-angel

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reverieblondie · 1 month

Note

Romanced BG3 companions of your choice each reacting to Tav crossing paths with an ex - the ex had cheated on Tav and didn't take kindly to them breaking off the relationship immediately after discovering this. This ex also takes umbrage with the fact that Tav has moved on to a different relationship and starts accosting them.

This was a super fun prompt, and I hope you enjoyed what I did with it. It was just going to be headcanons, but I thought little drabbles would be better! Let me know what you think!

Warnings- slight violence but mostly fluff!

Astarion:

It was a usual date for Tav and Astarion, a pleasant late-night stroll through the city. Astarions hand on the small of Tav’s back as they walk together, taking in the candle-lit streets. It had been a recent hobby as of late for the couple to partake in people-watching; Tav had to admit Astarions snide remarks about the lost drunks stumbling out of the bars did tend to be quite funny. Though Tav would always remind him,

“We are heroes of the city star; we shouldn’t be so judgy.”

Astarion playfully tsk his lips before leaning in to whisper in Tav’s ear, playing softly with their hair, sending a playful shiver down their spine.

“Don’t pretend to be all high and mighty, darling. You laughed at that one fool the other day…that was very naughty of you.”

Tav’s heart starts to race; Astarions teasing always does this. Astarion sees a particularly sloppy drunk stumbling from a tavern as they continue to tease and walk back home.

“Oh, get a look at this one…” Astarion whispers. As Tav turns to take a look, Astarion watches as their smile quickly falls to something of a panic. Tav quickly grabs Astarion’s hand. Something is wrong, and Astarion is now on high alert. The drunk looks up, squinting their eyes at them, and finally, through their drunken haze, it clicks who they are seeing.

“Well, lookie what we have here…Tav, with some pretty boy nonetheless. Some advice: They’re a real stiff. You could probably find a better lay somewhere else…I know I did…” Tav clenches Astarion’s hand tighter; the words cut deep.

“Star…can we please go home…”

Astarion holds Tav’s hand tightly. “Of course, darling…”

Astarion and Tav quickly head home as the drunk yells at them, bellowing their nasty hate on Tav. Once home in a safe space, Tav opens up to Astarion about their ex, and Astarion just calmly listens, holding them closely, telling them that they won’t hurt Tav anymore; no one will ever hurt them with him around. With Tav resting peacefully, Astarion decides to go out one last time…A particular drunk needs to be taught that nobody ever upsets his darling with him around…Tav need not worry about running into that Ex again…

Rolan:

Only sometimes did Rolan get distracted at work, but since Tav had started working with him in Sundries wanting to ‘Help out’ and ‘Spend more time with their Rolan,’ he can’t help but get distracted more often. Rolan finds his glowing eyes raking over Tav as they work so diligently. Tav would frequently catch Rolan in these states of distraction, usually opting to smile and wave at him or even sometimes kiss Rolan. Rolan loves having Tav so close and getting to work with them so closely; it makes the stress of being an archmage fade away.

Rolan is working behind Tav as they operate the counter, trying so hard not to fall into a mess of giggles as Rolan runs his tail up and down Tav’s legs in a teasing gesture. The shop is slow, and in a moment of weakness, Rolan wraps his arms around Tav’s middle and starts playfully kissing along their neck, making Tav giggle and fidget around, protesting about upsetting customers and Rolan insisting that he doesn’t care.

Amid their joy, they didn’t notice the new customer who had walked up to the happy couple. “Tav, tsk tsk, this is very unsightly customer service…”

Tav’s smile drops as they open their eyes to face their ex face-to-face. Letting his instincts take over, Rolan immediately gets defensive and gets in front of Tav and this rude person.

“Can I help you with something?” Rolan’s voice dripped in disdain.

“I’m just coming to check if the rumors are true: Tav shacking up with the new archmage…. It seems they are true.”

Tav quickly argues, “It’s one, not like that, and two, none of your business!”

“I think it is my business when my ex is going about acting like a damn slu-”

Before they can even finish the insult, Tav watches as their ex suddenly goes flying out of the shop. A surprisingly calm Rolan walks after them, his hand still sparking with magic.

Rolan looks down at the pathetic lump of a person lying out in front of the shop. “I suggest you don’t return to this establishment again…and if I hear you speak ill of Tav, I will make it where you never speak again… Now get away from my shop.”

With a snap, Rolan slams the doors shut and quickly goes to Tav, grabbing their hand and leading them upstairs. Tav asks what he is doing and who will watch the shop, but they see that Rolan’s hologram is now at the desk. Rolan smiles back to Tav, taking a moment to kiss their hand,

“Let’s take the day, just for ourselves…”

Rolan knows how to shower Tav with care and love…His hands didn’t leave Tav for the rest of the night…

Wyll:

The tavern was an uproar of cheering and laughter, but Tav didn’t notice the noises or anyone else as they swayed in Wyll’s arms. Of course, Wyll dragged Tav to the dance floor as soon as they entered the bar. The dances had started quickly, with jumps and claps, and people turned about in blind merriment.

But now the music is slower, allowing them to hold each other tightly and ignore the rest of the tavern. Wyll often had this effect on Tav; when in his embrace, things would instantly be more peaceful. However, the sudden drying in Tav’s throat makes them painstakingly separate from Wyll.

“I’m going to get a drink. Do you want anything?”

Wyll spins Tav and places a quick kiss on Tav’s hand, “Just for you to hurry back, love.”

Tav boops Wylls nose. “Flirt.” they tease, wholly lost in their affection for him.

Tav quickly makes their way to the bar, chugging their drink down to return to their dance partner. But as Tav pushes through the crowd, they freeze at the sight.

Tav’s terrible ex is talking to Wyll, and from the look on Wyll’s face, he is not happy. Tav tries to get there quickly to save Wyll. Then they see their ex push Wyll—oh hells No!

Tav is ready to bounce when they suddenly watch Wyll punch their ex, laying him out instantly. Tav’s jaw is on the floor as they stand over the pathetic person.

Tav looks at Wyll’s unapologetic face, “What..”

“They were saying rude things about you. Honestly, you dated this trash? I am so sorry you went through that, darling.”

Tav’s smile is vast as they hug Wyll tightly, “My hero, how could I ever repay you?”

Wylls smile widens, “I have a few ideas…If you are willing…”

“Oh, I am…”

Wyll leads Tav over their knocked cold ex out of the tavern and back home, where Tav spends the whole night thanking their hero…

Gale:

Morning Markets is not exactly Tav’s favorite way to spend time with Gale, but anytime they get to be with him is a plus, and watching that wizard try and fumble his way through haggling was funny. After Gale had failed to haggle a deal for some fresh fish, Tav just grabbed him and kissed his cheek tenderly.

“Yeah, not everyone haggles for magical items, but maybe you will get a good deal one day.” Gale huffs as he holds Tav closer, slowly lowering his hands to grip Tav’s hips. A look of mischief fills his eyes as he buries his head into Tav’s neck, stealing a quick smell before whispering in their ear,

“One more stop, and then we are heading home. I’m getting impatient…”

How he whispered the last part excitedly made Tav’s skin shiver in anticipation.

Entering the shop, Gale leaves Tav to wait for him by the door. “I will be there for just a quick moment,” he promises.

As Tav stands there as patiently as possible, someone calls their name, turning Tav’s previous smile, which is furrowing into a scowl, looking at their ex. Tav raises their arms to fold over their chest, quickly scanning the room for Gale, but he is busy now. They will have to face this annoyance on their own.

“I heard you were back in the city; we should get a drink for old time’s sake. Hm, what do you say?”

“Not interested…” Tav spits out.

“Oh, come on, it’s the least you could do for dumping me like that.”

Tav’s eyes go wild, “Excuse me? You cheated, remember! And I want nothing to do with you!”

“One little slip you can’t let go. Always so dramatic…”

Tav is about to lose it until a familiar warmth on their shoulder calms them. Turning, Tav’s eyes met Gales’s smiling face.

“Ready to go?”

Tavs ex tsk, “Hey, we were talking here.”

Gale’s face goes stren when looking at the stranger, “Well, now the conversation is over.”

Without hesitation, Gale gently leads Tav out of the shop and back home. “Sorry I didn’t get to your side sooner, my dear. Are you okay? Did they upset you?”

Tav leans into Gale as they walk together, saying, “I am much better with you by my side. Thank you.”

Lae’zel:

Tav and Lae’zel were taking a pleasant stroll in the park. Lae’zel didn’t exactly care for the atmosphere, but they knew Tav enjoyed it, so they followed, letting Tav talk to her endlessly about their time in the city and teaching Lae’zel about new things. Lae’zel couldn’t help but smile at Tav as they rambled on.

Usually, so much talking bothers her, but with Tav, their sounds were pleasant, soothing…

As Tav is walking, they are unaware of the person quietly approaching them from behind until suddenly they feel a push to their shoulder, breaking them from their conversion with Lae’zel.

“Tav! I-” -SMACK!-

In the blink of an eye, Tav watches their ex receive a swift nose-breaking punch to the face.

“Do not address my mate so casually!” I shall have your hand!” Tav slings Lae’zel over their shoulder, running away from the crime scene.

Lae’zel isn’t exactly sure why she is receiving so much affection from Tav, but she isn’t complaining about it…Maybe she should punch people more often…

After Lae’zel punches a random man trying to sell Tav fish, they explain what happened to Lae’zel. Tav has to spend the rest of the day keeping Lae’zel’s sword away from her so she doesn’t behead their ex… Lae’zel cares for Tav very, very profoundly…

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a-little-unsteddie · 1 year

Text

Steve had known it was a bad idea from the beginning.

Dustin had come barreling in to Family Video, dragging a disgruntled Eddie Munson behind him, begging him to host Hellfire because the school was hosting some christmas fundraiser and didn’t want the Dungeons and Dragons club interfering with the event.

“Steve,” Dustin cried, eyes wide, lip jutting out, “please let us have Hellfire in your house.”

Steve stared at Dustin, unimpressed. He had one eyebrow raised, with his hands on his hips. “Why can’t you have it at one of the other members’ houses? Y’know, as they’re in the club. I’m sure one of them can play host for your dumb little game.” He argued, ignoring Munson behind Dustin. Well, trying to. The Dungeon Master looked wildly uncomfortable to be there, glaring directly behind Steve in defiance.

“Because, none of their houses are big enough for all of us,” Dustin explained, leaning over the counter. Steve scrunched his nose up at the action, gently pushing him back a few inches. Robin was standing next to him, looking amused, gaze flickering back and fourth while watching the scene unfold. Traitor.

“Right, so why can’t you just postpone the game then?” Steve asked, sighing. He grabbed a few tapes from the returns bin, walking around the counter to actually do his job.

At that question, Eddie finally spoke, “We can’t just postpone the session, that’d be stupid. I told you he wouldn’t do it, Henderson.” Steve paused, cursing himself for being affected by the tone that Eddie had taken on. He knew that tone, that was a ‘why would King Steve do anything to help others’ tone, or worse a tone that implied he didn’t believe Steve was actually friends — or whatever — with Henderson.

Steve turned around slowly, white knuckling a tape in his right hand by his side. He saw Dustin deflating, before seeing him puff up, getting ready to defend Steve.

“He always does this,” Dustin explained, “acts like he’s not gonna give in when he’s totally going to give in.” Steve watched as Eddie scoffed and rolled his eyes in disbelief, opening his mouth to make some scathing remark. Steve narrowed his eyes, absolutely not.

“Right, because you—”

Steve cut Eddie off, turning around so he wouldn’t have to face Dustin as he finally gave in. “Fine,” he sighed, tilting his head back to look at the ceiling. He heard something fall, but refused to turn to see what it was before he continued. “You can have your Dorks and Demons meeting at my house.” Robin snorted from behind the counter, meeting Steve’s glare with an amused grin.

“Yes! Told you, Eddie! Thank you—” Dustin began, but Steve cut him off.

“You’re cleaning up after, and you’re all gone by 9 P.M.,” Steve said, turning to face Dustin. The freshman grinned at Steve toothily, not fading even as he took in Steve’s stern look.

“Absolutely!” Dustin agreed, bobbing his head in agreement rapidly. He turned to Eddie, who looked surprised. Dustin either didnt see, or didn’t care, as he continued babbling away to Eddie as he dragged him out of the shop as quickly as they came in. Steve felt a knot at the pit of his stomach forming, twisting uncomfortably as he took deep breaths to try and soothe it.

“That was nice,” Robin commented, leaning on the counter with her chin resting on the palm of her hand. Steve schooled his expression to be one of nonchalance before turning to face her.

“Well, someone’s gotta do it. I guess,” he sighed, returning the final movie finally before making his way behind the counter. Once securely next to Robin, he looked at her with wide eyes. “Eddie Munson hates me and this is a terrible idea. Will you be there? Please?” He asked, pouting at his best friend.

“I’m sorry, dingus. Family dinner tonight, otherwise I would,” Robin said, looking apologetically at Steve. While she didn’t want to go, she also knew how bad Steve’s anxiety had gotten over the last few months after Starcourt. Steve groaned, tilting his head back to look at the ceiling.

“It’s fine, I know how your family is,” he sighed heavily, closing his eyes.

“Call if anything happens, though,” Robin said, nudging Steve’s side.

—

Steve knew it was a bad idea when at 3:30pm, Dustin knocked on his door with the rest of Hellfire standing behind him. Still, Steve wanted them to have a good time and made sure he had a variety of drinks and snacks available. He had taken the dining room table and moved it to the living room, so that way they would have more space.

“Hey, Steve!” Dustin greeted, barreling past him. Steve rolled his eyes fondly, a small smile gracing his face as he watched the curly haired boy run past, quickly followed by Lucas and Mike.

“Hey, losers,” Steve greeted the kids, “your favorites are already at the table, help yourself.” He called out to them, before turning to face the older members of Hellfire. They all looked vaguely uncomfortable, if not a little upset to be there. Steve felt his stomach twist again, clearing his throat to dislodge the anxiety a bit.

“Welcome, feel free to help yourselves to the kitchen. Snacks are on the island and drinks are in the fridge. Grab whatever,” he explained, opening the door wide enough to let everyone in. They all looked between each other before walking into the house. Steve let out a weary sigh once he shut the door, making his way after them.

Once everyone had taken their spots around the table, Steve noticed only the kids had the snacks still. He hesitated for a moment before awkwardly making his way to the table of nerds. Immediately, everyone’s eyes were on him, the kids with curious looks and the older boys with suspicion and confusion.

“Uh, there’s Coke, Sprite, Mt. Dew, Dr. Pepper and Strawberry Soda in the kitchen. Anyone want anything?” Steve asked tentatively, glancing at each of the older Hellfire members.

Gareth scoffed, rolling his eyes. “We don’t need your drinks, Harrington.” The name was spoken with vitriol, leaving a sour taste in Steve’s mouth. “Figures you’d try to buy us.” Dustin and Lucas frowned at the words, while the others laughed. Mike stayed silent, looking a bit amused, but still unsure if he should laugh. Steve swallowed thickly, leaving the room.

“Now that he’s gone, we can get started,” Eddie said, clapping his hands together. The kids were easily distracted by the words, their discomfort quickly leaving to be replaced with anticipation over the start of a new campaign.

For the next few hours, Steve stuck to the dining room, listening to the campaign. He had to admit, it sounded pretty interesting. Eddie had called it ‘the Cult of Vecna’, which seemed to get everyone pumped for the rest of the game. He would occasionally try to offer drinks or snacks, only to be rebuked every time. He eventually decided to just silently deliver Dustin, Lucas and Mike’s refills, before leaving quickly again to avoid the scathing remarks from the older members. After the first few times, even Mike had gotten uncomfortable with the remarks. It seemed to drain the kids energy, watching Steve get belittled at every turn.

“We can get our own drinks.”

“No, Harrington. We don’t want your damn snacks.”

The last comment he got before giving up entirely was one that hurt him the most, he thought.

“We’re not going to steal anything, you can stop hovering.”

So he stopped trying, sticking to the kitchen or dining area.

Around six thirty in the evening, Steve made everyone sandwiches. Dustin had told him about Jeff being a vegetarian and made sure there were options for him as well. He hesitated for a moment, staring at the table with apprehension. Unfortunately for him, he hesitated long enough for Dustin to notice him hovering again.

“Steve made sandwiches!” Dustin said excitedly. Lucas and Mike perked right up, turning to face the babysitter. Steve flushed, shrugging helplessly.

“It’s dinner time and I’ve only seen the kids eating, so I made sandwiches,” he said quietly, avoiding the gazes of the older members. He focused on Dustin, who grinned toothily at him, making grabby hands. Steve snorted at it, walking forward and placing the tray of sandwiches on the table, purposely standing between Lucas and Mike to not have to stand near the older members.

“Uh, these ones are vegetarian,” he said, placing the second plate down near Jeff. Jeff looked at him surprised before grabbing one of the sandwiches. Frankie groaned, rolling his eyes at Steve.

“What are we? Twelve? We can take care of ourselves, Harrington.”

Jeff hesitated for a moment, but still grabbed the sandwiches Steve had made specifically for him. Gareth looked vaguely uncomfortable, while Frankie just openly glared at Steve.

“We didn’t ask for these,” Eddie said, tone sharp. “Leave us alone, man. Don’t need to bullshit with us.”

Steve felt his stomach drop and tensed at the words that Eddie spoke, tears immediately filling his eyes. He turned abruptly and walked towards the front door, slamming it behind him as the tears began to fall.

Yeah, Steve knew it was a bad idea to let Dustin convince him to host Hellfire.

The table stared after him in shock, flinching at the door slamming. Dustin turned to face the older members, eyes fiery with rage.

“What the fuck was that?”

———

listen i just wanted to write unresolved angst. not my best work honestly, but i still like it. not beta’d because why would i. i doubt i’ll continue this, because it’s just intended to be Sad.

#i just had the idea of the hellfire club being assholes to steve #while steve is just trying his best to be a good host #unresolved angst #hurt/no comfort #steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #steve x eddie #stranger things #st #steve harrington x eddie munson #unsteddie writing

3K notes · View notes

arcadia345 · 10 months

Text

Astro notes💋🥀

Just my observations :)🔞

♡ Scorpio mercury or degree is the definition of elephant in the room, it’s like they try their best to make you uncomfortable with their words , on the brighter side I love how deep their minds are

♡Saturn in the 6th/2nd could go a long time without eating and not even notice

♡ One of my friends had a baby today(Aries moon) and she’s already threatening people not to play with her child💀 cute tho

♡ I feel like the only Libra placement that doesn’t try to be likable is Libra moons, their personality is so lovely for the most part☺️ I’ve only met men with this placement and WHEW they are sooooooo charming🥴

♡ I’ve noticed guys with Venus conjunct their sun can come off a little ✨ even if they’re not they’re just in touch with their feminine side. Also guys with Venus conjunct moon could have this energy as well just more subtle

♡ Aquarius in 7th will always give black sheep energy, no matter how “popular” they are it’s always something that differentiates them from everyone else, could be known for doing questionable things

♡ Taurus season I see lots of people getting lip piercings but lots of new tats and piercings in general

♡ 11th house has to do with hopes and dreams, mars is your passion and drive, having mars in 11th synastry with someone with someone could mean having fantasy’s about them,being fwb, or being friends with someone but wanting to be more. Me and my friend both have this synastry and the tension is HIGH especially with her Jupiter conjunction to my mars🥴

♡It’s not surprise Saturn babies look soo good in slicked back hairstyles since it rules hair and restrictions

♡Also they weren’t joking when they said prominent Saturn placements could make you a pothead😳 I thought I was a smoker but whew they SMOKE 💨

♡ Aries moon moms are so PUSHY. They’re always trying to dictate your emotions like your not your own human then get insecure when you cut contact with them. And she never takes your emotions seriously till you act out of character, It’s like she never wants you to rest so draining. Also they can be intimidating/scary in a way especially from the stories the Aries moon child shares about them😅 did they lie tho?

♡ Scorpio moons could also resonate but I feel like with Aries moms(sidereal Pisces moon)there’s a innocence to it like they truly don’t recognize their toxic traits until you confront them about it but with Scorpio moon’s mom (sidereal Libra moon) they KNOW exactly what they’re doing when they manipulate. And other people could easily alter ur mother’s perception of you, very wishywashy. They type to be jealous of their kids especially if they have a daughter

♡ Chiron in 12th could get accused of things they didn’t do allll the time , it gets to a point where they don’t even try to defend themselves anymore cause it’s like no one listens why waste your energy 😭 a good example is Micheal Jackson

♡ Gemini moon children have moms that don’t hold back🥴 very blunt especially with some Aries energy added

♡ I giggle every time I remember Park Jimin has a Gemini moon I just know he has the best comebacks and inside jokes😂 (Jimin if you’re seeing this let’s be friends plz😆)

♡ I’ve noticed with Virgo moons children may see one parent more fit to be a parent than the other at some point in their life. Doesn’t mean the other is a shitty parent or anything but if they had to decide to live with one of them they’ll already know who😹

♡ Also Virgo placements why do y’all constantly complain about something you could easily solve? I see this more in undeveloped Virgo placements

♡ Leo moon children could have mothers that are selfish in one way or another, wheither it be their time, money, or love

♡Jupiter in 3rd (natal and transit) what is home? I’ve been to so many places in my city that I didn’t know existed, I also got a 🍕 delivery job so I’m on the go all the time, but since my natal Jupiter is in my 8th it’s kinda a darker transit for me- I literally hit and ran two people in counting 😭 (I’m not even a bad driver they happened on the same week!🙄) communication especially over the phone has been vile omg the amount of times I’ve been cussed out by strangers otp is crazy. Also I’ve lost old friends /gained new one

That’s all for now💋

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leclsrc · 10 months

Text

more than anyone ✴︎ cl16

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

word count: 13.7k

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

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

nsfw warnings under the cut!

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

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

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

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

“What’s going on?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wrong.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So it’s a no.”

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Charles laughs dryly. “Who asked?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Charles.”

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

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

—

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

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

“Hmm?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah.”

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

A beat. “What?”

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

“Europe?” You shook your head. America.

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

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

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

“You’ll be fine.”

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

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

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

“Charles,” you sighed.

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

Just: “We’ll be okay.”

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I need to talk to you.”

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

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

“Why should I be charming with you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Say it.”

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How American.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

“Hi.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So you’re friends?”

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Who said that?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So what happened?”

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

Cut. Lovely. Just lovely.

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

—

“Okay. What else do you remember?”

“I… do you remember the recital song?”

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

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

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

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

“Do people ask?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s it mean?”

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

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

“I don’t underst—”

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

“I don’t—I do not ever remember say—”

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

Muffled by the bedspread: Charles’ place.

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

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

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

“Do you want gelato?” No, no.

“Love Island?” In a minute.

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

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

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

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

She doesn’t answer, because you already know.

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

Behind you: “Are you okay?”

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

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

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

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

You nod in response.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

From: Charles Perceval Leclerc <[email protected]>

Date: 14 October 2014

To: You

Subject: Urgent!

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

From: Charles Perceval Leclerc <[email protected]>

Date: 14 October 2014

To: You

Subject: Buttercup

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

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

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

charles

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Tremendous. Merci, Buttercup.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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sourcherryandsprinkles · 10 months

Note

Reader is dating Jeremiah and sees him and belly kissing. She then goes to Conrad who then comforts her and possibly leads to a smut? In the end have Conrad and reader date

I started singing Better than revenge in my head when reading this XD I couldn't not write it. Also, I did not make them date as I think it would be too much too fast

my taglists are here + you can send requests here at any time

—

Angry tears cascaded down your cheeks, the image of Belly kissing Jeremiah relentlessly haunting your thoughts. You thought Belly was your friend, that Jeremiah was loyal — you were visibly wrong on that one. Their betrayal cut deep, a painful cliché straight out of a movie. The classic scene of the boyfriend caught kissing his girlfriend's friend played out before your eyes.

Amidst the partygoers, you waved your way down the stairs slipping ‘sorry’s and ‘excuse me’s, desperate to escape the house. You couldn’t be under the same roof as them.

You came to this party in your best dress, with the intention of asking Jeremiah to stay over for the night, but now all you wanted was to hit him where it hurt — or cut his tongue in punishment for sticking it in Belly’s mouth.

When you reached the living room, a hand caught your arm, halting you.

‘’Are you okay?’’

Your eyes were blurry with tears, but you knew that voice. It was Conrad.

You wiped your tears with the back of your hand, probably smearing some of your mascara. ‘’Yeah, I…no. Nothing is okay,’’ you managed to utter.

‘’What happened?’’ he asked, genuine concern lacing his voice.

You hesitated, the weight of the betrayal weighing heavily on your heart.

‘’Where is Jere? Do you want me to get him—’’

‘’No! No. I don’t want to see him,’’ you replied firmly, the thought of facing Jeremiah unbearable.

Conrad nodded, figuring that his brother was the reason for your tears. ‘’Okay. Eh…do you want me to take you home? I’ve just drunk a third of my beer. I’m good to drive.’’

Home sounded lonely, but you would rather be alone in your big house. The thought of bumping into Jeremiah or Belly, or worse, encountering them together, was enough to make your stomach churn with unease.

You sat in silence in his jeep as he drove, pushing away the memories you had made with Jeremiah in the same car. All the singing parties, the afternoons getting ice cream, or simply driving you home after staying for dinner at the summer house.

Every now and then, Conrad’s eyes would leave the road and check on you. He didn’t know what to say, or how to bring you comfort, so he stayed quiet. He respected your silence and space. You’ll talk to him if you want, right?

Minutes went by, and the secret was getting too heavy to bear…so you just dropped the bomb.

‘’I caught Jeremiah kissing Belly.’’

Conrad slammed the brakes, the jeep coming to an abrupt halt. ‘’What the fuck?’’

The sudden halt jolted you forward, and your hands instinctively gripped the dashboard to steady yourself. The weight of your confession hung heavy in the air, the silence between you and Conrad becoming palpable. His eyes widened in shock and disbelief, searching your face for any signs that you were joking. But the pain etched on your features told him otherwise.

‘’Jere...and Belly?’’ Conrad's voice was laced with disbelief, his words barely a whisper.

You nodded, your voice barely above a whisper as well. ‘’I was looking for Belly. Gigi told me she saw her going upstairs to the bathroom, so I went and— I caught them kissing in the hallway. I-I couldn't believe my eyes.’’ Tears welled up in your eyes again. ‘’I never saw it coming, nor would I have suspected it. Belly and I have gotten so close since the debutante lessons. We were good friends, but I guess I underestimated just who I was dealing with…’’

Anger flickered in Conrad's, momentarily overriding his shock. He was usually the one who fucked things up, but Jeremiah took the cake with that one. ‘’I’m not taking anyone’s defense, what they did was fucking shitty, but Jere is not innocent in this. It takes two people to kiss.’’

You rolled your eyes, but you understood what he meant. ‘’I know. I’m angry at Jere too.’’

God, you were so fucking angry at him. All the plans you had made for next year were falling apart. Visiting him for Thanksgiving, the ski trip during the holidays, his birthday. Everything was called off.

‘’Does he know that you saw them?’’

You shook your head.

How were you going to confront him about it? Would he come to you and tell you what happened? Will he blame it on the alcohol? That’s such a shitty excuse.

‘’This hurt so much, Con.I can't believe he would throw away our relationship like this.’’

Shifting in his seat, Conrad reached out, his hand gently brushing against your tear-stained cheek, wiping away a lingering tear with his thumb. ‘’My brother’s a jerk. He doesn’t know what he just lost.’’

You nodded, grateful for Conrad's support, even in the midst of his own familial ties.

‘’Thank you for being there for me,’’ you said as his thumb continued to caress your cheek, his touch a source of comfort amidst the turmoil.

‘’I’ll always be there for you.’’ Conrad's eyes met yours, so blue and beautiful even under a yellow street-lamp light.

Without thinking, you leaned in, closing the distance between you, forgetting that you were still in the middle of the road. Conrad's breath hitched, taken aback by your sudden action, but he quickly reciprocated, meeting your lips in a gentle kiss. Had the situation been turned around, you would have thought that Conrad was taking advantage of your emotional vulnerability, but you wanted this. You wanted to kiss him.

Your hands went to Conrad’s hair, running your fingers through it as the hand still on your cheek moved to pull you closer to him. He went to deepen the kiss, a sweet gasp when feeling his tongue brushing yours. This should feel wrong, but it didn’t.

Conrad broke the kiss first, needing to take a breath and a moment to collect his thoughts. As much as he wanted to keep kissing you, he couldn't. ‘’We can’t be doing this. Not after…’’ He shook his head. ‘’That would be taking advantage of you and I can’t do that.’’ You unbuckled your seatbelt and scooted closer to the middle console to pull Conrad by his plaid shirt, your fingers gripping the soft fabric. ‘’I want this. I want you,’’ you said, looking up at him. ‘’I just want to…forget. Make me forget, Conrad.’’

—

All and more taglist: @spiokybirdstarfish @kenqki @liidiaaag @hawkegfs @gillybear17 @areaderinlove @acornacreacure @black-rose-29 @fudge13 @cece05 @rosie-cameron @Caxddce @laylasbunbunny @gemofthenight @beautyb1ade @hi-bored-as-fcuk-rn @lovelyy-moonlight @mellabella101 @vxnity713 @marzipaanz @bisexualgirlsblog @queenofslytherin889 @thatbxtchesblog @softb-tterfly @ethanlandrycanbreakmyheart @xyzstar @graceberman3 @Heartsforneteyamsully @aerangi @hallecarey1

TSITP taglist: @msmarvelknight @maritaleane @dingus0401 @idontknowwhatimdoing777 @nomorespahgetti

#conrad fisher #conrad fisher imagine #conrad fisher x reader #conrad fisher fanfic #the summer i turned pretty season 2 #the summer i turned pretty imagine #the summer i turned pretty

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taehyuncult · 4 months

Text

leehan + fingering

a/n: his hands are pretty. that’s it. that’s all i have to say.

warnings: inexperienced!reader, fem!reader, leehan is slightly inexperienced, fingering ofc, making out/bit of spit, dirty talk, bit of a praise kink, some insecurity/worrying, use of the names baby, pretty girl, my girl, and princess (again i went overboard… this is kinda graphic & way too long)

SMUT UNDER THE CUT. MDNI.

when you first started dating, you told leehan upfront that you hadn’t really explored your sexuality. when you brought up intimacy with him, he also shared that he didn’t have ton of experience either, making your heart calm down a bit. him being him, he was so kind and understanding. he never pressured you, never made you feel like you had to have sex at any point. he was willing to wait for your comfort, telling you that he doesn’t mind at all to be patient and that the ball is in your court. he wanted you to initiate things, so that he knew it was what you really wanted. that whole conversation was basically just him showing off how much of a green flag man he is, and again, you felt that same sense of relief.

to this day, you still haven’t really done anything with him besides making out. you wanted him, of course you did. your heart yearned for him, you wanted to make him feel good. you wanted to see what he looks like when he’s overcome with pleasure. you wanted to hear the sounds he makes caused by your body, your hands, your mouth. your nerves just got in the way of things, until today.

you were riled up all day, not knowing how to handle yourself. you kept thinking about what it would feel like to finally have leehan inside you; the sounds, the sensations, the love that would be shared. you two spent the day together and it seemed like everything he did somehow turned you on. you especially felt like his hands were making you go crazy. your boyfriend had the prettiest hands ever. you wondered what it would feel like to have them inside you, sliding in and out while he watches you, hopefully praising you. god, you knew it would feel so good to get praised by him. have him tell you how pretty you look when you fall apart-

“baby, are you doing okay? you seem like you’ve been out of it?” he asked you as you two sat on the couch together. you completely zoned out while thinking about him. “yeah- i’m fine, just a little bit stressed i think?” you responded, to which he pouted slightly while thinking for a moment. his eyes lit up as if something clicked and he looked at you with a sweet smile before saying, “how about we go on a night drive? we can talk and you can tell me everything that’s on your mind?” you nodded in agreement, but were freaking out on the inside. the thought of being in such a closed space with him made your heart rate go up.

you drove around a bit, before finding a nice parking lot that was pretty much empty. you put the car in park, while keeping it on so you could have some chill music softly playing in the background. you sat there in silence for a moment, before he broke it by asking “wanna get in the back?” you nodded as you both climbed in the back, but you made sure you were sitting as far from him as possible.

“what’s wrong? did i do something?” he asked you as he noticed immediately the distance you put between the two of you. he never misses anything. “no! i promise it’s not you- i’m just stressed.” he looked at you for a bit, noticing how you refused to make eye contact with him, before asking “but why are you so stressed?” you took a big deep breath in, feeling as though you should just be honest about the fact that your body craved him. fuck it, might as well spit it out before he starts to worry that he did something wrong.

“it’s just embarrassing- but… i haven’t been able to stop thinking about you all day.” you admitted as your cheeks started heating up. he smiled at you, “but i’m right here? why would you be thinking about me?” he asked in sincerity. you couldn’t believe he didn’t get the hint at first, maybe he just thought you were so innocent that sex wasn’t really on your mind or something. you sighed in defeat, “leehan, i can’t stop thinking about your hands. i’m curious, i guess? i mean if it’s okay-“ he interrupted you, knowing you were about to go on a tangent, “what? that’s not embarrassing at all. it’s natural to want your lover.” he said in a gentle, but deep voice. god, even his voice was enough to make your pussy leak. “can we… maybe do something?” you asked as you hid behind your hands, feeling your face get even warmer. he scooted over to get closer to you. he moved your hands away so he could see you, and he had a soft smile on his lips as he asked “yes. are you sure, though?” you nodded enthusiastically, feeling like your body was on fire with how much you needed him.

“just relax for me, pretty girl.” he whispered as he got even closer to you, kissing your forehead, closing the space between you two. his soft, full lips melted into yours as he kissed you with such passionate. just the feeling of his lips on yours was enough to have your head spinning and your insides doing somersaults. his tongue made its way into your mouth, playing with your own. his hand pushed back a few strands of your hair behind your ear, then started caressing your cheek. you broke the kiss, both of you out of breath, before you whispered “more” to him. you attacked his own lips with yours; this kiss was much messier and full of desperation. you wrapped your arms around his body, pulling him close to you. he broke the kiss, a bit of saliva still connecting the two of you. “gonna take such good care of you.” he said as he gave you another soft kiss then started kissing your neck, nipping at your soft skin, making you moan out. “leehan, please, i need you” you whined as you felt like if he didn’t touch you, you might combust.

“so needy. what am i gonna do with you?” he laughed lightly as he pulled back to look at you. “you’re so beautiful… can i take care of you?” he asked as he gestured to your bottoms. you quickly nodded your head and even started to take off your bottoms for him, making him chuckle at how eager you were. he gently moved your hands, wanting to do it for you, and he took them off so you were only in your panties. he took a deep breath in as he was able to see the big wet patch. “so wet already, you must have been aching for me, huh?” he questioned, and once again you nodded with a “mhmm” as a response. he brought his hand to your clothed cunt, his index finger just barely traced the wet spot, making you flinch. he barely touched you and your body was already so sensitive. the way you flinched made your body start to heat up, getting embarrassed at how needy you must seem. “s-sorry about that…” you apologized with your head down. he immediately picked your chin up, so you were looking directly at him. “you’re okay, princess, gonna make you feel so good.” he said as he looked at you with a sudden look of concentration. “can i take your panties off?” he asked as he started circling the large wet spot again, and smirked as you immediately let out a breathless “yes.”

he practically ripped your panties off your body, staring at your now fully exposed pussy. he went in for another kiss, then asked “can i touch you?” “i think i’ll die if you don’t” you admitted to him, causing him to laugh. he took his index and middle fingers into his mouth, making sure to coat them well before taking them out. you felt yourself clench around nothing as you watched him do probably the hottest thing you have ever seen someone do, and he must have noticed as he asked you “like what you see?” he raised his eyebrow. you were going to answer before he took his two fingers, gliding them between your folds.

you were so sensitive, you let out a moan as this sensation was completely new to you. just the feeling of his fingers sliding between your soaking folds felt like electricity was coursing through your body. he focused on only using his middle finger, swirling it along your clit. you felt butterflies in your stomach and felt a fire in your tummy as you whined for him to just enter you already. he smirked, making his way down to your entrance, slowly pushing into the opening. he took his time, not pumping his fingers just yet, he wanted you to really feel it. he wanted you to be comfortable. shortly after, he slowly started moving in and out.

you whimpered at the feeling as this was something you had never experienced before, you didn’t want to be too much so you were trying so hard to contain yourself. “you’re so pretty like this, trying so hard to keep it together. i can tell, you know?” he said as he continued easing his middle finger in and out of your soaking cunt. “f-feels good, but is embarrassing” you said, which just motivated him to start going faster. “it’s not, i want you to let go and give me everything.” he said as he started curling his finger up, gently hitting that one extra sensitive spot in your body. you threw your head back, the feeling becoming too much, and gave into his wishes. “f-fuck leehan.” you moaned out. “that’s it, let me hear those pretty moans.” he encouraged you as he kept fucking you with his finger. “want me to add another?” he asked as he thought he could make you feel even better. “mhmm,” you whimpered out as he added a second finger. his pace slowed, making sure you experienced not a single ounce of discomfort, until you grabbed onto his wrist. “don’t- um… don’t go slow…” you told him, getting a look of surprise from him in response, which quickly turned into a grin.

he started picking up the pace, sliding his fingers in and out quickly, but not too quickly. you couldn’t hold back your moans, it was all too much. a wet sound started to fill the entire car and you covered your face with your hands again out of embarrassment. “what’s wrong?” he asked and you just whined out, “sounds so embarrassing.” “i promise, it’s not, here, feel.” he assured you by taking one of your hands and putting it on his hard cock. “it’s making me so hard, seeing my girl like this.” he said as he continued focusing on you, you softly squeezed his cock in his pants, causing him to pause for a split second. he took a sharp breath in and went back to you, this caused you to become curious. you started pawing at his pants, noticing a similar wet spot like the one you had just moments ago. he curled his fingers upwards, hitting that spot again to distract you from his cock. he wanted you to cum before all else and he was more than determined to make that happen.

you clawed at his bicep, clinging onto it as you fell victim to his hand. you felt a weird tingling sensation in your belly, you’ve felt it before when you touch yourself. however, it felt different this time, as if it were 10x more intense. “l-leehan-fuck!” you cried out as his thumb started rubbing at your clit. “close? is my pretty girl going to cum for me?” he said as he continued fucking you with his fingers. “yes! gonna cum so hard for you.” you told him, not even phased anymore as those words left your mouth. “yeah, princess? is your cute little pussy gonna gush for me?” you felt that same electric feeling like your nerves were slowly being set alight one by one. “yes! yes! just keep going, please” you rambled on as you were right there on the edge. he came close to your ear, whispering to you in that heavenly deep voice of his, “i’m so proud of you, my good girl.” that was it, that statement alone caused you to fall apart immediately. your orgasm hitting you so hard you could barely breath. you cried out his name, your back arching as he rode you through the euphoria.

“that’s it, feels good right?” he smiled at you as he watched you come down from the most intense high you’ve ever experienced. you could only nod at him, feeling your eyes become heavy. he slowly took his fingers out, making sure to lick up all your essence with not a drop left behind. the sight caused a shiver to run up your spine. he grabbed your discarded clothes, dressing you with care. “you feel okay?” he said as he kissed your forehead. “do i feel okay? i feel like so good i can’t think right now, that was insane.” you admitted and he went in to kiss you. his lips against yours were much softer as if he was trying to tell you just how much he loved you through it.

once your brain cleared up, you realized he was probably still hard. “can i touch you?” you asked with a pout. “don’t worry about it tonight, baby, we have all the time in the world for that.” he said as he grabbed you in for a hug. “i love you. thank you for letting me make you feel good and trusting me.” he said as he wrapped a secure arm around your body. you felt your heart explode in your chest at his sweet words. “i-i love you too, you’re so special to me.” he smiled at your words, and squeezed you tighter. “so let’s talk about that praise kink of yours-“ “my WHAT?”

you spent the rest of your night in each other’s arms. you talked about anything and everything. it wasn’t awkward after like you expected it to be, in fact, you felt even closer to him. it was such a sweet, but extremely sexy, experience and you were happy you got to have it with him. you went to bed that night in his arms, feeling extra loved and extra satisfied.

#kisa’s hard thoughts #admin.kisa <3 #boynextdoor hard thoughts #boynextdoor hard hours #boynextdoor smut #bnd hard hours #bnd hard thoughts #bnd smut #leehan smut #leehan hard hours #leehan smut fanfic #bnd leehan smut #kim donghyun smut #kpop smut #leehan x reader #leehan fanfic #boynextdoor x reader #bnd x reader

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heavenlyvision · 2 months

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NSFW THOUGHTS ON THE LIN KUEI TRIO pairing: Bi-Han/reader | Kuai Liang/reader | Tomas Vrbada/reader wc: 1.2k warnings: 18+ only, smut, p in v sex, cunnilingus, hickeys, biting, minor dacryphilia, fingering, mentions of minor burns, panty sniffing, panty stealing, minor cum play, afab!reader, no pronouns used !! a/n; okie i wanted to try something a little different and decided to share some smutty thoughts i have on the lin kuei trio, i just think they're neat! i'm also feeling a particular way right now, nobody contact me <3 (kidding) MDNI | SMUT UNDER CUT

BI-HAN ---------------

⟢ Bi-Han likes fucking you from behind, he loves being able to see all of how you take him, he enjoys the needy way you rut back into him, the desperate grinding and wiggling you do to try and gain more pleasure has an amused smile plastering itself on his face ⟢ he has greedy eyes, he’d eye fuck you as soon as you walked into a room and he’s not any better in the bedroom, always wanting to see everything he can from whatever position he’s got you in ⟢ If he has you facing him while balls deep, he’s making you keep eye contact, he wants to see the fucked out look in your eyes as he takes you how he likes ⟢ depending on the day he’d either fuck you nice and slow, pulling you apart meticulously, wanting to see the whole process of how you go weak for him, loving how you completely melt for him ⟢ OR he’s fucking you hard and fast, jackhammering into you, only goal making you cum and making you cum quick, he’s not in the mood to play, he just wants you cumming as many times as he can get you to ⟢ his hands are always on you, holding onto something, though he likes holding your hips the most, he has good leverage to manhandle you like that ⟢ he’s a bit of a freak with his words and he knows it, at first he was just blunt and observant but when he saw how viscerally you reacted to him, he started doing it purposefully, saying things just to embarrass you and feel how your cunt clamps down tight on him ⟢ “so wet, can you hear that? Filthy thing.” ⟢ he’d fuck you faster just to make the sound of your devastatingly wet pussy louder, wanting to have you crying from how good it feels and from how ashamed it makes you ⟢ he likes when you feel red, raw and exposed, the way you’re so pliable and ruined after he’s finished with you never fails to fill him with a sick kind of pride the he relishes in ⟢ when he’s finished with you, you always walk away marked up, wherever he can reach, his teeth marks and hickeys are left in very visible and not so visible places and he will continue to do this, the joy he gets from seeing you walk around with his mark on you is immense

KUAI LIANG ---------------

⟢ i’ve made this clear before but Kuai Liang is a thigh man!!!!! He LOVES your thighs, he especially loves when you’re on top, he can grip and pull at your thighs while you ride him and that drives him feral, sometimes he worries about finishing too quickly when you’re sat on him, his mind reeling with how soft and warm you are ⟢ he’d swear he’s seen heaven when he’s convinced you to sit on his face the first time, he’d stay there until he died if you let him ⟢ marks are often found on your thighs, he digs his teeth into them, the plushness of your thighs bring out a primal urge in him to mark you up, make you his ⟢ circling back – he loves when you ride him, he’d enjoy the way you control the pace and he’d let you have that control but he’d also thrust up into you every now and again just to throw you off and make your expression stupid ⟢ he loves teasing you, loves making you look dumb for him, his favourite pastime is fucking you until you’re drooling for him, he’d wipe it clean for you and chuckle like he has no idea why you’re reacting like that, like he didn’t just fuck you so insanely well that you can’t even think straight ⟢ Kuai also likes taking you from behind, loving the way your thighs move and ass shakes as he pounds into you, he’d grip you tight, wanting you to stay completely still, he’s fucking you how you need, all you need to do is stay still for him ⟢ his hands would wander over you frequently, always drawing back to your thighs and your cunt at the apex of them, his fingers playing with your pussy over your clothes, he’d tease you immensely before slipping his fingers in and under your panties ⟢ he’d play with you, just wanting to work you up, he loves how desperate you get for him, he loves the unshed tears in your eyes and the way you beg for it when he doesn’t let you cum, his cock is never harder than when he’s making you beg for him ⟢ he’d play it cool but his body temperature would be through the roof and his thoughts would be overwhelmed with thoughts of your tight cunt wrapped around him ⟢ you walk away with light burns on your person almost 90% of the time because of how worked up he gets for you

TOMAS ---------------

⟢ Tomas is an incredibly giving partner, your pleasure is his pleasure, and that’s almost quite literally, he loves giving you head, he’d tongue you over your panties just because he can’t be bothered to take them off and needs his mouth on you now ⟢ he’s 100% sniffing you over your panties too, his nose pressing into you and inhaling deeply, he’s not ashamed over this, not when you’re so warm and so close and smell so good ⟢ he would eventually rip them from you, getting sick of not being able to taste you properly, he’d hold you open too, if he weren’t so pussy drunk maybe he’d feel bad about your embarrassment but when he’s got his tongue inside you, he suddenly doesn’t care ⟢ he’d pocket your underwear, what if you go away or he’s home alone? he’s keeping them so he can use them later, he’d have a shy smile on his face about it but that’s mostly for your sake, he doesn’t feel shame over how much he loves your cunt ⟢ he likes fucking in missionary, he likes to see your face, he likes being able to see how much you’re enjoying it, how much pleasure he’s giving you, the more frequent your moans and the more pinched your brows are, tell him how well he’s doing and that gets him off more than the actual sex ⟢ he loves kissing you during, he has his mouth on you, any part of you really, just wanting to cover you in kisses and tell you how beautiful you look, he praises you so much, so often in bed, he wants to make sure you never forget how good you look when he’s fucking you right ⟢ he enjoys when you praise him too, his dick would twitch and he’d borderline whimper when you tell him how good he’s making you feel, he’d worry about cumming too soon just from you telling him how pretty he is and how well he fucks you ⟢ he has cum prematurely one time but that didn’t mean he was done, there’s no way he’s walking away from sex with you when you’ve not cum ⟢ he’d have finished inside you so suddenly and quickly from everything about you, he’d feel so guilty but he’d make up for it by finger fucking you, making a mess of all his cum that’s leaking from you ⟢ cumming in you just to finger it back inside your tight pussy would become more frequent for him after that, he loves playing with your cunt and he especially loves making you take his cum again

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craisinsensation1029 · 14 days

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Tri Harder

Chapter 2 ( ˘͈ ᵕ ˘͈♡)

also on AO3 <3

Suguru Geto & Satoru Gojo

After an innocent party game, Geto & Gojo make it their mission to fuck you. That's it.

Ch 1 | Ch 3

fem reder, alcohol, provocative dancing, making out, semi public sexual activities, vaginal fingering, NOOOO ONE IS STRAIGHT ONCE AGAIN

~7k

MDNI

When Shoko didn’t answer her phone the following Monday, Gojo knew there was only one place she would be. He always picked Geto up from work, but he wouldn’t be driving straight home today.

“We’re going to see Shoko.” Gojo was peeling off the pavement the moment Geto closed the passenger door. “I was knocking on her door earlier and she didn’t answer. Hasn’t answered my texts or calls either.”

“Yes, my day was fine,” Geto yawned, throwing his laptop bag into the back seat. “Thank you so much for asking.”

Gojo looked over at Geto who was donning a black, button down shirt with khaki chinos. For the past two years, he worked as an English teacher for highschool freshmen and sophomores after he graduated.

Gojo on the other hand was working for his family’s accounting company, although even he would use the word working rather loosely. More like, he graduated from college because he had the resources to do so, but he knew money would never really be an issue. He worked from home mainly because he needed something to occupy his time while his friends were busy.

“How was your day, angel? ” Gojo teased, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel as they arrived at a red light.

“If you want a nickname, you can just ask,” Geto laughed lightly. “No need for you to keep throwing this temper tantrum about it. You being all jealous is cute though, I’ll admit that.”

“Not jealous,” Gojo grumbled. “But you know what’s actually crazier than you accusing me of being jealous and throwing a temper tantrum?” He looked over and raised a brow for dramatic effect.

“I don’t know.” Geto shrugged. “But I’m sure you’re about to tell me.”

“The fact that you were telling me to be nice when you were busy being two fingers deep in someone you knew for like, an hour. ”

Geto contemplated his word choice before he spoke. “Well, she said thank you afterwards. For all intents and purposes, I was being extremely nice,” he reasoned. “I was providing a service, if you will.”

“You’re so full of shit.” Gojo shook his head as he continued driving. He wasn’t always the most careful driver, but was always mindful when Geto was in the car. The threat of being scolded for his driving skills had him obeying every traffic sign and speed limit until they reached their destination.

Gojo drove successfully without any criticism, and parked in front of the building. He and Geto got out of the car, Geto holding open the building door for them.

They made their way towards the back of the library where Shoko usually holed herself up and cut herself off from the rest of the world. Her head bobbed to whatever was playing in her headphones as she scrawled something in her notebook, highlighting it quickly afterwards.The table was littered with cans of empty energy drinks and candy wrappers, a telltale sign she had a big test coming up soon.

Geto pushed some of the empty cans aside so he could get a clear view of her. He then sank into the seat across the table from her while Gojo pulled out the chair next to her, spinning it around and sitting in it backwards. Gojo folded his arms over the top of the chair, looking in Geto’s direction to start the conversation.

“Shoko,” Geto mused, a gentle smile gracing his face. “Glad to see you’re alive and well after the party. You were fast asleep when we left.”

She looked up, capping her highlighter with a wistful smile on her face. “It was a great birthday.” She took one of her headphones out of her ears as she said your name. “I’m glad she took care of me and Utahime the next morning. I swear, we always get more fucked up whenever she’s around. Her and that damn cooler full of drinks.”

Gojo quickly cleared this throat at the mention of your name. “Oh, yeah! About–”

“No,” Shoko cut him off.

Gojo felt like a deflated balloon careening through the air. “What the fuck?” His voice came out more frantic than he planned. “I didn’t even say anything.”

Shoko’s eyes traveled from Gojo’s to Geto’s, pointing an accusing finger at both of them. “Okay, you both listen then,” she demanded. “I’ll have you know that she is Utahime’s friend before she’s my friend. They were like, childhood neighbors or something. She just happened to go to the same med school as me,” she explained.

Gojo and Geto exchanged a look that told them everything they needed to know, but Shoko continued. “Utahime always says it's unfortunate enough that I know you two, and doesn’t want any more cross contamination.” She shrugged lazily. “That’s why you’ve never met her. For what it’s worth though, Utahime was super fucked up at my party, I don’t even think she remembers you two were there.”

Geto raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?” He remembered very clearly being acknowledged by Utahime… and threatened several times.

“Well she normally always complains afterwards whenever you two happen to be around.” She spoke of Utahime’s distaste for the pair as if it were the most casual thing on the planet. “But in the morning she only talked about how much fun she had.” A sly smile played on her lips. “Anyway, don't start blaming me that you never met her friend and couldn’t… do whatever it is you two do.”

“Ugh,” Gojo groaned, throwing his head back in disbelief. That was cockblocking to another level. Preventing them from even wanting to meet you was utterly ridiculous. “What’s her problem?”

“I think she’s still pretty upset about the whole graduation dress thing… among other stuff,” Shoko reminded him.

Graduation Day, Three years ago

Gojo stood happily with Geto and Shoko on the day of graduation. Utahime bounded over to get in on the picture they were taking. She unzipped her gown, causing Gojo to let out an obscene gasp.

“You just got a degree and that’s what you decided to wear?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she growled, immediately clenching her fist. “I chose this dress months ago, and I look great.”

Gojo rubbed the back of his neck, a grimace painting his face. “You should have chosen your dress years ago if this is what you went with after deciding for months.”

Her lips formed a scowl and Geto’s voice interjected before she could say anything. “Satoru, not everyone is able to afford the style they want,” he reasoned. “She’s probably just working with the best she had available, you should be nice.”

Her scowl deepened as she looked from Gojo to Geto. “And what is that supposed to mean?” she seethed.

“Oh.” Geto was taken aback. “Was that dress actually your first choice?”

“You two are the worst.” She stood next to Shoko. “I hate them.”

Gojo rolled his eyes. “That was eons ago. You don’t see me getting my torches and pitchforks ready every time she calls me a blue eyed, unblinking freak.” That was among the less colorful choice of words she had in her arsenal whenever she referred to Gojo.

“I’m still unsure where her animosity for me came from,” Geto mumbled, recalling the same dress situation. He truly thought it was just a last minute option, but he pushed the memory aside. That was Utahime’s issue, he was fishing for information about you. “So, what do you all do when you guys hang out?” he pressed gently. “It seemed like she already knew all our other mutual friends.”

Shoko shrugged. “Drink, hangout. Nothing crazy.” She tapped her chin with her highlighter. “We’re going out to some club this weekend since Kento and Yu are finishing their programs this semester. She might be there,” she teased.

“What club?” Gojo asked immediately.

“I don’t knooooow, ” Shoko sighed. “I can’t really seem to remember… if only I had a pack of cigarettes to jog my memory a bit…” Geto looked at Gojo and raised a brow. Gojo grumbled something unintelligible and took a twenty out of his wallet, sliding it to Shoko. “Well I’ll have to make sure I have enough to get Utahime drinks at the club too. Not like she would accept anything from the likes of you two.”

Gojo took a fifty out of his wallet this time, grumbling, “Do you remember the name of the club now?”

She let out another sigh as she said your name. “Well, she’s still my friend too, you know? I can’t get Utahime something without getting her something, that’s just rude.”

Gojo fished out another fifty along with some miscellaneous singles that were in his wallet and slid it toward her. Geto bit back a laugh as Gojo rolled his eyes. “Do you remember now?”

Shoko picked up the money with a nod. “It’s actually all coming back to me now.” She smiled at Gojo sweetly, “Club Phoenix at ten. You’ll probably want to come a little after that though, so Utahime is already drunk.”

“Can’t believe I had to give my friend over a hundred bucks to tell where she’d be hanging out this weekend,” Gojo groaned, shaking his head. “Something tells me we need to reevaluate this friendship.”

“Your own stupidity cost you…” she paused to count the money before pocketing it, “one hundred and twenty seven dollars.” She moved to start packing up her things. “Why didn’t either of you geniuses just ask for her number?” she laughed.

Gojo’s face immediately fell, and Geto shot him with an equally blank stare. Shoko let out another laugh as she shoved her things into her bag. “Give me a ride home, would you?”

“Yeah, just use me again,” he mumbled. Gojo hated the unintentional comedian he became with the way Shoko’s sides were splitting with laughter, but he stood anyway and reoriented his chair to its original position.

Geto picked up the empty cans and wrappers on the table, discarding them in a nearby garbage can. “Still find it hard to believe youre studying to be a doctor when you smoke and drink like a sailor.”

“It’s called duality.” The three got into Gojo’s car and he dropped Shoko off. She waved goodbye, still laughing as she said, “See you on Saturday!”

When Geto and Gojo returned back to their apartment, Gojo immediately flopped onto the couch with a groan. “Why didn’t you get your angel’s number?” he taunted. “Hmm?”

Geto let out an easy laugh as he stripped off his shoes and slid into the kitchen. “I guess I was a bit too preoccupied to think about that.” He grabbed the chicken he seasoned the day before from the fridge along with some vegetables. He chopped the vegetables diligently as he preheated a skillet. “Doesn’t matter now though, we’re seeing her this weekend.”

“Too preoccupied?” Gojo scoffed. He got up from the couch and joined Geto in the kitchen. Plopping down on one of their dining room chairs, his hand cupped the side of his face and his elbow rested on the table. “Well I guess if I were in that closet for hours, I would have forgotten too.”

Geto slid the chopped vegetables into the pan, delighted by the fragrance of the onions and garlic as they began to sizzle. “By that logic, shouldn’t you have thought to get her number because you had less time?”

Gojo scrunched his nose. “Just shut up and cook.” He shook his head, unable to shake the conversation from earlier. “I still can’t believe Utahime is being so… vindictive.”

Geto started to move the vegetables around in the skillet, adding the chicken once the vegetables were browned. “If she's still upset about that ugly dress, so be it.” He wasn’t as bothered by her dislike of him, he didn’t care about egging her on either. Referencing you, he said, “If she wants to be around us, she will. She’s met us now, I don’t see Utahime being a real obstacle.”

“You sure?” Gojo asked, extending his legs. “Well, Shoko did tell us Utahime is easier to deal with when she's trashed.”

Geto waved off his last statement. “She’s a real nonfactor if you ask me. It's us, right?” he asked with a smirk.

Gojo smirked back and nodded in response.

Gojo and Geto had both been to club Phoenix plenty of times. Their whole friend group used to sneak in when they were all underage, giggling when they were let in although it was no secret to the bouncers that their IDs were fake.

The club had a live DJ every night, the drinks were shitty and the food was questionable in every aspect, but it was always a good time. The dance floor was always packed and strobe lights illuminated the space without being too disorientating. There were some couches placed in the alcoves while the others lacked furniture and remained in the dark, untouched by any lights and hard to be seen from other areas in the club.

Even as years passed by, they still found themselves enjoying the space even though they had been to many more upscale clubs since then. Tonight was no different.

Geto wore dark jeans with a short sleeved buttoned down shirt, opting to keep the first few buttons undone. Gojo similarly wore dark jeans with a cotton tee, and they both wore casual sneakers. They each took a shot for good measure, and Gojo put on his shades before they got into an Uber and headed over to the club a little after eleven.

Music pulsed in their ears the moment the pair got past the bouncer and walked into the club. Every bar seat was filled and even more people stood surrounding the area as they flagged down bartenders for drinks. The DJ was amping up the patrons on the dancefloor, shouting something into the mic neither of them could really make out. Whatever it was, everyone on the dancefloor cheered and continued dancing.

Gojo’s eyes darted over to the couches, hitting Geto’s chest when he saw Shoko. She was sitting with Nanami and Utahime, but you were nowhere in sight. “Let’s go ask if she’s here,” Gojo insisted.

“Don’t bother,” Geto answered over the music, nudging his chin in the direction of the dancefloor.

There you were. You wore a baby blue sequined top that was low cut in the front and in the shape of a butterfly, tastefully showing cleavage. Thin straps held up the top that tied around your neck and back, the expanse of your smooth skin glowing under the lights on the dancefloor. The top cut a little above your belly button, the ring now changed to match the color of your top.

A white mini skirt hung dangerously low on your hips, and a white lacy garter with a heart buckle graced one of your thighs. The ensemble was probably illegal in a couple countries, and Geto and Gojo were grateful they were able to gaze at the outfit in the flesh.

The barely there edges of your skirt swayed as your hips moved to the beat of the music. Your movements were fluid and carefree, a smile gracing your face as you danced. Next to you Haibara danced wildly, exuding the same carefree aura as yours as he brought his drink to his lips. He then extended the straw in his glass towards you which you happily accepted. Your lips wrapped around the straw taking a sip, and Haibara drank from it again.

“You see what Utahime did? We could be sharing drinks with her,” Gojo grumbled with a shake of his head. “Let’s go over there.” He was already pushing his way through the crowd before Geto could dignify him with an answer.

Gojo had little difficulty navigating through the sea of drunken people to get to where you and Haibara were dancing. Geto followed closely behind with ease.

Gojo tapped you on the shoulder, and you turned with a large smile on your face. “Satoru?” you yelled over the music. Your eyes trailed over to Geto. “Ah, Suguru, too!” You reached up and wrapped the crook of your elbows around their shoulders for a quick embrace. “Nice to see you both again!”

Haibara turned, pumping his fist with an excited gleam in his eyes. “Woo! Didn’t know you two were coming out tonight too!” He brought the straw back to his lips, promptly finishing his drink. He shook the glass full of ice. “You two came at the perfect time! I’m going to get another drink and check on everyone, keep her company, will you?”

“Go, go,” Gojo encouraged. “We’ll make sure she’s safe, don’t you worry!”

“You two are awesome!” Haibara gave him a thumbs up and pushed through the crowd in the direction of the bar.

You turned your attention back to the pair, their bodies towering over a large majority of the crowd. “Did you guys want to say hi to everyone else?” Your body was still moving idly to the music. “Shoko actually bought us a shit ton of shots earlier,” you laughed. “She was telling us she found a hundred dollars on the ground earlier in the week.”

Gojo rolled his eyes beneath the shades. At least Shoko actually used some of the money for what she said she would. “I don’t mind catching up with them later,” Gojo answered. He wasn’t even here for them. “It’s just nice seeing you again, let’s dance!”

You threw your arms in the air excitedly as a song with a faster beat began to boom through the stereos. Gojo positioned himself behind you, first taking a moment to fully appreciate the way you moved. The way your hips swung was enough to put anyone in a trance, and the bit of your ass that peeked beneath your skirt was the icing on top of the cake.

Geto stood beside Gojo, equally transfixed by your movements. Your body in motion was truly a marvel to behold. There was no way he could stop himself from admiring the way your hips rolled. Eyes still on you, he nudged Gojo as discreetly as he could, and pointed his chin in the direction of one of the dark, empty alcoves. Gojo nodded at the silent message.

“How about I grab us some shots?” Geto suggested. “Seems like we have to catch up to you.”

The shots from earlier already had you feeling warm, but you always came out to have a good time. You turned to face Geto and nodded, a smile creeping across your face. “I could go for another shot.” Pausing, your lips formed a pout. “Oh, my wallet is over with the others, I can go get it really fast.” You squinted through the crowd to look for the best path to get back over to the table.

“That sounds good, Sugu,” Gojo agreed. He placed his hands gently on your hips, letting his fingers drum gently against the spot. “Oh, the drinks are on us. Don’t worry.” He averted his attention back to Geto. “How about you just wave us over when you get them? We’ll come to you.”

He lowered his shades just enough so Geto could see where he was gazing. His eyes lingered at the portion of the bar closest to the empty alcove.

Geto nodded in affirmation, and then scanned the sea of people surrounding the bar. “It might take a while, don’t have too much fun without me,” he chuckled as he started making his way through the crowd toward the bar.

“Just let me know how much the drinks are later, I’ll pay you back,” you insisted. It was hard to ignore the way his hands felt on your hips, flashbacks of being pressed against him in the closet quickly flooding into your mind.

Gojo’s hands gripped your hips a little tighter, letting his thumbs press into the dimples of your back. He couldn’t resist letting his fingers squeeze at the flesh there, so soft and pliable under his touch. He moved in closer, letting his crotch press firmly against your ass. The little bit of fabric the skirt had to offer worked to his benefit with him being able to feel the mounds of your ass pressed against him. He didn’t bother suppressing his groan, letting the surrounding music drown out the sound.

He leaned his head so his lips were aligned with your ear. “The drinks are nothing,” he asserted. “Trust me, angel. ”

You shivered feeling his lips brush against your ear as he spoke, and felt desire quickly swirling in your belly hearing the nickname. Previously hearing the nickname in Geto’s sultry voice was one thing, but hearing the hunger in Gojo’s voice as he used it was just as arousing. Come to think of it, his voice was almost… teasing.

You turned your neck to face him, your lips curling into a smile as you saw the smirk forming on his lips. He removed one hand from your hips briefly to take off his shades and fold one of the legs into the front of his shirt. The hand quickly returned to your hip, his own hips starting to move in sync with the music.

“You’re far too kind,” you gushed, feeling the gyration of his hips against you. His body felt like a brick wall pressed against your back, firm, sturdy, secure. You faced forward and stretched your arms until your fingers were brushing the base of his neck. His pulse began to beat rapidly beneath your fingertips as you started moving your hips in sync with his.

Gojo wished he could help himself, but he already knew how your body felt beneath his touch, and yearned for that feeling again. One hand stayed on your hip and the other hand started to glide up the side of your body. His hand splayed as it appreciated your waist and passed over your rib cage before snaking beneath the material of your top. Racing at his touch, your heartbeat quickened, matching his own racing pulse that was still thumping beneath your fingertips.

Gojo was grateful you weren’t wearing a bra as his hand cupped the bottom of your breast, giving it a slow squeeze as he continued to grind his hips against yours. Your breath hitched and your hips stuttered at the touch. You could already feel the nipple of your other breast harden against your top, letting out a soft whine at its lack of stimulation.

He gave your breast another squeeze, this time moving his fingers to gently pinch your nipple. Your movements stuttered again as you tried to stifle a moan. “Aw, come on. Keep dancing with me, angel,” Gojo taunted, his voice breathy against your ear.

“Satoru, ” you whimpered.

“Told you it would be better if I had more than seven minutes,” he chuckled.

He continued rolling your nipple between his fingers as his hips continued to roll against you. Using the hand that was still on your hips, he urged the movements of your hips against his. The sensation of your nipple being pinched and his hand taking control of your motions made you clench. A soft whimper escaped your lips as you submitted to his urges, once again moving your hips in sync with his.

Grateful to have you gyrating against him again, the hand on your hip traveled south to grip your ass beneath your skirt. “Fuck.” He took a moment to give each cheek a squeeze, desperately pressing his stiffening length against you. After more greedy squeezes, his hand rested on your hip between your skin and the band of the skirt. His hand was a passenger to the circular movements of your hips. “Yeah, that’s it. Just like that, angel,” he groaned into your ear.

You were on the verge of panting as the hand on your hip slid up and made its way under your shirt, now gripping your other breast. You didn’t think your heart could start beating any faster. His hand squeezed your breasts a few times before he started kneading that nipple between his fingers. You couldn’t help the whimper you let out at the feeling of both of your nipples now being rolled between his long fingers.

You were a clenching mess, feeling his length pressing against you with each movement of your hips. Another desperate whimper left your lips as your fingers dug into the skin of his neck. Your eyes fluttered at the sense of euphoria, uncaring of anything else going on. Your back arched as your hips continued to move, thrusting more of your breast into his hands.

Your breasts were soft and warm in his hands, and Gojo expertly squeezed them while he continued to knead your nipples. Your eyes closed and your head lolled at his touch, a look of bliss crossing over your face under the strobe lights.

Gojo didn’t care who saw, but he glanced at the other club goers on the dance floor. They weren’t paying you two any mind, either too inebriated to care or engaging in their own form of dancing. Or some combination of the two, for that matter,

He glanced towards the couches where he saw Shoko sitting when he and Geto came in, but only Nanami and Haibara were there. He shrugged and looked toward the bar.

Geto was just receiving the order of shots on a tray when he glanced in Gojo’s direction. A playful smile danced across Gojo’s face when they made eye contact. He squeezed your breasts as he kept eye contact with Geto.

Geto’s lips rose to a small smirk watching Gojo massage your breasts and roll against you. He couldn’t help but take a moment to stare at your blissed out expression. His cock already seemed to jump to life just knowing how good you must have been feeling right now. He didn’t want to miss out on any more fun. He waved Gojo over, still watching as your head lolled with your eyes closed.

Gojo reluctantly removed his hands from beneath your shirt. “Sugu has the shots, come on.” He grabbed your hand as the two of you navigated to the end of the bar where Geto was.

The smirk hadn’t left his face as he took in your flushed appearance. He took one shot from the tray and handed it to you. “Only if you want to,” he affirmed.

You took the shot from him, placing your other hand on your hip. “I’m not a baby, let's go.”

“That’s my girl!” Gojo chanted, grabbing a shot from the tray.

Geto grabbed a shot, and the three of you clinked the glasses together before quickly downing them.

Your lips pursed as it coursed down your throat, immediately setting your body temperature ablaze. You looked over to Geto and Gojo who were already downing another shot. Thinking about shots you took earlier and all the sips of everyone's drinks you had, you weren’t going to argue with them for not asking if you wanted another shot or not.

You put your glass on the tray as Geto glanced at you. He took a step forward and let his palm graze the side of your face while his other hand settled on your waist. His thumb brushed against your cheek. “You look amazing tonight, angel.”

His voice simply wanted to make you melt. “Thank you.” You tilted your head so your lips brushed against his when you spoke again. “You look great too.”

“Come here,” he mumbled as he pressed his lips against yours. You both tasted like alcohol, but neither of you cared as your lips slowly moved against each other. You were putty in his hands as he kissed you, willing your body to mend to his touch.

With one final brush against Geto’s lips, Gojo was reaching for your hand. “Come on you two.” You let his large hand encase yours as he pulled you toward the empty alcove. Geto took a hold of your other hand, and you instantly felt your blood running even warmer.

Letting go of your hand, Gojo pressed his back against the wall. He circled his arms around your waist, pulling your backside flush against his front once more. Geto let go of your hand as well and stood in front of you, effectively sandwiching you between their bodies. Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was just your own desire, but being between the two of them had your heart beating rapidly yet again.

Geto stepped in closer, letting his hand rest under your chin. His mouth hovered over yours as yours as he spoke. “Were you having fun with Satoru, angel?”

“Oh, she was,” Gojo answered with a laugh, letting his hands travel beneath your shirt again. His hands grabbed your breasts, squeezing the mounds with more force this time. You let out a moan against Geto’s lips as Gojo’s fingers began to pinch at your nipples again. You clenched around nothing, pressing your thighs together desperately to ease the ache. “ God, Suguru. Do you hear her?”

“Mhm,” Geto answered, letting his lips graze against your parted lips before they started trailing down your face. He kissed the corner of your mouth, and trailed down lower to the skin of your neck. “You know, she sounds really pretty when she comes too.” His lips latched on to the base of your neck, sucking at the skin there. “Don’t you want to hear that?”

“Oh, for sure. Nice of you to finally learn how to share.” Gojo took his time letting his hands trail down your body once more, eager to become familiar with every dip and curve. His hand dipped down, easily lifting the soft fabric of your skirt and nudging your thighs open. “Let me take care of that for you.” You parted your thighs, and a finger was brushing over your clothed clit. Another moan left your mouth as another finger joined, rubbing your clit in slow circles over the fabric of your underwear. “Fuck, I’ve been waiting for this.”

Gojo eagerly bypassed the crotch of your underwear and pushed a finger inside of you, his erection still present from before throbbing against you as your wetness enveloped him. You whined, clenching around the digit as he wasted no time pumping it in and out of you. “I know you’re dying for more.You can take one more, be a good girl.” He let his middle finger join his index one, inching both digits deeper until they were seated fully inside of you. “Mhm, just like that.”

Geto continued ravishing the skin of your neck, taking his time to let his lips caress the spot before sucking it, wanting to mar the same spot from last time that had since faded. He shifted the hand that was on your chin to grip the back of your neck, his other hand shifting to massage one of your breasts. He moaned into the skin of your neck as he let his finger knead your stiffened nipple.

Every part of your body was vibrating with arousal. “Fuck,” you whimpered out, continuously clenching around Gojo’s digits and desperately arching into Geto’s touch. It felt like you were being tugged in every direction; Gojo’s free hand on your hip keeping your backside pressed against him tightly and Geto’s hand securely on your neck, keeping you at an angle where you had no choice but to let him keep ravaging your skin.

Geto pulled the breast he was massaging out of your top completely, moving his mouth’s attention from your neck to your nipple. He let his tongue circle the peak, looking up to see your lips part and release another moan. “God, angel. You’re such a slut. ” He chuckled lightly before he closed his lips around the bud, sucking it into his mouth,

Gojo felt you clench instantly at Geto’s words, causing him to buck his hips against you. “Shit,” he murmured, curling his digits to reach your g-spot. “For a slut, this pussy is fucking tight.”

Geto pulled your other breast out of your shirt, moving his mouth across your chest to suck your other nipple into his mouth. His teeth nipped at the bud gently before his tongue flicked against it, alternating between hard and soft sucks. He moved the hand that was resting on the back of your neck to the front, gently squeezing at the sides. He sucked your nipple into his mouth harshly before coming off with a lewd pop. “That’s better for us, isn’t it?”

Gojo couldn’t stop the smile that was spreading across his face even if he wanted to. “Of course it is.”

Geto returned to your other nipple, rolling his tongue around it before letting his lips trail back up to your neck. The hand on your neck applied more pressure and he let his other hand begin to stimulate your nipple again. You were a moaning mess, opened mouthed and legs trembling. Geto’s length was practically a brick against his thigh. He pressed his thigh against one of your legs, groaning at the friction it provided.

“Ah, please,” you whimpered. It all felt like too much, but your body still craved more. Gojo’s erection pressed against your ass and Geto’s against your leg, your nipples being played with, being filled with Gojo’s fingers, the choking, the euphoria of the alcohol, it was hard to say what more could even constitute as, but you wanted it.

“Please what?” Geto ground his leg against you, erection shamelessly throbbing. “You want Satoru to make you come?”

You nodded pathetically, tears threatening to spring from the corners of your eyes. “Please.”

“You hear that? Our angel wants you to make her come.” Geto peered up at Gojo, a smirk dancing across his lips. Geto’s gaze was back on you. “I think you should be more polite, angel. Ask him again, he wants to hear you.”

“Satoru, please,” you pleaded desperately.

Gojo steadily pumped his fingers in and out, plunging his fingers deep and keeping them curled against your g spot as your breaths became more ragged. “Come on, let it out,” he encouraged, letting his thumb rub against your clit. “I want to know how this pussy feels,” he mumbled into your ear.

Your legs trembled as you gave into his demands, body slumping against his as you spasmed around his fingers. Your voice was nothing but a string of moans as his fingers stayed inside of you, moving slowly as your juices coated them.

“Fuck, she does sound pretty,” Gojo groaned, making eye contact with Geto. “I want to see for myself how she tastes.” He slowly removed his digits from you, keeping you propped firmly against him as he slid his fingers into his mouth. He moaned around them, keeping his eyes on Geto. “Delicious.”

“Yeah?” Geto pressed in closer, his hips now slotted between yours as the hand that gripped your breast moved down to caress the skin of your thigh. He maneuvered the hand on your throat behind you, now gripping Gojo’s chin. “Let me have a taste then.”

Gojo grabbed at the back of Geto’s neck to bring their lips together. Your body was tight between them as both of their erections throbbed against you, and you could feel wetness saturating your panties again. You whined, gripping at Geto’s muscles under his shirt and wiggling your hips in any way you could to get more friction. Despite the overstimulation, you couldn’t stop, desperate yet again for more.

Gojo has never been a gentle kisser. As soon as their lips joined, he shifted his hand to grip Geto’s hair. His fingers clutched his tresses tight as he began pushing his tongue past Geto’s lips. Gojo let out a moan of satisfaction once Geto’s lips parted, letting his tongue roam the inside of his mouth.

Geto could taste you on Gojo’s tongue, and could feel you writhing between the two of them. If there was even a pocket of space between the three of your bodies, he closed it, letting out a moan when Gojo bit down on his bottom lip. “Fuck, she does taste good,” he gritted out, giving your thigh another squeeze. “Think I’m going to need another taste.”

Gojo let his tongue trace the shape of Geto’s lips before he shoved his tongue back inside his mouth. Geto moaned into Gojo’s mouth before letting his own tongue sliver into Gojo’s mouth. The familiar gesture was charged with arousal, the kiss growing sloppier the longer the two kept their mouths pressed together. The lewd sound of their lips moving against each other made you clench again. You panted, grinding yourself against Geto’s thigh, aching for another release.

When Geto pulled back, a thick trail of spit connected their lips together. “Oh angel, are you feeling left out?” Geto teased, feeling your pelvis against his thigh. “Can’t have that, can we?”

Gojo smirked, sucking the trail into his mouth as he peered down to see you humping Geto’s thigh. “Oh, Sugu,” he cooed. “I think she wants to come again.” Gojo released his grip from Geto’s hair and put a hand back on your breast. “Make her come, I want to see.”

“If you insist,” Geto snickered, stepping back only slightly. Gojo kept a hold on your hip while Geto pushed the fabric of your panties aside to pump his middle and index finger inside of you. They slipped in with no resistance, already soaked from your previous orgasm and more recent arousal. “Mhm, that’s it. Just as tight as I remembered.”

“Ah,” you moaned, throwing your head back as you clenched around him. You knew it wouldn't take much to bring you to another orgasm. Gojo’s hips thrusted against your ass, making your hips rock on Geto’s fingers. You let out another moan, tears prickling from the corner of your eyes as he pinched your nipple again. “That feels so good,” you breathed.

“Mhm,” Geto hummed. He slowly nudged a third finger at your entrance, his cock throbbing when you slowly started to envelop them. He watched as they disappeared inside of you until all three were knuckle deep and curling against your g-spot. The way your pussy started to clamp down on him would give a claw machine a run for its money. “Fuck, you can do it,” he praised. “Come for us one more time.”

Gojo swiftly moved his hand from your breast to beneath your chin, tilting your head upwards to look at him. The lust swimming in his eyes was evident. “Keep your eyes on him,” Geto instructed. “If you look away, I’ll stop.”

You whined, willing your eyes to stay open and keep your body upright. It felt good, too good. How could greed really be a sin when having more proved itself to be better, much better.

You squeezed your eyes tightly at a curl of Geto’s fingers, a guttural moan escaping your lips. Gojo tsked despite his cock throbbing at your moan, letting his hand squeeze the sides of your chin. “Don’t be rude. You heard him, didn’t you?” Your eyes jolted open at his touch. “Keep those eyes on me, angel.”

Geto didn’t stop, his slender fingers still moving in and out of your heat. His eyes bounced between your weeping pussy and the desperation to please plastered all over your face. “Do I need to stop?” he taunted, slowing his movements. “Don’t tell me she isn’t being a good girl for us.”

“She just needed a little reminder,” Gojo chuckled lightly. His grip didn’t leave your chin as he looked down at you, eyes struggling to stay open and body writhing with pleasure. “Fuck angel, you’re so fucking pretty like this. Open your mouth.”

You didn’t have the capacity to ask any questions as you parted your lips. Gojo titled his lips downward to spit into your open mouth. You clenched around Geto’s digits as you welcomed his saliva into your mouth. “Fuck,” Gojo gritted out, keeping a tight hold on your chin to smash his lips against yours. Your lips were barely aligned as they moved against each other with little grace, but neither of you cared. You moaned into his mouth, hips grinding frantically on Geto’s fingers.

Geto quickened the pace of his fingers, every stroke only aiming to brush against your g-spot. Your moans turned into pants against Gojo’s lips as your body was reaching its peak.

You cried out as your pussy locked down on Geto’s fingers, pulsing around the digits erratically. Your chest heaved as his fingers exited you. Between the alcohol and the back to back orgasms, you could barely keep your eyes open.

Through fluttering lids, you saw Geto bringing his fingers to his mouth and licking them clean with a smile. Gojo parted his lips, and Geto placed his fingers on Gojo’s tongue. Gojo sucked them diligently, moaning around his fingers and savoring your taste again.

Gojo wrapped his arms around you tightly while Geto put your breasts back in your top. He put a hand under your chin, leaning his own head to be eye level with you. “How about you come home with us, angel?” A soft small graced his face. “We can have some more fun.”

You were already exhausted and overstimulated, but there wasn’t a hint of hesitation in your voice when you answered, “I’d love to.”

Joo did some lovely art that i appreciated sm!!! (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶) more skin tones on the linked post!!

just ch 3 left to upload :p

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