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cherry-leclerc · 24 hours

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we never talk about it ☆ op81

genre: humor, angst, yearning, massive crushes, and lots and lots of miscommunication, assistant!reader

word count: 11k

It's unwise—longing for someone like Oscar. While he's the epitome of someone anyone can easily fall in love with, you're the epitome of a devoted girl who will fall in love with him. You might not even care too much about all the heartbreak you endure along the way.

inspired by this !

cherry here!... based on real events.

Do you remember the day we first met?

The wind doesn’t do its job in blocking him out, the way you prayed and wished it would. You’re still able to catch the crack in his voice—a distant reminder of the way it once made you giggle. Even his nose is beet red, matching the Christmas lights. But apart from all that, you still hear him. You still see him.

You always have.

“A little bit. Yeah.”

He flinches, then tries to play it off with a soft smile. Like he doesn’t want you to uncover the slight hurt he feels. But he can’t read your mind. He never could. And that was the problem.

Oscar nods, feigning indifference. “I do. Remember it all, I mean. Think back to it quite often."

It’s utterly useless to try and ignore him, really.

His hair is too fluffy, his eyes are too bright, and his accent is making you want to flaunt the way some loony character would with a hand over their heart. It was honestly a tad bit demeaning.

But you can't help it. You admire the way his brown locks fall in a lousy manner when he towers down to sign the contract. You blush when his eyes get that twinkle in them. And you swoon over almost anything he says with a shy smile.

“You’re drooling.”

Mortified, you briskly run the back of your hand against your mouth before sending a harsh glare. Lando snickers. “Would you please stop?”

His jaw drops, theatrically. “You’re not actually into him—are you?”

He says it with a trace of humor, but also shock, and you can't help but have your mouth run dry. A loose grin starts to expand across his lips as you hurriedly shake your head. “O-of course not. Are you crazy?”

But if anything, you feel crazy. You must be, right? With every passing second of your heart beating faster and faster against your chest simply just by looking at the young Australian, you’re sure you fall straight into the category like some love fool.

Lando squints his eyes. “I don’t know.” He leans in straight into your face, nearly hissing. “Am I?”

“Am I interrupting?”

Flinching hard, you turn quickly to face Anastasia. You’d initially met the black haired girl back in 2019. As you started off as the Brits personal assistant, she took over as Carlos’ and later also Daniel’s. Over the course of time, you two came to be as close as sisters.

“No! Not at all,” you squeak, nervously before pushing the McLaren driver away and patting towards the open chair next to you. She giggles, rolling her eyes and adjusting herself. “How was the flight over?”

A shrug. “As good as it can get. Sat next to a silver fox, so I guess that must count for something, no?” Lando shudders. She leans in closer, plopping her head against your shoulder. “What’d I miss?”

“Not much.” Only, that’s not true. She missed the way he laughed awkwardly when the doors wouldn’t slide open and let him into the headquarters. She missed the way he rolled his R’s a little too hard when saying ‘sorry’. She missed the way he grabbed the pen with a certain glow on his face, like he almost couldn’t believe any of this was happening. Lazy fingers pat her head gently once before sighing. “He seems nice.”

“How do you know?”

You know because of the way he talks to everyone. Like he cares about what they have to say. Whether it’s about how great his career is going to be here in McLaren or if they introduce their kids to him via FaceTime. He always wore the same smile, talked in the same warm tone. So, could your guess be far off? Yes. It could be completely far off. But you would bet money that it wasn’t.

“Just a wild hypothesis.”

Her laugh isn’t too loud, not ridiculously so, at least, but the fact that it echoes is what makes it appear as such. Anastasia is quick to slap her hand over her mouth, the Brit turns fast to face her with panic evident in his eyes, and you simply blink with a shade of red slowly creeping towards your cheekbones.

Zak grins. “You three.”

“Oh, we’re out,” Lando mumbles in monotone, already grabbing your wrist and dragging you to the exit. You follow numbly, like you don’t have any strength left in your body.

“You’re leaving me?” Anastasia hisses.

“She’s my assistant,” he says like a matter-of-fact. “Where I go, she goes.”

“Oh, you Judas—”

“All of you,” Zak clarifies, narrowing his eyes over to you and the Brit. You gulp.

With a soft curse, Anastasia stands up, tall and firm, and makes her way over with all the confidence in the world. You frown, craving to be the same way, even just a small percentage. Instead, you have to be forced by the McLaren driver.

With every step, your head just spins faster because now, he’s more than real. You can smell his cologne. You can count all the moles that cover his face if you really wanted to. You can spot how his hair is still a bit wet, indicating an early shower.

He’s just becoming— too real.

“Lando, buddy, meet your new teammate!”

“Nice to meet you,” the blue eyed boy declares with a loopy grin, letting go of your hand in order to shake his.

“Likewise.”

Zak claps once. “Oh! And meet your personal assistant, Anastasia.”

“Here for anything you might need,” she cheers with a bright smile.

“Fantastic.”

A wave of silence overlaps your four before Lando clears his throat. “And even though you might not be working with her one-on-one, this is my Anastasia.” A snicker. “My assistant, if you will.”

“Nice to meet you—”

You both freeze, hands intertwined for a second longer before abruptly letting go. He lets out a dry laugh while you do the same. The way your skin tingles makes you blush.

“This is fun and all, but we actually have somewhere to be,” the Brit claims with a suspicious look slashed across his usual laid back expression. You nod. “But we’ll see each other soon, man. Can’t wait to race together!”

In a flash, you two are out the door, leaving a dumbfounded Oscar blinking slowly.

“He fucks with you.”

“Excuse me?”

Another bench press. “As in, he likes you. He’s into you.”

You don’t dare ask who he is because you already know who the Brit’s referring to and that would only inflate your ego. Snapping your fingers, you narrow your eyes. “Focus. Two more sets left to go.” He groans, flipping you off.

It would be a lie to say that this didn’t make your self-esteem skyrocket. Could he be right? Could someone like Oscar ever lay eyes on you? Somewhere in your dreams, you’d like to say yes. Yes. That is a possibility. But the longer you think about it, the more unrealistic it gets.

You don’t have what others do. And that itself is enough to pop the bubble.

The start of the season is always tough.

“He’s extremely nervous.”

For some more than others.

You frown. “Really? But he’s usually so…relaxed.”

Anastasia shrugs, hair falling over her shoulder as she continues typing. “I mean, I tried talking to him but with everything I said, he’d just reply—'that's nice’. It was sarcastic, if anything. I would have laughed if I didn’t feel for him. Poor boy.” Her fingers freeze mid-air. “Wait—do you think you could talk to him?”

“I’m not sure that’s a great idea—”

“Come on! Maybe it’ll help him ease his nerves!”

“Ana—”

“Please.”

You huff. “Okay. Fine. Yeah. I’ll see what I can do.”

As soon as you knock, you almost want to turn away. Maybe it was all an exaggeration. Plus, it’s not like he’s going to die from having butterflies in his stomach. Yeah, surely he’ll be fine and he doesn’t really even need you to—

“Come in.”

He wasn't expecting you, that much you can tell by the way his brows go up. But he’s quick to erase the confusion, settling with a fond expression. “Hey.”

“Hi,” you squeak before cringing at the sound. He chuckles, returning to his warm-up exercises. “How are you feeling?”

Another chuckle, this time amused. “Anastasia sent you, didn’t she?”

“What?” A beat. “No.”

He hums. “Tsk. I’m a bit nervous, that's all.”

You lick your lips, kicking your foot up against the doorframe. What could you possibly say that she hasn’t already? If she couldn’t ease him, then how can you? The thought of messing up and making it worse makes your stomach churn.

“You’re going to do g—”

“Great?” He sighs, blowing his cheeks. “That’s exactly what she said.”

“And what’s wrong with it? She’s only trying to help.”

“No. I know she is, but…” He looks down onto his lap, pausing all movements. “Look, I appreciate you both. What you’re trying to do for me, but I can’t stand hearing what others think I want to hear.”

“It doesn’t do it for you?”

His eyes grow slightly wide with the way you go about and ask. He’s never seen you be anything other than sweet and reserved. But this—right now—is stern and very coach-like. Something and someone you aren’t. Not even close.

“It doesn’t,” he admits, finally looking away. “Never liked it. Always sounds too forced.”

You nod, crossing your arms. “Fine. I can tell you the truth. I can be truthful.” He perks. “Oscar, you’re a terrific driver.” He groans, covering his face with his hands. “But just because you’re great doesn’t mean you’ll be great all the time.” The Australian frowns, uncovering and looking up at you with attentive eyes. “You’re going to mess up. You’re going to be second, or third, or something even twentieth, but that doesn’t matter, you know why?”

“Why?”

“Because you signed that contract, so you sort of have to suck it up, either way.” He lets out a loud laugh. Very unlike him. A weak smile threatens to fall as you try your best to push it back. “There’s going to be bad races, but there’s also going to be very good races. It all depends on you and how hard you work. Sometimes you’ll have a good car, a good strat, and others you’ll have a shitbox and a bad strat. That’s just the way this sport works, okay?”

Oscar blinks slowly, as if trying to decipher who you are, and that itself makes you dizzy. “I-I-I don’t care if you’re nervous, I don’t care if you’re sure—all we care is that you drive that car, and that you try your best no matter what. Can you do that?”

It’s foreign. The feeling in his chest. He’s not used to hearing any of this. As of recently, everyones been texting him to say how great he’s going to be. How far he’ll go. And while he was grateful for having unconditional support, he also dreaded hearing it sometimes because he doesn’t even want to picture letting any of them down. He’ll act like he’s fine, he’ll act like he doesn’t care—but none of that would be true.

The brunette tilts his head to the side, slightly squinting. “I can. I can always try my best. Even if I fall short.”

“Good.” A beat. “We all believe in you. No matter what, okay?”

A timid smile. “I know…”

He ends up having to retire the car by lap fifteen, but the most astonishing part is that he’s not even upset. He tried his best. He listened to every single advice his engineer would alert him with. He practiced long hours in the stimulator.

This is just the way things go sometimes. Just like you said.

“I’m bored. Can I get a ten minute break or something?” Lando grimaces, rolling his wrist like it's the worst pain in the world.

You hum, fixing the signed hats back into the box. With eyes screwed, you shrug. “Fine. But only ten! I’m serious. We need to have this done by one.”

“Yes! Ten—got it.”

He doesn’t come back in ten. For the matter, he actually goes missing.

You narrow your eyes towards the clock, watching as it clicks like some mockery. You’re going to strangle him. You vow at that very moment that you’ll strangle the Brit as soon as you lay hands on him. With one final huff of desperation, you stand up, rubbing your eyes. People frolic through the paddock—you’re sure you even catch a glimpse of Lewis being papped—but that’s not what catches all of your attention.

Instead, you find yourself leaning against the rail, squinting down to where the man of the hour sits, microphones huddled all around him like some interrogation. Anastasia smiles politely, back straight, and voice-recorder in hand.

It’s faint—you almost can’t hear a thing—but it’s just enough.

How does it feel to be back home? Enjoying it, no?

Oscar hums, straight brows slightly furrowed due to the bright sun, but just one adjustment of his hat makes that all go away. “Feels good. I’m able to sleep in my own bed, so that’s pretty cool. And yes. It may be a bit biased, but I am enjoying my time here more than the last two races.” Everyone chuckles.

Can we talk about your expectations for this weekend?

You can see him pause, and from where you’re standing, the way his fingers drum against his chair. “Well, I, uh…I hope for a good car.” The joke is supposed to be there, but you can tell everyone was expecting more with the way they murmur to one another. You wince.

Will raises the microphone up to his lips, along with his hand in order to catch the brunette’s attention. “I’m sure there’s been lots of people reaching out to you since this is your first home race, but has there been someone’s advice that has stuck like no other?”

Oscar smiles gently. “There has been, actually.”

You freeze, gripping the steel bar with anticipation. Your knuckles nearly feel like they’re about to snap, and you feel like you’re probably leaning a bit too far over the edge to hear it all, but you don’t even care. Will chuckles. “If it’s not too much to ask, would you mind sharing with us all? I’m sure it’ll help a lot of youngsters watching.”

Anastasia slides the recorder closer. Oscar visibly swallows. “I’m not sure I can. I never asked her for permission to talk about it. And quite frankly, I’d like to keep it between us.”

Will perks up. “Her?”

The black-haired girl is quick to whisper into his ear, turning the opposite way so no one can even attempt to read her lips. He nods, eyes trained forward like some guard. “Any more questions?” But everyone’s intrigued at this point, so all the questions that follow remain the same. Something that makes Anastasia panic and Oscar regret his choice of words.

“Can we get a name?” some blurts out, nearly seeming desperate to get the inside scoop.

Only, his face remains still, jaw slacked. “No.”

Will raises his hand. “Very well, we don’t have any right to know, but are you willing to share a bit about what she said?”

And it’s almost as if the Australian can foresee that the only way to get out of this situation is by giving them what they want. Even if it’s a stupid little crumb. He sighs, running a hand through his hair. “She told me to try my best. That’s all I can really do.”

The mix of photographers and journalists deflate. “I-I’m sorry,” Lawrence Barretto slides in with a light tone and an ever lighter smile. “Don’t mean to lessen its meaning, but isn’t that a common thing to say? To hear?” An awkward laugh. “I mean, I just thought it’d be something a bit more…deep. Inspiring, perhaps.”

Blood rushes to your cheeks and you’re grateful to whatever God may exist that you’re not down there. On the other hand, Oscar is a bit bothered by the innocent comment, but then realizes he doesn't have to be. They weren’t there. They don’t know just how much more you said. How upfront you were with him without sounding condescending. Something most people did without even realizing.

The brown eyed boy spares a smile. “Like I said—some things I’d like to keep between her and I. And even if it was just that, it’s the way she said it.” A beat. “It’s quite a lavish thing to have. A sincere person to talk to, I mean.”

Will tilts his head suspiciously. “It appears she might be someone special to you, yes?”

The Australian freezes at the unwanted interpretation. Suddenly, the atmosphere is far too crowded. He lets out a forced chuckle, rolling his neck before messaging it gently. “Well, yes. I’d agree.”

A mix of giddiness and shock rushes through your veins as you refrain yourself from jumping up and down with excitement.

“You’d be lucky if you had her as a friend too.”

“Is everything okay?”

Biting down on the churro he had gifted you as an apology for not getting back on time, you growl. “Yes. Why wouldn’t it be?”

Lando raises a thick brow. “Dunno. Maybe the fact that you’re moping.”

Your jaw goes slack, immediately turning to face him. “I am not moping.”

The sound he lets out indicates he doesn’t quite believe you, but is choosing to let it go. Also, he doesn’t want to see your patience run out, too scared of what you might do. The curly haired driver plops down onto his bed that stands in his motorhome, closing his eyes. You nearly envy the indifference in him. The lack of worry.

“I can hear your teeth clenching. Gross.”

A grunt. “I’m gonna go grab a coffee. Need anything?”

“Only a nap. It’s a good thing you’ll be gone.” He turns over to his side, bringing your jacket over his face to block out any light. You bite the air, swinging silently for a minute or two before exiting the cramped room.

The sun hurts, you remember thinking, but the upcoming migraine you’re getting is even worse. You should be used to this by now, given you’ve suffered from them since elementary, but based on the way you zig zag without meaning to is enough proof to know that you’re not. Everyone's voices are suddenly muffled, even the sound of engines roaring is as soft as a feather. You wince, massaging your temples as if that might help.

Woah, are you feeling alright?

“I’m fine,” you respond meekly, to who even knows. You wave them off rudely. “I’ll be fine. Just. Leave me alone.”

Anastasia frowns, all while fanning your face. “No. You need to lay down.” She nudges the Australian, who up until now, you had no clue he had his arm clung around your waist. If you weren’t too busy feeling like shit, you’d definitely be making a fool out of yourself. Her green eyes fill up with worry. “I’m gonna go look for a paramedic.”

“You’re doing too much,” you slur, body letting loose and making the brunette shriek as he grips you harder, trying to keep you upright.

A deadpan expression. “Oscar, take her back to your motorhome and have her lay down.”

He nods, hesitantly. “Y-yeah, okay. Okay.” Once she runs off like a headless chicken, you let out a dramatic gag. Sharp brows knit together with horror. “Do I smell bad?”

A giggle. “No. As a matter of fact, you smell rich.”

With his arm still wrapped around you securely, and warm eyes flickering from to you back to see where he’s heading, he grins, eyes crinkling. “Rich? That just so happens to have a scent?”

You purse your lips, wincing at the fact that your peripheral vision has gone completely dark. “Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe I’m a terrific liar and I’m only stroking your ego for my benefit.”

Another chuckle. “Benefit? What benefit may that be?”

Tsk. “How else am I gonna get you to take me to bed?”

The Australian instantly chokes hard on a string of his own saliva, causing you to flinch at the loud sound. Loud to you, at least. He apologizes, but not before taking a glance down, like it’s the first time meeting you.

As soon as you lay down on the miniature mattress, you release a groan. Even just having your eyes closed makes you dizzy. You let out a loud groan, kicking your feet against the cushion in desperation.

“That bad?”

“That annoying.”

And even though you can’t see him, he nods, internally freaking out, trying to think of ways to help. “Does this happen to you often?”

“Yes.”

He nods, sheepishly. “W-what do you normally do? You know? To help?”

Tossing over to lay on your side, you pinch your eyes, grinding your molars. For a minute, you sort of thought your teeth might crack. Everything about this situation was becoming unbearable. “My mom, she, um…she’d normally braid my hair. It helped sometimes. Others it didn’t.” Messy hair dangles over your face as you let you out a loud exhale, as if you were in the middle of releasing some demon. “I moved too much, she said.”

Oscar smiles, coming across like a faint memory locked in the back of your mind. “I-I-I can try…” Loopy eyes flicker up to face him, and he’s quick to scrunch his nose. The sight alone makes you breathe easier, though he doesn’t know that. Of course he doesn’t. “Only if you want me to…”

“You know how?”

“Sort of? When I was younger, I used to sit across from my sisters at the breakfast table. I was bound to learn a thing or two.”

The subtle proud smile makes your heart beat flutter, smitten at the insight to his childhood. You wish you knew more. Like what was his favorite show? Did he have any imaginary friends, just like you did? Or maybe his favorite superhero? But you swallow all those questions down your throat as soon as he kneels down next to you. The whiff of soft musk distinctively adds to your headache, but you’re too focused on him for something as dumb as that to matter.

“Just…close your eyes.”

Taking one last glance at him, you comply, lashes fanning slowly before going completely dark. You can still hear him adjusting, you can feel him take your hair into his hands, but nothing makes you stop breathing like his touch that grazes your cheek.

It’s almost ghostlike—doesn’t really stay on the same spot for too long—but you know it’s real. Long fingers calmly push strands of hair behind your ear, tranquility expanding over your body. The slight tickle it causes helps ease your pounding migraine, little by little.

“Are my hands too cold?” he whispers, not trying to intrude, but at the same time, wanting to know. You twist, bottom lip jutting out. Not at all. Keep going. And he does. He ends up tangling your hair a bit, because as it turns out, he doesn’t remember much, but he’s sure to delicately fix his mess, brows drawn in with heavy concentration.

As soon as your hair is back to flowing free, he relaxes, wincing a bit at the pain in his knees. Your hair feels soft. Just what he would imagine a cloud would feel like. For a second, he begins to wonder, who’s this really for? He feels like this might be soothing him more than you.

Just then, his finger catches on a knot, and he freezes, stopping all movements. “Holy crap, I am so sorry, I—”

You let out a low whimper, but don’t do so much as bat an eye. You’re sound asleep. The brunette lets out a breath of relief, falling back to sit on the ground.

Your face is a bit squashed—and you’re drooling just a tad bit—but for some odd reason, he finds himself admiring. You’re full lips. You’re lashes. God, even the way you breathe. He feels a tender smile itching, but it never truly gets to see the light of day, because before he knows it, the door is swung wide open.

Anastasia stops dead in her tracks. “What happe—is she asleep?”

Oscar opens his mouth, then snaps it shut. He does this a couple of times, awkwardly turning to face you and his assistant, back and forth, back and forth. “She, um…just did. A minute ago.”

She pouts, scratching her head. “Weird. Usually when this happens it prolongs for at least ten minutes before it gets any better.” The green eyed girl sheepishly waves the group of paramedics away. A trail of sighs echo as they turn away. As soon as they’re gone, she gently shuts the door, then tippy toes towards the edge of the small bed. Neat brows furrow. “At least she’s feeling better, no?”

Brown eyes follow her gaze. “Yeah. At least.”

Lando ends up throwing—and according to him— “The World’s Coolest Jamboree”. You beg for him to call it anything but jamboree, but he’s too attached to it by the time he sends the last text invite, which so happens to be to the rookie driver.

“Has anyone RSVPed?” you question over his shoulder. He’s in the middle of mixing some mysterious liquid, but by the looks of it, doesn’t look any good. You grimace.

He lets out a bleh before dropping his utensils. “No one RSVPs these days. They either show up, or they don’t.”

A slow nod. “So, you don’t know who’s coming?”

“Not a clue. But most likely everyone.”

You scoff. “How are you so sure?”

He gives you an ‘are you kidding me?’ type glare before sending a sly grin. “First of all, it’s my party. They’d be crazy to miss out. And second of all…it’s only the biggest, funnest, coolest jamboree!”

“Funnest is not a word.”

“And party-poopers aren’t welcomed.” You gasp, smacking his chest harshly. He lets out a snicker, picking up a bag of ice and spilling it into the glass bowl. “But I’ll make an exception. Just this once.”

“Just this once,” you mimic before dipping your pinky in. He instantly slaps your hand away. Smacking your lips, you let out a yelp at the bitter taste. “This tastes like ass. God—not even Daniel will drink this, and that guy drinks anything in his way. I’m surprised he hasn’t been accidentally roofied.”

Lando claps his hands with amusement. “God forbid. And please, pay your respect to Lando’s Best Worst Decision.” A beat. “™.”

“™?” you deadpan. “What? Are you planning on adding a trademark to this sewage water?”

“It’s good, okay?” Mixing the clear liquid once more, he smiles fondly down at it. “And maybe. I’m seriously considering it.”

You sneer, already walking away.

He ends up being right. Not even an hour later, the party is in full swing. Sure, a couple drivers aren’t able to make it, but it’s still jammed packed. It's honestly a miracle to get through the Monaco flat.

You’re still sober?

Laughing, you nod, raising your water up in the air like some toast. Daniel frowns. “Considering I have to make sure my number one client doesn’t make any bad choices tonight, then nope. Can’t have a sip of alcohol.”

Brown eyes flutter slowly. “I’m sure there’s other beverage choices. Have you tried Lando’s Best Worst Decision?” He leans in, winking. “™.”

“Oh no. Don’t tell me you actually like it?” He shrugs and you shudder in disgust. “I’m sure I saw him add ten energy shots and God knows what else.”

“No wonder I feel kinda funky.” Your face drops. “Hey, if you pass out, can I crash tonight?”

“Daniel!” you groan, covering your face. “I swear, I’m going to spill that stupid drin—” Only, Daniel is gone. Craning your head, you circle the room. From where you stand, you’re able to see Carlos and Lando taking part in a heated round of pool, all while Charles sways back and forth, infamous red cup in hand.

Marching over to the kitchen island, you pick up the glass bowl and carry it over to the sink before tipping it over. You huff, hair fanning across your nose.

“Stupid, stupid boys—”

“Hey.”

You shriek, dropping the bowl, and wincing at the sound of glass shattering.

Oscar grimaces. “Shit. Sorry. Are you hurt?”

“No.” You sigh. “Lando’s gonna kill me.”

Grabbing the nearby broom, the Australian sweeps carefully while knitting his brows. “Why?”

“It’s a family heirloom.”

“A glass bowl?”

You giggle. “I wonder why too.”

Despite the blaring music, and constant chattering, the room feels rather silent. You fiddle with the hem of your dress, and that seems to catch his eye as it dawns on him that he hasn’t really seen you in anything other than your usual uniform. To be fair, you could say the same. He likes it.

You clear your throat. “Halfway done. How do you feel?”

He sips on his water, jaw clicking before settling with a sharp tsk. “Good. I think I’m finally getting the hang of it. Anastasia even congratulated me the other day when I diverted a series of questions with ease.”

Impressed, you raise your brows. “Bravo. Wish that was the case with Lando. I swear, sometimes I think he does and says things to make me look bad on purpose.”

“He should stop,” he says with a goofy smile. “Does he not know how lucky he is to get to call you his assistant?”

You blush. “Best friend, actually. I’ve been promoted ever since I pretended to be his girlfriend last New Year's Eve.”

The brunette inches forward with curiosity. “Wish to clarify?”

You hop onto the island, fixing your dress and crossing your legs. “Don’t tell him that I told you any of this, but I secretly think he was embarrassed of not having a midnight’s kiss. Especially since his ex was there with her new boyfriend. Talk about the unexpected.”

His chest tightens. “You two, um…kissed, then?”

“Yes,” you confirm with a childlike grin, and for some reason, it makes him want to puke. “Oh God, I haven’t thought about this in forever!”

He pretends to find interest in the crowded room, but really, it all remains on you. “Was it any good?”

You blush this time and he swears he’s close to walking away. “Yes and no. I mean, it wasn’t bad, but it just didn’t feel right.”

He perks up then, floppy hair bouncing at the sudden speed. “Really?” He coughs, then fixes his watch, training his eyes towards the floor. “Erm, I mean, is that so?”

A nose scrunch. “It felt like kissing someone you’re not supposed to. Which I suppose is true. We’re better off as friends.” He relaxes. “Thinking about it, we might’ve gagged each other's mouths.” You grimace. “If that doesn't show our discomfort, then I don’t know what will.”

“Good to know.” Oscar rubs his arm, up and down, then steps closer to you. You blink. “Hey, I was meaning to ask—”

Strippers? I didn’t order any strippers.

Hire, a male voice interjects. He means to say he didn’t—hire—any strippers.

“Son of a…” You wince apologetically, to which he shrugs. Don’t worry. Go. Biting your lip, you nod, rushing to the living room, where Lando, Daniel, and a bunch of other randoms circle the almost nude girls with long legs.

“I mean, I won’t turn you away, ladies,” the Brit mumbled, already wrapping his arms around their waists. They all giggle, inching closer until he’s a blushing mess.

You snap your fingers, pointing towards the exit. “All of you need to leave.”

Is that your sister? the one with a cowboy hat whispers into his ear. He quickly shakes his head, narrowing his eyes at you like a deadly weapon.

“No. That’s his girlfriend,” Daniel yodels, face pressed up against the couch, admiring the group of girls. “But they’re in an open relationship.”

“I’m not his girlfriend—”

“She’s not my girlfriend—”

Oscar’s jaw clenches, eyes focused on the entire commotion. The older Australian rolls his eyes. “Right. We don’t talk about it.”

“Would you stop trying to help?” you shoot back, sarcastically, and clap your hands as if you’re rounding up a new high school cheer. “I need you all out. You want money? Fine. He’ll give you money,” you declare, signaling towards Lando.

“Hey,” he groans, instantly letting go and stepping closer to you. “They haven’t even done anything to earn it….”

Your eye twitches. “I swear to God—”

“Deal,” the redhead shoots out. “But we need a moment to come to an agreement. You know? On how much we want to ask for.”

“Perfect,” you chirp, rolling your heels. “Take out your wallet, Big Boy.”

“You used to be fun.”

“And you used to be terrified over a pair of tits when I first met you. Whatever happened?” Lando blushes profoundly before pushing you away. “Want them gone, Lando, gone!”

“Yes! Jesus Christ—let me deal with this.”

“I’m done,” you promise with your hands raised up in surrender. “But just remember what happened last time.” He frowns, cocking his head to the side. You wiggle your brows. “São Paulo.”

Color drains his face before letting out an unhinged laugh and motioning you away. You giggle, heading back to where Oscar stands.

“I see what you mean,” he announces. What? “How he can have a bit of a headache.”

“See! I told you! Four years of this!” A dramatic yawn. “I’m tired.”

A string of boo’s follow once the strippers prance out the door, waving all their money in the air. Specifically Daniel, who genuinely looks upset to see them go. Oscar leans down against the counter, the proximity between you becoming smaller. “You should get some rest, then.” But he selfishly doesn’t mean it. He wants you to stay—to keep talking to him.

You let out a snort, grabbing your sides. “I mean, I'm tired of being Lando’s assistant. It’s a full time job, y’know?”

“Oh.” He stands up straight again. “Right. Of course.”

You purse your lips, looking down to your shoes. “But that was actually quite thoughtful.”

She thinks I’m thoughtful, he internally swoons because that must be a good sign, right? Not everyone is thoughtful, but he is, and that must count for something. Gathering all the strength he has left—which is not much considering you blink up at him like some angel—he licks his pink lips. “Back to what I was going to say earlier before you left—”

“I wasn’t trying to step on him! I already said I was sorry!” you hear a familiar voice, instantly turning to find Anastasia kicking Daniel’s face back into place, well, since he now lays asleep on the floor. You curse beneath your breath, jumping off the island once again.

“His head did a complete 360!” Yuki accuses, clearly panicked. “That's not normal, is it?”

“No, it is,” Pierre replies with a bored tone. “I’ve seen it happen before.”

Crouching down next to the curly haired driver, you jab his cheek before motioning Oscar and Anastasia closer. “Help me carry him to the guest room,” you instruct, already taking off your cardigan.

The black haired girl is quick on her feet, grabbing the Australians right leg as you grab the left. Oscar, however, swallows hard at the amount of cleavage you’re suddenly displaying, but instantly snaps out of it when both you and Anastasia blink back at him. He picks up the Alpha Tauri driver’s upper body before puffing.

You blush bright pink at the sight of his muscles pulsing against his t-shirt. “I-It’s just around the corner.”

As soon as you make it into the room, you three carefully place Daniel onto the bed, to which he squirms before flipping over and snoring away. You motion a finger over your lips before pushing them both out. Gently closing the door behind you,you let out a breath of relief.

Anastasia lets out a whistle. “Surprisingly not that heavy.”

Oscar scoffs. “Easy for you to say. I had to carry most of his weight.”

She shrugs, hugging you hello and apologizing for being so late, and you’re quick to reassure her that it’s fine, though she missed the chance to see strippers give Lando a tough time. She sneers. “I didn’t even know there existed strippers in Monaco.” And then she’s off, clapping loudly at the sight of Lando giving out a round of jello shots. You sigh, rubbing your temples.

“I-I’m sorry. What were you going to say?”

He freezes. “Oh. Just that—” He panics. “Only that I like your shoes!”

You blink, deflating from within. But you try to cover it up with a soft smile. “Thanks, I guess?” Orbs flicker down toward your white Sambas. “Lando says they are overrated, but I like ‘em.”

He nods. “Yeah. I like them too.”

It happens one Friday afternoon—the decision.

You’re in between races, you’re in between headaches, and you’re ready to self-implode. So, before any of that happens, you make your first decision. To go on a walk.

It’s getting rather chilly these days, something you love, but also hate. You love it because there is a certain coziness that comes along with it, but you also hate it because you can’t always be cozy, so you’re left shivering. Much like now. But to be fair, this was your own choosing.

The pounding that takes over your head lessens the longer you stroll, the longer you breathe actual fresh air. You don’t really think much, you mainly remain blank, but the sound of tires screeching rips you away. Squinting hard, you catch a glimpse of a lady with grocery bags flipping off the fellow driver, who shares nothing but an apologetic smile before driving off.

“What happened? Do I have something on my face?”

Dusting your nose, then your cheek, you blush faintly. You instantly assume it’s the powdered donuts fault—the one you had gobbled up in a hurry during the drive back to the paddock. It was an early morning, and no one really made it on time when it came to early days, but you always did. And so did Oscar. So, a sleepy Zak gave you a wad of cash, and sent you two to the nearest donut shop.

The Australian shakes his head, blinking straight ahead. “N-no, I was just checking my blind spot.”

That only makes you blush harder because in what crazy world would he be looking at you?

A single nod. The car is quiet apart from the sound of his hands moving against the steering wheel, and the sound of the blinker clicking. It’s gloomy, too. You clear your throat. “I love it when it rains.” He hums, calmly, encouraging you to continue. “It just makes me happy.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm.” You purse your lips. “I sort of wish I were home. That way I can snuggle near the window and fall asleep to the sound of light drizzle.”

The brunette quirks a brow towards the road. “That sounds nice. Like…really nice.” A pause. “Why can’t you do that here, though?”

Here—here means where you are right now. Here means this place that’s not home. Here is not close to being enough, but he doesn’t figure that one out. You blink, dragging your finger along the pink box sitting on your lap. “Trust me, I’ve tried.” A small shrug. “But it’s just not the same, y’know? There’s always something missing.”

He doesn’t waste a moment in asking. “What do you think that is?”

Taken aback by his inquiry, you let yourself surmise for a second or two before licking your lips. “Maybe a pup. To keep me company”

He semi-frowns, cocking his head to send you a deadpan expression. “A dog?”

Now it’s your turn to frown, sending him a glare. “What were you thinking?”

The red light lets him take focus on you. “Dunno. A boyfriend, maybe?”

You’re sure you’re nearly as tomato red as the light staring at you both. “What? You instantly just assume I don't have one already?”

He freezes. “Well, I, um…t-that’s not what I meant—”

“Look, I know I’m not a guys’ typical ‘dream girl’, but sheesh I’m not that unlovable. At least, I hope not, but now you’re making me second guess. I mean, your opinion must indicate everyone sees me as some sort of lonely widow.”

Oscar shakes his head, adamantly. “I don’t see you as such.” A slow pause. “A lonely widow, I mean. I find your words to not be all that true, really. You’re nice. You’re persevering, You’re beautiful. And you have a good heart.” The light translates back to green, and you’re freakishly thankful, that way he can’t see you burn up. “You could easily be anyone's dream. Whoever makes you think otherwise is a phony.”

It’s getting harder not to laugh—most likely out of skeptic shock—but you refrain. He’s simply being kind with you, but that doesn’t stop you from nearly going into cardiac arrest. His words should have been labeled with a warning.

“Guess this world is filled with lots of phonies.”

He scoffs. “There shouldn’t be. Not when it comes to a girl like you.”

Your breath catches. “Os—”

All of a sudden, the car comes to a harsh stop, sending you flying, but not the Australian, who remains sitting up straight. An older man flips him off before riding off on his bike. You both breath hard, turning to face each other.

“Are you okay?” he questions, voice laced with worry.

You nod, slightly dazed. “I, um—yeah. Are you?”

A nod. “I didn’t even see where he came from.”

A weak laugh finally erupts. “Blame it on the poor innocent man— clever.”

Brown eyes soften. They flicker from your orbs back to your pouty lips. He’s only checking if you’re okay, of course. You send him a reassuring bow and he releases a heavy breath.

“Guess I was too focused on my blind spot, once again.”

The next decision comes when you opt in to join your neighbor, Mr. Lennon, for a cup of tea after he finds you shivering. By that time, it’s raining hard, you're soaking wet, and it only makes sense to accept his kind offer.

“Mint. To hopefully push back any upcoming cold. God, what were you thinking?”

You let out a laugh. “Not much. That’s why I was aimlessly roaming.”

“What about now?”

You halt, mug raised up to your chapped lips. “What about now?”

He smiles, softly, mixing his own tea with a heavy spoon of honey. “Did the walk help? Were you able to get the wheels rolling?”

Now you giggle loudly. “That’s not very nice! The wheels are working just fine, thank you very much.”

The light scent of pine trees enter the room as soon as he stands up to open his window, the sound of soft rain singing to you as some much needed therapy. “So? What were you pondering about out there?”

“I wasn’t pondering.”

“Walking alone in the middle of a thunderstorm?” A sore laugh. “Been there. Done that. There’s always something on someone’s mind when that happens. Which isn’t often, or usual, so that must mean you’re really stuck up on something.”

“Or someone,” you mumble beneath your breath. His brows dart up, and you sheepishly settle the mug down. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me.”

You blink. You don’t really talk about him out loud. Not with Lando. Not with Anastasia. Not even with your own reflection. Everything has always remained with you. A place you knew to be safe because you made it safe. But Mr. Lennon’s eyes prove to you that he’s lived enough lives—enough scenarios—to maybe understand. Even just a fraction. He watches you visibly gulp. And he knows that look. The confusion, the yearning.

“I’m in love with this boy.”

He hums, leaning back against his wooden chair. “There’s always a boy.”

You look down. “He’s a friend of mine, which makes everything much worse because I can’t ruin that. But for the first time in all my years of living…” Round, glossy eyes stare back at him with a hopeless expression. “I really—really—want to.”

He’s attentive, he listens like some frozen statue, and maybe that’s what fuels your courage to continue speaking. “My entire life, I’ve had crushes, sure, but I’ve never loved someone. Not seriously. So, of course I’m caught off guard when I do feel that for someone who I’m not even in a relationship with.” A playful snort. “God, I feel so stupid.”

The silence that lingers is comforting. Your nerves flow away with the rain, and you feel at peace. Quietly, he clears his throat. “Can I tell you a story?”

A soft sigh. “I’m all ears.”

Gray brows furrow as if trying to recover a distant memory. “I once loved a boy, too.” Your eyes widen. Sure, you knew he was never married, never even had a kid, but you never thought of any reason as to why not. He nods, faintly. “Not many know, and not because I’m ashamed, not by any means…” A single beat. “But because real, sincere feelings are easier to ignore. Because who wants to deal with reality, right? Who wants to confess and be turned away like some dog at your door?”

Exactly, you think, nodding along. “Everyone is always going to be scared of something, but avoidant people like us are terrified about the what-ifs.” He sends a wink. “And I’m living proof that being that way won’t get you nowhere. And you'll realize sooner or later in life that you’d rather be nowhere with someone you love, than nowhere…” His eyes circle the nearly empty kitchen, despite living there for the past twenty years. “...all alone.”

Your chin wobbles. “You know you have me, right? I’m always next door.” A wet laugh follows. “Anyways, I might even join you in this lonely life, eh? Doesn’t sound half bad if I’m doing it with you.”

Tender eyes close slowly before blinking back at you. “No. I want you to be the complete opposite from me. Be different. Tell him how you feel. Even if it costs you a broken heart, tell him. Because I’m telling you right now that a broken heart is always better than the constant desire that will always follow you like the devil.”

A warm droplet rolls down your cheek as you sheepishly laugh, but he doesn’t judge. He never has. Instead, ever the true gentleman, he hands you his handkerchief. “Did you ever get the chance to tell him that you…”

His wrinkles imprint more vividly as he breathes out. “I did, but it didn’t really make the difference I had hoped for. He was already married to someone else.”

A loud sob escapes. “That’s not f-fair. You deserve to be happy with the man you love.”

“I do. But you know what?” You rub the tears away, eyes connecting. “I’ve made peace with the consequences of my own actions.”

By now the rain has died down, and so have you. With one last smile, Mr. Cleve gives your cold hand a soft squeeze.

“Learn from my mistakes, won’t you?”

That same night, as you cried over a bottle of wine, you made your third and final decision. And you would execute it all the next time you saw him, no matter the outcome.

But now that you spoke about it once to someone, you felt almost invincible. Which is why you called Lando.

You what?

A wince. “You can’t tell him, okay? I’m legitimately trusting you with this!” He opens his mouth, but you’re quick to signal him off. “Including Ana.”

“Wow. I thought she’d know.” You shrug because you don’t really have an explanation for not having had confided in her, but you know deep down that you’re not really into playing a game of Cupid, and that’s exactly what she'd turn this into. The Brit nods, sympathetically. “Alright. I won’t tell a single soul.”

“Thank you.”

“Are you going to tell him how you feel?”

His question comes out hesitant—like he’s afraid of scaring you away from the possibility—but it doesn’t. Instead, you nod, to which he’s extra surprised because you’ve never been the kind to. “That’s the main reason I told you any of this. Because I wanted to ask you if you knew if he has a girlfriend or not? Someone he’s trying to pursue? I’d hate to…intervene.”

Lando let’s put a soft smile, dimples imprinting neatly onto his face. “I mean, he’s particularly private—you know him—but I’ve never heard him mention having a girl. It doesn’t seem like he does. Go for it. What do you have to lose?”

“My dignity? A good friend?”

Silently, he grimaces because even he can see how much this all means to you—how much you’re scared. So, to boost up your confidence—which is something he definitely doesn’t lack—he flashes a loopy grin. “He probably likes you, anyways.”

You come to a fast halt. Suddenly, painting your nails isn’t your top priority. “Really? You think so?” He nods, and you can’t help but smile back. “What’d he say?”

“Well, as I already stated before, he keeps his things locked up pretty well. But I do recall one time…” He closes his eyes harshly. Then, he snaps his fingers loudly. “I believe in Hungary. He was on a high. And we shared a bottle of champagne to celebrate. So, he sort of let loose. Like insanely loose.”

“And?” you push, eagerly trying to get whatever he has stuck in his throat out of him. The green eyed boy snickers.

“He wasn’t very clear, but he did say he had a crush on a girl. Someone he really wanted to get to know. But that things were a little bit difficult.” You nod, urging him to continue. “I asked why, and he said it was because she had a good heart, or something of that sort? Good intentions? Can’t remember—and that he didn’t want to ruin it.”

Your breath hitches.

And you have a good heart. You could easily be anyone’s dream.

Ironically, you’re huddled in Lando’s flat once again when it happens. Well. Almost happens. It’s filled with a few McLaren members because he insisted on hosting a nice brunch. And it was. Nice, you mean.

“Pretty,” Anastasia says, sending a soft smack towards your ass. You yelp, swatting her hand away, and pulling your skirt downward. She snickers. “You should tie your hair up more often. Let’s everyone admire such an angel face.”

“Stop it,” you hiss, but can’t hide the pink flush. “But thank you.”

She grins, eyes crinkling. Black hair sways as she moves to the beat of the music, nursing her drink. “Nice to have a break…”

“Definitely.”

At some point, she slithers away, leaving you all alone on the balcony. Which was quite lonesome until he came along. Oscar scrunched his nose, meekly. “Sorry.”

“It’s alright. Don’t own this place, do I?”

He lets off a raw chuckle. Deeper than when you first met him, and you come to the realization that a lot about him has changed. His hair is longer, his neck is thicker, and his shoulders are wider. But his smile and eyes remain the same. Boyish.

“Thinking?”

You sigh, admiring the ocean set out right in front of you. “Thinking, yes. A lot these days.”

And if he’s patient enough, he’d notice the way your hands shake. Tiny vibrates, but still.. He’d notice the way you bite down on your lip, brushing it along the way. He’d notice the way you blink feverishly, like even the wind hurts.

And he is. He is a patient person. So, he does notice.

“Do you know what song this is?”

Brows furrow, deep in thought. And he’s quick to note that the ticks you had are coming to an easy halt. Mentally, though, you’re cursing yourself out because you do know. You do know the song that flows nicely into your ears, but simply having him next to you is what’s making you forget. How dare me have that kind of power over you?

“I know it,” you start. “But I can’t seem to remember right now...”

The brunette gently nods his head along to the beat. His eyes close, and his hair delicately tussles, and suddenly he’s the only thing you see. “Sex,” he says. You blush, ripping your gaze away before he catches you in the act. Oscar laughs. “It’s Sex by The 1975. How could I forget?”

“Oh yeah.”

The guitar screeches when the volume somehow gets louder, despite not being inside. “Would have killed me not to get it right. My sister listens to it all the time.”

Plump lips pressed together. “You have a sister?” But you know the answer to that question, of course you do. You’re a girl. You’ve done your research, even when you pinched yourself not to.

He nods. “Three, actually. Talk about a headache, am I right?”

And it’s almost nostalgic—your laugh. Like it might be one he heard in his past life, but in his current one, can't remember. But it’s okay if he doesn’t because at least he knows he can learn it. And he has.

“You look really pretty when you laugh that way. Insanely so.”

You can’t seem to register his words. The way they come off as soft and ginger as they could possibly get. As if he really means it. And for the first time since your first interaction with him almost two years ago—you sort of believe he might.

“You’re just saying that?” you question as some test, does eyes challenging him into finally spitting out the truth. The same truth you carry. He shakes his head, taking a step closer.

“I mean it.”

Like a sudden magnet, you two are hesitantly connecting closer and closer together before either of you could stop it. Not that either of you would. The Australian towers over you, almost caging you like some endangered species he’s afraid of slipping away and going extinct.

You swallow, lashes fluttering, and he smiles at the sight—melts. You’ve always been reserved. Quiet. Shy. And so has he, so he can’t really judge you, but he’s willing to be different—just once in his life—to get what he’s been wanting for a long time now.

His eyes follow your lips. Admires how plump they are. How they’re the perfect shade of pink. So, when he leans in and you don’t pull away? He thinks he might explode with the need to kiss you. One time. If he’s lucky, just—once.

“You’ve always been my dre—”

“There you two are!” Anastasia cheers, zigzagging to you both as an apologetic Lando follows right after. By now, Oscar has jumped far away from you, and you’re left feeling empty and lost, blinking at an alarming rate. “We’ve been looking all over!” A hiccup. “What were you doing?” Your lips remain open but Oscar is the first to let out an awkward cough.

“We were just talking about…logistics!” He turns to you, sparing you a pleading look. “W-weren’t we?”

You finally come to, nodding slowly, eyes buzzing between the two McLaren drivers and your best friend, who wobbles from left to right. “Yeah, I….we—logistics, and whatnot.” A beat. “Doesn’t matter.”

He flinches, avoiding your doleful stare. Oscar forces such a bright smile—the kind that can’t go unnoticed by even the biggest idiot on earth—and nods in agreement. “She’s right. It doesn’t matter.”

Lando analyzes you, then his teammate, and wishes he had done more to keep Anastasia from barging in. But really, was this some sign? Maybe you were some delusional little girl who truly believed she had a chance with the boy next door. The one everyone wants, but only one will get to have.

And let’s face it.

It was never going to be you.

You’d make an excellent detective in your next life, you’re sure of it. But for now, you’re just some brokenhearted assistant who mourns the death of her what-ifs. Someone who is really good at picking up on clues.

It’s right before Christmas—right before Anastasia’s birthday party—and you’re curling your hair quite poorly. You daze off every now and then, you apply mascara almost zombie-like, and you’re dreading even showing up. Have you been avoiding him? Yes. Yes, you have. Have you been good at it? Only the best, if we’re being truthful here. And were you ready to face him without feeling the need to bolt?

Nope. Not in this lifetime nor the next.

But still, you force yourself to finish getting ready because this isn’t about you. This isn’t about him. It’s about being there for your friend.

Mindlessly, on the drive there, pouting in the back of the yellow cab, you click onto Instagram and the first thing you do is smile at the birthday post Anastasia had posted not even five minutes ago. You scroll, smile wider, and then come to a harsh pause. The kind that makes your throat close up. The kind that makes you stop breathing.

The kind that lets you know—

You’ve lost.

His arms are tied around her waist, his head his nuzzles between her neck, but you can still tell it’s him. His hazel hair can’t go unnoticed. Maybe to someone else, but not you.

Then, as if all odds are against you, your feed refreshes and you’re left far more dumbfounded.

She appears in most of his pictures because why not? It’s his girlfriend's birthday, it goes as expected. Museum dates. Pictures of them with each other's families. And you feel greedy like never before because—why couldn't that be you?

Venmo or cash? You look up, making eye contact with your taxi driver who looks as tired as you are. You press your lips together into a fine line. Digging into your purse, you grab all that you have and jump out of the cab.

It’s chilly out and the lights are beautifully hung, but it doesn’t do you any good. You just want to go home. Curl up in bed and die. Dig a hole—self-suffocate—who cares. And you’re ready to turn around, go back and apologize to Mr. Lennon for not doing better. You really thought you had it in you, but it just wasn’t enough.

But then, the door swings open and Pierre curls a brow. Kika waves from behind “He thought you were some serial killer. He’s been watching too much Dateline.” The brunette scurries over, throwing her arms around you and takes a step back. “Come in before you freeze to death.”

But even that didn’t sound too bad. You sheepishly thank her, following the couple back in. A string of jazz cradles the warm lit living room and the scent of apple pie makes you inhale sharply. A giggle stirs up behind you. Anastasia grins.

“You’re here!”

All of a sudden, you hate her smile. You hate her laugh. You hate her entirely. But you also don’t. You can’t hate her smile. You can’t hate her laugh. You can’t hate her entirely. Because even though you feel like she owes you loyalty, that’s not really true. She had zero idea about your feelings towards Oscar and she won. Fair and square. That doesn’t mean you had to like it.

“Happy birthday, Annie.” Hugging her, you giggle against her ear when she jumps up and down, nearly knocking you two over. “For you. From me.”

She wiggles her neat brows, green eyes buzzing with suspicion. “Is it a vibrator again?”

You blush. “No. Even better.”

“Wow! Even better?” She rips the small bag open, eyes widened double in their size. “Oh my God, you got me the Mary Jane’s I wanted?”

“Well, you kept bugging me, and so I thought—”

“D'accord, je comprends. I love them, thank you.” Grabbing your wrist, she tugged you into the empty hallway, and you can already feel her buzzing with excitement. Your stomach churns. “I wanted to tell you as soon as he asked me out—I really did—but he insisted on keeping it between us two for a while, and I told him no, I had to tell you, but then I understood that maybe it was for the best, and I’ve always liked him—”

Every word makes you feel smaller and smaller because the light in her eyes gives it all away. She, too—much like you—is in love with Oscar Piastri. You shake your head, sharing a light laugh. “I totally get it. There’s no need to explain.”

The green eyed girl visibly relaxes, shoulders rolling back. “I knew you’d understand. Oscar was right—you have a good heart.”

Ana, Yuki just spilled wine on your coach, Daniel rattles from the other side of the room, pointing accusingly towards his teammate who rubs the cushion with his Dior sweatshirt. She sighs. Be right back!

At that moment, you don’t care if you wind up with a deadly case of hypothermia, you simply walk out of the warm house.

“What are you doing? You’re going to get sick.”

Screwing your eyes shut seems to be the only answer to help your mending heart into not breaking completely. And fuck him—fuck him for sounding so goddamn caring.

You turn with a soft smile, shrugging nonchalantly. “Won’t really make a difference, I already feel sick.” You cough for emphasis. “See?” Oscar rolls his eyes, ignoring the poor excuse, and hands you his puffer jacket. You shake your head. Take it. “No.” He frowns. Why not? Rocks crunch with every step he takes. “It wouldn’t be right.”

“What? Borrowing a jacket from a friend?”

“Borrowing my best friend's boyfriend’s jacket.”

His stomach drops, rolling with a wave of anxiety as he tries to not show his uncomfort. “She told you?”

Your teeth grind harder. “That, and you both posted about a thousand pictures together. Wasn’t that difficult to understand what was going on.” A sore laugh. “I’m happy for you two, though. Really. I am.”

“You are?”

Sending a nasty glare that you tried to keep in for the life in you, you turn over to face him, nose rosy. “Yes. Over the fucking moon.”

He flinches. “Listen, about that day at Lando’s house. I-I-I was caught up in the moment. I shouldn’t have said what I said, o-or tried to kiss you—”

“You’re a phony, you know that, right?”

Another flinch. “I’m trying to apologize to you. I’m sorry. I feel bad, okay?”

Tears well up inside your eyes. Somewhere deep inside your chest, you feel a harsh sting, and still that doesn’t compare to his pity. You let out a scoff, crossing your arms. “You feel bad, for what? For messing with my emotions, or for getting with my best friend?” You poke his chest hard, but he remains as still as a brick wall, a pained expression mapped out. “Which one is it?”

“For all of it!” He grabs your face, making you freeze under his fire-like touch. “I loved you—God—I loved every inch of you. Your humor, your heart, your jokes that never land, the awkward giggles that follow afterward—everything. There was not a single thing you could do that could have pushed me away.”

“Then what happened?” you whisper, eyes tracing his pink lips, trying to enjoy his hands. They’re calloused, sure, but they’re by far the closest thing you’ve had, so nothing else matters. His breath hitches, soft eyes looking down at you in complete defeat. You grimace. “Why was I not enough for you to try?”

His hands drop. Brown locks shakes as he rubs his eyes, like this is all some part of a fever dream. Maybe it was. The Australian frowns. “I could ask you the same thing.”

It’s a slap in the face, and it burns like never before because you know he’s right. “I wanted to tell you!” A shaky breath. “I was going to tell you.”

Leaves rustle. “You were?”

“Yes,” you confess, nodding adamantly. “That day at Lando’s place—I wanted to tell you.”

The McLaren driver bites his tongue hard, blinking rapidly. “W-what would you have said?”

“That I loved you too.”

He can’t hide his pain just by hearing those words. He scrunches his nose. He nods robotically. And he keeps his eyes trained towards the ground, like he’s in the middle of solving a puzzle.

“I really did like you. From the moment we met.” Finally, he looks up, round eyes searching for any sign of intimacy. If there’s any left—any you still save for him. “Do you remember the day we first met?”

“A little bit. Yeah.”

A second ticks by. “I do. Remember it all, I mean. Think back to it quite often.” He lets out a boyish grin, crinkles forming, making your heart flutter. “You took my breath away.”

And as if humanly possible, despite the icy air, your cheekbones flush harder as you bite back a giddy smile. “You barely even noticed me—”

“You wore a white ribbon. Hair half up, half down. Denim overalls with your initials sewn onto them. Emerald earrings.” You blink, clearly taken aback by his polished memory. His eyes soften. “I’ll always notice you.”

Anastasia pecks the Australians cheek, giggling after each one. Oscar smiles, letting out a sheepish laugh. From the corner, seated next to Lando, you sigh sadly. The Brit bumps his shoulder up against yours. What’s wrong? But you must not have heard him, or you ignore him, but he, too, has eyes.

“I swear I didn’t know a thing about them,” he whispers. “If I had, I would have warned you, you know that—”

“Lando,” you cut him off, voice weak and mellow. “It’s okay, it’s not your fault.”

He frowns. “I know that, but—”

“It’s not your fault,” you repeat, this time more firm. He swallows, nodding hesitantly. With a soft laugh, you poke his ribs and he’s quick to let out a yelp. “Just want to forget, you know?”

Lando hums. “Understood.”

Anastasia clinks her spoon against her mug. The one you each painted differently in that one pottery class years ago. She grins. “I’m so glad all of you could make it, really, it means a lot.” Her eyes crinkle sweetly towards Oscar who traces shapes down her back. She blushes for him—the same way you do. “I feel like…I finally have everything I ever wanted.”

A string of oohh's echo the room, whistles ringing. She laughs, head falling back, and he lets out a single chuckle, rosy cheeks making everyone grow louder. Meanwhile, you stay silent, focusing on Lando’s shoes. The Brit winces, rubbing your shoulder awkwardly.

Daniel yodels, raising his beer. “Well, in that case, I feel like I do too!” He hiccups, making Pierre and Yuki snicker. “A hot girlfriend, good ‘ol friends, and a nice pair of abs.”

“They are nice,” Lily mumbles, earning her a soft smack from Alex who rolls his eyes.

Carlos cackles. “Me next—um, okay. A good team, my girlfriend, and…and—my hair.”

“Narcissist,” Lando whispers, trying to get a good laugh out of you. And it works. You giggle, muffling the sound with the back of your hand. Oscar perks up, orbs floating over to where you and the Brit whisper to one another, smiles only growing wider. His jaw clenches. Either way, you tune out all the constant chatter after hearing how Pierre was grateful for having a massive cock.

“I really hope nothing changes between us.”

You laugh. “I think it might be a bit too late for that.”

The Australian scratches his shoes against the wet pavement. He agrees. He won’t admit it, but he agrees. Everything has changed. Timidly, he glances over at you, biting the inside of his cheek. His gaze burns—just like always—and you turn to face him.

By now your tears have dried, but your heartbreak still continues. Something deep inside tells you that it’ll continue for as long as you live. You despise yourself for letting any of this get out of hand. For letting your fear of rejection play a big part in losing him. He smiles.

“I love you, okay?”

You smile. “I love you, too.”

Your voice sounds sweet—just like honey. And if it’s a lie, just to make him feel better, then he’s a grateful bloke. He might not have your heart—not completely—and he might not have your hand in his, but he’s fine with that. Because he’s heard all he’s needed to hear. And he can live at peace.

Oscar grins, leaning down to kiss your cheek. It’s tender, just the way you pictured it. You smell like flowers, just like he had dreamt. He pulls away. “You can always talk to me. Whenever. I’ll always be there for you.”

“Thank you. But I won’t bother you too much.” His brows furrow, mouth opening to protest before you wave him off with a tired smile. “Don’t want to vent to you about…well—you.”

“What about you?” Anastasia squeals, making your jump in place.

“What about me?”

She rolls her eyes, theatrically. Oscar remains as still as a statue, enjoying the moment to admire you without having to explain why—all eyes were on you, after all. “Have you ever gotten everything you ever wanted?”

Wistfully, your eyes look up, connecting with the ones you know so well. You admire his boyish features one last time before looking down onto your lap and then focusing on Anastasia.

“No. But I once got very close.”

taglist: @blueflorals @starmanv @coolio2195 @lovrsm @weekendlusting@chanshintien @brune77e @myownwritings @timmychalametsstuff @milasexutoire@alesainz @c-losur3 @darleneslane @togazzo @urfavnoirette @namgification @lpab @d3kstar @anniee-mr @nebarious @notkaryna

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amirasainz · 14 hours

Note

Can you please do driver reader is literally the absolute Angel of the paddock and everyone adores her, she’s the cutest sweetest little bean that you can’t help but love, she’s a Redbull driver and Christian always fawns over her and talks about his ‘daughter’ ( it’s clear she’s the favourite ). Even the older drivers love her e.g kimi, jenson, Seb, mark. Platonic pleaseeee

Omg, that is such a sweet idea. I did the format a bit differently, hope you don't mind.

Enjoy reading and send me some requests!!!

-XoXo

The Redbull Princess

YN YLN was a known name in the motor sport world. Not only was she the youngest driver currently on the grid - only 19 years - but she is the first female to ever drive for RedBull. Not oy that, but also the only woman on the grid.

Despite having a different gender, the other drivers never treated her bad. In fact, one could say that YN got the whole "Princess Treatment" from the drivers and teams. Each driver has taken a special place in her life.

Exhibit A: The protective one

The paddock was buzzing with energy, reporters swarming like bees near the Red Bull garage. YN was prepping for her media rounds, already feeling the weight of the spotlight on her. As she stepped into the press pen, a group of journalists immediately approached, firing off questions.

"YN, how do you feel about the pressure of being the youngest driver? Do you think it affects your performance?"

Before she could answer, Max appeared out of nowhere, slipping between her and the reporters with a grin that was anything but friendly. "I think that's enough for now," Max said, his blue eyes narrowing. "She’s got a race to focus on. Back off."

The reporters, visibly intimidated by the reigning World Champion, quickly shuffled away. YN let out a breath of relief, nudging Max with her elbow.

"You know, I can handle them."

Max chuckled, wrapping an arm around her shoulder, steering her away from the crowd. "Yeah, but why would I let them bother you when I can have fun scaring them off?"

"You're impossible," she laughed. "But thanks."

Exhibit B: The gossip King

YN walked into the Ferrari garage, still buzzing from practice. She found Charles leaning against his car, drinking water. His face lit up when he saw her.

"Charlie! Did you see that move I pulled in turn 9?" she said, excitedly plopping down next to him.

Charles grinned, instantly slipping into gossip mode. "I did! Smooth as butter. But did you hear about Fernando's radio message? He was furious about the tire degradation. Drama!"

YN's eyes widened. "No way! Spill all the tea, Leclerc."

Charles leaned in, whispering. "Apparently, his engineer told him to manage his tires better, and Nando snapped, saying, ‘I am managing them!’" He mimicked Fernando’s accent, making YN burst into laughter.

Exhibit C: The helping hand

The young RedBull driver just exited her car, when she felt someone grabbing her Birking Bag. When she quickly turned her head, she was meat with the sight of Carlos not only caring her bag in his hands and her coat on his arm, but carring his own stuff as well.

"Carlito, what are you doing? You don’t have to carry all my stuff for me." she told him, after they started walking towards the entrance.

Carlos mate an irritated sound, before responding to her. "Nonsense, hermana. Your job is to win this weekend. So let me help you with all the other things, comprende?"

Before Carlos could get an answer, she threw her arms around him, whispering a small thank you in his ear.

Exhibit D: The personal chef

YN sat in the Red Bull hospitality area, poking at her plate of food with a discontented look. Yuki walked over, noticing her lack of enthusiasm.

"Not good enough for you, huh?" Yuki teased, sliding into the seat across from her.

YN scrunched up her nose. "I don’t know what it is, but I just can’t eat this."

Without missing a beat, Yuki stood up. "I’ll make you something. What do you want?"

Her eyes brightened. "Yuki, really? You don’t have to!"

He waved a hand dismissively. "Nah, you’re picky. I know that. What do you want? Miso soup? Onigiri?"

YN tapped her chin thoughtfully. "Onigiri sounds perfect."

Within minutes, Yuki was back, placing a plate of freshly made onigiri in front of her. YN took a bite and sighed contentedly. "You're the best, Yuki."

He grinned. "I know."

Exhibit E: The "annoying" prankster

YN was busy trying to make sure her helmet and gear were ready when suddenly, her entire backpack fell off the counter with a loud thud, spilling everything.

"Lando!" she yelled, spinning around, catching the British driver grinning like a mischievous child.

"What?" Lando said, feigning innocence, hands up. "It slipped."

YN gave him a look but couldn’t help the smile creeping on her face. Lando always knew how to lift her spirits, even if it was through relentless pranks.

"One day, Norris, one day!" she warned, pointing a finger at him.

"I’ll be waiting," Lando chuckled, before helping her pick up her things

Exhibit F: The shoulder to cry on

"I just can't believe it. I was so close. How did I manage to bin the car into the wall on the last corner" muttered the 19 year old. Her face pressed in Oscars neck, who was busy stroking her hair. He knew better than to interrupt her during her rant. Knowing it would help her when she got everything of her chest.

After a moment, she shakily breathed out. Oscar knew that the only thing he could do now was to let her fall apart while he would catch every piece of her.

And that's what he did. While she cried her heart out, Oscar held her close to him, rocking them slowly in a soothing matter. It felt like nothing could happen to her in Oscars arms. He would protect her from the outside world as long as she needed

Sometimes actions speak louder than words

Exhabit G: The fashionista

Lewis stood beside YN, eyeing her racing suit critically before smirking. "That’s not gonna work."

"What do you mean?" she asked, confused.

He pointed at her boots. "Those shoes? No way. They don’t match the rest of the suit."

YN raised an eyebrow. "I'm not trying to walk the runway, Lewis. I’m racing."

Lewis rolled his eyes. "You can do both. Come on, let’s get you a new pair of shoes. You’ll thank me later."

And true to his words, YN received a new pair of racing shoes only a few hours later. They certainly looked better than her old pair.

Exhibit H: The mother-hen

George was hovering near the buffet in the paddock, watching YN closely as she piled food onto her plate. He narrowed his eyes as she bypassed the salad section.

"YN, you need to eat more greens. And have you had any water today?" George asked, his tone dangerously close to motherly.

YN groaned. "George, I’m fine. I had water this morning."

"That’s not enough," he replied sternly, filling a glass and handing it to her. "Drink. Now."

She pouted but took the glass. "Okay, Mom."

Exhibit I: The proud dad

During a press conference, Christian Horner stood beside YN, smiling at the reporters. "You all know my daughter here is the star of the show," he said, gesturing towards YN.

YN blushed at the comment. "Christian!"

The reporters laughed, but YN knew Christian wasn’t entirely joking. He had taken her under his wing from day one, treating her like family. And she couldn’t have been more grateful.

Exhibit J: Bwoah

In a rare quiet moment, YN had somehow convinced Kimi Räikkönen — the Iceman himself — to do a TikTok trend with her. As the camera rolled, Kimi deadpanned his way through the trend, barely moving but somehow nailing it.

"Thanks for doing this, Kimi," YN said, grinning as they finished.

Kimi shrugged. "Bwoah, don’t mention it, kid. But don’t tell the other drivers that you are my favourite"

YN laughed. "Deal."

#formula 1 #formula 1 x reader #max verstappen x reader #charles leclerc x reader #carlos sainz x reader #yuki tsunoda x reader #lando norris x reader #oscar piastri x reader #lewis hamilton x reader #george russell x reader #christian horner x reader #kimi raikkonen x reader #redbull!reader #driver!reader

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desperate-gay · 2 days

Text

Actions Have Consequences

Ingrid Engen x fem!reader

SMUT +18 (kinda)

a/n: honestly i was too lazy to write full smut and i don’t really like this but i wanted to finally update soo

“Ingrid, please, I didn’t know he was flirting with me.” You plead as you both walk through the front door of your apartment.

“Right, like you didn’t giggle or bat your eyelashes at the scumbag either.” The girl scoffs, slamming her purse onto the counter before making her way over and onto the couch.

You watch as your girlfriend rests her hands over her face with a loud sigh, showing her displeasure with your so-called actions. You truly didn’t flirt with the man. He was a sweet guy just wanting a good conversation to unwind after his job. Besides, it was only a quick chat. It’s not like you were fully engaging, he was just by the bar while you grabbed the drinks for you and Ingrid, so you began to have a bit of small talk with eventually caught the eye of your girlfriend.

The norwegian hasn’t bothered changing, instead, she remains on the couch with her black jumpsuit, an outfit you really admire on her. You nervously pick at your nails while slowly making your way over to your girlfriend.

“Please look at me.”

Her green eyes remain glaring at the black television in front of her, directly behind you. You decide to take a seat next to her and repeat your request. When she continues staring away, your soft hand gently touches the skin of her cheek and turns her attention towards you.

“It’s not at all what you think.” You say gently, trying to be careful with your words.

“Yeah right.” She scoffs, moving her head out of your hand to look the opposite way.

Sighing, you stand up but instead of leaving, you straddle her lap and place your arms on her shoulders. Although that still doesn’t get her attention, you begin to place soft kisses on the pale skin of her neck.

“I can make it up to you.” You suggest, continuing your trail of kisses on top of letting your right hand drift down between her thighs.

Ingrid’s hand quickly snatches your wrist from moving any further while her gaze is finally on you. You move out of her neck, stopping your previous actions, and lock eyes with her fiery gaze.

“If you want to make it up to me so bad, let me treat you and show you how much of a filthy slut you really are.” The brunette rasps, yanking your wrist toward her which makes your whole body follow suit.

Her free hand latches behind your neck, forcing your lips to crash into hers in a demanding kiss. You gasp against her mouth in surprise but quickly melt at her rough demeanor. The norwegian pulls back, moving her hand onto your throat, gripping it with a certain tightness you like.

“Lay down.”

Although you heard her, you sit there like a deer in headlights, causing her to stand up with you wrapped around her and toss you onto the couch.

“When I tell you to do something, you listen. Got it?” Ingrid asks in a stern yet warning tone.

When you nod your head, Ingrid hovers over you with her knee between your legs, just barely touching where you need her most. Her hair curtains around your face while she stares at you, running through ideas of what to do to you. Feeling her breath fan across your face makes you lean up to try to kiss the brunette, but the girl pulls back, preventing your lips from touching.

“I’m going to teach you that you are mine and only mine.” Ingrid trails the tips of her fingers from your hair, down to your cheek, and onto your lips. Her middle and index fingers begin to dig in between your lips, signaling you to do what she wants you to.

You obediently open your mouth wide, allowing her two digits to sink deep into your throat while your tongue swirls them and your head bobs up and down. Your eyes remain on the green ones above you as you continue your sensual movements, hallowing your cheeks to tighten around her digits.

After a few minutes, Ingrid softly removes her fingers from between your lips and without warning, dips into your pants and underwear to start making soft circles around your clit.

You roll your hips against her hand and let out a soft moan. When she notices you grinding into her, she stops her movements, making you whine in annoyance.

“You stay still. I get to go at my pace and you’re just going to have to deal with it.”

Although you want to object, you decide to stay silent in hopes of not making her more frustrated than she already is. She removes her hand from between your legs to grab the waistband of your pants. With a small tug, you take the hint and lift your hips to make it easier for them to slip off.

Ingrid discards your pants to the side but ultimately decides to keep everything else you’re wearing on, which is just a cropped tank top and panties.

“I can see how wet you are just from these.”

Her hand rubs over your clothed core, causing you to shudder in anticipation.

The brunette returns to her spot hovering over you and reaches her hand under the elastic of your underwear. She sucks along your neck while she reaches lower to gather all your wetness and spread it as much as she can.

Your breath picks up and small moans break out from your mouth when she touches certain spots. Ingrid kisses all the way up to your ear lobe, tugging it between her teeth.

“If only you were good today.” The two fingers that were beginning to push into you are gone in the blink of an eye, causing your eyes to snap open in shock.

Ingrid stands up, sucking your mess off her fingers, and walks away towards the kitchen to grab a bottle of water. You lay there in disbelief with an uncomfortable wetness remaining between your legs as you watch your girlfriend sip from the bottled water.

“Maybe if you’re lucky, we can fix that problem of yours tomorrow. I’m quite tired all of a sudden.”

Without another word, she walks into the bedroom to change and get ready for bed, leaving you in your sticky situation alone.

#ingrid engen x reader #ingrid engen #woso x reader #woso smut #woso imagine #woso fic #woso #barcelona femeni #barcelona fc #barcelona #lgbtq

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whispersingojo · 2 days

Text

Tipsy Kisses~

Content ✮ fluff,tipsy!Satoru x sober!reader

Summary ✮ you come home from a mission to you lovely partner Satoru tipsy, trying to make good for himself food.

Word count ✮ 1.7k

You were currently at Jujutsu High, but typing away at your computer. You were completing a report of the mission you had just returned from hours before. You groaned, leaning back in your chair stretching. Your arms stretched out above your head, eye closed.

“What are you doing here sensei?” A familiar voice asked, causing you to open your eyes and look towards the door of your office. It was Yuji! A smile formed on your face, “oh nothing, just finishing up a report for my recent mission,” you replied, closing your laptop, “what are you still doing up? Shouldn’t you be asleep?” You asked, taking on a parental role for just a moment.

“Oh, heh,” yuji laughed nervously, “sukuna is a chatterbox tonight, so it’s kinda hard to sleep ya know?”

You nodded, packing up your things to go home, “well don’t stay up to long. Maybe take a lap, yeah?” You patted Yuji’s shoulder, “take care.”

Yuji nodded with a tired smile, “right!”

Soon enough you pulled up to the shared home between satoru and you. Unlike Satoru, you preferred the simple, somewhat older home. Somehow, when you two were moving in together, you had convinced him to downsize his home into a small, quaint house. You wanted the house to feel lived in, rather than play proper within your own home. Eventually, Satoru grew to love the smaller home, but he would never admit it.

You put your car in park, grabbed your things off of the passenger seat and stepped out. After locking the door to the car, you went and grabbed the mail from the bottom of the driveway. Flipping through the envelopes, which were a mix of bills, letters, and junk. You began walking back up as you read through the contents printed on the front of each envelope.

You approached the front door of your home. You quickly grabbed your keys from off your pants, searching through the plentiful amount you had stored up. Eventually you found the key, shoving the key in and turning it.

You open the door, music filling your ears and making you smile. As you stepped into the hours, closing the door and taking off your shoes, the smell of food it your nose. Not just any food…burnt food? Satoru, unlike what you expected when you two go together, was a good cook for the most part.

You slipped on your house slippers and began walking to the kitchen, the smell of burnt food becoming more prominent. As you turned the corner, you were met with a nearly crying Satoru leaning over the stove.

You couldn’t help but laugh quietly to yourself, making him snap his head around. His glasses were covered his eyes, but you knew exactly what was going on in his head.

“You’re hooooome!” He wobbled over to you, hugging you close. You laughed a bit louder, putting your things down to return the hug, “are you drunk, bluebell?” You asked, able to smell a small amount of alcohol on his breath.

”no! He replied in a childish tone. He stood up straight and crossed him arms, “I’m 100% sober currently.”

You had recently bought him the stuff to make a mudslide, which was an alcoholic drink made with icecream and a coffee liqueur. It was sweet alcohol, which is why you knew he’d like it.

You laughed quietly, pulling on the collar on his shirt to bring him down to your level, “sure, bluebell,” you replied, placing a kiss on his cheek. You picked up your things off the floor and moved them to the table, just incase ‘sober’ didn’t see them and tripped.

You made your way over to the burn food on the stove. It was quite literally just a couple of black rocks in a pan, “so uh…what you makin?” You asked, turning your head to glance back at him.

Satoru came up behind you and put his chin on your head, “I’m clearly making black rock stew can’t you tell?” He joked, a pout forming on his face, “I was trying to make eggs but I keep burning them,” he whined. Satoru wrapped his arms around your waist and put his face into the crook of your neck, “can you make them for me, love? I keep fucking it up,” he asked, sounding genuinely upset over his inability to make himself food.

You laughed, turning around In his arms to look at him, “you’re cute when you’re drunk,” you smiled, placing a kiss on his forehead, “I’ll make you some eggs ok? You just sit right over there and they’ll be done in a giffy, bluebell.”

Satoru let go of you and wobbled his way over the table where you had sat all your stuff. He pulled out the chair and fell quite dramatically into it. You knew he was playing up how drunk he was, since he didn’t enjoy drinking or getting drunk in general. Regardless, he was being cute so he was gonna get what he wanted.

You quickly threw out the black, burnt rocks in the pan and gave it a wash, not wanting the new eggs to taste burnt. You opened the fridge, pulling out the eggs and milk and setting them on the counter.

“How was the mudslide?” You asked, pulling a bowl out of the cupboard.

“It was good, honestly,” he replied, returning somewhat back to his normal self, “I could still taste some of the alcohol so I was only able to have half of what I made,”

“That’s good I’m glad. Now do you want fluffy eggs or normal eggs?” You asked, cracking a few eggs into the bowl.

“Hmm fluffy,” he replied, taking his glasses off and cleaning them with his shirt.

You began mixing a small amount of milk into the eggs, which helps make them fluffy. You hummed to yourself softly, putting the milk away. You turn in the stove, put a little bit of butter in the pan so the eggs don’t stick, and wait for the pan to heat up.

You couldn’t see it, but Satoru was staring at you. He loved watching you do mundane things, like cooking or cleaning. He enjoyed doing those tasks with you too, unlike before. You showed him the enjoyment of keeping a household together, instead of paying someone else to do it for him. Satoru stood from his chair, walking towards you. His arms snaked around your waist, holding you close to him. He set his chin on you, not saying a word.

You smiled, enjoying his quiet closeness. You dumped the eggs into the pan, hearing the sizzle as you grabbed a spatula.

You two stayed there in silence, just enjoying each other. You pushed around the eggs in the pan, watching them slowly clump together. Satoru placed a kiss on your head, before letting go to grab the two of you plates.

As the eggs finished up, you turned off the stove and moved the pan over into another burner.

Satoru set the plates down next to you, as well as forks he grabbed as well. You served the eggs onto the plates, putting the pan back on the burner to cool before washing.

As you two sat down, you noticed a smile on Satoru’s face, “what you smiling about over there?” You asked, taking a bite of your food.

“oh nothing…you just make me happy is all,” he replied, also taking a bite.

You began thinking for a moment, putting your fork down, “you purposely burnt those eggs didn’t you?”

Satoru chuckled softly, “maybe,”

You laughed, “how did you know I was coming home?”

“A magician never reveals his secrets,” he gave you a wink.

You rolled your eyes, picking the fork back up.

The two of you continued to eat your eggs, talking about how your mission went. It was nothing special, just in and out like usual. When you finished up your plate, Satoru stood up and took both his and your plate to the sink. It warmed your heart how much of a gentleman he was becoming.

“wanna watch a movie?” Satoru asked, beginning to wash the dishes.

“Sure! Lemme get a shower. you pick a movie, I’m too tired to do so,” you replied, walking over to the left side of satoru.

You gave him the eyes you always gave him when you wanted a kiss. He looked at you, chuckled a bit, and gave you a kiss. You giggled to yourself happily and skipped away, going to take a nice hot shower- which is what you needed after a long day.

Once you had finished up with your absolutely amazing shower, you quickly dried your hair and put on some comfy clothes. Nothing felt better than a good shower and clean clothes to you. You made your way out into the living room, where Satoru was sat on the couch looking through whatever streaming service he had chosen.

You took a seat next to Satoru, leaning into him curiously, “any decision on what we’re gonna watch?” You asked, watching him scroll through the movies.

“How about A Few Moments of Cheers? It looks cool, it came out in June,” he replied, reading the reviews and summary.

“Sure!”

Satoru pressed play on the movie, started to get comfortable on the couch. He laid across the couch, allowing you to crawl on top of him and lay your head on his chest. Satoru grabbed the blanket on the back of the couch, throwing it over the both of you.

The warmth of both the blanket and Satoru’s body made you instantly tired, the sound of his heartbeat in your ears didn’t help either. You tried you best to stay awake, but the exhaustion of the day was getting to you. You ended up falling asleep a few minutes into the movie.

You woke up a few hours later, the room was dark and the tv was off. You noticed you were still in the same place, and when you turned your head up to look at Satoru, he was passed out. You smiled, nuzzling back into the same spot you were just in. He was breathing softly, his heartbeat slow and steady. You closed your eyes, taking a deep breath and letting it out.

“I love you, bluebell,” you whispered softly. Soon enough, you fell back asleep in his arms.

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reshinless · 11 hours

Text

──── found myself dreaming (of you)

⠀ ۪ ⠀✧ synopsis. when he can't get enough of you (eating you out ++ hitting it from behind :3)

⠀ ۪ ⠀✧ pairings. kinich, neuvillette x fem!reader (or gn!afab!reader, separately)

⠀ ۪ ⠀✧ director's notice. dunno, i kinda flopped today

"a- ahh- wait, baby wait." he ingests saliva down his throat, neuvillette looked almost as if he was begging you. yet his gloved hands held your thighs down.

his fingers grasped your palms harshly, yet his gaze said otherwise; a gentle stare that seemed to ask you something. the horns on his head grew by the second- guess that happens each time he gets turned on.

he loved watching how your eyebrows knitted, loved watching how you pushed his face while holding onto his horns into your sloppy little entrance. or the way you threw your head back in pleasure— oh please let him taste more!

he promised it'd only be for a bit. he thought what he did was preparing you for his cock- but it's been well over 2 hours, and he's still lapping every drop of your essence up, his finger over your clit— "massaging it" he said, when he was well aware how good it made you feel.

"n-neuvi.. c'mon.. it's been enough already.." you almost had to push him off, his mouth getting detached made a plop sound.

neuvillette who already missed the way you tasted. he already had your ass up in the air for him, and face smothered into the comfort of the soft mattress.

he had one of his hands pinning both of your hands to the wooden board at the head of the bed- causing a red mark to appear on both your wrists. he couldn't help the strength he puts into his own hands. lowering his tip to brush against your folds, watching how you already were so wet for him; his other hand inserting a pair of two fingers into them briefly before watching how good his dick slips inside.

you'd moan out his name so beautifully, fuck he could do this for days on end if he'd always get to hear this kind of melody.

damn you're so warm, he couldn't help ramming into you the way he did right now. "mmm.. f- feels as good as it tastes sweetheart.."— such a lively speed he went at, your hands faltered a little. your hips bruised with marks of his palm, on being on his waist, and the other still holding your hands to the headboard.

his pent-up feelings, awwhh fuck he could definitely let it all out here- the way his dicked kissed the deepest of the deep in your body, and the way he held you with a hint of softness.

the snowy-unsullied haired man leaned down near your ear- briefly kissing the shell of your ear, slowly scattering a plenitude of pecks down your collarbone. landing in the crook of your neck, he slowly started to bite into it; not enough to bleed- but enough to mark in a spot where others could see.

kinich who couldn't get enough of your aroma. who couldn't get to stop himself from swishing his tongue against your slick, working his fingers into the hole below, as his tongue worked into your clit. rubbing against it effectively.

the sounds of his moans vibrated against your cunt felt surreal, using his own spit to work his tongue faster against your entrance. watching the way you'd shut your eyes with the luxury of pleasure.

hungrily eating, and licking your hole, switching around places with his fingers every now and then. he knew you were stressed from work anyway. if he's been with you this long, he could eat you out for even longer.

you could feel him fly a sleazy grin against your pussy, you started to clench against his fingers— he knew you were close. "you close, pretty?" you nodded hurriedly, "ffuck- mmm— yes, yeah i am-" you moaned, your thighs starting to quiver, each time you felt his fingers curl inside you, curving well into your special spot.

he leans upward, and a little forward to leave kisses all over your stomach again. trailing back up to your lips, making out with you messily, his fingers only going even more so at an even further hurried pace. "you better be." he snarls with a mocking tone, smiling as you both continue to kiss each other excessively.

you could feel it building up already. his pace only getting faster, matching the speed of your breath, as he pulled away from another peck. your back started to arch from the way his fingers curled just right into your g-spot.

"a-ahhn i'm cumming! oh ffuck.. kinich!" you screamed, creaming onto his hand directly, as his arm rung around your waist to pull you close, snd keep you in place

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darkbluekies · 17 hours

Text

Cannot take what was never meant to leave

Yandere!king OC x fem!fairy!reader

Summary: Edmund walks out in the forest and finds something he never seen before: a tree fairy. Upon learning that he can't take her as long as her tree is there, he does the only thing he can think of.

Warnings: Edmund is a bit more insane than usual, reader is in a lot of pain, kidnapping, basically killing, use of an ax

Word count: 2.5k

A/N: this is HEAVILY inspired by Erutan's song "The Willow Maid"!! I have absolutely loved that song for ages, and after seeing PurestarMedia's music video of it on YouTube, I had to write something!! Edmund felt like the perfect fit for it!!

Summer is almost over. He can tell by a slight shift in the winds that colder times are approaching, even though barely any of the trees show any signs of autumn. He can't wait until he can bring out his thicker coat. He likes the colors of it much more.

Ten men he brought with him on his hunt for rabbits. They've decided to go into another part of the forest in hopes of finding anything.

Suddenly. A sound.

“Shh!” Edmund hushes and holds up a hand, signaling the others to stop.

He listens closely. It sounds like humming. It's a tune he has never heard before, but one that feels weirdly familiar — as if he has heard it in a dream or past life.

Quietly, they follow the sound until they reach a field full of small, white flowers. In the middle of the white field stands a tree with dark leaves. A scene taken straight out of one of the paintings hanging on the castle walls. Edmund notices someone sitting by the foot of the tree, resting among the roots. A woman?

The group of men creep closer. The woman is lying on the tree roots, leaning her head against the tree trunk, having a root under her knees for support. She's dressed in a long, white gown reminding Edmund of the small flowers. On her head rests a flower crown made of the very flowers. Her eyes are shut. Her mouth hums.

A fairy.

One of Edmund’s men steps onto a branch on the floor, which snaps in half and pulls the fairy out of her thoughts. Her eyes snap open, revealing them to be deep and dark — and full of fear. She shoots up from her root and stumbles backwards, hiding behind her tree.

“Who are you?” she asks quickly. “What do you want?”

“You are a fairy”, Edmund says, still in disbelief.

“Yes … what do you want?”

“Have you seen any rabbits around here?”

She peeks out from behind the tree.

“What do you want them?” she asks and seems to notice the rifles hanging over their shoulders. “I'm not assisting you in killing harmless creatures.”

Edmund meets her dark eyes. They're hypnotic.

“You humans are despicable sometimes”, she says. “Killing innocent creatures who haven't done anything to you.”

“If I wouldn't, someone else would — man or animal.”

“I want you to leave.”

“Yeah, we should move on. We have rabbits to hunt.”

He can feel her eyes burn through his back as he walks back over the field of white flowers. He hopes that she will watch him until he disappears into the forest.

“Did you have a good hunt, your majesty?” his secretary asks as Edmund and his ten men come back to the castle.

“Caught a few rabbits”, he answers and smiles, thinking of the memory. “We encountered a fairy.”

They start to walk inside.

“A fairy?” the secretary asks and holds the door into the castle open for the young king.

“What do you know about fairies?” Edmund asks.

They walk down the large hall.

“I know that, like humans, there are different types of fairies”, the secretary says. “You found her in the woods, you said?”

Edmund nods.

“She’s probably a tree fairy”, the secretary continues.

“Yeah, she was sitting by a tree … almost like it was holding her”, Edmund says, furrowing his dark brows as he thinks about it.

He holds out his arms as if he was carrying a woman, imagining her knees bending over his right arm and her back supported by his left … her head resting on his shoulder — like she had done to the tree bark.

They walk into Edmund’s office, closing the door behind them.

“What do you know about tree fairies?” Edmund asks and throws himself in his chair.

“I know that they live in the woods and that they are connected to a particular tree. They feed off of sap from the tree and flower nectar — and if their tree bears fruit they eat that too.”

“What happens if they eat something else? Like meat? Or potatoes?”

“I don’t know, your majesty.”

“Would it kill them, do you think?”

“Perhaps. What I do know kills a tree fairy is killing their tree.”

Edmund looks up at him. “What?”

“Their life source is connected to their tree. They live as long as their tree does.”

“So you’re saying that a fairy can become hundreds of years? Thousands even?”

“Could be.”

“Interesting.” He sighs and throws his head back. “You should have seen that thing. Before she noticed us she looked so … peaceful. She was resting and humming a tune. When she realized that we were there she flew up and hid behind her tree. All of that seemed so young and naive. Her tree wasn’t that large either. I think I’ve found myself a young fairy.”

“The fairy seems to interest you.”

“I’ve always wanted to meet a fairy. I didn’t believe that they actually existed. But now, I’ve found one. I think that I’m going to make her my wife.”

The next day, he returns with his ten men and his secretary, dressed in his autumn coat. On the way to the glade, Edmund picks a few flowers with the biggest nectars he can find, hoping that they will be a good enough gift. He is going to ask her to marry him.

She is walking around the white flowers, picking up a few and putting them in her flower crown. She looks up as they come. This time she doesn’t look as startled, but there’s something wary in her eyes.

She’s beautiful and delicate, there’s no denying. Edmund needs her. Every fiber of his body needs her. She needs to be his wife, to be the mother to his children. He refuses to leave without her.

“What brings you back?” she asks as Edmund gets close enough, but doesn’t sound like she wants to know.

He can tell that she wants to get back to her tree. She gives it quick glimpses and takes small steps back towards it.

Edmund holds out the flowers towards her. She hesitates before taking them out of his hand. Her fingertips barely graces his skin. Her touch is humanlike, kind and delicate.

“Thank you”, she says and smells them softly.

He smiles. He wants nothing more than to hug her, to hold what belongs to him in his arms, but he has to ask the question first.

“I want you to marry me”, Edmund says.

The fairy drops the flowers in shock. They disappear underneath the small, white ones. Edmund furrows his brows.

“Marry you?” the fairy repeats, shocked. “How could I possibly-? No, no, I shall not.”

Edmund stares at her, eyes darkening, unable to understand how anyone could turn down his proposal. Women would travel far and wide to hear those words come from his mouth, and this fairy — who does she think she is — doesn’t even think twice before rejecting him. It should crush him, but instead it has the opposite effect. He will not leave without his fairy.

He looks over his shoulder, at his ten men. “Seize her.”

Just as the ten men are about to grab the fleeing girl, his secretary grabs his shoulder.

“Your majesty, don’t”, he says quickly. “That won’t be possible. She can’t leave the glade.”

“What do you mean?” Edmund scoffs.

“She’s connected to that tree.” He nods towards the tree in the middle of the field. “She can’t leave it.”

Edmund glares at the tree. That damn tree. The woman runs through the flowers towards her tree, hugging it tightly. Edmund finds it humorous how she thinks a simple tree could protect her. He could do it a hundred times better, will do it a hundred times better.

He sees how she sinks down by the tree, huddled up by the tree bark, crying. Soon, she will search for comfort in him, not a damn tree.

“We can’t take her”, the secretary says. “I don’t know what would happen if we tried, but as long as that tree is there, we can’t remove her.”

Edmund doesn’t answer as he walks back into the forest. The ten men follow him. His secretary keeps a distance. Edmund feels like he could explode with anger. He had pictured himself leaving the forest with his new fiance hand in hand. But he will not give up. He will get his fairy.

He returns a third time the next day. This time he’s by himself … and this time, he’s brought an ax. Determined to take her with him. She will be his wife. This time, he’s not taking ‘no’ for an answer. He will not walk away empty handed. The thought consumes him as he marches through the forest, towards the glade.

He can see her lying in the same spot he had seen her the first time. This time, she’s not humming. She opens her eyes as he gets nearer and jumps to her feet as her eyes fall on the sharp edge of the ax.

“No!” she screams in pure panic. “No, what are you doing?! Don’t!”

Edmund lifts his hands and lands a blow on the bark, cutting away a piece. To his right, the fairy screams in agonizing pain and clutches her heart. He continues to hit the tree. The woman continues to scream. She cries in pain.

It takes longer than he expects. He takes his eyes off the deep cut in the tree and turns them towards her. She’s lying between the roots, curled up with her hands pressed against her heart, crying and screaming.

“Please stop!” she screams and sobs so that her entire body trembles. “Y-You’ll kill me! Please s-stop, please! I’m begging y-you!”

If he continues to hit the tree, she will die.

Edmund will have to bring a piece of the tree with him and replant it in his castle’s garden so that it doesn’t die — so that she doesn’t die. He continues to chop. She continues to scream, cry and plead for him to stop.

A loud creaking echoes through the air. He watches as the tree bends in half and falls. The fairy stumbles upon weak legs and hugs her fallen tree, sobbing.

With the ax, Edmund manages to dig up root systems of the tree. He holds it in his left hand and grabs the fairy’s wrist tightly with his right. He yanks her up on her feet.

“You belong to me now”, he says.

She only sobs for an answer. She tries reaching out for her tree, but Edmund pulls her with him. She stumbles. He drags her into the forest.

“Please …”, she sobs. “Please …”

He doesn’t know what she begs for. The tree is fallen, he can’t undo what he has done.

“Please, I’m in so much pain”, she pants.

He doesn’t listen, doesn’t have time for it. He has to get her to the castle, where he can lock her in, so that she can’t escape out to the forest again.

He can feel her collapse. Edmund gasps and watches her lie lifeless on the ground. He shoves the tree roots in his pocket and hurries to check her pulse. She’s still living, for now. Edmund stresses to pick her up. Her limp body rests in his arms as he runs out of the forest, towards the castle.

He runs into the castle yard, into the hallways and out to the garden. He lays the fairy down on the grass and hurried to dig a hole with his hands. Oh, how he hates the feeling of dirt under his nails. He can’t think about that now.

He places the root in the hole and covers it with the soil. Edmund runs over to the fountain, cups his hands and fills it with water. He runs back and forth until enough water has been poured over it. He feels for a pulse on the fairy’s neck. There’s still a faint pulsation underneath his fingers. He removes his coat and places it on the ground beside the tree root before lifting the fairy onto it. He caresses her face.

“You actually got her.”

He looks over his shoulder at his secretary. He stands there, looking at them in disbelief and horror.

“Is she dead?” he asks.

“No, not yet”, Edmund replies breathlessly. “I brought a piece of the tree here and I have replanted it. She should survive. But we need flowers — lots of flowers. And anything else a fairy might eat. We need to nurture her back to life.”

“I’ll prepare some honey water, I think that should be drinkable.”

Edmund sits by the fairy, waiting patiently.

Hours go by. She doesn’t move. Barely breathing. Edmund wonders if he she has fallen into some kind of limbo, where the tree is barely alive, and so is she. If the tree doesn’t survive, neither will she. He has to nurture both.

He feeds the tree water and nutrient dense soil and tries to pour droplets of honey water into the fairy’s mouth. Sometimes she responds by swallowing softly, and sometimes let it drip out of her mouth.

Hours turn to days. Days to weeks. As the tree slowly grows roots in Edmund’s soil and become stronger, so does the fairy. Edmund doubts that she will ever become as strong as she was before. The tree will never be in its full glory again, and neither will she. She can’t walk, her body is too weak to move more than a few minutes. He lets her rest by her short stub. When he can’t stay with her, he watches from afar, from one of the windows. She’s always curled up, hugging her stomach as if she’s got cramps. The poor thing never smiles anymore.

He holds a glass of warm honey water in his hands as he walks out to the petty excuse of a tree. It'll take years to become as big as it originally was, but it will never be the original tree.

“Hi”, Edmund says softly and sits down beside the fairy, holding the cup to her dry lips.

She doesn't seem to care what she gets fed anymore. Maybe she hopes that it will kill her.

In a sense, Edmund has killed the fairy.

She drinks slowly.

“I don't know what to feed you when winter comes”, he says. “I have harvested a lot of nectar and sap, but I don't know how long that will be good for.”

A tear runs down her cheek. Edmund wipes it carefully.

“My fairy, don't worry”, he whispers reassuringly. “I will figure it out.”

He wishes that she could respond, but he hasn't heard her voice since that day she screams in pain — when he killed her.

He stands up, gives her forehead one last kiss before walking back inside. In the beginning, he used to have guards watch over the garden to make sure that she wouldn't run off, but he realized that as long as that tree is there, she isn't going anywhere.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere imagines #yandere drabbles #yandere oc x you #yandere oc x reader #yandere fics #yandere king #yandere oneshot #yandere fantasy #yandere oc #yandere x female reader #female reader

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moonstruckme · 2 days

Note

hello mae ! could i ask for an apple pie with any of the marauders with these prompts?

“a flea market wedding dress” & “hands stained with pen ink”

it would also be alright if it’s just the first one if ever you don’t feel like writing with two of them in mind !

- 🧸 (i always forget to sign off with this 😭)

Thank you for requesting <3

cw: some non-sexual nudity (it's hardly mentioned only really implied)

Remus Lupin x fem!reader ♡ 749 words

“Do we need eggs?” Remus asks from the other room.

“I don’t think so.” You zip the dress up in the back, relishing in the smooth feel of the fabric on your skin. It fits like it was made for you. “I’m not feeling very eggy lately. Our last ones went bad.” You smile at yourself in the mirror, going to show Remus.

“It just feels strange not to have eggs…” he trails off as you come into view. It’s not your appearance that surprises him—you’ve been showing off your finds from the flea market since you got home—but the dress itself. “That’s pretty.” He sounds a tad breathless. “It’s, um. It’s white.”

“Yeah,” you laugh, “it was someone’s wedding dress, once. Isn’t it nice?” You give him a little twirl. “I think if I take out some of the layers in the skirt it could be cute for summer. Very flowy.”

“Very.” Remus caps the pen he was using for your grocery list, amusement coloring his tone. “You look lovely in it, dove. You know everyone will think we’re getting married when you wear it out, though, don’t you?”

“With the way you dress?” You grin. It worsens when he stands, coming over to you with a grin of his own. “Doesn’t seem likely.”

“My jumpers are very dapper,” he says, smiling into a kiss.

You hum noncommittally, and he gives your middle a playful warning squeeze. A quick peck to your lips, then another, longer and sweeter. You set your hands on his chest, feeling the soft material of the jumper he’s wearing now.

“I don’t know,” you tease, looking down at your contrasting outfits. “I think—oh, Remus!”

You move away from him, but the damage is done. Two smudges of ink remain on your dress where his fingertips were.

Remus is quick to follow your gaze. “Fuck.”

“It’s okay,” you say, even as your heart sinks.

“No, dovey, I’m so sorry.” He looks like he wants to reach for you again, but he looks at his hands and swears instead. “I can—wait one second.”

He goes back around the counter, and you hear the sink running.

“Really,” you say, “it’s fine. It was only a few quid.”

“No, but you were excited about it. I think I can get it out.”

“It’s ink, Rem, it’s…”

You trail off as he comes back around the corner, soapy dish sponge in hand, and presses it to your dress.

“What…” You move your arm out of the way. Remus settles a hand on your hip, holding the both of you steady as he bends closer to your waist. He swipes the sponge over the fabric with a concentrated furrow between his brows. “Are…are you washing me?”

“I’m getting the stain out.”

“I don’t think soap is going to do it, honey.”

The look your boyfriend casts up at you is equal parts loving and exasperated. “It usually works for me. This isn’t my first time getting ink on clothes.”

That, you can believe. The writing in Remus’ notebooks is always smeared, the culprit to be found in his inky hands. Sometimes you swear he gets black and blue stains up to his elbows. You’ve no clue how he manages it.

“Now we only need to put baking soda on it, and it should come out.” He gives your dress one last good scrub with the sponge.

“Right,” you say hesitantly. “So should I just lie down for that, or…”

“I probably should have had you take it off first,” Remus admits. “I panicked, a little bit.”

You laugh. He looks relieved to hear it, some of the guilt easing from his expression. “That’s my fault, I guess.” You unzip the back of your dress, trying to step out of it without disturbing the stain.

“No, I think it’s all still mine,” Remus says, but he takes it from you.

Once he’s done arranging it in the sink and piling it with baking soda, he comes back to you, slotting a hand behind your ear and letting his fingers slip into your hair.

“Sorry, sweetheart.” He kisses you.

You roll your eyes. He knows you can’t be cross at him when he does that.

“You just didn’t want me to be better dressed than you,” you say, though there’s nothing but fondness to be found in your tone.

“You’re always better dressed. As you’ve said, the bar isn’t high.”

“Oh, shut up. You know I like your jumpers just fine.”

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johnbrand · 2 days

Text

New Favorite Brew

With @misctf, continuing their Gridiron Brew series

“David, c’mon we’re gonna be late for yoga!”

Matty shouted, grabbing his mat as he launched himself out of his room. He knew that the pair should not have gotten drunk last night. You could not squeeze that many drinks into twinks skinnier than rails! Matty had stopped while he was ahead–although not super far ahead as he was still a bit hungover–but David had gone hard. He had even pounded back a beer that he had gotten from the liquor store for free before they had arrived at Matty's apartment. They had exclusively drank hard seltzers since graduating a year ago, so when the cashier handed them the beer as a part of a promotion, they laughed.

But now rushing towards the door, Matty knew they would be doing anything but laughing if they missed this yoga class. They had spent a fortune on securing their spots months ago.

“Ready to go, David?”

“What's goin' on, bro?”

Matty stood in shock for a moment at the naked man on his couch. The brute was large, hairy, and old–probably twice the size, girth, and maturity of Matty. This uber-masculine mammoth of a creature was not at all what Matty had been expecting, causing him to audibly squeak.

“Whatcha lookin’ at, bro?” His voice was deep, resonant and gruff. “Oh yeah, sorry you know how I get when I go too far. Would always lose my clothes by the end of the party, just reliving the good old frat days I guess.”

“I…uh…” Matty stuttered, but quickly recovered himself. Dave was right, this always happened when he got too drunk. “I’ll see you later, I have to get to my yoga class.”

“Sure,” Dave yawned, not even bothering to cover himself as he cracked open another can of beer as his breakfast. “Good luck or whatever, bro!”

Matty left, his bewilderment rapidly evaporating into being simply unfazed. By the time he was in his car, the whole situation was already behind him. Matty’s class was the only thing on his mind. In moments, he had his Top Hits of the 2010s playlist blasting through his earbuds. He luckily made it on time to his class, and afterwards was exhausted. Ripping his sweat-soaked shirt off as soon as he was in his car, Matty took a moment to recover and laid back in his seat. When he opened his eyes again, he was surprised by the metallic glare hitting his eyes.

Twisting around, Matty was surprised to find a can of beer in his car. He presumed it had been misplaced from his and Dave’s shenanigans last night at the liquor store; Matty’s bag of seltzer’s and Dave’s bag of six-packs. The can in question must have slipped out. Curiously, Matty picked up the can, the aluminum exterior slightly warm from having sat in the sun. The label was not anything special, brown with an old-timey football player on the front. The words “Gridiron Brew” were somehow delivered in the most masculine and yet generic font possible.

Feeling a sudden thirst, and growing interest as to why Dave was so addicted to the stuff, Matty carefully cracked it open. He did not know what he expected, but that first sip of standard cheap beer tasted like…cheap beer. There was nothing remarkable, no mouthwatering trigger that made Matty instantly understand why Dave was so obsessed with the stuff. It was probably not fair that he was having it warm, but Matty-

BOOOOOUUUURRRPP!

Matty clasped a hand over his mouth as quickly as possible, his face flushing scarlet. But before the embarrassment had completely resided, his hand moved down to his stomach. His glistening abdominals were cramping up, tightening in on themselves violently underneath his touch. Through his bare skin, it almost felt to Matty as if they were vibrating.

“Oh god…” Matty groaned. Suddenly, the tightness Matty was feeling was softening. Underneath his finger tips, his stomach began to expand, pushing out a thin layer of fat over his abs. A second coat was applied on top of the first, and then a third onto the second, until eventually the bulge emerged over his waistband. And his tight pecs soon jutted out onto his muscle gut with both fat and muscle, their taut nature now loosened dramatically. Frantically, Matty read over the tagline of the beer, his arms and legs bulking up proportionally with his midsection. “Gridiron Brew is for the ex-jock in you!”

“Nnnhh…broooo…!” Matty pleaded to the open space, his voice taking on a lower and rougher nature. An aggravating warmth began to swarm his already overheated body, testosterone surging as it caused hair to erupt across Matty’s frame. From his dense pubes sprang forth a current of hair tracing over every available inch of his body. Nothing was spared, and Matty could not decipher through his agony if the masculinity upgrade was something to be reviled or cherished.

Matty prayed for his distress to end, gripping his gut and the beer can as his face rounded out, widening before disappearing underneath a thick beard. Age lines and wrinkles carved onto Matty’s once-clean skin, which was quickly growing a bit leathery as his body rapidly aged. Eventually the pain began to fade, and Matty could do nothing beside inhaling and exhaling slowly. Eventually, he realized he had been subconsciously flexing his pecs.

It was a strange sensation, feeling the slabs of meat bounce up and down, but at the same time it was…calming? Matty could not describe it, having never done it before. But then why did it feel so familiar? Feeling his girth, relishing in his massive size. It had been something he had enjoyed since he had discovered it back in high school, right? But that felt like years ago. Was it years ago? Matt nodded slowly–it must have been. Yeah, back when they played good music like the stuff on his Top Hits of the 90s playlist.

Matt tossed back another swig of his new favorite brew before starting the car. He continued to relish his past glory days, never to realize that moments before he had been living those cherished days, and that they were not mere memories of decades past.

#male tf #male transformation #dumbification #jock tf #fratification #unintended results

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amywritesthings · 2 days

Note

Hi love!! Can I ask for some fluff with our man when we are still in bed, waking up and just talking about future? Like Levi's dream of owning a tea shop is so cute

i got you xo

window shopping.

pairing: levi ackerman x f!reader word count: 880 warnings: 18+ mdni, light oral sex (f!receiving), naked laying in bed, overall fluff and banter, set in the flackbacks and universe of silver underground. credit: divider by @saradika-graphics

"Nice to Mint You."

You're met with deep, disappointed silence.

"Jasmine-d to Meet You."

An unimpressed baritone groan rumbles against your cheek.

"...that really the best you got?"

It takes everything in you not to vibrate from your own amusement, knowing damn well that Levi's eyes must be glued to the back of his head from how hard he's rolling them in exasperation.

With pursed lips, you nuzzle your cheek back into the soft bare expanse of his chest. "...nice to... matcha—"

"Enough."

The dam breaks, and you're left bursting into quiet giggles when his strong hand pulls you closer to his body.

Easily you mold closer, gliding a palm along the flex of his abdomen until your arm has returned to its original place. Your fingers tickle the curve of his torso, barely brushing the white sheets below.

To think the two of you once lived a life where you couldn't spend the twilight hours of the day like this: in a proper bed with proper sheets and pillows; left to talk about nothing, nonsense, until the sun came up and you returned to his shadow.

Lieutenant and Captain.

"What?" you feign innocence, lifting your head to observe the miniscule scowl pinching his eyes to a narrow. "Every tea shop on the surface has a punny name."

"Not if they have a bit of damn self respect, they don't," he mumbles, still idly tracing circles into the flesh of your upper arm.

"I'm wounded."

"I'm sure you are." Caught red-handed in a lie; a grin stretches your mouth, causing his eyes to narrow further. "Brat."

"I'd rather be a brat than boring."

"Oh, yeah?" he challenges, voice still an octave lower from just waking up. "Is that what I am to you? Boring?"

"A real snooze."

You lie again, but you're persuaded otherwise when that hand on your arm snakes between flesh to tickle under your armpit. Immediately you jolt, trying to keep your voice down as you protest in panic.

"No! No, I'm kidding, don't, I'm sorry—"

"Shhh."

Levi pushes forward, landing in a position hovering above you. The arm that was once wrapped around your body now rises so his palm can cradle your face.

"So goddamn loud," he reprimands without heat. "You wanna wake up the rest of the shitheads?"

"As if they don't already know," you protest with a sigh, relaxing once you're certain he isn't about to launch an attack.

"They don't."

"Uh-huh."

For a moment, you stare. Focus, on the way his black fringe messily hangs over his stormy eyes. He's grown out his hair whether he'll admit it or not. You often find yourself wondering that it could look like longer.

"I'm losing you," he states, bringing you back to the present with him. "What's on your mind?"

You blink back into your body and really look into his eyes.

When you once dreamed about coming to the surface, you thought a thunderstorm would best these eyes. You've seen over a dozen storms at this point. None have ever compared.

"The fact that you don't wanna name your tea shop something cute."

"Who said I wanted to own one?"

"As if you wouldn't cream yourself at the idea of getting good, quality leaves to put the rest of the Walls to shame." Your brows slide high on your forehead. "Am I wrong?"

A pause settles.

His tongue clicks against the roof of his mouth.

"Tch. It's not gonna have a cute name."

"Then what do you wanna name it?"

Lifting your chin, the tip of your nose grazes his.

"Indulge me."

"Fine. Got one."

"Sure."

His legs slide under the thin sheet to hook around yours. You lift your hips and shift with him to accommodate the press of his body.

For the longest time he stares, studying you, before finally mumbling three words.

"...Humanity's Strongest Brew."

He must sense you're about to howl, because his hand leaps off of your cheek to press full against your mouth. And he's right to do it: you nearly betray your location by laughing outright, head tilted back.

"S'funny to you, huh?" he grunts.

"Mmm!"

Trying to speak, to tell him that you're good, you won't alert the neighboring scouts, you wave a hand in his face. His gaze narrows to slits before eventually letting up.

"I swear, James—"

"No!" you interrupt in a whisper, fighting demons to conceal your giggles. "No, it's amazing. I'm serious."

"Fuck off."

"I mean it, Levi! But — shit, if you thought my puns were bad—"

"I'm done talking," he decides, kissing between your breasts. "Gonna make you pay for laughing."

"Wait!"

He makes a point to crawl down your body, kissing a trail of sloppy kisses at the middle of your ribcage to your belly button.

"I promise you, it's a great name."

He answers by grabbing the edge of the sheet and ripping it over his head, disappearing under the fabric.

"Levi—"

When he hooks your left thigh over his shoulder and dives in to bury his face against your center, you gasp sharply and grab the pillow behind your head. He hums against your clit, satisfied by the silence.

"Not laughing so hard now, huh?"

Before you can answer, he dives back in to devour his breakfast.

#levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman x you #levi ackerman x female reader #levi x reader #levi x you #aot x reader #aot fanfic #snk fanfic #levi ackerman fanfiction #levi ackerman smut #levi ackerman fanfic #levi ackerman fic #aot drabble #snk drabble #levi ackerman drabble

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luveline · 1 day

Note

anything with roan and eddie pls 🙏🙏 whatever you want to write about them!! i miss them 🥺🥺

thanks for requesting!! fem

Baking tray, beef cuts laid out flat. Eddie works in silence, dressing the beef with garlic honey, sesame seeds, and a big pinch of salt. He’d like to add some ginger, some paprika, but Roan doesn’t like when things taste smoky.

He saran wraps the tray and puts it in the fridge. He makes everyone’s veggies —you like different stuff to Eddie, who likes different stuff to Roan, so he makes a garden’s worth of greens and douses them in olive oil, flaky salt, and a little dash of lemon and pepper. He puts that atop the beef in the fridge and tries to think of a side. He was planning on making pasta tonight, before he realised the beef was gonna go bad soon. Maybe he’ll make a pan of crispy mac and cheese to go with it.

Yeah. He smiles to himself. That looks good on his head, two roasted ribs, a fist of mac and cheese, and a half a plate of roasted veggies.

He cuts a little cilantro ‘cos Roan loves it, adds some lemon juice to that too, and sets it aside in the fridge. He makes a quick mac and cheese on the stove and tips it into a baking tray, covers a third of it in bacon bits for the youngster, and puts that in the oven.

Then he sits at the table and sighs. Scratches two hands through his hair, lets the tight achy small of his back decompress as he leans forward.

When Eddie started working at the shop with Wayne, he figured it would get easier over time. Part time table-bussing wasn’t going to pay for a trailer or his brand new baby, and for months it’s not like he could work anyhow. He lived solely off of his Uncle Wayne as he learned to change diapers, and calm colic, and be a new dad. It was depressing and frustrating all of the time. He felt like shit because he’d just fucking landed Wayne with another mouth to feed and diapers were so, so expensive, and so was formula, and baby clothes, and the guilt worsened when he realised he loved her. Loved Roan. He loved her pretty much the moment he laid eyes on her, but he had no idea if he could be a father, just knew he couldn’t let his kid fall into the system.

But loving her had been second to panic for weeks. Then one day he was washing her tummy in the bath and he swore blind that she smiled at him, whether babies her age could smile or not. He tumbled out of the bathroom with her in a towel poncho to brag, and that night at dinner, Wayne gave a frowny Eddie the option: start working alternate shifts at the shop. Wayne would have her in the evenings while Eddie worked, they’d sorted everything out, he could start next week. It wasn’t half as scary as being a new dad, so Eddie said yes.

Anyways, he expected it to get easier. He knows more about parenting and cars than he ever imagined at twenty, but it’s still hard. He’s exhausted.

Good thing he knows exactly why he does it.

The door to the living room opens with a creak. Small feet pad around the stair bannister and down the hallway that leads to the kitchen. Roan stops walking when she notices him behind the table. She smiles. She looks like him, less as she gets older, but enough to have given an appreciation for his own features. What’s more beautiful than seeing your smile on someone else’s lips?

“Hey, daddy.”

“Hi, munchkin.”

Truthfully, Roan has been his best friend for years. There’s something intangibly close about a single parent and their only child, especially when they’d lived alone. Day after day together, seeing all the gross bits and all the love. It’s given her a vast depth of emotional intelligence. She’s smarter now as a kid than Eddie was at 18.

“You okay?” she asks, holding her hands up. He picks her up, plonking her on the table in front of him. “You look tired, daddy. And you smell like pepper.”

“I just finished making ribs, babe.”

“Yum!” Her nose moves when she talks, “For dinner?”

“Mm-hm.” He finds her hand. Holds it gently. “Mac and cheese and roasted broccoli, too.”

Roan smiles again. “Dad, you’re a good chef.”

“I know I am! But it took so much practice. When you were born, you know what I was eating for dinner every night? I was eating chicken pot pie you put in the microwave.” She wrinkles her nose. “I know. I didn’t care about being good to my body. I definitely didn’t listen to my tummy.”

He likes this part about being a dad. He’s never found it awkward. He just drops his voice into softness and talks to her on her level.

“But you learned.”

“I did learn. I wanted to make sure you were eating everything you need. That’s why we eat all that broccoli.”

She pokes him in the torso with her socked foot. “Maybe less broccoli for my tummy.”

“I got potatoes and stuff too, don’t worry.” Eddie reaches for her hair in its after school mess, raking it away from her face. “You know I love you, right?”

“Well, duh.”

“I know, but really. I love you more than anything.”

“More than Y/N?”

“No,” he says quickly, then laughs. “Yeah, but just a little bit. It’s a different kind of love, okay? I love you both like crazy, but you’re my baby. Even though you’re not a baby anymore.”

“I could be a baby,” she whispers, grinning, “I can be small again, and you can carry me everywhere, and give me a bottle.”

He laughs roughly. “Yeah? You want a bottle? You barely like milk.”

“Well, you can still carry me.”

“I do carry you. I’m surprised these feet work,” he says, squeezing her toes in both hands.

“Dad, don’t!”

“Sorry, sorry,” he presses his thumb between her foot and her toes and then drops them altogether. “I remember when your foot was the size of my thumb.”

“I don’t.”

He laughs more loudly than he means to and scoops her up for a rough and tumble hug. “God, I love you. I really do, bubby.” He presses his nose to her head and blames how tired he is for what he says next. “You are everything to me, you know that? You’re my everything.”

“You’re my everything.”

He tips her back to see her. Beams at her, touches his nose to hers. “You and Y/N, you make my life perfect.”

“I’m glad,” she says, which has him laughing all over again, a childish giggle.

When you get home a half hour later, you find them in weird places. Eddie’s sitting on the kitchen floor watching the ribs cook in the oven, and Roan’s under the table building a marble run with his approval. “Here?” she asks.

“And the orange piece. We need more pieces, it’s not long enough.” Eddie smiles at you as you enter, but leans back, opening the cupboard under the sink to grab a saucepan, the sieve, and plastic jug. “We can use these.”

“What’s up, my Munsons?” you ask.

Roan smacks her forehead against the edge of the table in her excitement. “Ouch!” she says, crawling from under it to crowd your legs.

“Ouch!” you echo, face morphed with concern as your handbag slides down your arm. You drop it to the floor and take her cheeks into your hands. “Did that hurt? I’m sorry, I feel like that was all my fault.”

She shakes her head, curls bouncing this way and that. “It was an accident.”

“I know, I know, but I didn’t mean to startle you.” You brush her hair back gently and hover. “Can I kiss it better?”

“Don’t kiss it, it stings!” Roan says, veering away from you with a frown.

“Sorry!”

Roan twists away from you to fall into Eddie’s lap.

“Sorry,” Eddie mouths.

You pout. It’s with extreme beautifulness —is that a word? Eddie’s pretty sure it’s a word— you slip out of your little heels and sit down on your knees, stockings dark and perfect on legs he adores. You don’t question why they’re on the floor. That’s how you all fit, his smart working girl and your shared grumpy daughter, because nobody asked Eddie why he sat down by the oven.

“Sorry, baby,” you say softly.

Roan’s frown worsens, but she says, “No, I’m sorry. My head hurts. I missed you.”

“I missed you too, big girl.”

“Big girl?” she asks.

“You sounded very grown up, is all.”

Eddie has to agree. “You’re just that smart.”

You hold his ankle. “So, how was work? How was school? Fill me in.”

“How was your day?” Eddie asks.

“Super usual and boring. We had some people from the Brussels branch come to visit and Jess kept telling me to stop being so awkward, and I asked her what she meant and she said I was smiling like somebody was holding me hostage.”

Eddie loves when you smile like that. When you’d first met, you used to smile that way all the time. He loves all your smiles, obviously, but your excited–scared combo isn’t one he sees much anymore.

You shrug. “But work paid for lunch, and I had this amazing mango passionfruit cake roll, I snook you some.”

“You did?” Roan asks eagerly.

“I did! It’s in my purse, but it has a price.”

“What’s the price?” Roan asks.

You put your head in your hand. “I wanna know what you guys have been up to today.”

When Eddie plates dinner that evening, it’s with a distinct sense of pride and content mashed together. It’s a damn good-looking meal, dense with nutrition and flavour alike, and you and Roan both seem similarly awed. Eddie wanted ribs and he got them, but almost as pleasurable as eating them is the way you both tuck in. You compliment his roasted veggies, telling him you could eat them for every meal, and Roan’s face is plastered in sticky honey garlic in minutes, a macaroni elbow in her hair.

“Know what dad told me earlier?” she asks you.

You snort and rescue her hair. “What did he tell you, baby?”

“That we make his life perfect.”

Eddie chokes on his coke. “That was a secret,” he says, throat burning, “between you and me?”

“You didn’t tell me that,” Roan says.

“Don’t be embarrassed, Eds.” Your eyes turn to hearts, staring at him over the steaming tray of macaroni and cheese. “You guys make my life perfect, too. My babe and my personal chef.”

He dodges your cheek pinch, grabbing your hand to hold instead.

“Just wish somebody would make me dinner every once in a while,” he says.

“Whatever,” you say.

“Dad, I can make you dinner.”

“I don’t trust you ‘round the kitchen.”

Roan guides a forkful of cheesy macaroni to her lips. “Okay, good. I can’t make pasta like you,” she says. Eddie won’t mind making dinner again tomorrow.

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whytheylosttheirminds · 1 day

Text

june gloom - part 2: is this gonna end ever?

(Rafe Cameron x pogue!reader, 6.9k words)

part 1

summary: Six months after Rafe walked out of your life, you're finally picking up the shattered pieces he left in his wake. When you accidentally find yourself working at his wedding, your thrown right back into the chaos you thought you were free from.

content: angst/smut, 18+ minors do not interact!, mentions of alcohol abuse and drugs, mentions of cheating, what could be considered infiedelity

a/n: as a fair warning, the angst only gets worse in this one. however, I promise the third and final part will see a satisfying and happy ending for these two if you stick with me. also, this one got wordy, but after struggling with it for a while i'm very happy with how it turned out. thank you to this anon for inspo and for everyone's support on pt. 1.

₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ *˚˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ *˚˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊

Crickets chirped a chorus around you as you laid back on the flannel blanket, the grass beneath making a soft pillow for your head. Your lips wrapped around the blunt, lungs expanding to welcome the smoke. You hummed in pleasure as the high-end strain went down way smoother than any of the trash you would usually get on The Cut.

“God, this is good shit,” you said with a lazy smile.

“Only the best for you,” Rafe smirked, leaning over on the blanket to pull the joint from your lips so he could join in your revelry.

He took a long drag and let it go in a smoke ring that rose above you and disappeared into the starry sky. You tried and failed to stifle your laugh.

“What’s funny?” He asked, eyes glazed over with his high.

“Nothing,” you chuckled. “Just…what frat house did you learn that in?”

“Shut up,” he teased back, making you laugh harder.

“No, I’m sure the sorority girls found that very sexy,” you continued.

“They did actually, thank you,” he joked. “You would’ve too.”

“Yeah right, I’d make a great Phi Beta Whateverthefuck,” you huffed sarcastically.

“Did you go to college?” He asked.

You’d known Rafe for about three months, spending nearly every night together since you first met at that club. You had talked about just about everything under the sun except yourselves, you were caught off-guard by this excavation into your history.

“Um, no,” you answered, taking the blunt back from him.

“Why not?”

You shrugged, taking another hit, “didn’t wanna.”

“Do you regret it?” He continued.

You sat up and pulled your knees to your chest, looking down at him with a frown.

“What?” He questioned.

“Why the sudden interest?” You said, harsher and less playful than you’d intended to.

Rafe sat up next to you, pulling his knees towards himself to mirror you. His eyes were intense on your face as he mumbled, “you don’t want me to get to know you?”

Truthfully, you wanted that and so much more, but you couldn’t tell him that. You knew this was just a way for him to pass the time until he could get you in bed again, and maybe you were okay with that. You decided you’d entertain the line of questioning, just this once, not knowing then that this was just the first of many deep, meaningful conversations you’d share with him.

You took a deep breath and said, “what do you want to know?”

He looked up at the stars as he considered the answer to that question. You took the opportunity to admire the way the moonlight reflected off of the sharp angle of his jaw.

He decided on “what’s your biggest dream?”

You bit your lip and looked down at your bare feet, digging them into the blanket, not used to this kind of conversation and yet feeling curiously comfortable opening up to him.

“I want to go to India,” you answered honestly. “I read a book when I was a kid about a little girl who grew up in India and I’ve wanted to go ever since.”

Rafe nodded in approval, “that’s a good one. You should go.”

“Yeah, as soon as I win the lottery, it’ll be my first stop,” you joked bitterly.

“Or I could just take you,” he shrugged.

You smiled at him, incredulous.

“What?” He asked, genuinely unsure of the meaning behind the look you were giving him. You realized he might actually be serious, even though you knew it would never really happen.

“Nothing. That’s sweet,” you smiled. “But I want to get there on my own. I wanna earn it.”

“I can respect that,” he conceded.

“Anytime you wanna lend me that private jet, though, just hit me up,” you teased.

Rafe chuckled, eyebrows raised, “oh I see…you’re using me.”

“I thought that was obvious,” you smiled coyly.

“Uh-huh,” Rafe said, playfully shoving your shoulders so you fell back onto the blanket.

You giggled as he climbed over you, caging you in between his arms as he held himself up, looking down at you, tucked perfectly beneath him.

“I think I’m okay with that.”

He leaned down and kissed you, his tongue sweeping over your bottom lip tenderly, lowering himself down until you were chest to chest…

“Are you listening to me?”

Your friend waved her hand in front of your face, trying to get your attention.

“Sorry, what?” You were pulled from your thoughts.

“I said they want us there at four this friday,” she showed you an email on her phone.

“Oh,” you blinked, coming back to the moment. “Where is it?”

“Some mansion on Figure 8. It’s a wedding, but they're doing like a whole weekend thing, so it’s Friday through Sunday. Last time I worked one of these I made over five hundred.”

When she first told you about the catering gig this weekend, you turned her down. You’d been carefully avoiding the north part of the island for the last six months, and a whole weekend would be a high-risk endeavor. However, you didn’t have to check your bank account to know you were near broke, and Figure 8 was where the real money was made. You agreed and ironed your white button down and black slacks, your go-to outfit for catering gigs.

As you pulled up to the address your friend had sent you, you cursed under your breath. The estate was huge, the old house immaculately kept and towering proudly under a crystal blue sky. You turned down the radio as your beat up car sputtered its way up the long, grand drive.

“We’re definitely not on the south side anymore,” you joked to yourself.

You pulled around back to the service entrance as directed by your friend’s text and tracked her down in the crowd of other blue collar workers. Everyone was moving quickly, arranging the massive party space according to the wishes of some unseen bride and groom.

You were put to work right away, polishing silverware and arranging it as instructed by the very specific, color-coded diagram you had been given. Tonight was only the rehearsal dinner, and there were two-hundred names on the guestlist. You chatted with your friend as you did various other chores, speculating about who could possibly be the owner of this massive property.

“Maybe it’s a crime lord,” your friend joked. “Like some mafia type shit.”

“Maybe it’s a celebrity,” you guessed.

You didn’t have to wonder for long.

“Hey! A little help here!” A delivery driver called to you as he struggled to lift something large and rectangular out of his truck, the mystery item protected with a large, black sheet.

You ran over to give him a hand, and he directed you to a big easel he had set out, “picture of the happy couple,” he explained. You called your friend over, informing her you were about to have all your questions answered.

Once you had set the canvas down, you asked the delivery driver if you could remove the sheet. “I don’t give a fuck, my job’s done,” he said, hopping back in his truck and driving off. You and your friend giggled as you did a little countdown and drumroll routine. You pulled the sheet away and her mouth fell open

“Of fucking course,” she immediately took out her phone to take a picture.

You stepped back to look at the giant, blown up portrait. Every muscle in your body tensed and the blood drained from your face, you grabbed the back of a nearby chair for support.

There on the oversized canvas, smiling that perfect, crooked, arrogant, beautiful smile, was Rafe Cameron.

He had his arm around the woman you recognized to be the one he’d left you for, calling off your whirlwind love affair in pursuit of something more optically appealing to his family. He’d found it; they were gorgeous together.

Six months had passed since you’d last seen him. The first few months were the hardest you’d ever faced. At first, you went out almost every night, needing to stay shitfaced to keep your mind from wandering to him or your fingers from dialing his number. Eventually, you had to delete him from your phone, not trusting yourself in those late night moments when you missed him so much you thought you might die. No amount of booze or weed could make you forget the feeling of his hands on your body, the sound of his voice, the look in his eyes when he fucked you that last time. Your friends started getting worried. You blacked out so often, you couldn’t keep a job. After three or four months of your reckless behavior, they called a sort of intervention and convinced you to calm down.

You decided if you were going to be alone, you’d make yourself good company.

You stopped drinking, and even gave up cigarettes. It took several false starts, but the patch got you through it. You picked up good habits, too, starting your mornings with yoga and meditation. You were planning to go back to school, tired of career-hopping through dead-end minimum wage jobs. You stopped eating take out so much, started grocery shopping and saving every spare cent you had for a travel fund. You even cut and dyed your hair, finding freedom in the ability to change whenever you wanted, in the fluidity of answering to no one but yourself. You were still untamed, but for the first time in your life, you felt a semblance of control. You decided you’d build a beautiful life even if you had to scratch and claw your way to it. And you’d do it all by yourself.

Slowly, and with the most effort you’d given anything ever, you were finally starting to get over Rafe Cameron.

Or so you thought. Now, standing in his backyard, decorating for his wedding, you felt like you were right back where you were that night in June, lying naked on your bed while he walked out of your life forever.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” A high-pitched, angry voice startled you, pulling your eyes away from the picture.

You whipped your head around to see her, even more stunning than she was in pictures, her wide Disney-princess eyes shooting daggers at you. Your first and most irrational thought was that she somehow knew who you were. The delusion of that concept was quickly made apparent.

“The picture was supposed to stay covered until tonight,” she barked at you and your friend, who looked at you with wide-eyed panic. “Aren’t you the fucking caterers? Why are you even out here?”

“S-sorry,” you stammered out, your mind reeling as it tried to connect to your reality. You picked up the sheet off the ground. “We’ll cover it back up.”

“No, don’t touch it! Where’s your manager?” She demanded, her hands on her hips. “They need to know about this. What are your names?”

Your friend looked at you with wide eyes, you knew she needed this job even more desperately than you did. Plus, she’d stuck her neck out to get you hired and now she’d lose the money and her credibility.

“It was me,” you blurted out. “Not her. Don’t worry, you don’t need to get anyone fired, I’ll just leave.”

It wasn’t a big sacrifice, considering you were already thinking if you stayed another minute you might have a full blown panic attack. At least if you threw yourself under the bus and got fired, your friend would have no reason to question why you ran from the property crying.

“Fine, whatever,” she dismissed your act of loyalty with a wave of her manicured hand while your friend looked at you with grateful eyes. “What’s your name then?”

“Don’t worry about it,” you handed her the sheet, which she snatched from your hands irritably. “I’ll just go.”

You tried to keep your composure as you walked back toward the house, praying you’d remember your way back to your car. Your heart was pounding, your anxiety and shock threatening to bubble over, you could feel tears springing up and your hands shaking.

You rounded one of the many corners of the massive house, finally out of her line of vision, and broke into a sprint. You passed through another courtyard, where more preparations were underway. There were far too many eyes on you. If you remembered correctly, there was only one more turn before the part of the property you were parked on.

Dirt crunching under your feet, you slid around the corner and straight into something hard and large. You let out a sharp “ouch” as your face burned with the force of the collision. To your horror, you realized you’d run into a person. You kept your eyes low, looking at the man’s feet as you held a hand over your face, wondering for a moment if you’d broken your nose. Then, a familiar scent flooded your senses, and you felt a large hand rest on your shoulder.

“Woah, I’m sorry, are you okay?” Rafe’s voice asked, clearly unaware of who he was talking to, you looked so different than you did six months ago.

You raised your wide eyes to look at him, hand still cradling your throbbing nose. You took him in through rapidly blinking lashes, begging yourself not to cry. His face shifted slowly from concern for a stranger to recognition of someone all too familiar.

He pulled his hand from you in shock, his mouth opening and closing and opening again, trying to form words that just weren’t coming. You knew you needed to get out of there before they did.

“I’m fine,” you said firmly, hoping he understood you were talking about more than just your injured face.

You sidestepped him and kept running, leaving him standing wide eyed and ashen faced as he watched you get into your car and peel away from his home, and away from him.

₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ *˚˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ *˚˚₊ ˚ ‧₊

The key rattled against the lock, your hands shaking as you tried to get into your apartment. When you finally got the door opened, you peeled off your clothes quickly, as if they were covered in something radioactive. You pulled on a tank and some sleep shorts, fully ready to get in bed and stay there for days. Everything in you was unraveling. The sight and sound of him undoing the steel backbone you had built for yourself. You climbed under the covers, curled into a ball, and sobbed.

You cried so hard, it knocked you out. Without trying to, your body fell into a hazy, uneasy kind of sleep, haunted by images of Rafe. When you woke, blinking confusedly at the fuzzy outline of the time on your alarm clock, it was dark outside. The clock read 11:03pm. You pulled yourself from your bed with a groan, craving something to comfort you in your post-meltdown emptiness.

As you stood at the sink, filling the kettle for some tea, your mind replayed the events of the day. He’s getting married tomorrow. The rehearsal dinner that you helped set up for was probably over by now. You pictured him saying goodnight to her with a kiss, hanging his tux for the morning, making sure he had the rings ready. You already knew you’d lost him, but the permanence of tomorrow’s events felt like a boot on the neck of the small part of you that still wondered what if.

Your phone rang out loudly on the kitchen table, making you jump, so startled you almost dropped the tea kettle, the water now overflowing. You set the kettle down on the stove and turned on the burner before looking at your phone screen, which read “unknown number.” You hit decline and let it go to voicemail. After a minute, you poured your tea and sat at the table, watching as your phone lit up again with notification of a new voicemail. You unlocked it and pressed play.

You knew the voice immediately, though it was coming out slurred and strained. You clutched the phone to your ear with both hands to hear better.

“Heyyyy baby. It’s me. I’m sorry for calling so many times, blowin’ up your phone and you’re probably out somewhere, looking fuckin’ gorgeous like always. Shit there’s probably guys lined up to take you home. Do you remember when we met? Fuck you looked so hot. I thought if you said no to going home with me I might literally die. But you said yes! You said yes and you took me home and we, fuck…god…it was so good, you’re so good. Not just the sex. I mean, yes your pussy is so perfect, but…shit it’s raining…but you were- you are…jesus Rafe get it together. I can’t remember what I was saying. I’m so drunk, I- ouch, fuck!- I miss you, baby. It's cold out here but I don’t care, I couldn’t be there anymore. I couldn’t listen to them talk about this fucking wedding. Fucking flowers and table settings and shit I don’t care about any of that…just, please…baby…I need-”

Your phone beeped loudly, the voicemail cut off for length. You replayed it, twice. Outside your kitchen window, you could see the rain getting heavy. The low was in the 30s tonight, and it was supposed to keep raining for hours. You couldn’t hear much in the background behind Rafe’s drunken rambling, but you could tell he was outside. You pictured him stumbling into a ditch somewhere. He had hurt himself on the voicemail, did he fall? You couldn’t stand the thought of him alone, out in the cold rain, hurt.

Despite every instinct, you pulled up the number he called from and texted him.

Today 11:14pm

Where are you?

Today 11:16pm

‘Unknown’ shared their location with you.

You grabbed your coat and keys and ran out the door before you had time to second guess yourself. You found him lying on the beach, his clothes soaked through from the rain that was still falling heavily. He’d clearly thrown up, just a few feet from where he was laying now. You ran to his side and quickly checked that he was breathing.

“Jesus, Rafe,” you recoiled at the overwhelming aroma of booze radiating off of him.

His eyes flew open at the sound of your voice.

“Baby?” he groaned.

“We gotta get out of here, Rafe,” you struggled to help him up.

With an enormous amount of effort, you got him into your car. He leaned his head against the cold window as you drove, his breath fogging up the glass with each exhale. You looked over at him every few seconds to make sure he was still conscious.

Once in your apartment, stumbling through the door with his arm over your shoulder, you led him into the bathroom, guiding him to sit on the edge of the tub while you ran the shower, water heating slowly.

You tapped his arms.

“Up,” you instructed. He lifted his arms obediently and looked up at you through half-lidded eyes as you peeled off his wet polo, doing everything you could to avoid staring at his bare torso.

“Think you can do the rest yourself?” You motioned to his lower half.

“No,” he said with a smirk.

“Rafe,” you warned, not playing around.

“I can do the rest myself,” he said with his hands up in defense.

You left him in the bathroom fumbling with his belt. While he showered, you brewed a pot of coffee and poured two steaming mugs, sitting uneasily at the table when he finally emerged from the bathroom. He was in only his boxers and you blushed aggressively, as if you hadn’t seen him naked a hundred times before. He caught the redness in your cheeks as you looked down at your hands, swallowing hard.

“Sorry,” he said earnestly. “My clothes are still wet.”

You pushed back your chair and walked to your bedroom, returning with folded clothes in your hands. He looked suspiciously at the men’s t-shirt and basketball shorts you gave him, cocking his eyebrow at you. You just glared back at him, tilting your head slightly as if to say I dare you to give me shit about where I got them. He didn’t push it, pulling them on wordlessly.

“Coffee?” You offered once he was dressed.

“Please,” he slumped into the chair across from you, sipping the coffee with a sigh.

“Feeling better?” You asked.

“Much better, thanks,” he said. “Never mix rum and redbull.”

You snorted, “I could’ve told you that.”

“Well you weren’t there were you?” The sentence started playfully but ended with a bite.

You sipped your coffee, wondering who would be first to acknowledge the elephant in the room. You sat in silence for a few minutes, both drinking your coffee and letting the air grow thick between you.

Finally, he caved and spoke first, “why’d you leave?”

“Why would I stay?” You responded, voice dripping with spite.

“I- I guess I don’t know.” Now it was Rafe avoiding your eyes.

“Does she know…about me?” You asked timidly.

“No,” he mumbled, before sipping up the last drop of his coffee.

“And where does she think you are right now?”

“My bachelor party.”

“We should get you back there, then.” You stood and collected both mugs, bringing them to the sink.

Rafe scoffed, “you’re kicking me out again?”

“I never kicked you out, Rafe. You left,” you said, clutching the edge of the sink, bracing for an argument.

But he didn’t argue, he just let the silence settle between you for a long moment before finally saying, “I wish I hadn’t. I miss you.”

You turned, expecting to find him still slumped over the table, but he had stood and was now startlingly close. You jolted, squaring your shoulders in defense as he got closer to you.

“Don’t say that,” you pleaded. “I can’t do this with you.”

“Then why’d you come get me?” He asked, his eyelids low as he looked down at you. “Why’d you bring me here?

“Why’d you call me?” You asked back.

“I asked you first,” he said, no playful smile to match his childish words.

“Why does it matter?” You sighed.

“‘Cause it does, it matters to me, please just give me a reason,” his voice grew more desperate as he stepped even closer to you, his looming body caging you against the sink. He searched your face as he waited for you to respond, needing an answer you couldn’t give him.

“Are you gonna marry her?” Your words tightened the tension already growing between you, causing Rafe to close his eyes in frustration.

“I don’t want to talk about her,” he shook his head.

Rafe lifted his hand slowly, placing it on your waist. He squeezed gently at the soft skin of your side. You leaned into his touch for just a second before coming to your senses.

“Are you? Going to marry her?” You repeated stubbornly.

“Yes,” He said, eyes falling from your face to his hand on your side.

“Then you shouldn’t be touching me,” you grabbed Rafe’s hand and lowered it from you. “I won’t be a mistress. I won’t be that dirty pogue who fucks a married guy, I wanna be something better than that.”

You slipped out from between him and the sink, pacing to the other side of the room, but his body turned aggressively to follow you.

“You are. You’re so much better,” his voice cracked with urgency as he rushed to reassure you.

You shook your head in anger, raising your voice as you snapped, “then why are you marrying someone else?”

“Because I have to!” He matched your heated tone, as if he was the one to have something to be mad about.

“We’re going in circles, Rafe! We are in the exact same spot we were six months ago! Except I’m a different person now. It changed me, losing you. I got better, I got healthy, I got sober. I got over you!” You were yelling now, searching for the words to make him understand that he wasn’t the only one who had something to lose now.

“Well I didn’t get over you,” he stated simply.

“No, you got engaged,” you pointed out.

“Fuck that, fuck her, you know I don’t love her!” He scoffed. “You saw her today, you know she’s a bitch.”

“That’s really nice, Rafe, you should put that in your vows,” you huffed sarcastically.

“Oh c’mon, she doesn’t love me either,” he rolled his eyes. “She still fucks around, everyone knows it.”

He said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world, but it took you by surprise. You searched his face for a sign as to whether it was true or just something he made up to make you sympathize with him. The way his eyes fell to the ground and the apples of his cheeks blushed slightly told you it was true, she cheated on him, and he was ashamed of it. It made you sick, the thought of someone having him so close and caring so little. The only thing worse than the thought of her treating him like that was the thought of him accepting it as if it was what he deserved. You should’ve felt sad for him, but it just made you angrier.

“Then why, Rafe? Why?” You knew you were becoming a broken record but you just could not wrap your head around his choice. “Why are you still with her?” You hated the way it made you sound like you were blaming him for her actions, but you needed to understand.

“Because I’m going to have to end up with someone like her anyway, I may as well just get it over with,” he said with a resigned shake of his head.

“That’s fucked up, Rafe,” you said, even though you knew he already knew it.

“It is what it is,” he shrugged, defeated.

Your eyes caught the clock on your stove. It was almost 1am. Rafe was supposed to be saying his vows in twelve hours, and you knew if he stood here in your apartment for another minute, looking at you so helplessly, you’d crumble for him.

“I think you should go home,” you said, trying and failing to mean it.

“Not yet,” Rafe said, his tone implying there was something more he was waiting for.

And even though you wanted to, you just couldn’t give it to him.

Mustering the last of your pride, you took a deep breath and said, “If you’re waiting for me to ask you not to marry her, we’re both gonna be disappointed. I’ve been doing good, Rafe. I got my life together, and I won’t be responsible for ruining someone else’s. It’s not on me, you have to decide. If you don’t want to marry her, then don’t marry her. But do it for you, because I’ve got me covered.”

Rafe considered your words, standing completely still as they washed over him. He had to choose. He could either ruin his reputation and potentially lose his family to be happy with you or keep the lifestyle he’d grown so accustomed to and be miserable with her. He looked so sad, and you desperately wanted to ask him what he was thinking, but you stayed silent, wanting him to say what he was feeling all on his own for once. You needed a simple answer.

But Rafe Cameron never did anything the simple way.

He didn’t say anything, he just started walking toward you. Once he was close enough to touch you, and your back was against the wall, he reached up to touch your face gently with one finger, silently asking if you were still in pain from your collision earlier. When you didn’t wince or push him away, he leaned down, bringing his lips dangerously close to yours.

“Just one more time, please. Don’t kick me out, be with me one more time,” he whispered against your skin.

You shook your head slowly, whispering back, “I won’t kick you out, but I also won’t let you touch me and then marry her.”

“Fine, I won’t touch you.”

Rafe leaned back, only slightly, pulling his face away so you were level with his chest. He folded his hands behind his back to show you he meant it. You could smell his familiar musk, his chest so close to your face you could hear his heartbeat as you looked up at the pulsing veins in his neck. His hair, still wet from the shower, flopped messily over his forehead. A single drop fell from his bangs and landed on your collarbone. Rafe’s eyes darkened as he tracked the droplet rolling across your exposed skin, down your chest, over the curve of your tits and finally disappearing into your tank top.

Eyes locked to Rafe’s, you lifted your hand slowly, placing it over the spot the water had fallen, sliding your fingers delicately down the drop’s path. When you reached the neckline of your tank top, Rafe’s eyes consuming every movement, you reached up with your other hand and lowered one of the straps of your top slowly. You dragged your hand down further, cupping your breast through your lacy bralette and biting your lip at the pressure.

Rafe’s jaw clenched. He put one hand on the wall next to your head to steady himself, bringing his body impossibly closer while still not touching you. His other hand fell to his side, moving dangerously close to his dick.

“You better not touch yourself either, or I swear to god I’ll stop,” you warned him.

“Don’t stop,” He brought the drifting hand up to the wall on the other side of your head. “Please, baby.”

Butterflies erupted in your stomach at his voice, raspy and strained with need. With two hands on the hem of your shirt, you pulled it slowly over your head, leaving you in just the see-through undergarment.

“Take that off too,” Rafe tried to sound dominant, but his voice cracked, betraying him.

“You’re not in any position to make demands,” you scolded with a shake of your head. “And you’re not going to see me naked. You have a fianceé for that.”

Rafe was pained by this, his nostrils flailing as he clenched his jaw in frustration. You ignored him and put your hands back on your body, palming both of your tits again before trailing lower over your stomach. Rafe’s tongue darted out of his mouth and licked his lips as he watched the way your stomach flexed with anticipation, hands finally landing on the waistband of your sleep shorts. One hand pulled the elastic back while the other slid beneath it slowly. When your fingers ran over the fabric of your panties, teasing your clothed clit, your head fell back against the wall and your jaw fell slack. Rafe ran one of his hands through his hair as he watched pleasure flood your face, desperate to touch something, anything. The hand still on the wall closed into a fist. You started rubbing circles over your clit through your panties, the fabric already soaked through, wet since the sight of him in his boxers. Your breath hitched when you found the perfect rhythm and you closed your eyes tight, a melodic moan rising from your throat.

“Fuck baby, you’re so fucking sexy,” Rafe growled through gritted teeth.

Your eyes flew open and you pulled your hand from your shorts, suddenly very aware of the lack of space between you and the vulgarity of what you were doing. You slid under his arm and hurried to the other side of the kitchen.

“You should go,” you whispered, wrapping your arms around yourself and shivering at the sudden loss of his warmth.

Rafe stayed still, trying not to spook you. His head dipped low, looking down at his ringing hands.

“I missed you,” he mumbled helplessly.

“You mean you missed fucking me?” You asked spitefully.

One agonizingly slow step at a time, Rafe crossed the room. You turned from him as if to push him away, literally giving him the cold shoulder. But he wasn’t deterred, he just got closer and closer until he was right behind you, close enough for his breath to sweep across your shoulder as he said, “yeah, what if I do? I miss it so much. There’s not a day that passes without me wishing I was here, fucking you so good you scream my name.”

His arrogant words made you so fucking angry, and so fucking wet.

What little resistance you had mustered disappeared. Breathless, you whispered, “what else do you miss?”

“I miss your little moans,” he continued, the corner of his lips raising slightly at the sight of the goosebumps that shot up your arms. “I bet you still cry out for me when you make yourself come, don’t you? I want you to show me.”

“We can’t do this,” you shook your head.

“No, I can’t do this,” he corrected you. “You can do whatever you want.”

No fight left, you took his suggestion, and soon you were laying back on your bed, your shorts thrown on the floor, your hand moving feverishly under your panties. Rafe laid next to you, his body drawn in as close as it could possibly get while keeping his promise not to touch you. You’d made no such promise, the hand you weren’t rubbing over your slick folds gripping his arm for purchase as you moaned at your own touch.

“Talk to me,” you begged.

“Yeah?” He said excitedly, as if he had been waiting for permission.

You nodded desperately, bringing your eyes to his as one of your fingers dropped down to enter yourself.

“You remember the first time we fucked?” He began. “Right here on this bed. I took you from behind. You were so tight around my cock, like you were fucking made for me.”

You added a second finger, driven by his filthy words. His jaw clenched, restraining himself with more effort than he’d ever given anything as he watched you writhe.

“Keep going,” you whined, eyes squeezed shut.

“I had to turn you around, I had to see that pretty face when you came for me for the first time,” he recalled. “God, I bet you wish it was me stretching you out right now, don’t you? You wish it was my cock pounding you into the mattress until you can’t breathe, huh?”

“Mhm,” you nodded, lips pouting, overwhelmed by the memories and your need to feel him.

“Best pussy I’ve ever had,” he groaned, feeling himself twitching in his pants, desperate for his own release but committed to yours. “I need to see you come, baby, one more time. Please come for me?”

You cried out as you clenched around your own fingers, their size so inadequate with him so close, knowing what he could be doing to you. But you meant what you said, you couldn’t let him touch you, not while his bride was sleeping just across town, no idea her groom was in some pogue’s bed, begging her to come for him. Maybe it was sick, but the thought of him being so desperate for you that he was risking everything with her made your thighs clench around your hand, nearing the edge.

“Tell me about the first time you saw me,” you pleaded, the rasp in your voice warning him you were close.

“Holy shit, baby, you were so fucking sexy,” he said, rising up from the bed and propping himself on his arm to hover over you, the proximity throwing you into even more of a frenzy. “Dancing in that club, the way you move, shit, I wanted to lay you down on that dancefloor and fuck you right there. So did every other guy in there. But they didn’t get to have you, I did. And I’ve never been the same since I first touched you.”

It was all too much, his words, the memory, the sensation of your fingers sliding in and out so easily, the way he was talking making you so wet. Your high crashed into you like a truck, your back arching off the bed, your chest bumping into his as you came with his name on your lips.

“There she is, that’s my girl,” Rafe exhaled as you rode out your high. Eventually, your muscles gave out from the pleasure and you slumped back into the bed.

He watched you in rapture as your chest rose and fell with labored breaths, struggling to recover. Neither of you knew what to do next, the shock of what just happened washing over you. Your body was so exhausted from the chaos of the day and the aftershocks of your orgasm, all you wanted was him, and you were too tired to fight it.

“Rafe?” You whispered into the darkness of your bedroom, the light of the moon the only thing illuminating the small space.

“Yeah?” He whispered back.

“Can you hold me?” Your voice sounded so small, and you hated the vulnerability of your request, but at this moment the only thing you wanted in the world was to feel his arms around you.

“I thought you didn’t want me to touch you?” He teased gently.

“I said I’m getting better, not that I’m perfect,” you smiled, turning your body towards him. “And I want to know what it feels like to fall asleep in your arms. Just once.”

“Is it gonna be an issue?” He asked. You knew what he really meant was, “are you going to regret sleeping with an engaged man?”

The answer was yes, but you didn’t care.

“Just let me be a little selfish,” you said, turning around so your back was against his chest, pulling his arm around you. “I had you first.”

“You still have me,” he whispered against your neck, pulling your body into his.

“Shhh,” you said, lifting your fingers gently to his lips. “Go to sleep, Rafe.”

He smiled and did as he was told.

₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ *˚˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ *˚˚₊ ˚ ‧₊

The sunlight landing on your face is what woke you from the deepest and sweetest sleep you’d had in six months. Your first instinct was to smile, humming in satisfaction as you stretched your well rested muscles.

Your second instinct was to reach for him.

You shouldn’t be surprised, shouldn’t pull your knees to your chest, shouldn’t be crying alone in your cold bed. Of course he left. He was always going to leave.

Some small, pathetic voice in the back of your mind said, “maybe he just went to break things off with her.”

Even though it made you feel like the most pitiful girl in the world, you checked his location, still available from the night before. He was on Figure 8, the address you had gone to yesterday. He was at his wedding.

He had wanted you to ask him not to marry her. He never would’ve said it, but you could see it on his face. He had too much to lose, too many people depending on him, too much weight on his shoulders. But maybe he would’ve given it all up, if only you’d asked.

You threw your phone across the room in frustration. Maybe you should’ve just asked him to stay with you, maybe you should’ve put your pride aside this one time, maybe this was all your fault.

You were up and out of bed before you had time to talk yourself out of it. You pulled on your catering clothes from the night before. Surely, they wouldn’t let you in the gate if you looked like some wedding crashing pogue, but maybe you could slip in undetected if it seemed like you still worked there.

You don’t even remember driving there, your stomach on fire with nerves and something that might even be excitement, as you raced across the island. The clock in your car read 1:03pm, and you prayed to whatever god was listening that the ceremony had started late.

As you planned, they let you right in the gate when you said you were with the caterer. You didn’t even bother to park at the service entrance, your tires squealing as you came to a stop right in front of the house, leaving the engine running as you ran towards the ceremony site. You could hear music playing in the distance, hoping it was the processional.

But when you turned the corner, you heard a large crowd break into applause. You came to a halt, backing up to hide under the cover of a tree a few yards from the end of the aisle. You watched as Rafe appeared, his beaming bride on his arm. He dipped her low, giving her a kiss as the crowd cheered again, the gold ring on his left hand glinting in the sunlight.

You were too late.

₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ *˚˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ *˚˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ ˚ ‧₊

pt. 3 coming soon

#rafe cameron #obx fic #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron smut #angst #Rafe cameron angst #obx smut #smut #June gloom #rafe fic #rafe fanfic #rafe obx #rafe cameron fic #rafe cameron x you #rafe

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artificial-transmutations · 2 days

Text

A night you won't forget

You arrived at the parking lot exactly on time, but Zach was already waiting for you in front of the building, regardless. Similar to yourself, he was wearing a suit and had his dark hair styled for the occasion.

'The occasion' was actually not that special. A new casino, the 'Shifting Sands', had opened in town, and a couple of friends invited the two of you to a poker night in one of the private rooms they rented. You knew one of them, Daniel, for a long time, and when he got together with his now long-time partner, Ryan, you were introduced to one of his friends, Zach. The two of you got along okay. You were both straight, and occasionally, you hang out together to watch a game, but Zach wasn't necessarily your *best* friend. Still, he was a decent dude, and you greeted him with a fist.

"Hey, Zach. What's with the fancy get-up? Didn't they tell you it's just gonna be the four of us? No girls to get all pretty for."

Zach grinned and returned the greeting.

"Who knows what the evening will bring? Perhaps we will get out of our room later, and for that, I'd like to be *prepared*. Besides, you're suited up as well."

"Guilty as charged. I've had the same thought, and I've come *prepared* as well."

You flashed him a condom wrapper that you carried inside your chest pocket and the both of you laughed heartily.

The 'shifting sands' was a modern and glittering casino in the theme of Arabian nights. The staff was dressed accordingly and was pretty attractive, a fact that neither you nor Zach missed as you looked around.

"This place is amazing, isn't it?"

"Yeah. I wouldn't have minded if we just stayed and played here instead."

The two of you followed a hostess into a separate room behind a curtain and were greeted by the two other players. The gay couple had dressed up as well, and wore matching suits, which produced a playful roll of the eye from Zach's side.

Besides the two of them, there was one other person in the room, a rather good-looking and muscular fellow wearing a sleeveless shirt in the house's style - without doubt an employee of the casino. You waved a hello, and the employee smiled.

"I believe we're complete, then."

He got up and closed the door, drowning out the noise from the rest of the casino effectively.

"Greetings everyone. I'm your host, Gene - which is short for Eugene, if you are wondering - and I'm here to guide you through a night you won't forget."

The guy had a slight exotic accent, and the way he pronounced 'Gene' sounded somewhat like 'Genie' - which was, without doubt, what he was aiming at. While you could appreciate that the employee was certainly somewhat handsome, you guessed that Daniel and Ryan had to be practically drooling.

After exchanging some pleasantries, the five of you sat down at the table to play. This was the moment you had been somewhat nervous about, and you were glad that only your friends were here.

"Uhm. Before we begin. I actually have never played poker before."

Zach looked at you like you had just announced you were a chicken in disguise, but the dealer just chuckled.

"No problem. What's your name?"

You told him your name, and he nodded. "Alright, let me just explain the rules."

He did, and you listened closely. It didn't appear to be all that difficult, but it was a lot to remember the different card and hand values. Finally, you nodded.

"Great. Now, before we begin, let's get to know each other a bit. The two of you are together?"

Ryan nodded.

"Yeah, we are. I'm Ryan, this is my boyfriend Daniel, and this is Zach, a friend."

The dealer smiled and his eyes sparkled. "Well, welcome to the 'Shifting Sands', once more. I guess you are the top?"

Daniel looked like Gene had just punched him and he flushed red immediately. Ryan, however, answered.

"Yeah, I am. Why?"

"Just genuine interest. And the two of you..."

Zach was half a second quicker to answer than you.

"We're not together. And not gay."

"Got it. Not gay." Gene chuckled for a moment before starting to deal the cards.

Besides his shameless questions at the beginning, Gene was a brilliant conversationalist, with a bit of a show master attitude and even though you lost most of the games, you had a great evening filled with laughter, light food and tasty drinks. Your only solace in losing was that Zach fared little better, although he supposedly knew the game better than you.

Later in the evening, the chips representing your money had melted away to a point where it was doubtful you could play another round, and Zach's looked quite similar. You excused yourself to the toilet before that last round. Even the men's room was tastefully designed in the casino's theme, and you understood why this place had such high rankings on the internet.

When you returned to the table, you noticed that the tiny stack of chips in front of Zach had grown a bit: one more chip, in a glittering, shining color, had been added to it.

"Hey, where did that come from? You were as broke as I," you protested, but Gene just flashed a smile.

"Relax. Zach just brought one more thing to the table. Remember, you can bet everything you brought here."

"So, what did you bet?" you asked, curiously. Zach looked like he was trying hard to stay serious, and finally, Ryan burst out laughing.

"He bet *you*."

"He... what?" you asked, confused.

"To be more exact, Zach bet your humanity." Gene explained with humorously sparkling eyes. "As I explained, everything you brought is fair game."

It was clear you were past the serious game part of the evening, and you laughed as well.

"Well, then I want to bet something, too. And that is... Zach's *decency*!"

Everyone on the table laughed, except for Gene, who just smiled and dealt you another sparkling chip.

"Very well. I guess this is the last round, then."

He dealt the cards and even though your hand wasn't too bad, Ryan won everything, including your new chips.

You didn't mind losing, and after the game was over, the four of you got up to leave, but Gene raised a hand.

"Gentlemen, you still have to pay up. As I said, it's going to be a night you won't forget."

Suddenly, you felt *strange*. It was hard to describe the feeling, but a sudden wave of weakness went over you. Before you could voice your discomfort, however, you heard Zach talking.

"Man, is it getting hot in here all of a sudden?"

Your friend had already disposed of his jacket and was just half unbuttoning and half ripping open his shirt, in front of the eyes of everyone.

Suddenly, Zach grinned as he wiped away the sweat from his brow.

"Na. It's not getting hot, *I* am hot. Hot as always."

He cupped his groin, which was developing an obvious tent, and winked at Daniel and Ryan.

"Come on, admit it. You wanted me here just so you could ogle me all evening. I don't blame you, I'm just a hot stud."

He ground his groin into the air, and you could see him *changing*. His muscles swelled and his pecs and abs popped, his shoulders grew broader, his arms thicker. His hair became darker and longer, until he resembled a greasy biker model, complete with tattoos on the thick arms.

Zach's body wasn't the only thing growing. His cock, which was obviously hard all of a sudden, also grew in both length and girth, and it was spurting pre as he flaunted his new body shamelessly.

Both Ryan and Daniel were staring incredulously, and Daniel, who was the bottom of the two as you had learned today, even subconsciously licked his lips.

"You like what you see, huh?" Zach addressed Daniel now, who couldn't help but stare.

"Thought as much you needy boy. Hey, Ryan, how about we share your bitch tonight?"

"I, uh..." Ryan began, but Daniel looked indeed like he was about to drool.

"Ookay, I guess. But right here?"

"Yeah, fuck it." Zach answered. "I even brought protection."

With that, he grabbed you by the hair. You were so weak by now you had trouble standing and more or less collapsed in front of him.

Thinking he wanted to have the condom in your pocket, you fumbled with your own jacket, but Zach had other ideas, as he ripped down your pants.

"Come on, let's get nice and ready for that ass of yours," he addressed Daniel, while unceremoniously ramming his hard cock up your ass, which made you nearly cry out in surprise. However, it didn't feel as painful as you had expected, and to your confusion, the cock inside your ass seemed to grow even larger.

Only as your clothing slipped off from you piece by piece, you realized this wasn't what was happening. Instead of his cock growing larger, you were becoming smaller! The room around you grew, as more and more of your insides disappeared to make room for the gigantic cock, leaving yourself somehow... hollow.

At the same time, your skin changed texture. Within moments, what had once been normal skin, felt more and more artificial, even rubbery, no, more and more like *latex*. Only now did you realize with horror what you were becoming. Wrapped tightly around the cock of your previously straight friend, you were reduced to a condom!

With your last strength, you looked towards Gene, but the man was just leaning back in his chair, watching the events unfolding with an amused smile and a sparkle in his eyes.

Your legs and arms had disappeared, and so had your face, but you could see, smell and feel everything, including the musky cock filling you up to the brim. Now, however, Zach gave your elastic form another tug and Ryan a high five, before they both got to work on different sides of the amazed bottom. In mere moments, your world was eclipsed by the ass of your friend, as Zach and Ryan spit-roasted Daniel. You were pistoned in and out of his eager hole, and you couldn't help but share the excitement of all parties involved.

It didn't take too long with the movement of three sweaty male bodies until Zach's balls contracted and you felt his dick pulse inside of you. Then, with a powerful spurt, you were filled up with his cum from the inside, bulging out the section of your latex body that had once been your face. All your senses were fixated on the load, which you both felt and tasted at the same time. The moans from the other end told you that, simultaneously, the other men had reached their climax as well, and you felt like you had cummed yourself.

It took a few minutes for the afterglow to fade, but once Zach has caught his breath, he pulled you off of his dick and tied your back end into a knot before throwing you into the trash can without further consideration.

You faintly heard the three of them say their goodbyes to Gene and some plans to hit the clubs now, but after a few minutes, you were left alone, in the stinking dark, still filled with your friend's cum.

Later in the night, the trash bin was emptied into a big container, but that didn't change much. It seemed like you were left there for good, just an object to dispose of. Eventually, you drifted to a kind of sleep.

When you woke up, it was already morning. Thankfully, you were human again, although naked and in a trash container, and you could still taste Zach's cum. You held your head.

That was certainly a night you wouldn't forget.

And, against all rationality, you looked forward to doing that again. You did feel somewhat empty without a dick to fill you out...

#male transformation #straight to gay #inanimate transformation

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meloyellow236 · 2 days

Text

The TWST boys write letters to Yuu/The Prefect!

All of them except for Ortho+Checka are meant to be interpreted as romantic, but many can be interpreted as platonic as well. The reader is gender-neutral, but more feminine adjectives will be used when referring to them. Rollo's part is fairly suggestive. Characters will probably be a bit OOC.

Minor spoilers for their respective books in each section, but I try to keep it as spoiler-free as I can, except for who overbloted. If anyone has any questions or comments, please leave an ask or comment :)

NRC:

Heartslabyul:

Riddle Rosehearts -

My dearest rose,

You are the loveliest person I have ever known. It is a miracle that you chose to get to know me, and even more so after I hurt you and your friends so deeply. I have made many mistakes, but you, my rose, look past them. I understand that you may choose to go home one day, but even so...

Please just give me a moment of your time, a fraction of your thoughts, and I’ll be satisfied. Any inch of you that I can get, I want, even if you still believe me a tyrant. If it pleased you- No, if it only made you look my way, I would gladly break any rule of the queen’s or my mother’s. Understand that, my rose, and I am sure you’ll know what remains unsaid in this letter.

Yours Truly,

Riddle Rosehearts

Trey Clover -

Prefect,

Hello. I wanted to thank you, first and foremost, for helping out Heartslabyul so much. You’ve been a very good influence on Ace and Duece, and it’s nice to see Cater open up to someone. Not to mention, Riddle’s been improving every day. I can’t even describe how much you’ve helped me... I just hope you know that I’ll always be grateful for what you’ve done. You’re welcome at Heartsabyul at any time. I have some donuts waiting for you if you want.

From,

Trey.

Cater Diamond -

Prefect,

Heyyy! Whatcha doing right now? I’m sooooo happy that you came to NRC even if, like, all of the housewarden’s tried to ratio you. I do not subscribe to that, BTW. #NotCool, #Yikes-A-Tron. But, like... On a more serious note, I am happy that I got to know you. It’s nice to have someone I can just be myself around. No drama, no expectations, just... Yeah. I know that you’re gonna leave at some point, and it’s almost a relief. You’re honest about it, which is something that many can’t say.

Ugh, that was probs TMI! I’m not trying to trauma dump here, oops. There’s this cute cafe that opened up downtown, totally Magicam-worthy. You wanna meet up there sometime?

- Cay-cay ♦️

Ace Trapolla -

Prefect!!

I need your help! So, Trein’s got this super hard test coming up on Friday- Like, Riddle-got-a-99-last-year level of hard. Yeah, that’s without the extra credit, but STILL! That’s failure to the tyrant! So, you’ve got to come over to Heartslabyul right now and help me study. Pleaseeeee!!!! I’ll owe you one!

Oh, and don’t bring Grim. Deuce’s also got plans, there’s no need to ask him. You know, in case that matters to you.

See ya,

Ace

Deuce Spade -

Dear Prefect,

Hello, how are you doing? Can you believe that it’s already been so long since we became friends? When we broke that chandelier, I was ready to never talk to you again... But now look at us! I’m on my way to becoming an honor student, and you’re working on finding your way home! I’m happy that you’re going to be able to go soon, I know how bad it feels not to be able to see your family (and probably friends in your case) after so long away, but also sad that you’ll be leaving us.

I’ve got it! Let’s get your ghost camera, and we’ll take lots of photos of us all over campus! Two of each, so that way no matter what, both of us will always remember what we went through together. That sounds like a good idea, right?

From,

Duece

Savanaclaw:

Leona Kingscholar -

Herbivore,

Hey. You’re an idiot, you know that? You’re stupid and impulsive and don’t know when to quit or give up. That’s why you keep looking for me in the botanical gardens, right? You just don’t know when to stop. I’m sure that you’ll realize I’m not worth your effort soon enough. But until then, you have to come to see me more often. You’re my pillow, I don’t get good enough sleep if you’re not there.

I’m in the usual place. Get over here as soon as possible.

- Leona

Ruggie Bucchi -

Hiya, Prefect...

I’ve been thinking, and you should let me come over to Ramshackle and fix the place up for you. No upfront cost, of course, but... I want the right to use the kitchen as I please, whenever I please.

Why, you’re asking? Shishishi... Not telling. You’ve just got to trust me on this, I’ll make it worth your while. Then again, maybe I’ll just blow the kitchen up and you’ll have to live at Savanclaw again! That’d be fun, huh?

If you don’t want me to, ya better give up your kitchen for a little while! I’ll get that microwave up and running again in no time.

- Ruggie

Jack Howl -

Dear Prefect,

Hello, have you been feeling alright? I’ve noticed that Crowley isn’t the best provider of food. While on my morning runs, I’ve noticed Grim loudly talking about how he doesn’t have enough tuna. He does it pretty often. So, I’ve thought of a solution; You could try eating breakfast with me. I always get big portions, so you could have some. If you want, I could even try lifting you and carrying you places. I need to get better strength training anyway, and then you’ll have a buddy to get stronger with. It’s always better to have a friend with you.

From,

Jack

Octavinelle:

Azul Ashengrotto -

My Pearl,

Allow me to start this letter by saying that you are truly the crown jewel of my riches and that none can replace your beauty. You are the loveliest, most perfect little pearl, and I adore you with my whole heart. And yet, I cannot seem to convince myself that you feel the same. You say you do, and even if it is a crime to believe your lips hold lies, I cannot believe that to be true. If it was, why? Not just why you would tell me- A scheming man who has hurt you and your friends- that I hold the keys to your heart, but why you would choose what I hold underneath. I’m no good for you in terms of personality or how I look, and yet... You still hold me dear. And for that alone, I want to take you to the Coral Sea where my home lies, but not for a deal this time. Just... Because I want you and my mother in the same place. The two most important people to me meeting... That’s the best thing I can think of, to be honest.

With Love,

Azul Ashengrotto

Jade Leech -

Dearest Prefect,

It has come to my attention that you haven’t had a chance to enjoy a proper mushroom dish since arriving in Twisted Wonderland. Now, that will not do for much longer. This letter should contain a box with three containers worth of mushroom dishes. You are to eat them and write back to me with what you thought of each of them. In return, I shall continue to provide you with free food.

Do be warned, however, that they should all be eaten as fast as possible once you get them in case my brother chooses to throw them out. Also, so that way Grim cannot eat them. I would not recommend it for a cat.

Kind Regards,

Jade Leech

Floyd Leech -

Shrimpy!!!!!!

You and me. In the courtyard. Now.

I’m going to squeeze you.

🐬°˖𓍢✨໋ 🐋✧°.🐟⋆

🦐🥢🥢🥢🥢🧨

I’ll see you later if you want me to or not.

- Floyd <3333333

Scarabia:

Kalim Al-Asim -

Hello!!!!

I love you!!! I love you, I love you, I love you! You’re the most wonderful person in this school, and you’ve done so much for both me and Jamil! It would be silly for me not to love you. I love how your hair looked in the wind when we went on that carpet ride, I love how you looked in the school’s uniform and how you looked when you tried on my dorms, and I love how you look no matter how you dress because you’re a beautiful person inside and out! I love you, and nothing can change that! (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶) .ᐟ.ᐟ

Hugs and kisses,

Kalim Al-Asim

P.S. Let’s go on another magic carpet ride soon, okay? I want to show you how pretty the moon looks when it’s full and you’re flying!

Jamil Viper -

Dear Prefect,

Thank you for saving me when I overblotted. I am aware that what I did was wrong, and I apologize. I hope you can understand where I’m coming from. Either way, I feel as though I must do something more for you to show you that. Please come to Scarabia tonight. I will make you a special dinner if you do. Please, don’t tell Kalim. I want... something special, for the two of us this time.

See you later,

Jamil Viper

Pomefiore:

Vil Schoenheit -

My Dearest Potato,

I regret to inform you that you have bewitched me. So much so that I willingly took on a role as a villain in this next movie. The villain falls in love with the hero’s love interest, and then, in a “shocking” turn of events, she chooses the villain to stand by. Of course, they’re both defeated, the hero gets with his childhood friend in some lesson of how love will always be waiting for you, whatever. But I still chose it, even if Neige plays the hero.

I finally have a love interest, and they remind me of you. You could have stood by his side, you know. You should have. I poisoned him; That action speaks for itself. And yet, you decided to stay with me. Just like how that villain in this story gets the girl the hero originally wanted.

I’ve won your heart as well, haven’t I?

Sincerely,

Vil Schoenheit

Rook Hunt -

Trickster,

Bonjour, mon amour! I could not resist sending you another letter. You see my darling, I long for you like I long for the sunset on a hot day, for an oasis in a desert, for a hint of rain during the dry season, for the sun during the days when it pours. I'd imagine you'd taste like the rain as well, Trickster, and if given the chance, I'd taste again and again, in an attempt to satiate more than just my curiosity.

Oh, Trickster, have you any idea how you’ve bewitched me? Why, just the sight of you is enough to send me spiraling, wishing for the smallest fraction of a chance that my affections are shared. How cruel is fate, to deny me the right to live and die within your arms? La petite mort would be heaven if it was with you, but death would truly come for me if it wasn’t.

Je t'aime de tout mon coeur,

Le Chasseur D'Armour

Epel Felmeir -

Prefect,

I need some help. I found out that milk can make ya grow stronger, and also help you get taller. However, Vil has banned me from drinking it because I drank a carton in two days. Something about it raising my cholesterol or making me break out, I don’t care. So, I need to keep it at Ramshackle. That’s okay with you, right? Well, I sure hope it is, cause it’s getting in there if ya want it to or not! I’ll see ya soon, just make sure it’s in the fridge. I’ll get ya some of my family’s apple juice in return, it’ll be good. I reckon ya liked it last time.

Epel

Ignihyde:

Idia Shroud -

Prefect,

Get to my room, and fast. There’s an event taking place, and I need a player two. This one requires another person to be in the same room, so I can’t ask any of my mutuals, and you’re the only one I trust with this. I can’t ask Ortho either, don’t ask why.

Also I recently got pink lights in my room like those normies. That’s why everything looks kind of pink, it’s not my hair. Just in case you were wondering if I was embarrassed or whatever, you’re wrong. Just get over here ASAP, no time to waste.

- Gloomurai

Ortho Shroud -

Hello, how are you? ( ˵ •̀ ᴗ •́˵) I am very happy to get a chance to talk with you. I have recently learned how to type out these little faces called ‘kaomoji’ that my big brother loves. Here are some of my favorites:

♡✧( •⌄• )

ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ

•ω•

ᓚ₍ ^. .^₎ - This one is a cat!

I would like to share more with you. Please come to Ignihyde so I can teach you how to get them on your phone as well. I can provide free updates while you’re here if needed. (✿˶◕‿◕˶人◕ᴗ◕✿)

Sent To: [email protected]

Date: XX/XX/XXXX

Return Email: [email protected]

Diasomnia:

Malleus Dracona -

My Dearest Child Of Man,

If Longing was painful, how much farther would I have to fall to crash and burn at your feet? The only answer I can give is that I already would have. I would build monuments in your name and would offer you the world and more if only you would say you loved me back.

Could this be considered love? Could these feelings I hold deep within my heart, only to divulge in the darkest hours of the night with none but the stars and you to bear witness to my passion, be a form of love? Or is this simply my yearning, a longing for your heart, and wanting to have someone to call my own?

The moment I laid eyes on you, I knew that you were the one I wanted next. How I wish I could scream your name from the rooftop, and raise my voice in song only to sing your praises. You have the face of an angel, and I am sure that you must have the mind of one as well, for even if the voices in your head remind you of nothing more than pain and suffering, they have still been able to mold you into the perfection you are today. But maybe you have devils as well, trying to smite you as you sleep, but just as I do all of your angels, I will pick them up and kiss their heads if they are a part of someone I care for so much. You are perfection, Child of Man, and this dragon wishes only to live with the crumbs of affection as my treasures.

Yours Until The End Of Eternity,

Prince Malleus Dracona Of Briar Valley Hornton

Lilia Vanrouge - (Okay so for Lilia I could have SWORN that he calls the prefect ‘Beastie,’ but I can find that nowhere. Literally at all, no one seems to have used it for him, but I know that I’ve seen at least one person do it. I now think that it’s a headcanon thing but I’m not sure, if anyone knows who did this or if it’s canon, please tell me. I’ve been searching for far too long and I am in too deep.)

Beastie,

Hello, my darling~! I have an easy-peasy little request for you, m’kay? You just need to travel over to Diasomnia, and then... I’ll make you a meal! Malleus has been out trying to find this one gargoyle on campus all day since I brought up wanting to learn a new recipe, and Sebek and Silver both ran off earlier to go help him. I don’t know how to tell them that the gargoyle they’re looking for definitely isn’t at Night Raven College. Raising kids is quite hard, especially when things like this come up...

But you’ll be there for me, won’t you, Beastie? Pretty please? I’ll see you tonight if you want to, a little date if you feel up to it. Mwah!

xoxo,

Lilia

Silver “Vanrouge” -

Dear Prefect,

I had the most wonderful dream. I think I did, at least. I can’t remember it, but I remember how familiar these eyes were, and I knew it was you as soon as I awoke. And I know it's true, that dreams are seldom what they seem... But if I know how you are, then I know what you'll do; You'll look at me the same way you did once upon inside my dreams. And tell me all about the animals that you found with me when I awoke. What I wouldn’t give to hear you tell me about every birdie that comes to me; I’d be willing to fall asleep in the forest every day if only to hear you cooing to the birds when I come to. I wonder if each little bird has someone to sing sweet things to, a little love melody like what I long to play for you one day. Well, either way, I’m growing sleepy now. The effects of my curse will soon be on me once more. I’ll see you either later today or tomorrow, depending on how long I’m asleep. If you need me or simply wish to keep me company, I’m currently resting in the woods.

Best Wishes,

Silver

Sebek Zigvolt -

HUMAN!

I have something to show you; A new notebook to be filled, gifted to me by Master Lilia. He said that it is a ‘scrapbook’, which humans fill up with pictures and drawings of themselves and their friends. To fulfill the purpose of this illustrious gift, you must come to Diasomnia at once! You shall be the first of the first years to be added, along with Silver. Prepare enough of those photographs you have to fill half of the book. The other shall be dedicated to Wakasama!

Sincerely,

Sebek Zigvolt

RSA+NBC:

Che’nya -

Prefect...

When are you going to visit RSA, huh? It would be purrr-fect to get a chance to see you again. You’re quite the pretty purr-son, dontcha think? Or maybe I’ll just drop by at the next unbirthday party... Riddle and Trey would like that, but I wonder what you’d think. Hum-hum-hummm...

Kitty Kisses,

Artemiy Artemiyevich Pinker <3

Neige Leblanche - (The Reader is called NRC’s ‘princess’ in this one, but not called a woman or anything)

My Dearest,

Hello! How are you fairing? Have you been doing okay since the VDC? I know that you looked pretty shaken up back then, so I wanted to make sure that you’ve been okay. After all, you’re NRC’s princess! As far as I can tell, anyway. I’m happy that there’s someone around Vil like you, he always looked like he needed a good cheering up. And you’re like a fairytale! Such pretty hair and eyes and skin; Oh, I’d ride away with you on a white horse if I could!

Ah, that’s odd to say to someone I don’t know very well, isn’t it? I’m sorry, that’s my fault. You still want to be friends, right? If you do, please come visit me at some point. Or, just send me a letter back. I’ll make sure that you get priority over any fan letter.

Love,

Neige Leblanche

Rollo Flamme - (Kinda sugesstive)

Mon Amour,

There are times I wish I could tear you down and take you apart only to sew you back together. Rip you to shreds only to tenderly put each piece back where it should be. Drink from you until there's nothing left and then fill you up with all of the love I could offer, make you mine and mine alone. Those greedy thoughts shouldn't even make their way onto this paper, shouldn’t even be in my head, and yet here I am, penning them in a letter never to be sent.

I truly wish you never see these letters, for I'd hate to be the reason your face turns to disgust, even if for a moment. Of course, I don't regret writing them. You will never read them, after all, but I believe I should get my thoughts out like this rather than bottle them up, lest I do something stupid and let you see them. I pray that you will never have to see me in a state like how I write to you, over my bedside table in the dead of night, eyes barely open and breath still recovering from dreams of a sweeter pleasure than I should sully your name with.

I mention those dreams I have of you a lot, it seems, although I mean it in the most innocent way possible. Ever since I met you, you've infested my dreams and wormed your way into my heart like a parasite I can't rid myself of. My dreams are all of the sweet moments I have longed for and never gotten. I only have eyes for you, after all, and a saint may never lie with a sinner, lest they become one as well.

Bonus:

Checka Kingscholar -

To Perfect,

Hello! I am Checka Kingscholar. I am fiv years old. I like my unca. I like my dad and I love my mom. I love you! Goodbye! •ᴗ•

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