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agatha finale rant
so I’ve been seeing a lot of people complaining about the finale of Agatha and I wanted to give my two cents on their main points: 
1. “they used agatha’s show as a way to promote a man!!” well yes! that’s how marvel tv works im afraid. or any tv, really. wandavision was used to introduce agatha and monica, which led to their projects in the mcu (aaa, marvels). agatha introduced billy, leading to his future in visionquest or his solo series, which will introduce tommy and vision, which will lead to children’s crusade to reintroduce wanda. this is common for any tv show, but especially a big, connected franchise like marvel. i find it so concerning that even after all the promotion that showed us billy and agatha as co-leads, people were STILL shocked when the finale sets up a future story centered around him. like i hate to break it to yall but marvel wants money. and more shows means more money.
2. “they killed off a lesbian woman and not the gay man!” first of all, in the comics, agatha is a spirit guide for the scarlet witch. this form is her most comic accurate yet. also, did yall really think that was an unfair ending? or an ending PERIOD? all her death made me think of was the possibilities for the future with both billy AND rio. and again; rio was promoted as the ‘antagonist’ to agatha since the beginning. i don’t know how people went into this excepting a happily ever after for these two. they were always depicted as tragic lovers, and i honestly think the kiss of death was beautiful and poetic. i also don’t think this is the last we’re seeing of rio. and, as a side note, homophobia is still not okay! it doesn’t matter if you’re also gay; lesbians can be homophobic towards gay men, and gay men can be lesbophobic towards lesbians. and i’ve seen wayyyy too much of both in this fanbase. you can criticize characters and critique actors without bringing up their sexuality. we have enough incel homophobes doing that for us
3. if you’re still complaining about wanda not coming back i have no hope for you
4. this show, since day ZERO, was promoted as a show with billy and agatha as coleads. while i wish we had more backstory for how agatha and rio met, the salem flashbacks involving nicholas, the road scheme, and the song were much more important to the show. the parallels between nicky and billy were explored throughout the season a lot more than agatha and rios story (whether or not you like it, it’s still true (i personally wish we had a bit more on how they met 😭))
5. sending hate to actors about things their characters did is STILL not okay! and never will be!
6. this might be a hot take but if you’re only watching a show for a ship and don’t care about the story at all your opinion is irrelevant to me. like people who started watching after it was revealed in the show that agatha and rio were lovers (because, correct me if i’m wrong, this was never revealed before the episodes dropped) have no right to be upset when the show focuses on other things. and this is coming from a MASSIVE fan of agathario. and a lesbian. i loved the fact that i was watching characters who just happened to be lesbians have their own story. yes, i wish there was more agathario in the flashbacks. but i’m really not upset at all by what we got. and don’t get me wrong, people have every right to be disappointed, but they don’t have the right to hate on the creators and actors of the show. that’s not cool.
this is way longer than i thought it was gonna be 😭😭 hope everyone enjoyed the finale
#agatha all along#agatha all along finale#agatha all along spoliers#agatha harkness#rio vidal#agathario#wiccan#billy kaplan#billy maximoff#joe locke#kathryn hahn#marvel#hot take#mcu#rant#sorry in advance
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Dinner In a Winter Wonderland
Hi! This is my first ever fic! Hope you enjoy it :D
Winter x Male Reader Fluff
8.4k words (sorry)
“We’ll only agree if you guys bring along a fourth friend, ok?”
Your three friends all recited to you the conditions a “goddess” had set for the Christmas quadruple date they were dragging you into.
You sat at your desk, speechless as you scanned the pleading faces of your roommates and long-time friends, stunned by their brazen appeals to you. It was probably that last sentence that bamboozled you the most though. Sure you were the closest to them, but it’s not like they were short on other friends. Why did you of all people have to come along?
“Why me of all people?” you asked again, this time out loud.
“Well, apparently, they have a you in their friend group too,” one of your friends began.
“A me?” you scoffed.
“Yeah, a you,” he continued. “Y’know, a stubborn, reclusive homebody who needs to be dragged out of their room every time their friends wanna hang out. All because they enjoy their ‘me time’ a little too much,” he joked, perhaps a bit too accurately imitating your increasingly weak excuses to leave the dorm.
“Ha, ha,” you mocked.
“No seriously! Apparently, her name’s Winter.”
“Winter?” You stifled a snicker. “Like the season? That’s her real name?”
“I mean, that’s what they told us,” your friend replied with a shrug. “Who cares? It’s kinda cute.”
You silently agreed, hiding a smirk as to not concede that your interest was piqued. “So let me get this straight,” you began, folding your arms in an attempt to appear unfazed. “The only reason I’m being dragged along is because you guys need someone to pair up with some girl who—what?—shares my hate for leaving the house? The hell’s in this for me?” You asked, feigning anger.
“Dude, it’ll be a perfect match!” another friend enticed, desperately trying to paint the situation in an appealing light. “You both don’t like leaving your rooms, you both hate meeting new people. It’s like the universe is aligning for you two to meet.”
Did he even realise the irony of that sentence?
“C'mon man, spending Christmas alone in your room three years in a row is some of the saddest shit I’ve ever seen,” The first one remarked.
Well he wasn’t wrong, but you couldn’t let him get any ground.
“Some people can’t help it,” You retorted.
“Well those people probably don’t have a chance to go out with the most attractive women they’ll ever see.”
You scowled, about to add fuel to the fire before your third friend cut you off.
“Think about it,” he chimed in, shifting the conversation away from an argument. “If she’s anything like you, she’ll probably want this whole thing over with as fast as you do.”
“Uh, huh…” You leaned back in your chair, tamed, but staring at the ceiling unconvinced. A girl like you? With how active the rest of the campus was, you found it hard to believe there was actually someone out there like you—someone cynical and uncomfortable with social gatherings of any form.
To be clear, you didn't have poor social skills—in fact, you’d argue you had a certain way with words—you just avoided any chance to use them. You had a knack in discerning the smallest shift in someone’s expression, adjusting your tone, words and body language to suit. But that knack was often overshadowed by an unshakable urge to assess, to weigh every syllable and gesture, scanning for the faintest sign of discomfort or misinterpretation.
This hyperawareness turned into a road-block for any conversation. Instead of letting the flow guide you, you’d find yourself scrutinising every word you said the instant it left your mouth, wondering if it had landed right, if it was too much or too little, or if you’d somehow veered into awkward territory. The more you tried to keep things smooth, the more you’d find yourself caught in these spirals of self-correction, only to create the very awkwardness you’d been trying to avoid.
So in the rare case you did end up at a social event, it was like you were playing a part. You stuck to the same few openings, the same practised routes for small talk. There was nothing organic or genuine about the performance, nothing personal or meaningful. It was merely for show—a facade to keep up appearances.
It was all exhausting, and that’s what you had reiterated to your friends time and time again.
Regardless of your scepticism though, a strange part of you was actually a little curious. Not about the date itself—no, that was still a nightmare—but about this mysterious girl who apparently shared your introversions.
“Look, all we’re asking for is one night,” one pleaded, hands glued together as if he was in prayer. “One night! Just hang out with her for a couple hours while we chat up her friends, and you never have to do this again. You don’t have to see her again, talk to her again or anyone else if we ever ask. We’ll owe you big time.”
“Seriously dude, we’ll pitch in for the PS5 Pro or something!” another added in further pleas.
You let out a long sigh, staring this time down at your desk. Not in a million years would you even consider buying that atrocious excuse for a cash grab, but the sentiment of your friends owing you that colossal amount was admittedly tempting.
And then there was this Winter girl. The one who was apparently as much of a hermit as you were. You couldn’t ignore that meeting her was happening during Christmas, the very time of year you tried to avoid going out the most. But you almost couldn’t help but wonder what kind of person she was, if she really was as closeted as you or just some exaggerated myth your friends had conjured up to lure you out. It shouldn’t have, but just the idea of her tickled something deep in your brain, flooding your subconscious with various guesses of her character.
Your mind conjured up an amalgamation of the most attractive women you had seen throughout your life; famous actresses and idols, the cute barista at the Starbucks down the road, that one girl at the airport who caught your eye but you never ended up talking to. Their looks, personalities, whatever alluring details you could recall were being melted together and forged into what became your own expectation of Winter.
You imagined a stunning slim and quiet girl—that much was obvious—with milky white hair, and fair complexion. They were traits all befitting of a girl named Winter. But in your mind something about her attitude, her facial expressions… they radiated… cold. It wasn’t unlike how you appeared to strangers—irrationally concealing your timid fear of interaction with a stiff stare and an emotionless face. As you considered how similar your vision of her felt to you, it was strangely… warm…familiar.
Within a matter of seconds, your apprehension had transformed to a hesitant desire to meet her. Or rather, this idea of her you had thrown together.
You sat in a long silence, wrestling with your inner turmoil—your shameful, uncharacteristic urge to discover the truth about this girl.
Seriously man? You asked yourself. There’s no way in hell she’d look anything like that if she was anything like you.
Your asshole of a subconscious did have a point.
But something about this tugged at you in a way you couldn’t help but notice. If this girl was like you, really like you, you had to know.
“Alright,” you eventually grumbled, putting a hand over your face to suppress the oncoming wave of regret already washing over you. “I’ll go.”
Your friends erupted in cheers, high-fiving and dapping each other up like they had just won themselves a date with the hottest girls on campu–Oh.
“YES! You’re the man!” one of them yelled, giving you a ‘pat’ on the back that almost knocked you out of your chair.
"You won’t regret this!" another exclaimed, jabbing a finger toward you, though deep down, you already kind of did.
“FUCK YEAH!” the last one punched to the sky. “We owe you man,” smiling from ear-to-ear as cheers followed him out of your room.
As you hastily cleared the other two from your territory, you felt the dread settling in. One night, that’s all it was, you told yourself. Just one night with this girl named Winter, who was probably as opposed to this as you were.
What’s the worst that could happen?
---
Before you knew it, you were in your friend’s car, dressed in your Sunday’s best—which, admittedly, was a hastily thrown together fusion of your roommates’ closets. An attempt had been made to make your less than desirable features appear at least mildly presentable to the outside world. Your hair had been styled with some expensive hair product you could barely pronounce, your caveman scent obscured by some B-list celebrity’s cologne, and your abhorrent posture—honed through years of agonising abuse to your spine—was being corrected by your friends’ frustrated hands what felt like every other second.
They had half-jokingly, half-100%-seriously subjected you to some correction exercises over the past few days, few of which you actually bothered to attempt. Obviously, the few you had tried didn’t work, as your friend had stopped bothering to correct your posture himself, instead resorting to giving you a stinging slap every time your spine inevitably slumped from upright.
The swelling of the handprint forming on your back had charitably distracted you from the metric-shit ton of adrenaline coursing through your veins. It caused your breathing to grow heavy and your heart to feel it was going to burst from your chest. A couple sleepless nights and a few too many hours of staring blankly at your PC monitor had transformed your strange curiosity for meeting Winter back into dread.
You had moronically forgotten you actually had to talk to this girl for a couple hours instead of just confirming if she was similar to you. Either you forced some kind of pitiful attempt at conversation with her—risking major embarrassment—or both of you succumb to sitting in introverted silence.
Even if you could properly wrestle with overusing your little talent, the fact was, any attraction whatsoever to a girl caused you to fold like a cheap suit, rendering your ability useless. If Winter was any bit as alluring as your mind made her out to be it would be more than disastrous for you. It would be like every ounce of composure was swapped out for a hyperactive inner monologue—one that left you stumbling over your own thoughts.
As your friend’s car hummed along the bustling holiday streets, your mind continued to spin in overdrive almost as quickly as the neon red and green of the city's Christmas ornaments seemed to appear and disappear all around you. You aimed to avoid risking any conversation that led to your humiliation, desperately mapping out the possible routes for conversation. This process was standard yet exhaustive at this point—your own RPG dialogue tree being mapped out in your mind.
"Hey, nice to meet you. How’s it going?"
"Fine."
[ No further options.]
You could already feel the weight of the dead-end conversation dragging the both of you down. That wasn’t going to work.
“So, what kind of stuff are you into?"
"Not much."
[FAILED: Charisma check too low.]
Your mind projected you staring at the ceiling, desperately trying to find something, anything, to say while Winter twiddled her thumbs, wondering out loud with a groan,“Why did I even bother to show up.”
What the fuck brain? That wasn’t helping your confidence at all.
“Hey, I’ve heard a lot about you.”
"Yeah, same."
[Neutral response. Proceed carefully.]
This felt promising. You could try pushing deeper, maybe ask a follow-up question, but you could already feel how you would screw it all up—one wrong word, one wrong look and kaput.
How about…
[Say Nothing.]
[No response.]
Yeah, that’s probably how it’s gonna go.
The car hit a bump in the road, and so did your only shred of confidence in this turning out well. You sighed quietly to yourself, senselessly running through these hypothetical scenarios in your head, frantically searching for the “good” dialogue option that simply wasn’t available to you. There was no save scumming in real life, no charisma stat to help you bluff and charm your way through the whole thing, no getting lucky with your dice rolls either. It was just your limited social ability, a few thinly veiled attempts at small talk, and the faint hope that Winter might somehow be interested in having a conversation. It all reminded you why you avoided these kinds of situations in the first place…
You suck at them.
What felt like eternity with your own thoughts was soon interrupted as the car pulled up to the curb. You noticed the Christmas themed sign of the barbeque restaurant in the evening dusk. You stared at it, utterly terrified like it was signalling the entrance to some twisted version of hell—a place where your date, crowds of people, and the inevitable crushing embarrassment of being out of your element awaited—your hell.
Your friends on the other hand were already pumped, talking over each other in excitement as they recounted for the hundredth time just how hot these girls they scored were. Meanwhile, you were still stuck somewhere between resignation and panic. Their voices blended into background noise—drowned out by the mental gymnastics you were performing to figure out how to survive the next couple of hours. You hadn’t even walked into the restaurant yet, and you already felt like retreating into the comforting embrace of your bed sheets back home.
As you resolved to follow your friends inside you were instantly hit by a wall of warmth, thick with the smell of grilling meat and the hum of lively holiday celebrants. The restaurant was buzzing—waiters weaving between tables, the sizzling of meats echoing from grills, and laughter rippling across the room like a contagious wave. Already the ‘energy’ in here was too much for you, prompting you to take a moment to adjust the atmosphere—all while your friends strode in like they owned the place.
This was the kind of scene you’d typically steer clear of: crowded, chaotic, and packed with people who simply enjoyed the presence of others. The holiday season did nothing to ease your anxiety, doing its part to gather everyone together by filling every seat in the restaurant. You shoved your hands into the unfamiliar pockets of the jacket your friends threw on you, hyper aware of how out of place you felt.
Your friends were greeted with warm smiles from the hostess—predictably, since they looked like they had just stepped off of the cover of Vogue magazine. Meanwhile, you were certain you looked like you’d rather be anywhere else.
She led you all to a private booth which was, thankfully, designated its own corner far away from the rest of the vivacious dynamic of the restaurant’s other patrons. Your relief didn’t last long though, as your heart leapt into your throat when you spotted four girls already sitting there. Three of them stood up to greet you, all endearing smiles, waves and the obligatory “Merry Christmas.”
Your fear was instantly frayed as the first girl began her introduction. Her name was Karina, and you were taken aback at how uncannily beautiful she was. In fact, it was almost unsettling how flawless she looked. It was like she had been engineered in a lab or generated by some AI algorithm designed to create the perfect face. Everything, right down to her sharp profile and unnaturally smooth skin was other-wordly perfect. A small mole dotted the edge of her chin, like an anchor tethering her otherwise impossibly symmetrical features to reality. She greeted your friends with a poised smile, but there was something behind her eyes—sharp, calculating, and trained on you—like she was sizing you up in particular.
But your mind paid that no attention as the next beauty introduced herself as Giselle—Her confident demeanour being the highlight for you. She moved with an ease that gave the impression she wasn’t fazed by anything or anyone. Her posture was relaxed, yet somehow commanding, exuding an energy that screamed, I’m hot, and I fuckin’ know it. The assertive eye contact she made with each of you as she introduced herself caused you to shrink back, almost out of respect for her authority. In contrast, her voice was steady and warm, but her eyes flicked back to Karina’s every so often, like the two of them were communicating without saying a word.
Then there was Ning Ning, who practically radiated excitement. Her lips curved into a smile that was bright and infectious, the kind that lit up her entire face. She greeted you all with a playful wave that bordered on adorable. Yet there was a switch in her—something in the way her expression shifted mid-conversation from lively and sweet to striking confidence—which could flip in an instant. She seemed to live in the moment though, completely detached from whatever silent exchange was happening between the other two. It was hard to tell if Ning Ning was more girl-next-door or temptress, and that fluidity made her all the more intriguing.
Your friends weren’t exaggerating. Each of them was stunning in their own way—like the kind of women you’d expect to see gracing the pages of a high-fashion magazine or as models strutting down a runway.
Yet, you couldn't help but notice the girl still seated at the inner end of the table, toying with her sleeves as the soft glow of her phone lit her face. Winter, you assumed. She didn’t stand, didn’t do so much as glance briefly at the four of you. But even in her stillness, she drew your attention. Her beauty wasn’t like Karina’s polished perfection or Giselle’s self-assured allure and most definitely not like Ning Ning’s bubbly charm. Winter appeared different—there was something so fundamentally distinct about her that interested you, piqued your curiosity when you thought you were infallible to such feelings. Regardless of what you heard about her, you found yourself encapsulated by nothing but her sheer beauty.
As your eyes lingered on her you didn’t feel like you were looking at a person. Instead it was as if you were gazing upon the natural landmark of a frost-covered landscape—pure, serene, and silently breathtaking. It was as if she belonged more to the cold elegance of nature than to the warmth of human company. Her presence was subtle yet striking, like the clear, crisp air on a winter morning. The restaurant's soft, amber light caught her pale complexion in a way that made her seem almost ethereal, yet still grounded. Her silvery-white hair cascaded around her face like freshly fallen snow, soft and shimmering, as if her namesake itself had carefully crafted each strand to highlight her delicate features. Somehow, Winter lived up to that paradoxically beautiful expectation you had envisioned, but seeing her in person gave the impression she transcended it.
You stumbled through your own introduction to the rest of the girls, utterly captivated by what most people would consider a bad display of manners. Anybody in your shoes would have had their eyes glued to the trio of goddesses standing before you, but you could barely spare them a second—alright, a third glance.
Predictably, the small talk that followed didn’t include you. Your friends however—more eager than you’ve ever seen them—quickly launched into banter with Karina, Giselle, and Ning Ning. Normally you would be in awe of how easy they made the whole thing look, but you could only half-listen, your thoughts and eyes constantly drifting toward Winter, who remained seated quietly at the end of the booth.
Eventually, Karina offered you all to sit, prompting one of your friends to shove you along to your side of the table. The little collision knocked you out of the fugue-like state you were in, drawing a quiet cry that caused laughter to erupt around you. Quickly realising that you’d be facing Winter, you hesitantly sat down, your eyes flicking back to her every now and then.
When she finally glanced your way, there was a brief pause, her cool eyes locking onto yours. For a moment, you were caught, held in the silence between you. Her gaze was steady, unwavering, but a hint of vulnerability showed itself as she studied you. Before you knew it, you were staring—completely absorbed by the depth in her eyes. They weren’t just cold or distant as you first thought—they were calm, almost reflective, like a still lake that hid something beneath its surface. The more you looked, the harder it became to pull yourself away.
Seconds passed—maybe more—and you didn’t even realise how long you’d been holding her gaze until your heart gave a sudden jolt, reminding you that you were looking at a person and not nature’s pièce de résistance. Embarrassment shot through you as you quickly broke eye contact, feeling a heat crawl up your neck.
“Winter, right?” Your voice came out much too casual, completely betraying the fact that you were just caught staring at her like an absolute buffoon. How did you already manage to mess this up?
Winter tilted her head ever so slightly, a small flicker of amusement ghosting over her lips before she nodded. She blinked more than once, her lashes fluttering to mask brief hesitation. Her gaze softened just slightly. “Yeah,” she replied simply. Her voice was soft, but clear. There was no hint of awkwardness or hesitation, but the slight shift in her posture, the way her fingers brushed the sleeve of her short said otherwise.
You nodded, you’d only asked one question and you already felt like your dialogue options were exhausted. But on the bright side, the mere fact she replied meant things were already going better than they did in your head.
The silence between you both stretched for a beat, then another. Neither of you spoke, but remarkably it felt like the words were there, waiting to be said. Winter’s fingers continued nervously with her sleeve, brushing the fabric in small, rhythmic strokes, while you found yourself looking at empty plates, the table—anything but her. Both of you seemed unsure of what to say next, letting you confidently conclude that she was indeed as nervous as you. You noticed her lips parting as if to speak, only to close again after a moment of hesitation.
A few more seconds passed before you both spoke at once.
“So—”
“Did you—”
You stopped mid-sentence, catching her eye before you let out a quiet, awkward chuckle. “Uh, sorry. You go first.”
Winter looked down briefly, as if gathering herself. When she lifted her gaze again, there was a softness in her eyes, and a hint of vulnerability that hadn’t been there before. Her thumb brushed the edge of the table, tracing it gently as she glanced back at you. “They had to bribe you too?” She asked timidly, lightly gesturing to your friends who were engrossed with hers.
A small smile tugged at your lips. “Yeah, you could say that. It’s a whole mess, isn’t it?”
Winter nodded, her own smile flickering into existence, delicate but brief. Her voice softened as she admitted, ”These three promised me free food for a week just to get me to show up.” Winter scrunched her face, slanting her eyebrows in an attempt to scowl at them, but failed miserably, producing an adorable pout that was more endearing than anything else.
Your heart may as well have melted right there.
You laughed softly, buying yourself time to regain your composure. From afar, she was the most beautiful person you’d ever seen, but up close? When that cold, hard exterior began to fade, she doubled as the cutest too.
Your little chuckle successfully let you continue the eerily natural flow the two of you had going. “Mine offered to chip in for a game console.”
“So that’s what got you, huh?” Her eyes brightened with amusement, and for the first time, you saw her smile linger just a little longer. It wasn’t just her smile though. A slight accent softened the edges of her naturally sweet tone. Everything she said felt so easy on the ears, so digestible, and you—despite your scepticism and bitterness towards being here—found yourself hungry for more. Your friends would have called you a hypocrite, but in your defence, they both contributed to this perfect image that sat opposite you. You couldn't help but think it was the cutest sight you’d ever seen.
Perhaps that’s what gave you the strength to say this next part.
“Well not exactly…” You trailed off, breaking eye contact as your fingers fidgeted nervously under the table.
Winter tilted her head slightly, raising an eyebrow in anticipation like a puppy awaiting a command. God, how was everything she did so adorable?
You leaned in, still avoiding her gaze and turned your head slightly toward the wall, hoping the others wouldn’t overhear what you were about to say.
“I was uh…” You began, almost a whisper as the words struggled to leave your suddenly dry mouth.
This time Winter leaned in, meeting you at a distance a little too close for comfort.
“I was curious about you…”
Your words were like bullets, creating an embarrassing recoil that sent you hurtling back into the headrest, your gaze pointing straight down as a crimson flush seized the skin of your cheeks. Your friends would have scoffed at how trivial that whole exchange seemed, all the while you felt like a timid middle schooler confessing to his crush. You managed to baffle yourself with your boldness, not daring to look up and see Winter’s reaction.
To your further surprise, your little self-conscious introspection was interrupted by a giggle. Not just any giggle. Winter’s giggle.
You looked up to meet her face—equally as rosy as yours. But in place of your distraught expression was Winter, giggling like a child on a sugar-high. Her laughter was light and melodic, bubbling up like it couldn’t be contained. She leant back covering her open mouth with her hand. Her whole face had lit up, it was the kind of laugh that crinkled her eyes and shook her shoulders ever so slightly. It wasn’t just the sound, though—it was the way she smiled from ear to ear, so unguarded and genuine, a welcome contrast to the shy and distant she showed otherwise.
You lied earlier. This was the cutest thing you’d ever seen.
At first, you were confused by her sudden outburst, but as the infectious warmth of her laughter sunk in, a mutual smile spread across your face. The tension you’d been holding onto for several days seemed to melt away with each lingering note of her laugh. You honestly had no idea what she found so funny, but in the moment, you were just happy to go along with it, confident that you were doing at least something right.
Your friends, noticing her giggling, shared amused glances but didn’t interrupt. From the way they were staring, they were just as surprised as you were at how well this was going. They all held an expression that confessed we didn’t know you had it in you.
Ning Ning too giggled under her breath, playfully nudging Giselle. “Look at that—actual progress,” she muttered teasingly, her tone dripping with mock disbelief.
Karina though, was different. She subtly monitored the interaction, her sharp gaze softened now, intrigued by how Winter was opening up. It felt like she approved though, commending you in getting Winter out of her shell. She stayed silent though, still content to just observe.
Winter’s adorable outburst slowly ebbed, her shoulders still shaking slightly as she tried to catch her breath. She wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand, an adorable mix of bashfulness and amusement colouring her features.
“So…” she began meekly, eyes flickering down before meeting yours again. “Do I live up to your expectations?” Her tone was soft, tentative, as if she wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to hear the answer.
You were caught off guard by Winter’s own intrepid addition to your conversation, feeling your face heat up as you struggled to find the right words.
I—well…” You exhaled, trying to pull together the honesty that was suddenly a challenge to articulate in her presence. “You’re not what I expected,” you admitted, a gentle smile finding its way onto your face. “I don’t think I could’ve pictured someone quite like you, even if I’d tried.”
The sudden spark of vulnerability in Winter’s expression tugged at something in you. You realised your answer might’ve sounded too cryptic, maybe even evasive. The faint quiver of her brow and roll of her Adam's apple told you she wasn’t sure how to take that.
You cleared your throat, glancing up at her cautiously as you explained, “I mean that in a good way!” Winter had a beauty that seemed too obvious, too stunning to need validation, yet you couldn’t help but want to say it aloud. “I thought you’d be stunning and well…you are.” Winter turned away sharply, hiding her flushing face with a hand. “I just thought that you’d be a lot more.. distant. But meeting you here, seeing you laugh and smile…” you were thinking of an eloquent way to put this, but you found yourself beholden to the truth right now.
Winter was having this… effect on you. You weren’t one to ‘open up’ or ‘talk about their feelings’ and yet you felt compelled to here. “Seeing you laugh and smile… I can’t help but think it’s the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.” You had no idea where this newfound confidence was coming from, but you had a sneaking suspicion it was spurred on from what you’d just described.
Winter’s cheeks deepened from a soft pink to a vibrant flush, and she let out a shaky breath. Her fingers lingered over her features, like she was trying to shield herself from the intensity of the moment. Her eyes darted back to you and the delicate gleam in her gaze made your heart skip.
“Really?” she murmured, her voice barely audible, as though she feared saying anything louder might shatter the fragile honesty between you. She dropped her hand from her coloured cheeks, her eyes tracing your face for confirmation. “You really think that?”
You nodded, the sincerity in your gaze unwavering. “I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it.” You chuckled softly, hoping to lighten the air.
Winter’s shoulders began to relax, she herself not realising that they were glued to her neck. Her face remained flushed, but the tightness in her posture had vanished, leaving her more relaxed and open in how she sat.
“Thank you…” she let out. Her voice remained soft, but they certainly carried more weight.
“I’ll admit I’m surprised too…” She hesitated, glancing away, lips curving into a soft smile. “I thought you’d be just like everyone else…” You listened attentively, holding her gaze while she spoke tenderly, honestly.
“So I didn’t expect you to be…well, this easy to talk to,” she admitted, rubbing up her arm. “You don’t feel like everyone else, all practised lines and smooth talking,” she let out a faint chuckle. “ You make mistakes, you slip up. You’re like me. And um… cute too.” It was your turn to look away, your own cheeks starting to heat up. “So there’s something really nice about that...”
You pinched yourself under the table. This was going too well for you. This had to be a dream.
“I’m glad you think that,” you told her with a smile. Your voice was lower and steadier than you’d expected, though a trace of disbelief lingered beneath your words. Because, truthfully, you could never have imagined this going so well—not in a million lifetimes.
To your absolute delight, Winter sent you another wide smile. You didn’t think it could get much wider, but somehow she pulled it off.
You hadn’t realised it till she brought it up, but with Winter, you didn’t need to use those memorised openers or routes. She enticed you in such a way that just encouraged you to just… be you. Everywhere else you went you always felt an expectation to act like everyone else, to sound like them. But in the short time you’ve been around Winter, you hadn’t felt that at all. Was it because you two were similar?
“So,” You began, searching for your answer. “I take it you’re not a big fan of all this?” You gestured to the six other residents of the table, and by extension the rest of the restaurant.
Winter raised an eyebrow, leaning back into her chair. She shifted in her seat, crossing her legs under the table, almost like she was trying to ground herself. “More or less. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I don’t hate people... I just like my space, y’know? Too much noise, too many people... it feels like I’m in the wrong place.” She paused, glancing briefly at the rest of the table. “But you get it, right?”
“More than I care to admit,” you replied with a sigh, feeling some strange sense of relief wash over you. “It’s exhausting. I never know what to say, or how to keep up.”
Winter’s lips curved upward again, knowingly. She seemed to relax even more, sinking into the conversation as much as she did her seat. "Exactly. It always feels like everyone has these… scripts. Like they know exactly what to say and when to say it." She gestured lightly toward your friends, still engrossed in their own lively conversations. "But it’s… difficult. It’s all tiring,” She confessed with a little pout. “It doesn't feel natural or genuine to me, it feels like I'm… like I'm…”
“Like you’re playing a character,” you finished, taking the words right out of her mouth.
Her eyes widened a fraction, a glimmer of recognition passing through them. “Exactly!” she rejoiced. A quiet laugh escaped her, one that sounded relieved. “All our friends can happily be themselves, but we’re stuck acting like someone else.”
As Winter continued, you noticed a subtle shift in the way she spoke. It wasn’t just about her anymore—she was talking about the both of you. There was something comforting about the fact that she felt like you were in this together, like she saw a bit of herself in you. You weren’t just sharing a conversation anymore—it was an understanding.
You nodded, staring into her opulent orbs as if she were a reflection of yourself.
But before either of you could say more, Karina’s voice cut through the air, pulling you both back into reality.
“Hey, are you two lovebirds ready to order?” she teased.
You blinked and glanced around, realising that everyone else had been staring at you—impatient, but knowing smiles all around. Even the waiter at the head of your table, pen poised and all, gave you a subtle, approving nod.
“Oh, uh…” You stammered, feeling a rush of heat crawl up your neck. You turned to glance at Winter, and for a moment, the world seemed to shrink to just the two of you. Her eyes, wide and glimmering, were so close that you could see the subtle flecks of silver and blue swirling within them. The space between you was almost nonexistent; you were close enough that you could feel the warmth of her breath, your noses almost grazing. Wait, what? The realisation hit you both at once, and in an instant, you jolted back into your seat, wide-eyed and startled, your heart pounding from the unexpected proximity.
Winter did the same, recoiling sharply and causing a small tremble in the table. Her face flushed a deep, rosy pink, the sudden burst of colour creeping from her cheeks down to her neck.
“I’ll have the—”
“Could I have—”
You both started at once, then stopped, exchanging an awkward, embarrassed laugh. You gave a little nod, gesturing for her to go first.
“ I’ll have the…”
Winter’s voice trailed off as she scanned the menu in a hurry, cheeks still rosy. She managed to mumble her order, then you fumbled your way through yours right after, both of you clearly rattled but trying to play it cool.
As the waiter left the table, a heavy silence settled over you and Winter. The energy from before—where genuine laughter and soft words had filled the space between you two—seemed to have dissipated. Now, you found yourself unable to speak, the memory of that fleeting, close encounter hanging thickly in the air, making it difficult to breathe. It rendered thinking of something to say practically impossible.
You glanced at Winter, only to find her just as quiet. She was staring at the menu again, though you knew she wasn’t really reading it. Her fingers brushed along the page absentmindedly, putting in no effort whatsoever to make her rapid flicking believable. Every so often, her eyes would dart toward you, only to quickly return to the menu the second she thought you might notice.
Despite the tension, a sense of relief came over you. The silence gave you an opportunity to collect yourself, to push back the storm of emotions swirling around inside you. You sank a little further into your chair, quietly thankful for the momentary ceasefire.
Your mind wandered to all those couples who roamed the city streets—it was the bitter truth that you wouldn’t fit in as one of them. The way you’d always seen yourself didn’t align with how those people acted: smiling and talking for what felt like forever. For years on end you considered yourself emotionally unavailable, selfish with any time you had. Yet, here you were, sitting across from Winter, someone who was...different. Someone who made you feel like, maybe—just maybe—you were capable of being one of those couples.
You shook your head slightly, dismissing the thought as quickly as it came. No, that kind of thing didn’t happen to people like you. You were reading too much into it, weren’t you? It had to be just the heat of the moment, the proximity playing tricks on your mind. The sincerity in her gaze, the warmth of her breath—it was just...well, it was nothing, really.
But then why was your heart still racing?
Winter shifted slightly in her seat, her eyes still trained on the menu. She opened her mouth as if to say something, but stopped herself, the words catching before they had a chance to escape. You could almost feel her nerves mirrored in your own chest.
You too thought about saying something—anything—to break the silence, but every possible word felt clumsy in your mind. You were far too embarrassed to speak up, but at the same time, you wanted to recover the soft energy that radiated between the two of you—the thrill of a conversation where you felt at ease, where you could be you.
"Sorry, about… uh, that," you forced out, sending her a sheepish smile. “I didn’t mean to make things weird.” There was no reason for you to take responsibility, but you assumed it would ease her if she was absolved of fault. After all, it would have eased you.
Winter shook her head quickly, a soft chuckle escaping her lips. “Trust me, if anyone made things weird, it was me.” You couldn't help but laugh—she was trying to do the exact same thing.
“Don’t worry about it, Winter,” you assured, her name slipping out instinctively.
There was a shift in her posture as her name escaped your lips, subtle but noticeable. She uncrossed her legs under the table and leaned forward ever so slightly, her fingers nervously playing with the edge of her sleeve again. She seemed on the verge of saying something important. You could sense it in the way she glanced at you—anxious eyes, cheeks flushing scarlet. Her lips pressed together for a moment, then softened as if she’d finally made up her mind. Her eyes met yours, letting you peer into that reflective lake once again. But this time, you could almost make out what was below— she was letting down a wall, one you’d wager few have ever seen behind.
She took a breath, her chest rising and falling with a quiet resolve, and then, in almost a whisper she spoke.
“Please. Call me Minjeong.”
The simplicity of the words didn’t match the weight they carried. There was something so incredibly personal in her request, something that felt like a secret being shared between just the two of you. Her gaze stayed locked on yours, as if waiting to see how you’d react, her vulnerability laid bare.
“M-Minjeong,” you stuttered delicately, the name feeling both foreign and intimate on your tongue, like you were stepping into a space no one else had been invited to.
Minjeong’s expression softened even more, a glimmer of relief flashing across her eyes. She let out a breath, one she seemed to have been holding in anticipation of your response. A curve played across her lips. It was pure, unguarded. You almost could see the warmth radiating off of her, like this simple act of you saying her name had drawn you two closer.
“I— I like the way you say it,” she confessed quietly. Her voice was shy, as if she wasn’t used to hearing her own name spoken aloud.
You swallowed, your throat suddenly dry, unsure of how to respond but feeling the gravity of the moment pull you deeper into her orbit. The vulnerability in her tone, the way her eyes softened when she looked at you, made everything feel so surreal. You had no idea what to say next, your mind scrambling for the right words, but none seemed enough.
Multiple pairs of eyes fell on you from around the table, but neither you nor Minjeong were in the right state to acknowledge it. As far as you were both concerned, you two were the only people on Earth right now.
Before you could manage a reply, Minjeong spoke again, her voice barely above a whisper. “Most people just call me Winter. It’s easier for me… less personal.” She glanced down at the table, her fingers tracing invisible patterns on the edge of her sleeve. “But I dunno…” She trailed off. “Minjeong feels right with you.”
Her words hung in the air, heavy and meaningful, and you couldn’t help but feel like you were seeing something fragile. It was like she was giving you a piece of herself, trusting you to hold it gently.
“Minjeong,” you repeated, this time more certain. “It’s a beautiful name.”
She met your gaze again, her eyes shining with an emotion you couldn’t quite place. “Thanks,” she murmured, a shy smile tugging at her lips, but this time, there was no hesitation in the way she looked at you. No walls, no pretence. Just Minjeong, in all her quiet, ethereal beauty.
You felt a warmth bloom in your chest, the kind you hadn’t experienced in years. It was like being a teen again, that rush of excitement and nervous energy coursing through you—the way it used to when you’d catch your crush’s eye across the room and feel your heart race. But this was different—it was deeper. As you sat there, looking at Minjeong, you realised it wasn’t just her beauty or the way she had let you in. It was the feeling she stirred in you, something you thought you’d long forgotten. She wasn’t just someone who caught your eye—she made you feel alive again. Like you were rediscovering that fluttery, intoxicating rush from your youth, but unlike then it wasn’t fleeting. There was a quality to it that you just couldn’t articulate—your years of social isolation, your unending cynicism towards basic human emotion left you that way.
But you tried, tried to put a label on this unfamiliar feeling. You searched your mind for a word, a description, anything that could encompass what was building in your chest, but nothing came close. It was a bewildering sensation that refused to fit into the neat definitions you knew.
The tension in your mind dissipated the moment the waiter brought the food, and you watched as everyone’s attention turned to their meals. The table filled with idle chatter and silverware scraping against plates, grounding you back to the present. You took a steadying breath, grateful for the pause and the warmth of the meal as it cut through the delicate web that had woven itself between you and Minjeong.
Still, you couldn’t help but notice her in the little pauses and movements—the way her eyes sparkled with each glance around the table, her small, quiet smile at each bite. Even now, Minjeong’s presence felt magnetic, she occupied her space without demanding it, a rare grace that felt refreshing. Each time she looked up, she met your eyes with a soft, almost bashful smile that sent an echo of warmth through you. It made you want to reach out, to learn more, to let her know how much she’d already begun to matter to you.
The conversation around the table grew louder, but your own exchange with Minjeong stayed quiet and gentle. You spoke in low tones, sharing snippets about each other’s lives. Every glance, every subtle word between you seemed to deepen the quiet understanding you shared. Gone was your lacking composure, the insatiable need to assess and please. Your exchange with Minjeong felt like a safe space, a judgement-free zone to be yourself in public. You’d explain to her all your nerdy hobbies, and she would listen with genuine attentiveness, her eyes adorably lighting up when you’d find something else in common. In return, you found yourself hanging onto every word she offered back, falling deeper and deeper into the conversation as she opened herself up to you
And when there were lulls—as there inevitably were between introverts such as the two of you—you both found comfort even in the silence. It was strange, feeling so drawn to someone you had known for only a few hours. The part of you that usually resisted connections seemed to fall silent in her presence. And as she leaned in closer to share an amused thought, her fingers playing absently at the edge of her napkin, you felt something within you shift.
What was this feeling, exactly? You had tried to put it into words, only to come up empty. You were someone who could gauge how a person was feeling from body language alone, like you could measure and judge everything they felt. But when it came to yourself—your feelings, your emotions— you came up short.
But as the evening wore on and the rest of the table grew quieter, you found yourself looking at Minjeong with a soft certainty. From the way Minjeong looked at you, you got the impression she was struggling with the same dilemma. But you didn’t need to name this undefined feeling that stirred in you. Every shared glance, every smile that lingered a beat too long—these were all the words you needed. There was an understanding—unspoken yet undeniable—that whatever this was, it was real. And in that moment, with the quiet warmth shared between you two, it was enough.
---
You emerged from the restaurant, taking in the brisk air of the Christmas evening. Typically, retreating back into the bustling street was your first step in your retreat to the solitary comfort of your dorm room. It let you breathe a sigh of relief for escaping whatever social event you had been forced into.
But tonight? Tonight your steps were unhurried, in fact you felt the urge to linger. Tonight, Minjeong was by your side, her soft smile mirroring your own. The breath you let go this time was instead a remorseful one, a signal that your time together was almost over. Of course as much as she looked the part, the girl before you wasn’t some unreachable, otherworldly angel—she was real, and very much contactable.
You both watched from afar as your friends exchanged phone numbers with Karina, Giselle and Ning Ning. On any other day, you would have looked on in unspoken envy,but alas, tonight was different. You stared at the new contact sitting in your phone—a beautiful name befitting of an equally beautiful woman, punctuated by two snowflakes either side of it.
“Minjeong,” it read. Simple, familiar now, but it held a weight you’d never thought a name could carry.
You grinned, feeling a warmth unlike any the night’s chill could steal away. The white-haired girl handed your phone back to you, sending a sincere smirk your way.
“Make sure to call me, okay?”
Her tone was light and gentle, but her eyes were serious, like this meant more to her than anything else.
“Of course,” you assured. There was nothing in this world that could make you shatter the joy reflected in that smile.
Without warning, she stepped forward, instantly closing the distance between you. Her arms wrapped around you—warm, gentle and tentative. For a moment, you were too stunned to react, but the heat of her body—which was now flush to yours—quelled any concern. Instinctively, your arms folded around her, drawing her closer, absorbing her presence. The soft scent of her hair drifted up to you, and you felt her heartbeat against your own.
“Thank you for tonight.” She whispered, her soft voice muffled by your chest.
You didn’t know how long you two were standing there, pressed together as one, but in the moment it didn’t matter. When she finally pulled away, you saw her face, beaming like the sun shines.
“Have a wonderful night,” she said, her cheeks flushed, mirroring the festive glow of the streets around you.
“It already has been,” you replied, your heart full as you returned a gentle, loving smile.
Love. You chuckled.
Maybe that’s what this was.
---
If you got here thank you much for reading my first ever fic! I know there's a lot of filler here which could very easily be removed, but I really just wanted to keep everything I'd written. In the future, I'll make sure everything's more streamlined.
But apart from that I'd love for some constructive criticism. Thanks again!
#winter fluff#aespa fluff#minjeong fluff#minjeong x reader#winter x male reader#winter x reader#winter x you#winter#aespa winter#kim minjeong
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method acting ☆ cl16
genre: angst, yearning, humor, fluff, journalist!reader, established relationship
word count: 13.2k
There’s a lot of things you’d like to do differently in life. And the weeks leading up to that night is one of them.
inspired by this, this, and this !
cherry here!… hello there. sooo this was supposed to go up a few days ago, but silly me scheduled the wrong date, haha, so this is me formally apologizing for that. on a more lighter note: i’m so excited for you guys to read this one considering this is the re-written version of ‘method acting’ if you guys even remember the original version. love u all very much, and enjoyyy :)
From his boyish smile, to his dominant smirk—you knew it all.
The way it would slowly start to spread, but always ended with a dimple. You loved many things in life—many, many things—but nothing comes close to him. From the very start, he’s been gentle. A gentle giant, you’d sometimes joke with a teasing voice, to which he’d roll his eyes yet never deny.
The way he’d start every sentence with—honey—and end with—I love you. The way he’d cradle your face between his hands, kissing the corner of your mouth first before pressing down completely. The way he’d translate for you with all the patience in the world. Everything about him had been so easy to learn, so easy to love.
But here, in a room, staring at each other, you begin to wonder if you ever knew him at all. Because suddenly you don’t know what the frown on his face means. What the furrowed brows with the pinched expression interpret to. You don’t know any of it.
Why are you so surprised, though?
You caused this, anyways.
-
“I still can’t wrap my head around the fact that you don’t know how to use a USB, Lis. Aren’t you supposed to be, I don’t know—tech savvy?”
Lissie aims a harsh glare before tapping her nail against the computer screen as if that might make the process a whole lot quicker. “So what? I lied on my resume. Everybody does it.”
You chuckle. “Who even uses USB’s nowadays?”
“Apparently Grandpa Will. Oh, yay, it's done!” She shimmies. “I’ll see you later, m’kay?” With that, she zips down the paddock without a second glance. You sigh, gathering your stuff and making your way down the busy crowd, heading straight towards Ferrari Hospitality.
He’s on his computer when you first walk in, keys clicking. He nibbles on his bottom lip, knits his dark brows like he’s in pain. As soon as you tap your finger against the wall, he perks up, all his interest suddenly gone. He grins. “And to what do I owe this pleasure?”
“Lis,” you respond, claiming a seat next to him.
The Monegasque hums, leaning in to kiss your lips swiftly. “Thank you, Elisabella.” You giggle, sneaking a quick peek at his open screen. “Whatcha’ workin’ on? Wait—let me guess. You’re getting your marriage license annulled?”
“To be with you, yes,” he agrees, nodding enthusiastically. “How do you think Joris is going to take it?”
A playful shrug. “He’s just going to have to accept it, no?”
“I suppose.” Snapping the computer shut, he fixes himself, head pressed softly against your lap, closing his eyes. The sight of his even breaths and curved nose makes you smile as you start threading your fingers through his hair. He sighs, tense shoulders instantly rolling back. “Journling, and whatnot. It’s a habit that has a near expiration date, for sure, but is quite nice as of now.”
And though he can’t see you, your neat brows raise up in surprise. “Journaling on an electronic device? Why not an actual journal? You know—something authentic. I actually know of a place back in Portland where they sell some cute ones, ver—”
“I’m not looking for cute. I’m looking for security.” A beat. “I’d lose it in a week, and we don’t want that happening, now do we? My laptop works just fine. Plus, I feel more at peace knowing it’s not something I will just leave behind.”
“I wouldn’t put it past you,” you declare, enjoying the way his lips twist with a childlike snarl. “Anyways, I’m glad you’ve picked up on a new hobby. It’s good for you, Charlie.”
“Learned from the best.” You blush. “By the way, media shouldn’t last longer than an hour? Wanna go out?”
“Aren’t you tired?” you question, forcing his eyelids open as he squirms, pushing your hand away.
“A little. But I still want to do something with you.”
A tired sigh. “Cute, but I can’t. Lissie and William are out for today, so it’s just me, which means I have to conduct all the interviews by myself.”
The brunette bats an eye. “Why?”
“She forgot she had a deadline—hence why I was busy helping her—and Will still has to look it over. They have to send it in by midnight and it’s—it’s a lot.”
“Why couldn’t she just email it?”
“That’s what I’m saying!” you screech, causing him to flinch and squeeze his eyes. Sheepishly, you pat his head. “He insisted on a USB. Says he wants all work done like the olden days.”
“That sucks,” he mumbles. “And who even uses USB’s nowadays? They’re so outdated.”
“That’s what I’m—” You stop, mid-sentence, lowering your voice when he sits up and scoots away. “Saying,” you finish, whispering. You purse your lips, sending a slight grimace. “You get it.”
Charles nods, standing up and placing his laptop into his duffel bag. “I’ll come back and pick you up, yeah? Meanwhile, I can maybe cook something for us.”
“Honey,” you coo. “I love you, but please don’t.” His face drops. What the fuck? You giggle. “How about take-out?”
“How about,” he mutters, stiff as a statue when you press your lips down onto his jaw, but quickly melts. “Chinese?”
“Sounds good.” Another peck. “I’ll call you!”
-
If you remember—and you do remember—you fell in love with writing ever since you watched The Devil Wears Prada. It was a reset for you because before that you had seriously considered going to law. At first, you started with column writing in your school's newspaper. No one ever read it, you’d always find it on the floor after being trampled on, but you never cared.
Soon after, you started publishing smaller pieces here and there on your fashion blog that has since been taken down, but that was the moment you knew. Thing was, you wanted to nurture this into a career, you really did, but nothing to do with fashion, rather sports.
Maybe it had to do with the fact that every Sunday your Grandpa would beg for you to come over to his house and watch the races with him. They were extremely boring at first. Who willingly drives for roughly two hours in loops? Then, it clicked. Everything changed and you were enthralled.
After that, all you knew was that you wanted it bad. It was hard, studying over time in order to get done quickly and just start working, but it was well worth it. You met Lis the same year she started working with Formula One, so you both figured a lot of things out together, and for two years, it was just you and her, interviewing and writing about the drivers on the grid.
But he noticed you both years ago.
He first noticed the burn on the back of your left leg. He initially thought it was a band-aid by the way it healed, but later found out you had burned yourself with a curling iron back in highschool when you were rushing to get your senior pictures taken. Then he noticed your eyes and the way they always had a glimmer to them, even if something wasn't going your way. He respected the hell out of you after that.
How do you do that?
You freeze. Do what?
Stay so…so—optimistic. Happy, I suppose.
You laughed then, and he saw the way your hair fell over your shoulder like a silk curtain. He would have smiled if he wasn’t so stuck up on that. It’s all a facade. They way you see me—it’s not real.
Believe me, I don’t think you’re real.
You blush, looking back down at your journal where you’ve been too busy scribbling prior to his question. You just have to ignore them sometimes, you know? Remind yourself that they don’t know you and you don’t know them. Trust me, it helps.
And after that, you two never stopped talking.
Whether it was about work, or perhaps even the weather, you two always had something going on. Something everyone noticed, but never brought up. And at one point, you confessed your next dream.
Journalist of the Year, he repeated, a goofy smile slowly itching his skin. Yeah, I can see that.
It’s not that easy, though, you retort, exhaling heavily. I mean, I’ve been doing this for quite a while now and I haven’t even been considered once, which is fine, maybe I’m not good enough, but maybe it’s also time to…I don’t know—give up?
He kept quiet, kept his eyes focused on you, and frowned. If it’s something you want, then it’s most likely something you can have.
Pft, you scoff. Nah. Not this. It’s nearly unattainable for someone like me. Even Lissie has won, and we’ve been here for the same amount of years. Now I’m not saying she doesn’t deserve it, but that just comes to show that there’s always someone better. And I’m just here. You look up. It’s okay, you can laugh.
A beat. I could be a hypocrite to tell you that it’s not good to measure how talented you are or how talented you can be based on some award, but Jesus Chrsit, I do the same thing. I understand. And it’s because I understand that I’m telling you to keep working hard and prove yourself to them. You have it in you—I’ve known ever since we met. You smile. Your time will come, yeah?
And for the first time: you believed it.
A nod. Thanks, Charles. Yours will too.
About a month later, you two started officially dating. It almost seemed too good to be true at times, but wherever he looked for you in the crowd, you knew it just had to be.
But the start of your relationship was also the end of something else.
Interviews and articles?
He nods. Right. None of that.
You follow his actions, nodding numbly as you blink. So, no more working together? Because you want me to have a fair shot?
Yes, he confirmed. I just don’t want you to be nominated—because it’s only a matter of time, I have a feeling—and feel as if they picked you simply because of your dating status.
Who’s going to do all of that, then?
There’s plenty of other reporters. Lissie? Will? Maybe even Natalie. He took a step closer, grabbing your hands gently. What I’m trying to say is that I want you to feel accomplished. That what you did was simply because of your work, and not having to do with your connections because trust me, that doesn’t feel good.
But I love working with you. You give his hand a squeeze, tilting your head and smiling sadly. You’re my favorite person to write about and talk to…
And he genuinely seemed to be pained by your words, wincing.
But you suck it up because you know he’s right. I’ll always be your favorite?
Only the best.
A hum. Alright then. You take a step back, extending your hand for a professional handshake. He smiles, taking it and giving it a good tug.
It was nice working with you, Mr. Leclerc.
-
“I’ll never understand,” Lissie starts, pressing the elevator button for the twenty-fifth floor and chewing on a licorice. “Why you two ever create such a stupid rule like that?” A hard chew. “All I’m saying is that it could have definitely helped you out a whole lot. You probably would have won by now.”
You roll your eyes, but not without thinking how she might be right. You’ve definitely wondered about a world in which you two hadn’t taken this approach, and while it would have been nice, you also know that it would have felt a little less special knowing that being a nepo to Charles had something to do with it. Which is most likely what would have happened, let’s be completely honest here.
“You came to this arrangement, what? Twenty years ago, maybe fourty? And it’s not to be rude, but you haven't been nominated, so was this really worth it if it hasn’t made much of a difference?”
“Okay,” you grunt, ripping the red candy away from her and throwing it into the nearby trash as soon as you step out of the elevator. She pouts, following along. “I think we get it, I fucked up, very funny.”
“No,” she hums. “I never said you did, I was simply thinking, that's all.” You scoff. “But whatever. I have a feeling this is it. You definitely have it in the bag. They’d be crazy not to add you for a fourth time!”
Spinning, you smile bitterly at the Brit girl. She gulps. “Thank you, Lis, your mild support is very much appreciated.”
You turn back around, walking faster.
“Sheesh, sorry,” she hisses, entering the familiar office with a lost expression.
Carly, your manager runs over, practically jumping onto you and hugging you tight. “Lis, close the door!” You groan at the loud sound against your ear, but she's none the wiser, already embracing you harder. “You did it!”
“I told you!” Lissie shoots smugly.
You freeze, heart racing. “You’re lying.”
“I’m not lying—”
“Why would she be lying?”
Letting go, Carly lets out a delirious laugh. “Everything—all of it—has finally paid off. You did it, you’re on the list!”
“Holy shit,” you whisper in disbelief, playing with your necklace as you pace the spacious office. Lissie and Carly both grin at each other from ear to ear, nodding enthusiastically. You come to a halt. “Are you making this up because I said I would kill myself if I didn’t make it this year because, for your information, I was totally kidding!”
“It’s not a joke,” the redhead squeals, jumping again. “I’m so proud of you!”
“I am too!” Lissie shrieks, running and kissing you face as you try your best to swat her away even though you’re laughing. “Even after what I said in the elevator, I knew this shit was the real deal this time! Didn’t I tell you? Carly, I told her.” She twirls you, making you grin harder. “You won!”
“Okay, let's touch some grass, ladies,” Carly cuts in. “We can’t forget that this is just a nomination and that there’s still work that needs to be done in order to secure our best chances.”
“Right,” you respond, elegantly fixing yourself and nodding up and down. You freeze. “Wait, what work? I thought this was it?”
Carly shakes her head. “Oh honey, we’re just getting started.” A pause. “You have to write an article.”
“I am—confused. What do you mean by article?”
The Brit takes a seat in a nearby chair, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “It’s their one and only requirement. Show them why they should pick you.”
Carly nods, red hair bouncing. “Shouldn’t be too hard. You’re as talented as they come. Just do what you do, but…better!”
Color drains your face as you go back to pacing. “What do you mean better? This is all I got! There’s nothing left to show, oh God—”
“What are you talking about?” your manager yelps. “There’s always more!”
“Exactly,” Lissie hums, somehow munching on another piece of candy. “There’s always—that, yeah. More.”
Your eye twitches. “Okay, you already went through this and won. How did you do it?”
She pouts, tapping the licorice against her lips before clicking her fingers. “I wrote my piece on fashion and how it’s made its way into Formula One. Wasn’t even that hard. Well. Shouldn't be. Write what you know and it’ll come to ya, they say. Or maybe they don’t, but definitely still do that.”
Your shoulders drop, plopping down next to her and placing a pillow over your face. “Fuck. That’s genius.” It is, isn’t it? she mumbles, slowly chewing in deep thought. Screaming into the pillow, you feel the frustration you didn’t have a second ago finally erupt. “What am I going to do?”
“Sweetheart,” Carly starts, forearms pressed against her glass desk, and stern eyes trained onto you. “You have got to be one of the most raw writers I have ever worked with.” A beat. “Sorry, Lis.”
“Screw you,” she snarls, focusing on her phone now.
Your manager sighs, rubbing her temples. “And please take that as a compliment because it is. You don’t hold back, and you tell it how it is. That’s what makes you one of the best! And if it weren’t for you wanting this, I would have definitely sent an angry email on your behalf because you deserve this more than anyone.”
“Wow,” the Brit muttered, raising her dark brows.
“Sorry,” she mumbles, cringing. “But you’ve won already, Lis, and we supported you, and now…” She faces you again with soft eyes. “We’re doing this for you. You got it, m’kay?”
“But—” your voice cuts off as you blink rapidly, losing focus with the thought of failing, imprinting itself into the forefront of your mind. “I don’t know what to write about, which is weird because I always have an idea, at least. That’s simply a bad sign, that much I know.”
“It’s only bad if you think it is,” Lissie says, clicking her phone off and smiling gently. “But in all honesty, I think it’s actually quite good. That means you know what's at stake, and you know you have to make this the best goddamn article in your entire life.” A beat. “Write what you know, I’m telling you.”
“What she said,” Carly squeaks cheerfully, eyes crinkling as she starts pouring champagne and handing them one by one. “But just so you know, we have to get this in by October thirteenth because they make their decision by the sixteenth.”
“But that’s Charles’ birthday week,” you wail, rubbing your eyes harshly. “Fucking hell—”
“He’ll understand,” Lissie cuts you off, clicking her glass against Carly’s who shrugs, sipping neatly. “All of us know he will.”
“Okay then,” you whisper slowly. You curl your hand tighter against the glass. “Cheers?”
“Cheers, mate!”
-
Entering his Monaco flat, Charles lets out a tired sigh, taking his shoes off and flinging his keys to the nearby coffee table. The loud thud makes him flinch before running over hurriedly. A large scratch lays across the rich wood as he panics, kneeling down to inspect it carefully.
“Are you serious, Charlie?” he hears over his shoulder, jumping to find you with a frown on your lips and hands on your hips. “That was a gift!”
“I’m sorry!” he squeaks. “From your Grandpa, I know, I’m sorry!”
You let out a breath, shrugging. “It’s fine. How was your day?”
He eyes you suspiciously once before getting closer to you and kissing you hello. “Eh. Decent. Yours?”
Plump lips twist before flattening back out. “Decent.”
He squints, noticing the way you play with your necklace. “You’re lying.”
“No, I’m not,” you answer quickly. Defensively.
His brows furrow deeper. “Blow me.”
“Blow you?”
“Yes. Right here, right now—blow me.” He demonstrates, letting out a breath as if taking a breathalyzer test.
You let out a sore laugh, rolling your heels as you stumble back. What? Your laughing stops, though tears run down your face as you try to get your words out. “You mean breathe out, not blow you.” Your giggles pick up once again, making him blush deep red. “God, you need to learn a bit more proper english.”
He looks away, cringing at the sound of his voice replaying, and then turning with a stoic face. “Don’t change the subject.” A pause. “Breathe out.”
You freeze. “Why?”
“Don’t ask questions, just do it.” “I’m not going to do it.”
“Just do it,” he presses harder.
You glare. “No. I’m not.”
Taking one last glance, he leaps forward with zero warning and starts tickling you, making your squeal. Stop! “Breathe!” I am breathing, you twat! “Blow me—God damn it! Whatever! Blow! Breathe! Blow!”
“Fine, fine, just stop!” you screech, giggles coming to an end as he nods and stares down at you, which by now, you’re laid down on the couch with him towering over. You blush, breathing out lightly, nearly nothing. He rolls his eyes. Blow me harder. “Blow me harder,” you mimic, copying his accent.
He groans. “You get what I’m saying—”
“I don’t, though,” you joke, laughing harder. As soon as your eyes shut, he smiles down at you affectionately, but when they open again, he reverts his lips back into a straight line. Your lips wobble playfully. Letting out a big breath, he whiffs strongly. “Gross, Cha!”
“You smell like strawberry sorbet, relax.” A beat. “Open your mouth and stick your tongue out for me.”
“Okay, this is getting really kinky.”
He aims for a deadpan expression.
Rolling your eyes, you do as you're told and he lets out a scream. “What the fuck!”
“It’s red!”
“No duh, Charles!”
“Strawberry sorbet. The last pint. You ate it all, didn’t you?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“So that's a yes.”
You frown.
“And we always share, but when we don’t it’s because you’re going through something and you couldn’t help yourself.”
“Okay, Sherlock Holmes, we get it,” you grunt, pushing him off as you sit up. He does the same, staring at you, concerned. “By the way, does that upset you?”
“The ice cream? Nah.”
You nod, then yawn. “Why do you have to be so attentive?”
“Because I love you.”
You smile. “I made it onto the list.”
“The list?”
“The list.”
A wide grin dances across his pink lips as he jumps onto the coach, up and down, making you bounce and stare up with a soft look. “The list! Thee list. Holy crap, congratulations, honey!” Landing on the ground, he hugs you, digging his face into the crook of your neck and kissing it over and over. “You smell nice—congrats—is that citrus—wait, this smells really nice—”
“It is citrus,” you giggle as he separates from you. “And thanks. It means the most coming from you.”
Silence takes over for a second or two before his brows knit neatly. “What’s wrong?”
“No. Nothing.” They raise up higher. “I’m not gonna lie—I’m scared.”
Tugging you closer to his chest, he drags so you two are laying back down. You close your eyes at the feeling of his arms wrapping around you like some blanket. “About what? You totally got this.”
“Hmph. It’s just that, I, uh. I have to write an article on a topic of my choice, and—I. Don’t know? I have no clue what to write about.”
Listening attentively, he doesn’t interrupt as your words begin to pour out like a prayer. He doesn’t even interrupt when you say something along the lines of being “at best—mediocre”, even though he really wanted to. You scoff. “It’s a silly problem to have, I’m well aware, but…it’s the truth.”
The Monegasque picks your breathing patterns, mindlessly copying as you cuddle him. “You’ll figure it out.”
You swiftly look up, cheek pressed against his heart beat. “That’s it?”
“What else do you want me to say?”
What do you want him to say? Your lips open aimlessly, then close forcefully.
He grabs a nearby blacket, covering you both and hugging you the same he’s seen you hug your teddy bear. “I think you need to have a little bit more faith. In yourself, that is. Because your mind…” Green eyes connect with yours as your breath comes to a strong halt. He tends to make your body react that way, quite often. He sends a simple grin. Dimples and all.
“It's the most beautiful thing on this earth.”
-
Abu Dhabi 2021.
It’s been talked about too much already.
Spain 2016.
You’re kidding, right?
Fine. Azerbaijan 2018—
You let out a muffled scream. “Pierre, no! I need something better.”
“Better than all that drama?” he dead pans, genuinely confused as to why his ideas are being shut down.
You exhale, hair flying outward. “I love it too, but I need something new. Unheard of.”
The Frenchman pauses, curling a brow. “I’ve gone blank.”
You bite down on your tongue, shrugging it off. “It’s okay. I should probably come up with my own topic, anyways.”
Getting up, you wave goodbye and make your way to the ice cream truck that’s been rented out for the weekend. Smartest investment, you think to yourself as you twirl your tongue around the lavender spoon.
���This time I really do mean it—blow me.”
Squinting up at the sun—which so happens to be behind Charles like a halo—you chuckle, feeding him a spoonful. “Good, no?”
“Delicious,” he hums, going in for another. “Have you tried the funnel cakes?” They have funnel cakes? you squeal, eyes shining. He nods. “Want one?”
You deflate. “Later.”
Watching the crowd walk by, you two sit there, switching turns and enjoying each other's company. It’s amazing how no one comes up to Charles, either. Not that he would mind, but it’s definitely a nice surprise. Glancing over, he hands the spoon back to you. “Come up with something?”
“I have a few ideas, but nothing solid yet.”
Pistachio ice cream melts away faster. “I told Pierre to leave you alone, I hope he didn’t bother you too much.”
“He’s actually the reason why I have these ideas. Don’t let him know, though, I would never live it down.”
Watercolor eyes go wide. “Really? Pierre actually helped?”
“Weird, huh?”
“Without a doubt.”
“Don’t stress out too much, honey. You still have time.”
You purse your lips. “But the sooner I figure it, the sooner I can start and just focus, and do the proper research and try and—”
“You have time,” he reaffirms with a knowing look. You cock your head and he sends a sly grin. “Plenty.”
“Plenty,” you copy as he nods along. Extending his arm, he signals to the spoon. You shake your head. “You can have the rest.”
“You’re the gift that keeps on giving.”
-
Write what you know. Write. What. You. Know.
What the fuck does that even mean?
Biting down on your pen, you’re spaced out, staring at the picture frame. In it, Charles and Carlos smile, you can tell, behind their helmets. While the Monegasque’s eyes crinkle sweetly, the Spaniards are dilated and wide. Both nice, but nothing beats those green eyes.
You can slowly feel your sanity slipping away, day by day. There’d be times where you thought you had it figured out, but then you’d bring it up and Lissie would smile and say—
“Yes! Stick to that one! Start it. Right now.”
It wouldn’t seem genuine because you know she just wanted you to get it done given it’s due in less than two weeks. And even though it was good, it wasn’t good enough.
“I’m just going to brainstorm a few more ideas.”
She’d given up, mumbling beneath her breath and grabbing her keynotes and headed to her meeting. Well, technically it was your meeting too, but again. Time crunch.
Hence, why you’re admiring the picture and thinking harder than you were a minute ago. The door slides open then, the two Ferrari drivers back from their media duties. You rip your gaze away as soon as they make their way closer. “How does one fake their own disappearance?”
“Oi,” the brown eyed boy warns, toothy grin expanding. “Good question, though.”
“Oi, you,” your boyfriend warns back, glaring at his teammate. “At this point, I’m sure she’d go through with it.” He turns to you. “Honey, you’ve got to decide already, it can’t be that hard.”
“I know that!” you burst out, ears burning as you avoid their eyes. “But there’s just so much! I don’t want to jump the gun and make a mistake, is all.”
Carlos juts his lip, then rolls his jaw. “If only you took someone’s very good proposition.”
A scoff. “I wasn’t going to write about Papaya Rules, Chili.”
“It would’ve been so good, though!” A beat. “What about—”
“Nor multi-21.”
His expression drops, along with his shoulders, and strolls away, flipping you off. I hope you figure it out, then! A low chuckle makes its way as you exhale loudly. “C’mon, what’s the problem this time?”
You bite your lip, brows drawn in together as you gaze back at Charles. “I’m not entirely convinced.”
“Honey…”
“A-and I know I’m running out of time, but I just want it to be perfect!”
He smiles, throwing his arm on your shoulder. “And it will be, but you need a topic.”
“Yeah…” You raise a brow. “What happened to having ‘plenty’ of time?”
The Monegasque wiggles his brows. “You can’t take up too much advantage.”
-
I’ve decided.
That’s the lie you settle with because quite frankly, you’re done with the constant questions. If you were going to come up with the best matter to write about, then you need to have a clear head. Carly is over the moon, Lissie is ecstatic, and Charles is proud.
Great! What’s it going to be about?
It’s a surprise.
At first, they were all as curious as can be, but later when you insisted that it’d be better that way, they nodded, though the interest was still there.
Now—with only a week and a half before your due date—you lay, plopped on your stomach, fingers teasing the keyboard as you watch Charles jump into his race suit. You sigh, sitting up. “I think I’m going to stay in here today.”
He fixes the zipper. “Yeah?”
You nod. “That way I can work and watch you.” You point to the T.V. hung up on his room wall. “Is that okay with you?”
“Whatever you need to do in order to focus, baby.” A wink. “It’s fine by me.”
They’re in lap sixty out of seventy-five, the last time you check, and your page remains as white as a ghost and as bare as a newborn baby. It’s both amusing and mind-boggling. Groaning, you hit your head with the back of your hand before running it down your face. Then, to make matters worse, your laptop dies.
Shit, you grit as you look around and spot Charles’ placed neatly on top of a nearby chair. Strolling over, you grab and open it, typing in his passcode and signing into your account. A few seconds later, the blank page resurfaces. Blinking slowly, you spot it.
Notes.
You take a look around, but really don’t know why since you’re the only one in his motorhome, and then click onto the App, furrowing your brows with concentration.
Turns out, you really like to read because one after another, you skim through his journal entries without a second thought. Eagerly, might you add. Some things you know, others you don’t, but nevertheless, you’re caught off guard. How sensitive he is and how it portrays in every word. Not only are you amazed, but you’re completely engrossed.
And it sparks something in you.
With a large grin, the brunette makes his way back to his room, trophy in hand and handshakes and pats on the back all around. Grazie mille, he beams as he makes his way closer, sending a final wave before opening his door. Finding you with his spare helmet over your head, he laughs. You giggle, opening the visor. “That’s one good looking winner!”
He laughs, placing the gold trophy down and enjoying you the way you struggle to take it off. You let out a loud gasp as soon as he assists you, tugging it off. “Shit.” Another gasp. “How do you wear that thing for two hours?” Fixing your hair, you pat it down as you send him a sheepish smile. “Give me a kiss!”
“No thanks. Too sweaty.”
Pouting, you pinch his ear tenderly before he gives in, pressing his lips against yours. “You were amazing out there, Charlie. You really were, I want you to know.”
Green eyes soften as he tries his best to savor this moment. “Only cause you say so.” You giggle, hugging his waist and he drapes his hands over your shoulders and rests his chin on top of your head. “How far along were you able to get?”
A hum. “Quite far, actually.”
He lets out a whistle, making your cheeks glow. “Looks like we’re both having a good day.”
“Looks like,” you swoon. “Looks like.”
Tilting your head back, you match with his eyes as he sends a dimpled smile.
Write what you know, you think to yourself as he leans back down to kiss you. His lips greedily crash against your own as you let out a soft moan, playing with his hair, large hands making their way down to your ass. And you, my dear Charlie…
He groans, shuddering as soon as grind back against his thigh. You smile, admiring his open mouth.
I know you very well.
-
You feel guilty when you start on your first page, but by the time you make it to your third, you’ve talked yourself out of it. You would explain. As soon as you’re done, before you turn it in, you would explain it all to him. Tell him that this is simply because you love him. How he’s your biggest inspiration, and how this wasn’t you using him, but rather you showing others how amazing he truly is.
He notices it right away—the determination. And he admires you for it because he hasn’t seen you like that ever since your writer’s block. So, he tries not to intrude in moments where you’re on a roll, and instead makes sure to have a bath ready for you. He joins you sometimes, too.
Cracking your fingers, you yawn, exhausted, and stretch like a cat. He chuckles, closing his book like a light thud. “Update?”
“Six pages.”
“Wow. You really got it going on.” You blush. “You deserve something sweet. What do you want?”
“But it’s so late, and you have to be up early tomorrow…”
He rolls his eyes, already grabbing your trench coat. “It’s a bit cold out right now.”
You smile.
It’s not that far of a walk, three miles. After buying you a hot chocolate—with extra whip—he takes your mitten covered hand and leads you out the small coffee shop. By now, not many people are out, so it makes for a calm stroll.
“Shhh—ah,” you hiss, tongue sticking out as your face twists with subtle pain. He laughs, eyes crinkling. Drink slowly, he says, voice laced with humor. “The cool air helps,” you murmur, blowing on the hot drink. “Are you sure you don’t want anything?”
He shakes his head. “I just wanted you to unwind.”
“You’re so thoughtful,” you coo, enjoying the way his ears turn pink. You giggle. “Why do I feel like you’re thinking about something, though?”
“I am. You.” A gust of wind dances. “Always.”
You purse your lips, taking a slow sip, lipstick painting the white lid. “I’m serious, Cha. You’ve been quiet ever since you got off that phone call two hours ago.” Neat brows knit together with concern. “Is everything okay?”
“Yes,” he answers, but it’s too quick for it to be the truth.
Giving his large hand a squeeze, you send a knowing look. His breath hitches. “You can talk to me—”
“Are you almost done with your article?” he asks, obviously changing the topic as he stares up ahead, and if not, down at his shoes. Pink nose twitches. “I miss you, and call me greedy, but I was hoping you’d be done before my birthday, at least, that way we could…I don’t know—” He shrugs. “You’ve just been really busy—which I get why, and I understand—but I miss y-you.”
Wincing, you chew your bottom lip a couple times before letting go. “Almost, but.” His shoulders drop, making your stomach twist. You panic. “I feel like I’m missing something. Like the final bang in order for it to be…” A beat. “I’ll be done before your birthday, you can count on that.”
Round eyes finally flicker up as he nods, a more relaxed look evident. “This makes me sound so needy,” he says. “Which I guess I am, bu—”
“Don’t apologize,” you cut him off with a reassuring smile. “But please, tell me what’s going on…”
The Monegasque stiffens. Despite walking, you can tell. You can feel it. Also, it doesn’t take a genius to notice. “They’re not renewing Carlos’ contract for next year.”
You stop walking, making him stop too. He’s still holding onto you, rubbing small circles against cashmere. “W-why?”
“Guess.”
Your mind races. The rumors have definitely been swirling—everyone’s heard—but really? “They’re actually doing it?”
He nods.
“Lewis,” you whisper like it the first time you pronounce his name. “This is, uh…wow. I mean, wow.”
“Yup,” he says, popping the p. “Wow, for sure.” Letting go, he takes a small step back, but still faces you with an uneasy look. “They brought it up as a possibility, but I don’t know why I never thought they’d be capable of…” He grimaces. “I can’t even begin to imagine how Carlos must be feeling.”
“Weren’t they just praising him last time during your guys’ team meeting?” You curl the cup towards your chest. “That’s fucked up.” Charles sighs, pinching the tip of his nose swiftly. Your eyes fill up with concern. “What about you?”
“I got an extension.”
You let out a breath of relief, nodding. “O-okay, okay. That’s good, Charlie, that’s really good.” When he keeps quiet, you pause all movement and blink feverishly. “Why are you upset, then?”
“I’m not,” he answers. “Only worried.” Listening closely, you silently wait for him to continue. He sighs, rubbing his eyes, suddenly tired. “It’s just that…he. He’s Lewis,” he finishes like that’s enough explanation.
You curl a brow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
A weak chuckle. “It means he’s better, and the team is going to favor him over me.” A timid shrug. “I get it, though. If anyone can bring a Championship home for the team, it’s going to be him.”
“It’s going to be you.”
“No.” The light in his eyes gave out, slowly and painfully so. “It’s not.”
Berry lips open, then close lamely, analyzing him like the world's biggest mystery. Sternly, you narrow your eyes down like knives. “World Champion?”
He flinches.
You click your tongue. “Do you realize how crazy you sound?”
“What?” he says, puzzled.
You nod. “Why are you giving up so easily, huh?”
Sharp jaw clenches. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s because he’s a former World Champion, and I’m not.” He chuckles sourly. “It’s really not that difficult to figure out. I mean, I’ve been working for it for so long now, and look at me! I’m nowhere close to being there!”
Silence. Chest heaves. You never let go of your gaze, and he has no other choice than to do the same. He’s not mad at you—not mad at anyone, really—but he’s frustrated. And yeah. Maybe he is giving up the fight, but anyone else who was in his position would too. No one wants to be the laughing stock, no one wants to be compared.
“Listen to me Charles Leclerc, and listen to me closely because I’m only going to say this once.”
He waits.
“If it’s something you want, then it’s most likely something you can have.”
Pink lips turn upward as he tilts his head in the slightest of tilts.
Holding his face between your delicate hands, you raise your brows, shivering at the icy air. He can feel your hand vibrate against his skin as he grabs them, brings them up to his mouth, and blows hot air onto them. “I believe in you. Everybody does. Do you believe in that?”
And it takes a moment for him to answer. It takes a moment for it to register. He nods. Sure of himself.
“Only because you do.”
-
“A USB?” He frowns. “I thought you hated those?”
“I do,” you say, combing through your hair, staring at him through the reflection of the mirror. “But I feel like this makes it real. Physically turning it in, I mean. It’s dumb, but…” You check the time, shrieking and grabbing your things. “Carly is going to kill me! Okay, I’ll be back in an hour, and then we can go with your family for dinner, or I’ll meet you there, yeah?” You huff. “Red or white wine?”
“Sparkling water,” he ponders. “Maman is trying to get to ‘quit.’ Which is probably not the right way to put it because it’s not like Lorenzo, Arthur, and I are alcoholics.”
“Oh. Alright then, I’ll just get that instead.” Tippy toeing, you peck his cheek briskly, sweet perfume hitting him. “I love you.”
Adoration fills his watercolor eyes. “I love you, too.”
Who knew?
Who knew that’d be the last time you’d hear those words coming from him?
-
Entering the familiar office, you wheeze, crouching down to catch your breath before sending over a coy smile. Carly laughs, clearly amused, before signaling to the chair that sits right in front of her. “We could have done this any other day as long as it was before the deadline, you know?”
“No,” you pant, heart beat barely switching back to its regular pace. Well. Sort of. “I need to get this out of the way, I promised Charles I’d be free before his birthday. He said it was his one and only wish, could you believe that, he’s so cute, isn’t he?” She blinks. Pink dusts your cheekbones. “Anyways, here it is.”
Looking down at your extended hand, she almost lets out a snicker. “I get I’m older than you, but really? You emailing it to me would have been just as effective.”
“I didn’t want to risk it going straight into your spam folder.” That, and I don’t want to see when you actually read it because I have a funny feeling you’re going to disapprove, which is okay, fair. “Here.”
“Very well, then,” she mumbles, retrieving it. “Why don’t we proofread it together one more time before send—”
Horrified at the innocent suggestion, you leap up from your chair, pushing back. “There’s no need, I checked it about a thousand times.” She raises a sharp brow at your outburst, the defensiveness in it. You laugh nervously. “And I should get going, anyways. Pascale is cooking Cha an early birthday dinner, can’t be late.”
Placing her forearms against the table, she nods slowly, but still unsure. “I won’t hold you back any longer, then. Tell him I said happy birthday.”
Tight lips form a forced smile, uneven breaths expanding. “Of course.”
You’re expected in an hour, so when you should be up forty-five minutes early, Pascale is pleased, but a bit surprised. Hugging you hello, she opens the door wider, letting you in. “They’re out in the back. Dinner should be ready in a bit.”
“No worries. Do you need any assistance?”
She shakes her head, thin blond hair swaying. “I’ve got it all under control, chérie.”
Nodding, you put your things down and start making your way towards the sound, beers clinking. You let out a snicker. “And here you are claiming not to be an alcoholic,” you joke. Flustered, Charles turns to face your soft voice.
“It’s my first,” he squeaks.
“Third,” both Lorenzo and Arthur shoot, greeting you with a gentle nod.
“It barely even has any alcohol,” your boyfriend tries defending, but the crack in his voice makes everyone burst out with laughter. Blood rushes to his cheeks. “Weren’t you supposed to be with Carly?”
“I was, but we got done pretty quickly.”
“What’d she think?” he asks, tugging you onto his lap. You giggle, meanwhile Arthur gags and Lorenzo blinks unbothered. “Bet she loved it.”
“I wouldn’t know. I left before she read it.”
He cocks his head. “Seriously?”
You nod. “You said you wanted my full attention.”
“I didn’t say it like that—”
“Well, now you have it.” You kiss his nose gingerly. “Happy early birthday, Charlie.”
The Monegasque smiles deeply. “Thank you.”
“Arthur! Lorenzo! Come help and set the table!”
Arthur groans. “Why just us? What about Charles?”
Poking her head out the window, Pascale aims a stern look, making him dash up. You laugh, ideally going to stand up, but gets tugged back down onto his thigh. You roll your eyes. “I should help, too. But you stay here and relax.”
“I will, but only if you stay with me.”
“Pascale needs my help—”
“Right, but she has both of them already.” He gives your hair a gentle tug. “Stay.”
Sighing, you nod, resting your head on his shoulder as he holds you. From here, you can see the breathtaking view of Monaco’s sunset. The ocean, the trees. Filled with satisfaction in life, you kiss the side of his neck, making him squirm slightly. “Carly says happy birthday. Early. Early birthday.”
A hum. “Make sure to tell her that I said thank you, the next time you see her.”
The sound of waves crashing sings softly. He traces shapes down your leg. “When will I be able to read it?”
You’re sure you stop breathing. “S-soon. After Carly gives me the green light, at least.”
A beat. “I’m excited.”
Your stomach churns. “You are?”
“Mhm. Very. Didn’t you know I was your biggest fan?”
Fixing yourself to look at him, you open your lips, feeling how dry they’ve become. “Charles—”
Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.
A sore laugh. “They’re calling you.”
You reach towards your back pocket, pulling it out. Carly Freeman. Clicking it off, you shake your head. “It’s nothing.”
Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.
He wiggles his brows. “Doesn’t seem like it’s nothing. Answer her, it’s fine.”
“She’s going to have to wait until tomorrow,” you announce, standing up and dusting your hands off. “I’m here with you, and she's going to have to wait. Whatever it is, it can’t be more important than this.”
Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.
He sends a worried look. “Are you sure? What if it has something to do with your article? You should pick up—”
“I said I’m here with you,” you affirm. “Tomorrow. She’ll be fine.”
“Okay…” Standing to his full height, he sends a gesture towards the house. “Let's go?”
His hand reaches out, waiting for you. You smile, taking it. “Let’s go.”
-
Your phone keeps buzzing and it doesn’t let him sleep.
That, and Carly is a terrible liar.
Shifting in the bed as quietly as possible, Charles reaches for your phone, trying his best not to wake you. “Hello?” he croaks. The line stays quiet, static rolling. “I know it's you, Carly.”
“Charles! How’s my favorite driver?”
You twist, unwrapping your leg that was draped over him. He freezes, soothing you a bit before you settle down. Climbing off the bed, he walks out, gently closing the door and heading towards the living room. “I know your favorite is Fernando, what’s up?”
She laughs nervously, cursing underneath her breath. “Is my little journalist with you?”
“She is.”
“Great! May I speak with her very quick—”
“But she’s asleep.” She groans. “Why? Is something wrong?”
“Well…”
Sitting down on the couch, he leans back, placing his feet onto the coffee table. Normally, he wouldn’t, but you weren’t here right now, and lucky for him, he wasn’t wearing any shoes. He clicks his tongue. “Does this have something to do with your guys’ meeting today?”
“Yes. And no.” More static. “Do you mind waking her up for me?”
“Um…well I do. Sorry, Carly, but she needs to get some rest, she’s been working non-stop, and—”
“No, no, I get it!” she squeals. “I totally understand. Can you let her know that I need to talk to her as soon as possible? Like—urgent. Please and thank you and have a good night!”
“Wait,” he says, furrowing his brows and pushing the phone closer to his ear. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing to worry about. Too much,” she adds. “It’s just that I need a bit of clarification, that’s all.”
“Clarification?”
“Yup. On a tiny mistake of hers. But we can fix it together, she still has time, and if she hurries then we can still meet the dea—”
“She doesn’t make mistakes, though. Ever.”
A hiss. “It’s a tiny one, Charles—”
“Okay, tell me and I’ll tell her.”
“What? I can’t. I need to speak directly with her first.”
“Carly…”
“What now?” she grits.
“What’s the issue?” he presses harder. “I’ll let her know right now.”
The line goes quiet. For a moment, he begins to wonder if she’s hung up already, but when she clears her throat, he listens carefully, but can’t decipher her mumbles.
“She gave me the wrong USB.” That’s it? She groans. “Listen to me Charles—the USB she brought to be today only has her title written on it along with a few notes about what it’s supposed to be about. It’s the wrong one and I need the other one now.”
“Okay,” he mutters slowly, nodding. “I’m sure she’ll bring it to you once I let her know, but that’s going to have to be until tomorrow.”
She gasps. “You said you’d let her know right now!”
He winces. “I know I did, but it’s late! Trust me, though. I’ll tell her you called and I’ll even drive her myself tomorrow to drop it off. It must be around here somewhere right…” And it sure is. Sitting nicely on the coffee table, inches away from his feet. He sits up straight away, picking it up as if it were some sort of new discovery. Which in a way, it was. “Carly, why is this so important to you?”
“She’s my favorite client,” she answers without missing a beat. “I only want what’s best for her, and right now we need to fix this little mishap and get this article in as soon as possible.” A beat. “Also, maybe don’t mention the first part to Lissie, she’d totally kill me.”
Analyzing the black USB, he remains stoic, blinking only because he needs to. “Goodnight, Carly…”
“Yeah. I, um—goodnight, Charles.”
Once he hangs up, he’s quick on his feet, retrieving his laptop from the counter and sticking the drive in without a second to process what he’s doing. He shouldn’t. Probably. Definitely not. But the interest Carly clearly has was enough to poke his mind and for him to start wondering what on earth is so significant?
And it’s so obvious now why.
Charles Lecelrc: The Man Behind the Helmet
His eyes skim fast, narrowing sharply.
Like any other human being, he struggles with depression, though fails to admit. Many sleepless nights, many fights, many canceled therapy appointments, I begin to question: does every praise his fans give him make him think he’s above all these things? The truth hurts, but it's only because it's real. And Charles Lecelrc, you are nowhere close to being as perfect as everyone makes you out to be.
His heart stops, re-reading the last sentence. He wishes for it to say anything but that, but it never changes, and it only mocks him like a school bully.
Many assume that the death of his late-father, Hervé, and his late-godfather, Jules Bianchi, have made him stronger in a sense. That it has fed the drive in him to succeed. To be the best of the best, but what if that wasn’t true at all? Would any of you be surprised? Probably, but again, no one truly knows him the way I do. So, what feeds his determination?
The thought of failing the same way they did.
Anger bubbles up inside of him, grinding his molar until they crunch loudly against his temples.
But who can blame him for having that fear inherited down onto him? Tabloids also have a part in this, and so do unwanted changes. One way or another, we can relate with the latter, but never in the way he does. Reading and hearing rumors takes a toll on Charles, that much is true, but what can we expect when his next new teammate is a seven-time World Champion.
I guess the only question that stands in not only our minds, but also his…
Is he strong enough to come head to head with someone as talented as Lewis Hamil—
“Wake up.”
Groggily, you rub your eyes. “Charlie, it’s dark out, come on. Come back to bed.”
“Stop calling me that, and get up.” In a single movement, he rips the blanket away and yanks you from your wrist, forcing you to sit. You gasp, his change of heart sobering you up from your sleepy daze.
“What’s wrong with you?”
He laughs. “Me? What’s wrong with me? Are you serious right now or are you stupid?”
You flinch, taken aback. “Don’t talk to me like that, what did I do?”
“I won’t waste my breath explaining.” He drops his laptop on the bed, making you freeze as soon as you spot the familiar USB. “I'll let you re-read it.”
“Where did you get this from?”
“Really? That’s what’s important to you?” He rolls his jaw, rubbing it until his skin turns a light shade of red. “If you don’t want me finding it, then next time don’t leave it out.”
Your lips go dry, crawling to the edge of the bed, but as soon as you’re about to reach out for him, he grimaces, shaking his head and taking three steps back. “Charlie—”
“No,” he hisses, glaring at you with utter hatred. The sight alone makes your eyes well up. “You don’t get to call me that. You don’t get to call me that ever again.” A cry rings through the air as you cover your hands over your face. “A-am I supposed to be impressed by what I read or what?”
“It’s no—”
“Did I do something to upset you or w-why were you talking about me like that?” he questions, genuine confusion taking over as he furrows his brows until they cause his eyes to pinch up too.
Sniffling, you get up quickly, shaking your head adamantly until you get dizzy. “It wasn’t supposed to come off across that way! Are you kidding me?” Grabbing your heart, you soften your eyes. “I’m your biggest supporter.”
“Yeah? Well, that,” he snarls, pointing at the open screen like it's the most disturbing thing. “That doesn’t make sense with what you’re saying…” A beat. “Why would you do this to me?”
“Do what, though?” you whimper. “Everything I wrote about you is based on what you told me!”
“Exactly!” he shouts back, making the distance between you smaller, making you shrink. “I told you! Just you! I never once asked you to air out my business, and quite frankly, I thought that was common sense.” He lets out a dry chuckle. “You called me crazy and troublesome among other things. Are you my girlfriend or wolves in sheep's clothing? I’m trying to understand your logic here.”
You push your hair back, breathing hard. “You can’t just say that, there’s context behind that, come on…”
“Oh. Okay. My bad. I’m crazy because I talk to my father’s tombstone and Jules’. It's troublesome because I used to do cocaine in order to de-stress. I’m in over my head because I actually think I stand a chance against Lewis—a chance you convinced me I had!”
“That’s not what I meant!” you squeak. “You’re taking it all wrong, Charles, I would never say that about you!”
“But you did,” he states firmly. “And you know? If I’m so unready to face a friendly competition against my future teammate, then maybe I’m unready to face a lot of other things, too.” You freeze, dreading his next words as you plead him silently not to say them. “Maybe I’m not as ready to settle down with you as much as I thought I was…”
That does it. That seems to cut the little oxygen you had, off. Stumbling back, you feel the tears start to form again. “You don’t mean that…” You smile weakly. “You’re just a tiny bit upset right now, okay, fine. That’s fine. But you don’t mean any of that.”
Glaring until it hurts, he maintains eye contact. “Don’t tell me what I’m feeling, you don’t get to do that!”
You flinch. “I’m sorry.” A droplet slides down. “I’m sorry, okay?” More follows. “For all of it. For all of this. If I could take it all back, I would, you have to believe me, Charles, you know I would.”
His gaze lingers for a while longer, taking in your rosy nose. Your swollen eyes. Your wet cheeks. Everything that's supposed to make him feel better, but it doesn’t. “I really did trust you…” You breath hitches. “And I really did want you to win…” Pause. “And I still do.”
Strolling over, he disconnects the USB, making the screen go completely black, and hands it to you. Blinking down, you shake your head, too embarrassed to even look at it. “I don’t want it.”
“Yeah, well I don’t want it either…” Forcing your palm open, he places it down, instantly making your skin burn. “Journalist of the Year.”
You let out a wet sob, shoulders shaking. You don’t know exactly what you’re feeling, but what you do know is that this doesn’t feel good and that your heart breaks with every passing second.
Never in a million years did you think you would experience any of this, especially with Charles. The Monegasque cocks his head, curls following. “I’m glad you’re about to get everything you’ve ever wanted, I really am.” He chuckles softly, eyeing you intently. “I just can’t help but wonder what that must feel like.”
“I was going to tell you,” you whisper meekly. “And you were supposed to understand where I was coming from.”
And if any anger was gone, well fuck that, it all came right back.
“Understand where you were coming from?” he spits out, shocked by your choice of words. “You really thought I would understand? I planned my entire future around you, and this is how you repay me? You went behind my back to write an article I didn’t even know about! We made a choice years ago!”
“No, you did!” you retort, despair rising hard and fast. “You came up with that decision all by yourself, Charles, I never agreed!” You look down. “Not entirely.”
“Huh,” he scoffs, squinting his eyes. “I was simply looking out for the girl that I love given that the internet is a scary place and she probably wouldn’t have been able to handle it, for God sakes, I guess this is my fault now, isn’t it?”
“I would have been able to handle it, but you never gave me the chance!”
“Yeah, because reporting on a driver and driver who's your boyfriend are two completely different things that you can’t seem to comprehend!”
Trembling, you blink carefully, gulping. “I would have done just fine.”
“You think so?” he challenges, a sour smile forming. You nod. “Okay. Sure. Why not?” Closing the final distance between you two, your breath gets stuck as he sends a dirty glare, one that's meant to sting. “You’re not talented. You only have your position because of your dating status, when in reality, your work is utter shit. Everything is handed to you.”
There’s a mix of a whimper and a plea that comes out of you as you screw your eyes shut. “You’re being mean, Charles…”
He laughs, clapping his hands once with amusement. “That’s what the internet is! Maybe I was right, then—you can’t handle it.”
“I could…” you murmur, but it's no use.
The brunette catches himself wanting to comfort you. To apologize for everything. But then he figures—why? It’s not like he truly did something wrong.
“You’re the greatest disappointment of my life.”
Something ended the moment those words left his mouth—you both knew it. Sobbing hard, your shoulders vibrate violently as you seemingly gasp for air. He looks away.
“You know, our life could have been so good. So fucking good. But you went and ruined it.” Green eyes flicker back. “Why would you do this to us?”
“I never meant to hurt you,” you declare with wet lashes.
“You did a bit more than that,” he replies, wincing, blinking rapidly. He smiles. “If you wanted to write your article on me, you should’ve asked me. You should have talked to me. But no. And the thing is, I would have let you! God. I would have let you write whatever you wanted—but not like this. You stole an interview from me with no right, honey…”
Quickly, you flicker your gaze up at him, hoping to see any trace of love in that one word, but you’re not surprised when you don’t find any, deflating furthermore. He shrugs. Like what you did to him was no big deal.
“You took it from me. But I would have given it to you.”
-
“Are you sure you want to do this? You can always change your mind, babe, it’s totally fine!”
“No.” You fix your hair, posture straight. You smile. “I need to.”
Lissie shares a slow nod, nibbling on her bottom lip before handing you her keynotes. “Alright. Good luck.”
The idea first sparked when the Brit girl mentioned how she was the only one granted permission to interview Charles at this year's FIA prize giving ceremony. You had debated back and forth with what seemed like forever, both Carly and Lissie trying to talk you out of it, but you pleaded until they reluctantly agreed.
You haven’t seen him ever since that day.
It’s insane to think about, sometimes. You knew each other for two years, dated for three, and haven’t crossed paths for another two. And now, you’re here. He’d been upfront that day, didn’t even flinch with his one and only birthday wish, meanwhile you felt the last stab hurt more than anything.
I wish to never see you again.
Not long after, he grabbed his things and left. But not before turning around, sending you one last glance, dull, empty, and nothing like him anymore. You still recall.
Turn it in, he said, smiling warmly despite his better judgment. Despite not meaning it. Don’t let this all be for nothing.
Shaking your hands, you grin, fixing your silk dress. The Brit girl stares worriedly, but as soon as you wink, she hides it. Not that well, but enough. “He’s going to be so mad at me,” she jokes, but it’s probably true. He has a soft spot for her, and he only gave permission to her. No one else.
You wince, grabbing her hands delicately. “I really appreciate this, Lissie. More than you’ll ever know.”
Waving goodbye, you make your way to the private conference hall. It’s daunting, actually, the sight of the large table where he’ll be sitting and the small chair where you will. Quite the narrative. His picture is hung in almost every corner, from the beginning of his career to now. The latest one makes you smile as he lifts the trophy high up with a beaming grin, dimples poking out and eyes crinkled just the way you remember.
You thought about apologizing again. Better this time. Once things simmered down. You really wanted to, but as soon as Carly informed you that the article would need to be published in order for fans to engage with your content and for them to decide on a winner, you knew the gist of him accepting your apology was most likely never going to happen.
And you contemplated not posting it. Carly did too. Lissie did too. No one thought it was a good idea, but you still did it. Like he said—you couldn’t let all that be for nothing.
The hate came immediately, you expected nothing less. In their minds, you were a loyal girlfriend, but after reading your work, the comments came rolling in. You were honestly quite grateful because you know you deserved every last bit of it.
But somehow—somehow—you won Journalist of the Year.
You were shocked to say the least—bewildered. And you could see it in Lissie and Carly’s eyes too. So, while accepting the award with a forced smile, it hit you like a truck.
Did you truly earn this or was it all thanks to him?
Either way, does it matter anymore?
The door gently opens as he steps in, a loopy smile stretched onto his lips before coming to a complete stop. With your heart in your throat, you cough awkwardly, standing up and waving. You cringe, putting your hand down as soon as he furrows his brows, looking around.
“S-she’s not here,” you say, voice cracking. You blush. “You’re looking for Lissie, right?” Utter silence. He blinks, unresponsive and as stiff as a tree. You lick your lips. “I-I-I can leave if you want.” But you really hope he doesn’t want you to.
The Monegasque’s features strike with something familiar—something you knew not long ago. Then…
He smiles at you.
“It’s alright.” Carefully, he makes his way closer, scooting his chair right next to yours as you blink, sitting back down and staring with your plump lips slightly open. He cocks his head. “Y-you look the same.”
You giggle. “Is that supposed to be a good thing?” When he fails to answer, you bite down on your lip hesitantly. “You haven’t changed much, either.”
He clears his throat, averting his gaze. “I don’t mean to sound rude or anything, but why are you here and where is Lissie?”
You flinch. Okay. This was expected. You practiced hours for this very moment. “Don’t be mad at her, okay, I asked her to let me do this. I wanted to…see you, Charles.” The sound of his name leaving your lips makes his heart stop because it's been so long since he’s heard it. Too long. A subtle blush. “I’m here to apologize.”
“Ah,” he winces, scrunching his nose. “Don’t. We’re cool.”
“Are we, though?”
He stiffens.
Exhaling, you place your things down, pursing your lips. He watches the way your knee bounces up and down. How you play with your ring before covering it neatly with the opposite hand. That catches him completely off guard as he blinks rapidly, thinking he must be mistaken.
“I know I don’t deserve any of this,” you say nervously. “By all means, I should have been kicked out five minutes ago, but you…” Round eyes soften, lashes batting slowly. “You’ve always been a kind and generous human being, Charles.”
“Stop,” he whispers. You frown. “Saying my name, I mean. You can talk—we can talk, but please, just. Don’t say it.”
“O-okay,” you mumble, stomach churning. “I won’t.”
He lets out a tight smile, tilting his head. Years ago, his hair was a tad bit longer, fluffier even. Now, it’s still the same, but somehow more mature. His eyes are still young and naive, but with a hint of wisdom. He usually would wear mismatching suits, but now it matches. A lot of him has changed, and you weren’t there to witness it.
“Congrats, by the way,” you add happily. “World Champion, eh?”
Pink spreads across his cheeks, slowly but surely. “Thanks. I was close to losing my mind.”
You laugh. “Seven years later, but it’s well deserved. I’m so proud of you.”
And for a moment, he goes completely numb. He’s heard plenty of kudos ever since winning his first title—and they were nice, they made him feel nice—but this. You? It’s the first time it makes him feel accomplished. And that feels more than nice.
Playing with his bracelet, he nods sheepishly. “How have you—how, um…God. I, um, how have you been?”
“Oh.” You let out a genuine smile. Soft. Angelic. And everything he wishes to find in any other girl that isn’t you. It’s not something he should notice. “I’ve been well.” You raise your hand. “Engaged.”
“You sure are,” he mumbles, finally acknowledging the silver band before flashing an easy smile of his own. And maybe it was real, or maybe it wasn’t, but he wasn’t as upset as he thought he’d be. Just a tiny bit bothered, is all. “Who’s the lucky guy?”
You lick your lips awkwardly. “You remember Carly’s son?”
A tide hits him as he internally screams. “Grayson, right?”
You nod. “She, uh, set us up a while ago and we hit it off.” You wince. “I’m sorry, is that weird?”
“No. Of course not,” he replies, shrugging. “You’re allowed to build your life with whomever you want. What happened between us was…” He chuckles. “So long ago. I’m happy for you both, I really am.”
And he means it this time.
Admiring the oval-shaped ring, you swoon as if you’re thinking of the exact moment he proposed to you, and that’s the prettiest sight Charles thinks he might ever see. Even if it didn’t end up being him. Once you look back up, he looks away, feigning interest in anything else stupidly.
“Yourself?”
“Myself?”
A playful eye roll. “Are you seeing anyone?”
A retch. “Ha ha, no! No, that’s not—that’s not for me.” You frown. He winces. “Please don’t be offended, but after you, I sort of lost interest in meeting other people. Pierre calls it trauma, I call it precaution.” A sore laugh. “B-but maybe one day. Never say never, am I right?”
The lights reflect directly towards you, so that lets him see the rosy blotches beginning to hug your cheekbones as your lips wobble. He panics. “N-no! Fuck. I didn’t mean to—”
“I ruined your life,” you wail, throwing your hands over your face. “Oh my God, I wrecked it!”
“You didn’t!” he tries. “I’ve gone on a couple of dates, here and there!”
You’re tiny cries take a quick pause. Sniffling, you shoot him a look, shiny eyes beaming back at him. “You have?”
“Yeah,” he whispers, slowly relaxing against his seat. “Sort of. Kind of.” A horrified expression maps out against your face. He grimaces. “I-It’s just not my thing!”
“I’m sorry, Ch—” You pause, rethinking your words. “I’m sorry.”
The Monegasque shrugs, hoping that’d be enough for you to drop the topic. “It’s okay, really. It’s a decision I made long ago, and I’d like to keep it like that for a while, at least.” You bite down on your bottom lip, nodding halfheartedly. “But please, um, tell me, how far along are you? Heard from Lissie that it’s a boy.”
You let out a wet giggle, wiping your tears away to the best of your ability. “Nineteen weeks. I’m in my second trimester.” Gingerly, you rub your tiny belly before your eyes light up. “Give me your hand!”
“What?”
Leaning in, you grab his large hand and place it down on your stomach, looking up at him to watch his reaction. At first, he’s weirded out, you can tell. He makes a silly face he probably doesn’t realize he’s making, but seconds later his features soften. His green eyes go round, no tension behind them. His brows lay flat, then knit together in amazement. He laughs, rubbing his thumb gently.
“Does it hurt?” he whispers. “When he kicks?”
You hum. “Sometimes it can. But I suppose it’s more discomfort than anything.” You wiggle your eyebrows. “Cool?”
He nods rapidly. “Super cool.”
Pulling away, he can feel his adrenaline as high as a kite, and as fast as his car. He feels different, he notes, as if something has finally shifted inside of him. With this, he takes time to admire you in a way he hasn’t been able to ever since.
Your hair is cut into layers now, glossy and shorter than he remembers. Your lips, round, plump and berry tinted. Your eyes, doe, innocent, and pure in a way he can’t seem to wrap his head around. Smile, even, wobbly, and everything in between.
Your gaze flickers. “Question…”
“Answer,” he replies, studying your body language.
It’s harder than you had initially thought it would be, asking him what you’d been wondering for these past two years. Was it all that bad? The answer might be yes. Yes, it was. To him, perhaps. But it tugs your tongue, and it burns a bit, but you push through, focusing on him and his watercolor eyes.
“Do you—”
But he still knows you. He can still read you. Before you, it’s always him who understands your train of thought.
He shakes his head, dimples imprinting like a finger in sand. “No regrets.”
A peach seed forms as you let out a sheepish laugh. “I’ve made a lot of mistakes in life,” you admit, cringing slightly. “Just yesterday, I bought the wrong plane ticket. Got stuck in the airport for three extra hours.” He chuckles. “Totally unnecessary.”
“It happens,” he comforts you, clicking his tongue.
“I guess so,” you say, sighing. “But betraying someone you love? Yeah. That’s got to be the worst mistake of my life.”
He flinches, an old wound suddenly opening. “Hey, you—”
You raise your hand, pleading with him. “Let me just…” So, he forces himself to sit there quietly, to not intrude no matter how much he really wants to. It’s fine, he wants to say, I’m fine now, we’re fine now, seriously.
A wince. “Do you know how guilty I feel whenever Grayson polishes my award?” A scoff. “He means no harm with his actions, but it makes me feel like shit everytime I walk past it. I’ve begged him to put it away somewhere in the attic, but he’s as proud as can be. Say’s an accomplishment like that deserves to be shown off. That it’s proof of all my hard work.” You smile. “Much like you and your trophy.”
You exhale. “You were right, though.” A hum. “I don’t deserve it.”
“I never said that.”
“Sure,” you give in quietly. “But you did say that if I won, I’d always wonder if I was truly respected for my work or if I was respected because of you.”
He bites his tongue.
You shrug lamely. “And that’s just something I’m going to have to live with for the rest of my life…” Steadily, you ease your eyes back towards him as you find him already staring at you, listening close and curious. “And I want you to know that I’m fine with that.” A beat. “What I’m not fine with is you being mad at me for the rest of your life.”
Charles opens his mouth, feeling his tongue as dry as the desert and his throat as dusty as the highest mountain. “I’m not mad at you…anymore.” He sits up straighter. “I said a lot of things to you that night that I shouldn’t have said, but you have to understand that you hurt me a thousand times worse.”
Tears well up your eyes as you nod shamefully. He continues despite feeling the need to reach out for you. “I just wanted you to feel what I was feeling, even if that meant—well. You know. And, um…I tried to forget all of that, but I, too, felt guilty, so—I’m glad you’re here. That way I can say…I’m sorry.”
“No!” you wail, raising your arms up. “No, I’m sorry! I broke your trust, and I was a God awful girlfriend.”
“You did,” he chuckles before scrunching his nose in deep thought. “But you were also the best I’ll ever have.”
A wet sob escapes.
“I forgive you.”
“S-shit,” you let out. “You don’t know how g-good it feels to finally hear you say that.”
A gentle smile. “You?”
You giggle, standing up. “I have nothing to forgive you for, but yeah. Okay. I forgive you, as well.” You open your arms for a hug. He blinks. “It’ll make me feel better.”
Tsk. “You used to do this all the time wherever we fought,” he says, a hint of sadness wavering in his eyes before disappearing into thin air. Extending to his full height, he towers over you before going in to close the distance. He halts, coughing awkwardly.
You snicker, eyes crinkling with amusement. “Right. You're hugging two of us now.”
A wave of jealousy pangs his chest for a second. You’ve moved on, and he’s stuck in the year you were still in his life. Still his. He envies Grayson in every sense there exists, but he swallows down that pill because he’d always been a nice bloke the very few times he interacted with him. He needs to move on, too.
Even if it takes him his whole life to figure out how.
“The more the merrier.”
Your face has gone completely numb by now from how hard you're grinning from ear to ear. Wrapping your arms around his waist as he goes over your shoulders, you sigh contently as you catch the whiff of his cologne. His heartbeat quickened at the smell of your perfume.
“Question,” he whispered. You chuckle against his chest. Answer. He gulps, nose twitching. “Would it make me a bad person to say that you’re probably the only girl I’ll ever love?” Silence. He screws his eyes shut, gritting his teeth. Why the fuck would he ever say that—
“I’d only say that I don’t deserve to be her,” you respond. “Anyone but me.”
A flinch. “O-of course. You’re getting married, you’re having a baby, what was I th—”
“Honey…”
He freezes.
You lean back, holding his face between your hands and smiling. “It’s not your name…”
His voice catches. “It’s not…”
A deeper smile. Nostalgic. “A piece of me will always love you.” A pause. “You know me so well. Better than anyone. You’ve seen me naked. You’ve dressed me. You’ve seen me with makeup. You’ve seen me without. And…well—you’ve seen my good side. But you’re also the only one who's seen my bad.”
His palms quickly get sweaty as he tries his best to not do anything he might regret. And not because he’ll wish to take it back, but because you would. Neat brows draw in together as you graze his stubble with your thumb. As nurturing as a mother, which he supposes you already are.
“I’d say that makes us pretty close, no?”
“Not as close as I’d like to be.”
“You’ll find someone.” A beat. “Someone who’ll love you right.”
“You didn’t?” he questions before he can stop himself. “Sorry—”
“My love for you was honest. But I blew it.”
I’m still here, he wants to yell out. If you still want me like I want you, then I’m still here.
But he refrains from doing so.
“You’ve never done me wrong,” he attempts, kissing your palm gingerly before softening his gaze. You send a playful glare. “Except for that one time.” You snort. “But I don’t want to talk about it anymore because—because it doesn’t matter anymore…”
Maybe it's the hormones, you sort of wish it was, but you know it’s due to his gentleness. You don’t deserve his sympathy, you don’t deserve even a fraction of it. Crying, you kiss his cheek, hoping everything you feel transfers itself into the warmth of his skin. And you don’t know, but it does just that.
Closing his eyes, he prays to dream about this kiss forever. Have nightmares, who even cares. As long as he doesn’t forget.
You step away carefully, taking him in as his eyes flutter.
“Charles Leclerc, first time World Champion…”
He smiles. You smile.
His dimples pop out. Your eyes crinkle.
He loves you. You love him.
And maybe it didn’t work out in this life.
But maybe in the next.
“May I have an interview with you?”
taglist: @blueflorals @starmanv @coolio2195 @lovrsm @weekendlusting@chanshintien @brune77e @myownwritings @timmychalametsstuff @milasexutoire@alesainz @c-losur3 @darleneslane @togazzo @urfavnoirette @namgification @lpab @d3kstar @anniee-mr @nebarious @notkaryna @emmaxdelicate
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Hiiii! I’m so glad you’re open again I hope you’re doing well!
Poor fearless all this angst could you do a request where it’s Father’s Day on earth and fearless wants to celebrate with megatron but is kinda embarrassed so covers it up with like an excuse?
Fearless just wants to spend some time with their robo dad.
Hope you enjoy!
Fearless and Megatron Celebrating Father's Day
SFW, Platonic, Familial, Human reader
MTMTE
Fearless never had the best experiences with Father’s Day.
It opened a few too many wounds for them and happily skipped the holiday.
But this time, after a year on the Lost Light, a year with Megatron on board, things were different.
For once, they wanted to celebrate it.
The only problem was who they wanted to celebrate it with.
Don’t get them wrong, Megatron had come a LONG way from what he was during and before entering the ship.
His perspective on humans though? It depends…
He still made some comments on humans and their ‘traditions’ like every other bot who didn’t stay on Earth or long.
It was normal for them.
But it didn’t mean that it hurt any less.
Fearless really didn’t want to know what he would think, say or do if they even attempted to tell him about Father’s Day.
At Swerve’s… Fearless is slightly slumped on the bar counter, playing with the straw in their hand. Swerve glances over that the resident human looking a bit down. Swerve: “What’s got you all slumped like that?” Fearless: “Just life Swerve.” Swerve straightens his backstruts a bit. Swerve: “You wanna talk about it?” Fearless sighs a bit. Fearless: “I don’t think you can solve this one Swervey.” Swerve: “Try me.” Fearless is about to talk when a loud noise comes from one of the TV screens in the bar. Fearless: “what did you put on?” Swerve: “Don’t know really. Peggy, the main character is trying to get Ray, her friend, on a date without letting them know their both on a date.” Fearless suddenly perks up. Fearless: “A day off without letting the other know what’s going on?” Swerve: “Yeah if you boil it down like that.” Fearless jumps up to their feet and hugs Swerve best they can before running out. Fearless: “Thanks Swerve!
Fearless was out to make their plan.
Was tricking him good?
… It wasn’t going to harm him so…
They still had a few more days to go.
They needed that day to be free for both of them.
They could manage to get most of their work done for that day, but Megatron was another story.
Bots were constantly coming him in and not to mention his duties as Co-Captain.
If they played their cards right, there was a chance they could pull this off.
It was going to be tough, but it was going to be worth it.
Whirl looks at Fearless struggling to pull a large bucket of paint on a wagon. Whirl lightly pokes his Amica’s side. Their face is flushed and dark circles were starting to form around their eyes. Fearless: “You need something Whirl?” Whirl: “You look like roadkill.” Fearless rolls their eyes and continues to pull the wagon. Whirl is a bit confused why Fearless didn’t reply. Whirl: “Okay…” Later… Whirl is talking to Cyclonus and Tailgate. Rodimus walks up to them. Rodimus: “Whirl, is something going on with Fearless lately?” Whirl: “You noticed it too?” Rodimus: “Fearless just came by and took my paperwork and told me they would do all of it if I didn’t contact them and Megatron on some day.” Cyclonus: “That is strange…” Tailgate: “I heard from Swerve that Fearless has been doing all sorts of weird favors to for the same thing!” Swerve suddenly runs into the group. Swerve: “Does anyone know why Fearless is doing favors and looking like they haven’t slept in a week?”
Time for some of the crew to take things into their own servos.
Literally.
Rodimus plucked Fearless on his way to his office and almost demanded to know why they are doing all this extra work.
Fearless fesses up that they were doing all these things for bots not to bother them and Megatron on Father’s Day.
They explained to him their plan to celebrate the holiday without the ex-warlord fully knowing why.
Rodimus does advise them to tell Megatron, but also understands why they are so hesitant.
Megatron is not blind to Fearless’s odd little runs here and there.
… And he had asked Ravage to eavesdrop on Fearless and Rodimus’s conversation about Father’s Day.
He has many mixed feelings about this.
He feels a bit bad that Fearless is going through so much trouble do make a day free for both of them and that they would think that he’d be repulsed if he found out the truth.
Maybe Pre-ship Meg’s might have had some strong comments, but now…
Now things were different.
There wasn’t much he could do; the holiday was the next day.
But maybe there was…
Fearless arrives early to Megatron’s habsuite in one of their better uniforms.
Megatron is ready to get breakfast with them.
Fearless masks their surprise and joins him.
They have a great and relaxing day, or as relaxing as you can get on the Lost Light.
It was mainly thanks to the Rod Squad making sure that the pair had the day without any interruptions.
Whirl has already threatened several bots on the ship.
At the end of the day… Megatron and Fearless are in his habsuite watching an older movie on the screen. Fearless is snugged against Meg’s neck cables. Megatron: “… I know about Father’s Day.” He could feel Fearless immediately tense up. Maybe he shouldn’t have approached this differently. Megatron: “And I truly appreciate what you did to make this day possible.” Fearless looks at him surprised. Megatron: “Admittedly this was… a surprise. No one has ever done this for me before. And much less from someone who would even consider me to be a parental figure. I understand that this is an important title and… I am honored that you would give me this. Thank you, my child.” Fearless wants to say something but the only sound that comes out is a shocked sob. They try to stifle it as they huddle closer to his neckcables, occasionally sniffling. Megatron carefully strokes their back as they continue to watch the movie. Fearless: “Happy Father’s Day, Dad.” Megatron: “Thank you for making me one.”
Megs has defiantly held Fearless like this at one point
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IkéPrince's Favorite Kinks 😈
18+ | MDNI! | IkéPrinces x Fem!Reader
CW: Some kinks are not for everyone! Mentions of (consensual!) power imbalances, bodily harm/violence, Dom/Sub dynamics, humiliation/taking advantage, mentions of cutting/blood, some slight CNC (somnophilia), (consensual) controlling behavior, mentions of fingering, p-in-v sex, and more!
AN: These are just my opinions on which kinks the princes/other Rhodolite court members would be into! Some of them are a little more on the extreme side of things! Haha! This post is for all you fellow freaks out there! Enjoy!!
Jin Grandet – Sensation Play / Sensory Deprivation (blindfolding)
Jin is a slut, it’s true, but he doesn’t strike me as the kinkiest guy in Rhodolite. However! He likes to spice things up now and again! I feel like he would get a kick out of being lightly tickled with a feather as foreplay—even better if it was happening while he was blindfolded. Anything to draw out the anticipation and tension for this guy who usually doesn’t have to work that hard at getting someone into bed with him lol. Also, imagine lightly tracing a finger or a butter knife or a feather or literally anything over those shoulder and chest muscles....? And he might even let out a little low-toned nervous chuckle...?? Yeesh. 😮💨
Chevalier Michel – Overstimulation/Edging
Chev loves to have the power! He loves to make you squirm! He thinks it’s hot but also it genuinely amuses him! Lol. What a monster this guy would be. He’s written in his route/canonically as having awkward, fumbling movements when it comes to romance/intimacy, but I’m sorry, I do not buy it! Sorry to you, Ikéwriters! You’re wrong! This dude is so confident it is almost scary! He would be so commanding in bed!! For real!! Like, he is perfect at everything and has read so many romance novels...??? Like he would be lethal??? Imagine him fingering you so deftly that you are about to come, and then he extracts himself from you so suddenly that your heart almost falls out of your chest, but you look up and he’s just smirking at you??? King Chev needs to unwind too okay!!
Clasvis LeLouch – Bondage
Another member of the Rhodolitian Sluts Committee! However, Clavis is a “gentleman.” He “respects” you or whatever. Haha, I actually don’t think he would be that kinky, but I do think that he knows his way around some rope lmao. He’s always setting traps! He’s bound to set a trap for you in your bedroom one of these days. And that trap would be designed in a way that some rope would happen to pull you up by your wrists, leaving you helpless and writhing like a little worm on a hook for him. What is he supposed to do? Not toy with your body and tease you until you come?? He’s so considerate though! Always just thinking about your pleasure... What’s the problem?? 😇
Leon Dompteur – Breeding Kink
Okay, don’t come for me, but I genuinely think that Leon is the least kinky of all of the princes. He’s so noble and so egalitarian that I can’t really picture him getting into sexy stuff that requires power exchanges or pain or too much tension even. There’s a world of kink beyond those things, of course, but he just reads like a sweet vanilla boyfriend to me! But! I can see him getting particularly excited by the idea of putting his babies inside you haha. He would come inside you one time and then not be able to stop thinking about the possibility of you getting pregnant—imagining your belly swelling up, your glow as you carry his child... he’d get all embarrassed by how much the idea turns him on! He’d sheepishly bring it up at first, but before long he’d be whispering in his husky daddy voice about how he’s going to fill you up with his seed. Teehee!
Yves Kloss – Food Play
I mean, chef Yves feeding you his delicious treats? Or eating off of your naked body? Treating you like his personal little buffet? Yves would be so sensual with this. He would get off on watching you eat, loving the facial expressions that you make while you savor something that he made just for you. He’d also be into eating off of you—whipped cream play comes to mind! He’d hand-make some deliciously sweet and fluffy cream, first putting it somewhere cute and innocent like on your nose and licking it off, and you guys would tease each other until he gets all flustered and frustrated and decides to put it on your nipples and your bare stomach and your fingers and... everywhere! He'll show you who can make who flustered!! hehe cutie Yves. 🤭
Nokto Klein – Exhibitionism
Ladies and gentlemen, we’ve got another huge slut over here! Ugh, I love Nokto haha. He’s such a problem lmao. He wants the whole world to know that you are his and his alone. He also wants the whole world to know how hot and sexy you are! He’d take any opportunity to fuck you in semi-public. Or at least make out with you. He knows how to get you so distracted with his tongue, his hands, his murmurs in your ear... He’d be fingering you in the palace gardens or in a back corner of a ballroom before you even knew what hit you. He’d be all like “Look at her body, look how beautiful she is, haha but don’t ever touch or I will kill you! While smiling! Teehee!”
Licht Klein – Pain/Blood Play
(This kink is not for everyone! Proceed with caution! Also PLEASE be careful if you try this IRL!) Licht gives me masochist vibes. I can see him lying in bed with you, both of your naked bodies softly touching, you lightly running your fingers over his muscular arms, until he cautiously broaches the idea of you using a knife/small razor blade to make small cuts on him or a needle to pierce his ears or skin... You would hesitate at first, but after he reassures you and you see just how flushed and excited he gets from being at your mercy like that, you’d realize that it’s something he gets off on and enjoys. You guys would talk about it a lot to make sure that you’re going about it in a safe way! Part of the appeal for him is you treating his wounds afterward! He would only trust you with this activity.
Luke Randolph – Somnophilia
(All of this is consensual!) Luke loves to nap, and I feel like napping together would be a staple in your relationship. He loves nothing more than slowly fluttering his eyes open to see you lying next to him, still asleep. You look so beautiful and delectable, and since you guys have agreed that it’s okay—you even have a system in place, where you put on a certain bracelet or ribbon that signals your consent before you go to sleep (if you’re not wearing it, he won’t do anything)—he’d slowly slide his hand between your legs, trailing soft, wet kisses along your neck and collarbone while you’re still sleeping, gradually beginning to stroke your clit... the sensation of you getting wet while you only start to stir awake makes him hard as a rock, and before long you’d both be up and at ‘em lol.
Sariel Noir – BDSM / Impact Play
The Devil of the King’s Court!!! Oooohooohoohoo. Sariel, Sariel, Sariel... Hahaha, I can’t with this man. He definitely has a secret torture dungeon somewhere in the castle, filled with all kinds of beautifully designed whips and paddles and chains. You’d be his little plaything, no question haha. Sariel is for the masochist girlies lol. He would find excuses to “punish” you all the time, and honestly you would do the same—he would be so excited at the sight of your pretty skin getting redder and redder as he spanks you or whips you. He’d reward you for good behavior by making you come over and over again and being very sweet with his aftercare. Ugh, kinky king!
Rio Ortiz – Getting Fem Dommed / Puppy play
Biggest! Sub! In! Rhodolite! Haha. Rio is canonically referred to as the MC’s “pet” or “mutt” or “dog” across multiple main story lines lmao. And he would be such a good boy! Imagine his eager little face as you boss him around. He wants nothing more than to please you. You could be a mean mistress or a kind mistress, it doesn’t even matter! He’s at your beck and call no matter what. He’s your personal little bitch now, so use him! He likes it! Buy him a collar and leash and everything. He’ll do literally anything for his beloved mistress. Ugh, it would be equally fun to yell at him or reward him for his good behavior. Rio is the ultimate puppy material!
Gilbert von Obsidian – Total Power Exchange
(This kink is not for everyone! Don’t forget that Gilbert is pretty much a dictator! Proceed with caution! This is a consensual activity! Don’t put up with this shit IRL unless it’s thoroughly agreed upon!) Gilbert would love to control every single aspect of your life haha. He likes to see the anxious look on your face when you need something but know that you have to ask for his permission. Like, you even have to ask for his permission to go to the bathroom or eat food. He likes having all of your needs at his mercy. It makes him so horny for you. Of course, you have to ask for his permission on what to wear, who you can talk to even... Your entire life belongs to him, just like he likes it. Occasionally, you would do something without his permission and he would have to punish you!
Keith Howell – Wax Play
My thinking here is that wax play would appeal to both “Keiths.” Dark Keith would like it for the danger/tension and Kind Keith would like it for the softness/sensualness of it after the wax dries. They would go about it in different ways. Dark Keith would hold you down and pour hot wax over your most sensitive areas, making you yelp. Kind Keith would slowly drip wax along the less intense erogenous zones, like your collarbones or feet, then sweetly peel it off of your naked body. The temperature play aspect of it would be really exciting for him, and he’d love to praise your beautiful soft skin after it’s been dipped in wax.
Silvio Ricci – Getting FinDommed
This kind of breaks from MC’s canonical attitude toward Silvio and his wealth, but this is what is in my heart lol. Silvio likes a brat! He’s a tyrant and has a difficult personality, but he actually likes it when someone doesn’t back down from him. He’s so used to getting whatever he wants, the idea of being at the mercy of his little bratty baby's whims and needs would be so thrilling to him. Literally he’s your wallet now. He’s the richest man in Benitoite! Take advantage of him! He doesn’t get a choice. He's there to buy you new clothes, new shoes, as many treats as you want, a new house even! He’s got the money, babe! And that money is YOURS now. Not his. Muahahaha. 😈
#ikemen fanfic#ikemen games#cybrid ikemen#ikemen prince#ikemen prince chevalier#ikemen prince leon#ikemen prince silvio#ikemen prince clavis#ikemen prince jin#ikemen prince yves#ikemen prince nokto#ikemen prince licht#ikemen prince keith#ikemen prince gilbert#ikemen prince sariel#ikepri#jin grandet#chevalier michel#ikemen series#clavis lelouch#leon dompteur#yves kloss#nokto klein#licht klein#cybird ikemen#luke randolph#ikemen prince luke#gilbert von obsidian#ikeprince#ikemen prince fanfiction
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An Arranged Marriage, part 20
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17 | Part 18 | Part 19
M!troll x f!reader
1.2 k words
Two steps forward and one step back. Just because both of you admitted to wanting more doesn’t mean there’s not still a lot of unknowns and worries.
(I am feral over my own character, ask box is always open for talking about my writing or just monster fucking in general!)
————
Zen had pulled the covers up and over both of you, trying to block out the light while you very gently played with his hair to help him fall asleep. Medicine, tea, and left over pastries all consumed, it was now just time to sleep it off.
“I did not do anything too bad, did I?” he asked cautiously.
“What? When you were drunk last night?” you asked back.
“Yeah”.
“Nothing bad but you were an absolute pain when I was trying to wipe your face off. You kept trying to cuddle and nuzzle, which would have been sweet if you weren’t drenched and really needed your face cleaned”.
“Well, if that is the worst of it then that is not that bad, and it seems you did manage to eventually wipe me off at any rate”.
“I had to straddle you and pin you down to get you to hold still enough”.
“That is still not bad really, and I quite like being under you” he purred.
“I could tell, because when I tried to just lay on you and cuddle afterwards you wouldn’t stop grinding on my leg”.
“Oh” he said sounding a little embarrassed now.
“I ended up giving you a hand so to speak”.
“As in…?”
“As in you told me you liked my hands since they’re small and soft and feel better than using yours” you hinted.
“Oh spirits” he groaned.
“It’s fine” you smiled against his chest, “I mean you were such a good boy for me after all”.
You could not help but enjoy the soft sigh he let out in response to your words, how much he enjoyed the praise was rather endearing.
“And that is it? That is everything that that happened?” he asked.
“Well you got your shirt stuck on your tusks and couldn’t get it off, so I had to rescue you from that. And then you ended up getting cum all on your chest and stomach and when I went to get up to grab a washcloth to help you clean up you pulled me on you again so we both ended up being sticky”.
“I am so sorry” he sounded mortified now.
“It’s just cum. I mean I didn’t want to sleep sticky but it’s fine”.
“But that is it though?”
“Well” you began again, “You also told me that swallowing after the blowjob was attractive and were very concerned that it made you weird for liking it. Oh, and then even after you finished you still were grinding between my thighs so at that point I just rolled over and let you fuck my thighs until you fell asleep”.
Zen stayed silent, shifting uncomfortably for a while before finally saying something, “I am so sorry for how I acted, I did not mean to make you uncomfortable”.
“Uncomfortable? Zen you never made me uncomfortable. I was a little frustrated when you wouldn’t hold still for me to wipe your face, and sure I wouldn’t have chosen to sleep covered in cum, but you didn’t do anything wrong. We got drunk, you ate me out, then you drunkenly babbled and were horny, all very normal things” you assured him. You figured he would probably be a bit embarrassed over the babbling, but this was not the reaction you expected.
“Why would you think I was uncomfortable?” you asked.
“I was pushy, right?”
“No, you really weren’t. And even when I turned you down you didn’t push back or anything. I know I got weird and quiet earlier when you were talking but that wasn’t because of yesterday, I’m just not used to that sort of intensity, it’s wasn’t because you humped my leg” you laughed, hoping to drag Zen out of the beginning of what seemed to be a panic spiral.
“I did not want to get married” he said quietly.
“And I didn’t want to leave my kingdom. But this is where we are now and I don’t think it’s a bad place to be”.
“I know, and I am happy having you in my life so please do not be upset, but you always expected an arranged marriage even if this is not exactly how you expected it. I expected to ever marry, and if I did then I assumed it would be to someone I grew to know and love over time. I still do not know what to do. I never got the chance to love someone, to be together with someone truly, and now I do not know to do this”.
You kissed his chest and then nuzzled the spot you kissed. “I don’t know if it makes you feel any better, but I’ve never had the chance to have a relationship either, so this is all new to me too. And I never expected to actually have a real relationship in an arranged marriage, but this is honestly better than I expected to have”.
“I truly am glad that this is not awful for you, I would not be able to stomach it if you were miserable here, and I do not mean to sound callous, but I worry that while this is better than expected for you that it is not enough for me”.
It stung, and you were happy Zen could not see your face to see the hurt on it. The two of you rarely spoke about the conditions of your marriage, it was not like either of you could change it after all, but especially after he had just spoken about getting to know you and courting you it hurt to hear how upset over things he sounded.
“I thought you just said wanted to court me” you mumbled.
“I do. I want to get to know you, and fall for you, and know that if we met and got the chance to choose that I could say I would have chosen you, and you me. But I still barely know you and I hate that. I hate that you barely know me and I worry that we will get to know each other and not like the people we are.
“And maybe it is selfish, but I hope you will love me one day. I do not want a marriage where my wife just tolerates me, or is just alright with me. I want to be a good husband and person who you can love” he paused, “And I want to love you” he added quietly.
You had always been alright with the idea of loveless marriage as long as your husband was decent enough. It was fine for your parents, and everyone else in your social standing after all, it was just the culture.
Zen was kind, respectful, he took care of you, and was more than just a decent husband by far, but he needed things to be more than just decent between the two of you. He needed a lot more than you did.
“Then lets do that” you broke the silence.
“What?”
“Get to know each other better. We both already decided on that earlier anyways, and I know that now you’re worried about things not working, but I like the idea of loving my husband. I’d like to try” you nuzzled against him, hoping to reassure him.
He tightened his grip on you, and while it was faint you heard a slight purr, “I’d like that too”.
————
Tag list
@blushycadaver @hazyspacefairy @littlelovebug98 @tufflepuff23 @graveblanketgreen (won’t let me tag you)
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☆Kinktober 2024☆
Day 23: Shibari
Pairing: Damien Haas x f!Reader
Warnings: SMUT (18+ MINORS DNI!!!!) shibari/kinbaku, bdsm/bondage, softdom!Damien because I said so, oral sex (m receiving), a bit of dacryphilia, dirty talk, praise, some degradation, cum play, if I missed anything please let me know!
AN: As we conclude kinktober 2024, I figured it was only fair to make good on my promise, so here is the Damien shibari fic you have all been waiting for <3
The rope was tight, but the pressure was snug, almost comfortable, as you knelt in the unfamiliar position.
You couldn’t move; your hands were bound behind your back in a manner that ensured they stayed between your calves; legs tied at the ankles, the rope hooking over your knees to keep you kneeling on the bed. Another rope had been box-tied around your chest, framing your breasts with an unyielding weight that, if you breathed too deeply, made you feel trapped—but it wasn’t at all unwelcome.
You had been curious, and Damien had been a willing participant—a keen teacher.
When you’d gotten invested in the concept, the pretty red rope you had glanced at once or twice without buying; looking at the patterns people were tied into; bodies contorting in strange and erotic ways, you bit the bullet.
“Want you to tie me up like—” you had scrolled for a picture, raising your phone to his face. “Like this.”
He swallowed his coffee the wrong way, and turned to cough, spluttering in response to your question.
“Really?” He collected himself, looking at you with wide eyes and a furrowed brow. “I don’t—I mean, yeah, no, I can—are you sure?” He looked amused, but it didn’t hide the excitement in his voice. “I don’t want you to be, like—if the rope makes you uncomfortable…”
“Damien,” you’d purred, wrapping your arms around his neck, whispering against his cheek, “Please.”
He grinned, then, nodding.
“Okay,” he agreed. “Yeah.”
Damien had spent so long on the knots that you’d almost fallen asleep. But the result was too high in quality to go unnoticed.
You felt pretty, bound for him in the surprisingly strong linen rope. The knots made patterns over your body, and his hands brushed over them, watching the texture indent your skin as he admired his handywork.
“Good with your hands.” You closed your eyes, appreciating his touch as he trailed his palms over your sides.
“Don’t I know it.” Damien hummed, tugging at one of the knots to see if it would come undone.
It didn’t. He smiled.
“You feel alright?” He met your gaze, “Not uncomfortable…?”
“I’m…” you searched for the proper words, “Do I look pretty?” You smiled softly, eyes pleading.
“Always,” he grinned, “You’re beautiful.”
“Even tied up like this?” You pressed.
“Especially tied up like this,” he huffed a brief laugh, raking his eyes over your form. He dipped his face down, kissing you gently. “You want me to untie you?”
You chewed the inside of your cheek, thinking.
On the one hand, you’d gotten what you wanted; he’d tied you up and showed you how it felt, how it looked to be confined within the thin strands of rope.
You’d never said you wanted it to be sexual.
…You figured it was just implied.
“Hey,” you must’ve made a face, pouted or huffed in a way that caught his attention, because he called your name to snap you back to attention. “I’m gonna untie you, princess.” He smiled, the apples of his cheeks a faded pink.
“No—” You jerked your shoulder back abruptly, and Damien raised his hands in surprise. “I mean—no, I don’t…”
You looked up at him hesitantly, almost embarrassed to be enjoying yourself despite the mutual satisfaction you knew you were both getting out of this.
He leaned forward, cupping your face and rubbing his thumb over your cheek.
“What?” His voice was quiet, but the gentle nature of his tone did nothing to hide his exhilaration. “You wanna stay like this?” He leaned in, brushing his lips to yours as he spoke. “You like being tied up for me?”
You breathed, almost a gasp, at the sudden shift in his approach to you.
It wasn’t as if you were foreign to his ability to switch on a dime, go from smiling and giggly to suddenly domineering; but it was different when your limbs were tied together, and the power imbalance was completely skewed in his favor.
You liked it.
“Yeah…” You whimpered, hoping a verbal response would be all it took to convince him to press his lips to yours for a real kiss, rather than just the ghost of one.
“So, what should we do?” He smirked, “Can’t fuck you with your legs closed like that. I could untie your ankles…”
“No, don’t—don’t,” you whined, dead set on staying completely restricted. “Just want…kiss me. Please? And…touch me.”
Damien was on you as soon as you finished your sentence, waiting for the moment you told him what you needed so that he could give it to you.
He caught you in a deep kiss, poking his tongue through your lips and swallowing the excited moans that fell from you. You writhed in your constraints, and he grabbed at your skin, avoiding the knots that covered you in favor of the soft flesh beneath it.
He pulled back from your lips, placing his hands on your tits and squeezing sharply. The stimulation made you cry out for him; your skin, sensitive from the way the rope pinched you, was only further overwhelmed by the way he dug his fingers into you, kneading your breasts. He wrapped his lips around your nipple, sucking over the bud and smiling against your skin.
“D—fuck,” you tried to reach up, desperate to touch him while he licked stripes over your chest, but you quickly remembered that the rope completely hindered your ability to do so. “Fuck!”
He scraped his teeth over your nipple before moving to the other one.
“Let me—please, let me—fuck my face.” You were panting, need laced through your body like the rope that wound around you, and you wanted to taste him.
Damien groaned against your chest, nipping the plush skin before raising his face to match your line of sight.
“Yeah?” He kept his hands on you, caressing your sides.
“Yeah…” You whimpered, “Please, Damien.”
“Fuck,” he undid his fly, pulling himself from his boxers. “Come—” he held your shoulders, manipulating your trapped body to lean you forward.
He hesitated.
“Can I…” He looked confused, “Would you feel alright lying on your side? Like—you can stay…you know, but it’s easier to—”
“Do what you want,” you smiled at him, “Anything. Any way.”
He let out a long breath, thrilled by your words. The glint of lust in his eye brightened.
He moved you, carefully, onto your side, letting you acclimate yourself to the position. The rope twisted against your skin, and your thighs ached, but it was a satisfying feeling all the same.
“Gonna be gentle.” He brushed a strand of hair from your face.
“Don’t even think about it.” You smirked, unabashed by your interest in having him wreck you.
Damien grinned. “Can’t say I didn’t try.”
“Mm.” You rolled your eyes before looking up at him and opening your mouth.
He hummed, pressing his thumb to your tongue when you stuck it out over your bottom lip.
“What do you say?” He finally gave into the unholy urge, wrapping his other hand around his cock.
“Pl—e,” your soft whimper of was deadened by the thumb he still had pressed to your tongue.
“Good girl,” he praised, removing his hand from your mouth, and stroking your cheek. “Keep your mouth open.”
You did as you were told, letting out a soft gasp when he slapped the head of his cock onto your tongue.
“That’s it.” He swiped the tip over you.
You moved your neck forward, trying to bob your head over his cock, but he grabbed the rope that went around your back and tugged, halting your attempts.
“Be patient, baby,” he muttered, focused on the way your tongue felt on him and the way the rope strained under his hands, “Just a little longer.”
You whined but acquiesced nevertheless; he’d give you what you wanted, you just had to let him draw it out first.
“Open wide.” He finally tired of teasing, pressing his thumb to your jaw and applying minimal pressure to coax your mouth open wider.
He pushed into you with a moan, watching the way you instantly hollowed your cheeks and pressed your lips over his length, trying to take him further.
“Fucking—yeah,” Damien’s eyes fluttered shut momentarily before he forced them back open, eager to watch you. “So fucking pretty. You look so pretty tied up for me like this.”
You looked up at him, aware of but not caring about the drool that puddled near the corner of your lips as you moved over his cock. You whimpered around him as if you were trying to speak, and he pulled back.
“What?” The rise and fall of his chest was so intoxicating from the angle you were in, curled up beneath him. “Too much?”
“More.” You licked your lips, chasing the taste of him.
He groaned, eyes darting over your mouth as you traced your lips with your tongue.
“Christ, alright,” he feigned vexation, tugging again at the rope that fell over your back. “Come on, princess. Open.”
You parted your lips again, and the moment you opened your mouth wide enough, Damien thrusted into you.
You gagged on him, the tip of his cock hitting the back of your throat, but any discomfort was drowned out by the thrill of being used in such a perverted way, in such a sinful position.
“This is what you wanted?” Damien growled above you, one hand fiddling with the knots on your back, the other cupping the back of your head; both were beneficial for leverage, and he used it to his advantage, dragging you over his cock and watching tears prick the corners of your eyes. “When you showed me that picture? Hm? When you asked me to tie you up—this what you had in mind, princess?” His head was tilted towards his shoulder, watching intently as your spit spilled over your chin.
You spluttered, choking on him, and completely unable to do anything about it; your hands were bound, your mouth was full—but even if none of the limitations had applied, you still wouldn’t stop him.
On the contrary, you only ever wanted to encourage his depravity.
“You’re fucking drooling, baby—you’re so fucking desperate,” he was panting, pulling you over his cock at the same pace his hips moved forward. You swallowed around the intrusion, and he whimpered. “You—shit—you’re so—such a slut.”
You couldn’t help but smile around him, happy to be able to pull whiny sounds from him when he was the one who held all the control.
“I can’t—wanna cum down your throat.” Damien’s resolve was breaking, and you stuck your tongue out to swirl over the underside of his cock as he fucked your mouth. “Fuck—” he swallowed a moan.
You did it again, swiping your tongue beneath him with every frenzied thrust of his hips.
“Good girl, keep—just like that…” He had finally given in and let his eyes close, losing himself in the wet warmth of your mouth. “God, I could—where do you want it, baby, huh?” He peeked down at you with lust-blown eyes.
You moaned around his cock, tears finally flowing freely from your eyes when he got deep enough to knock them from your lash line.
“Could cum down your throat,” he reiterated, “Or on your tits, look so fucking nice covered in me.” He weighed your reactions, finally suggesting the option he hoped would be your preferred choice. “On your face—make a fucking mess of your pretty face.” He moaned at his own words, painting a picture of what you’d look like tied up and covered in his cum.
You made a happy noise, humming from the back of your throat in response to his proposal.
He pulled out of you with a grunt, fisting himself.
“Keep your mouth open, princess—close your eyes,” he waited for you to follow his instructions, and when you did, he offered a deep sigh of satisfaction. “Good girl—let me cum on that pretty face. Stick your tongue out, baby.”
Again, you obliged, listening to the wet sound of his hand stroking his cock, coated in your spit.
“F—head up, baby, come on—” he grabbed the back of your head again, “Come on, just like that, princess, just—fuck, fuck, yeah—” He came with a strangled moan of your name, watching as his cum painted your face.
He panted, tilting his head back and swallowing a sigh before looking down at you.
You grinned up at him, smeared with your spit and his cum; tears dried to your cheeks and skin blotchy from all the excitement.
Damien tucked himself back into his jeans, sprawling out on the bed beside you.
“Okay?” He searched your face.
“More than.” You reassured, trying to inch yourself closer to him.
“Happy?” He threw you a lopsided grin, trailing a finger through his spend on your cheek and pressing it to your lips.
You opened, sucking his cum off of his finger.
“Very.” you released the digit with a pop.
He stared at you, tracing your features with his eyes and taking in how wrecked you looked.
“Take a picture, Dames,” you smirked, “It’ll last longer.”
“I could just leave you tied up like this, you know.” He laughed.
“Yeah, you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” You goaded him.
“Uh-huh—so would you,” he quirked a brow, looking at you knowingly. He sat up, tracing the rope that bound you with his fingers as he began to look for the loosest knot. “Let me untie you, baby.”
You nodded, letting him get to work on undoing the bindings.
“I liked it,” you muttered, “I liked it a lot.”
“I know,” Damien laughed, finally pulling at a knot just right to make it come undone. “But I can’t do much with you in this position.”
“You planning on doing something?” You tilted your head to catch his gaze, smirking.
“Much.” He reiterated with a smile, “But I need to get your legs loose enough to spread them, first.”
#kinktober 2024#damien haas#damien haas fanfiction#damien haas fic#damien haas smut#damien haas x reader#damien haas x you#smosh fanfiction#smosh fic
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A Sinister Gift (LaDs Rafayel x fem!reader)
A/N: This is my first attempt in writing in a while and also my first time writing smut. Honestly was not meaning to write smut but it just ended up happening and I just went with it. Hopefully y'all enjoy!
warnings: character death, poison mention, smut, fluff
MINORS DNI!!
word count: 2.4k
“Rafayel? What’s wrong, my love?”
At your voice, Rafayel jerks up from his seated position on the couch. He looks at you, his eyes manic and a sickly flush to his skin. You immediately grow worried, Rafayel not being prone to sickness. He quickly gets up, tripping over himself, and grabs onto you. You topple at his sudden weight being thrown at you. You both land in a messy heap of limbs. Rafayel wraps his arms around you and mumbles something frantically. You lean in and try to listen to what he’s saying.
“...don’t leave me again. Please, please say you remember me. Don’t leave me. Don’t leave me. Don’t-”
His grip on you is tight as he pleads for you not to leave him.You hold onto him in response, returning his pleas with words of your own..
“It’s ok, darling. I’m right here. I won’t leave okay? Never again. I’m right here, I’m right here…”
He calms down at your voice but still maintains his tight grip and sickly flush. You use this reprieve to look around the room and see if there is anything that could have caused this reaction. Nothing of interest can be seen, so you decide to ask Rafayel himself.
“Darling boy, what were you doing before I got here? What made you like this?”
He mumbles something into your skin but like before, you can’t hear it. You gently grab his chin and pull his face up towards your own.
“Speak up please, my love,” you say softly, not wanting to stress him out further but desperate to hear what he is saying. He simply nods at you, his eyes fluttering at the skin contact.
“I got a special package today from Thomas. He said, he said one of our new sponsors wanted me to have it. It was a sea conch from a far away city. Its beauty made me think of you. And then I remembered you dying and leaving me. I kept thinking of how I could lose you again and I didn’t want that. You can’t leave me again, you can’t!”
He is getting worked up again so you quickly kiss him. He freezes before quickly returning your kiss with fervor. His hands move from your waist to your neck, holding you closer. Your hands wrap around his own before gently pulling away. He whines at the lack of contact but ultimately lets you move your head. His hands stay wrapped around your neck as he slowly strokes it while he looks in your eyes.
Your eyes soften at the expression he wears, one of complete and utter adoration. However, your expression changes as you realize the flush has worsened. The red has spread down to his exposed chest. Dark red lines begin appearing over his skin and cause the skin under them to blacken. Panicking, you try to stand up but Rafayel holds fast onto you.
“Baby, I need to look for the conch. Where is it? Rafayel? Rafayel!”
Rafayel collapses backwards, his chest rising and falling rapidly. You stand quickly, desperate to find and destroy the conch. You hope that in doing so, Rafayel will get better. Starting at the couch, you search under the pillows and cushions, along with the coffee table. No sign of it. You let out a grumble of frustration and continue your search. After what seems like forever, you found it half hidden behind the balcony curtains.
The conch is beautiful at first glance, but looking inside something more sinister lurks. The inside is covered with the same red lines on Rafayel’s body. Along with it are remnants of a purplish powder that must be the cause of the reaction in the first place. You quickly take the conch and smash it against the ground. It shatters into a thousand pieces before dissolving into a dark mist.
After it disappears, you run back to Rafayel’s side. The red lines are still there. But what is worse is the lack of movement of his chest. He isn’t breathing.
“No… no Rafayel! No! Wait, wake up, Rafayel.. Please no you can’t leave me either! Raf please no!” You cry. You kneel over his body and begin to start chest compression.s. After 30 compressions, you begin to perform mouth to mouth, but still there is no response. You continue regardless, not stopping even as his body grows colder. Finally you give up. Sobs rack your body as you stay draped over Rafayel.
“Please come back to me. I can’t lose you. I love you, Rafayel. Please don’t leave me…”
You stay there until the moon is high in the sky and past that. When the sun begins to break through the sky, a gasp erupts from Rafayel. He quickly sits up and in doing so, knocks you off of him which wakes you up.
“Mn, huh? What-”
Before you can question the sudden wake up call, Rafayel pulls you to his chest. You realize what is happening and begin sobbing again. He rubs your back and cradles you as you let out your emotions.
“It’s ok, my sweet girl. I’m here now. You saved me, okay? I’m alive and I won’t leave again. I promise you. I’m here, my love,” Rafayel repeats those words until you calm down. You raise your head and stare at his face. You quickly pull yourself up to sit in his lap. He moves his hands to wrap around your waist and pull you even closer until your chests are touching and your breaths mingle with every breath.
“How?” You gasp out, still surprised at his sudden resurrection. He dips his head towards yours and brushes his lips over your jaw before ghosting over your lips. He moves back, smirking as you groan in annoyance at his actions.
“You saved me, my love. You destroyed the conch which stopped the spread of the poison. However, because it had already been in my body for so long, it took longer to recuperate from. Hence, the apparent death. I am sorry to have caused you so much grief though. If I had the slightest bit of clarity I would have informed you of what was happening but the poison had spread so quickly. But I am okay now, sweet girl. That won’t happen again for as long as I can help it,” Rafayel says. His voice gets quiet at the end, as he dips his head towards you once more. Not wanting him to tease you again, you grab onto his open shirt collar and pull him towards you. A breathy laugh escapes him at your desperation. He surrenders though and brings his mouth to yours. You press tightly against him, terrified of letting go. Your mouths move in tandem, his tongue swiping against your lip for permission you earnestly give.
Suddenly, he lifts you up and places you against the ground. His lips never leave yours as he settles between your legs. His lips begin shifting downward towards your neck as your breathy moans echo throughout the room. Rafayel begins moving even further, fingers deftly pushing your shirt up to touch your bare skin. His mouth reaches the edge of your pants which causes your breath to hitch. He glances up, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he speaks.
“Why don’t I make up for causing you so much stress and pain earlier, hm? Would you like that, darling?”
You nod, but that isn’t enough. He shakes his head and removes his hands from your waist.
“Words, darling, I need words.”
“Please,” you gasp, “Please, yes, Rafayel. Just touch me already!”
He smirks at your words and returns his hands to your waist once more.
“Tsk, tsk. So impatient, aren’t you, darling?” he chastises. You simply wriggle your hips, reminding him of his purpose. He chuckles and presses a soft kiss against your lips. It is a complete 180 from his previous attitude but welcomed nonetheless.
“I love you,” he whispers against your lips. Your chest warms at his confession and you whisper back, “I love you too.”
His face erupts in a boyish grin, those words still able to bring such happiness to him even after all this time. He presses one last kiss to your lips before he begins undressing you. You lift your hips when he silently requests you to do so. You feel slightly awkward being the only one naked, but ignore it. Rafayel, seemingly sensing your hesitation, begins undressing himself too. Once both are bare, Rafayel situates himself between your legs.He presses open-mouth kisses to your thigh before finally reaching your desired spot.
His tongue dives into you, his mouth licking and sucking away at your cunt. Soon his fingers join the fray as he begins thrusting them in and out freely, your slick providing enough lubrication for him. As his fingers continue their ministrations, his mouth moves up to suck at your clit. Your hands find his hair, pulling slightly, once his fingers curl to find that spot that feels just right.
Moans leave your mouth freely as he brings you all the way to your peak, pleasure erupting from your entire body at the stimulation. Rafayel doesn’t stop until you tap at his head, overstimulated and needing reprieve. He lifts his head, his mouth still covered in your juices. His eyes are hooded as he glances at you. Rafayel slowly makes his way back up your body. His hands brushes up and down your side which soothes you as you come down from your orgasm.
“You alright, my love?” he asks, his voice deep with arousal. You nod and bring your hand to his face. His head nuzzles into your hand and with one hand holding him up, the other moves to hold your hand in place. He begins kissing your hand before making his way up your arm and eventually to your mouth. You can taste yourself on his tongue, the thought of it arousing you more than it should be. Your hands move down from his neck to his chest. You stroke the fine lines of his upper body before tracing the lines leading lower. You reach down and grab him which forces a gasp from his throat. He is heavy in your hand, pre cum already leaking from his tip.
“This- this is supposed to be about, fuck, about you, love,” Rafayel gasps out, his voice raspy with need. His moans sound angelic in your ears. Ignoring his words, you speed up your hand. His hips involuntarily move with your hand as he loses himself in the pleasure. Groans erupt from him as he pants in your ear.
“Fuck, baby please” he begs, “I’m so close. Hah, I’m, I’m gonna-.”
With one last moan, Rafayel’s hips stutter as he finishes in your hands. Ropes of cum splatter over your hand and stomach. His head falls on your shoulder as he recovers from his orgasm. You tilt your head towards Rafayel and lift your non cum covered hand to stroke his hair. It is damp with sweat as you move it out of his face. Soon after, he presses a kiss to your neck before beginning to sit up. You whine at the loss of contact. However, that whine is halted when you look at Rafayel’s face. A smirk is plastered on his face as his eyes hold a dangerous glint in them. His hardened length rubs against your thigh, having recovered quickly.
“What? Don’t tell me you’re spent already, darling? You really think we’ll be done after one round? Don’t be naive,” His voice becomes sharper with his last statement. He grabs your waist and pulls you towards him. Grabbing your wrists, he holds them up in one hand while his other lines himself at your entrance.But before he enters, in a voice that is contradicting his current attitude, he asks:
“Do you remember our safeword?”
“Yes, now fuck me, Rafayel,” you cry out. Your hips cant up, desperately searching for friction. You are beyond horny and need Rafayel to stop talking. He huffs a laugh before entering you in one swift thrust. A groan escapes his mouth as he is enveloped in your tight heat.
“Fuck baby, you feel so good. So good f’me, aren’t you?” Rafayel whispers in your ear. His breath tickles your face, his thrusts leaving him panting. You moan in response, his breathy whispers arousing you even more. His thrusts stutter as you clench around him.
“Oh fuck! You like that huh, baby? You like being good for me? Shit, you drive me crazy, Y/n.”
Rafayel reaches down between your bodies, still thrusting, and begins rubbing circles on your clit. Your moans grow loader at the extra stimulation. The deep pleasure swelling further in your gut before you cum with a broken gasp. Rafayel’s thrust becomes sloppy as you squeeze him tightly. With a throaty groan, he cums inside you. You can feel him spill inside, the extra warmth drawing another moan from you. He stills after a few last thrusts. He slowly pulls out which draws out a whimper from you at the loss of contact and the overstimulation. Rafayel presses a kiss to your forehead in apology.
“Let’s get you cleaned up, my love. I’ll be right back.”
And with that he quickly stands and heads to the bathroom. After a minute, he returns with himself cleaned up and a small washcloth in his hands. He kneels over you and gently cleans the remainder of your cum from in between your thighs and your stomach. He also cleans your hand before tossing the cloth back towards the bathroom.
He reaches down and lifts you up. Your hands wrap around his neck as you lean into his chest. His heartbeat becomes a soothing sound to you as your eyes begin to close. Soon you are placed on the silk sheets of your bed. Rafayel leaves only to return a moment later with a shirt of his and his boxers. Having put boxers on already, he dresses you before hopping into bed next to you. You curl into his side, his arms welcoming you.
“Rafayel?”
“Yes, my darling?”
“I love you.”
A kiss was pressed to the crown of your head.
“I love you too. Good night and thank you for saving me.”
“I’ll always save you, Rafayel. Sweet dreams, my love.”
#love and deepspace#lads x reader#lads rafayel#rafayel#rafayel love and deepspace#loveanddeepspace#rafayel smut#lads rafayel smut#lads rafayel x reader#lads rafayel x reader smut#lads smut#love and deepspace smut#love and deepspace fic#lads x you
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I'm not entirely sure how this whole thing works but I just scrolled back for AGES to read Dove's whole story and it was adorable and I'm dying to read more
Hell yeah! SO happy you're enjoying.
186 sentences or 1k words - whatever I hit first:
---
“You want a name other than Dove?” He asks.
“Is that allowed?” She asks.
“It is,” he says. “I just want to make sure that’s what you’re asking.”
“Yes,” she says. “It is.”
“Okay,” he exhales, still not sure what to think. “Uh, okay. Can I… Can I ask why?”
It’s not that he wants to say no. He doesn’t. He wants to give her whatever she wants. It’s just that… That’s a big deal, right? He wants to understand her thought process.
“Because…” She struggles. “Because… I want you to pick it. Like… I don’t know.”
He thinks on this for a second.
“You want the name to come from someone who loves you?” He asks.
“From my dad.”
Buck’s throat tightens with emotion.
“And you’re sure you’re okay with people calling you something different?” He asks.
“Yes,” she says. “I’m not a dove.”
Buck smiles softly.
“You’re not?” He asks. “I could’ve sworn you were a tiny little bird.”
“No!” She protests. “I’m a girl. I want a new name.”
Buck feels a little sad. He likes the name Dove. But he gets it. There’s nothing wrong with the name Evan, either. It’s a nice name. But he’d joined the fire academy and they’d called him Buck, and suddenly, he felt like he knew himself a bit better.
“Okay, sweetheart. I’ll find you a new name.”
“Yay!”
“But we have to decide on it together, alright? One we both like. Not just what I like.”
“Okay, Dad,” she agrees.
“And until we find it… Are you okay with me still using Dove?” He asks.
“Yes,” she says.
“Alright,” he exhales. “I guess I have some thinking to do.”
iii.
“This is impossible,” he confides in Eddie two days later, during one of those post-shift times where they should be either fooling around or sleeping. But, instead, Buck is spiralling.
“Naming your child?” Eddie asks. “The thing every parent ever has had to do?”
“Well, this is different!” Buck insists. “She’s not a baby!”
“Yeah,” Eddie agrees. “It’s even easier. She’s a person with a clear personality, likes, and dislikes. She can weigh in. Shannon and I had to pick Christopher’s name based off, what? His skull shape? It was still all weird from labor.”
Buck wrinkles his nose.
“I see your point.”
“This isn’t that hard, Buck,” Eddie says. “You know her. You love her. You can find something to honor that.”
Not that hard, huh?
“Okay, well you also know and love her,” Buck says. “What would you choose?”
“Nice try,” Eddie says.
“Damn it.”
“I will weigh in on names you come up with,” Eddie says. “But she asked you to pick it.”
Buck groans. “Okay, fine. Then answer this for me. How did you choose Christopher’s name?”
“Fair enough,” Eddie replies. “We had a list of names we both liked. Ones that worked in both Spanish and English. Then, once he was born, we waited to see what felt right. I had one I’d been gunning for more beforehand, but Shannon did all the work, so I wasn’t going to argue.”
“Smart man,” Buck observes.
“Occasionally.”
“So maybe I come up with a list and see what Dove likes?” Buck wonders aloud.
“That’s an idea,” Eddie agrees. “Give her some options to choose from.”
“Okay,” Buck decides. “I can do that.”
iv.
Obviously, a list of potential names for Dove to pick from is easier said than done. So he extends his efforts for help to beyond just Eddie.
He starts, naturally, with his sister.
“How did you land on Jee-Yun as a name?” He asks her one day after a family dinner, while the girls are playing in the other room. “I mean, I know it was your mom’s name, Chim, but like… How did you get there for her? Did you have other options in mind?”
Maddie and Chim exchange an amused glance.
“We could not agree on a name,” Maddie says.
“Oh no,” Chim shakes his head. “There was no we about it. You hated everything I suggested.”
“Uh…” Maddie scrambles for a retort. “Well, that’s clearly because her name was meant to be Jee-Yun and you never once suggested it.”
“Can’t argue with that logic,” Chim chuckles.
“So what made you choose it?” Buck asks Maddie.
“Something Mrs. Lee said when I called to let her know she’d been born,” Maddie said. “And it just… Felt right. I’m not that spiritual or anything, but I felt sort of guided towards it, if that makes sense?”
“It does,” Buck says. “But it doesn’t help me at all.”
“Sorry that our daughter’s naming didn’t involve you,” Chim says flatly.
“Well, I am not naming Dove after my mother,” Buck huffs. Not that there’s anything wrong with the name Margaret. Lovely name. Nice meaning. Cursed association.
“Oh, yeah,” Maddie winces a little. “Definitely don’t do that. Love them, but…”
Buck nods. “Not happening. If I was going to name her after a female family member, it would have to be you.”
“And as lovely as that would be for a baby, I think I would feel very strange suddenly calling my seven year-old niece by my name,” Maddie says. “So maybe don’t”
“Yeah,” Buck sighs. “Fair enough.”
▪️▪️▪️
Hen is more helpful. She doesn’t solve his problem. But it’s closer to it, anyway.
“I know you didn’t name Mara, obviously,” he says to her when they’re alone at work. “But how did you choose Denny’s name?”
“Oh,” Hen rolls her eyes. “That was not easy.”
“No?” Buck inquires.
“No,” Hen emphasizes. “The name on his birth certificate before we adopted him as Diesel Mathis.”
“Diesel?” Buck asks. “Like the fuel?”
“Like the fuel,” Hen confirms.
“That’s…”
“Horrid?” Hen asks.
“I was going to say creative,” Buck replies.
Hen sighs. “Well, we were never going to keep it.”
“And I think you’re an excellent parent for that decision,” Buck says. “But how did you get from Diesel to Denny?”
“Well, I had a lot of complicated feelings about Eva still,” Hen admits. “I didn’t totally want to abandon her choices. Especially since those choices were the only reason we had him.”
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The crushing weight of having a song without mass appeal that is blorbo-perfect.
#i mean don’t get me wrong I’m enjoying it#not that my taste is particularly strange#i have been informed at times it is intense and sometimes unpleasant#the real barrier probably not the banjo but a singer who does not have a classically ‘nice’ voice#anyway none of this is going to stop me from refining and sharing a new playlist don’t worry#i just need someone to briefly be insane about the same song for the same reasons ok
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Welcome to the “they’re just like me fr (derogatory)” club featuring no color because I would rather die than draw Sif with color
#keese draws#isat#in stars and time#isat siffrin#jackie stern#oxygen not included#ignore how I made sif look comically tiny I didn’t mean to even if I’m right#also the (derogatory) mostly applies to just jackie but sif made me remember I have hashtag issues so he gets a lil too#I do deeply adore both of them I just like jackie more because she’s a terrible person#which in turn means I bully her harder#I wish I could imagine fun interactions between sif and her or olivia but alas I don’t think it’d be very interesting#jackie would not be interested in talking to sif and olivia as much as I love her isn’t a very interesting conversationalist lol#I’d still enjoy watching her and sif interact but I feel like sif would get kinda overwhelmed by her technical questions#same with jackie if she actually did talk to them but I think she’d be more keen to seek the scientists of their world#and then she’s like this time craft needing immense power thing is bullshit I did it and it generates infinite power all by itself#and then she blows up this planet too to prove her point or smth#but yeah there’s smth deeply wrong with these guys I think they should die horrifically over and over again#but alas that only happens to one of them 😔#I’d love to put jackie in a timeloop she’d actually probably be actively happy for the first maybe few months but once she starts to crack#she’d just spiral soooo bad and shes absolutely incapable of self reflecting so her ass is not escaping#rly the most interesting question of looping jackie to me is how long would it take her to even for a second think she might have done a#single thing wrong in her life lol#sif vc aw shit I just messed smth small up time to have a breakdown over it#jackie vc wtf why did the earth blow up this must be dr.techna’s fault
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writing about my elden ring oc has been my comfort thing for the last two years but since this dlc i genuinely can’t bring myself to enjoy it anymore. miquella, the haligtree and even malenia feel so different to me now
#i can’t even daydream about it at work it’s that bad#miquella especially has been ruined for me i don’t think there’s any coming back from that#like i said before i’m okay with the direction his story took#i’m okay with everything apart from the dumb consort bs#but learning the caelid war happened because radahn had to die to get resurrected as his husbando is fucking wild#it just makes them all feel so lame i’m sorry#the fact that no one predicted any of this too despite this community have the most thorough lore theorists i’ve ever seen#the fandom coming up with far better theories for this and then all we get is a 17 yrs yaoi fanfic type ending#prime man being reduced to nothing but a victim and miq is some kind of predator#while malenia is the enabler#holy shit this sucks#this might actually be the death of elden ring for me i just can’t really enjoy it anymore#i mean maybe that’s a good thing i’ve been to obsessed with this game for too long#pls don’t come at me telling me im wrong or whatever. this is how i feel and maybe over time things will change#but right now i’m just struggling to appreciate these characters the same way i used to
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Me through most of Boom: Wow, this is a really solid dramatic episode.
Me when Moffat needlessly sprinkles in anti-faith sentiments without specifying that it’s blind faith in bad things that the Doctor doesn’t like, which makes it come off like the Doctor is just against religion generally:
#doctor who#dw critical#spoilers#dw spoilers#i get it edgelord you don’t care for religion. you don’t have to alienate religious members of the audience.#i at least appreciated that the doctor agreed with splice that gone and dead are different things and told her to keep the faith#but like. he immediately thereafter still tells mundy that he doesn’t like faith and spent the whole episode disparaging it.#which just feels so wrong for a show that’s supposed to be open minded about the beliefs and cultures all across the universe#i hate when writers gratuitously make the doctor take a hard and broad stance on something that he would NOT#reminds me of s8 when twelve suddenly hated all soldiers#as if some of his closest friends haven’t been soldiers? brigadier? benton and yates? sara?#big difference between corrupt military and literally every soldier#the same way there is a big difference between a corrupt religious organization or individuals who use religion as an excuse for cruelty#and like. ALL faith and the idea of having a faith that you live by whatsoever.#just because his comments were aimed at something corrupt doesn’t mean they weren’t WAY too sweeping as if he meant it on the whole#i definitely enjoyed the bulk of the episode but that just felt like it was done in bad faith and made me uncomfortable#and i just read moffat’s comment on the thoughts and prayers thing and UGH#i get why there are circumstances in which that can feel hollow — usually if it’s coming from a corporation that could actually do somethin#but can we not villainize all the normal people who genuinely mean that with love?#people who often CAN’T do anything but say prayers for you?#that IS a legitimate response and a legitimate action#someone can’t physically aid you but cares to take the time to talk to the God of the universe about you and your need and plead for you#don’t tell me that isn’t love or that it’s not really doing anything#sometimes that’s all you CAN do and it’s more than people give it credit for#blatant disregard and willful misunderstanding of faith like this just rub me wrong#it’s painting with a broad brush and it’s close minded#and yes i’m gonna post this. i’m feeling controversial.#my love/aggravation relationship with moffat continues#in the wise words of kira nerys. if you don’t have faith you can’t understand it and if you do then no explanation is necessary.
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I finally saw the mean girls musical (the movie one) I have so many fucking thoughts oh my god
#thoughts#oni talks#mean girls 2024#I think I may be the only person to kind of like it? like don’t get me wrong it is kinda ROUGH but it has so much potential and there’s bits#and pieces that I actually really enjoy or wish they had more of or just aahh#I’ve been nonstop thinking about the ideal version in my head like there’s so much potential obviously I’m biased by like a lot#since for one I know I tend to like stuff other people hate or don’t like but for two this sequel was weirdly way more relatable so maybe#I’m just projecting from my own personal experiences but Idc the POTENTIAL THERES SO MUCH ID WANNA DO INSTEAD#like there’s so many little details and characterizations that I wish was expanded on or fleshed out and it’s just like it feels like either#half baked or that it’s gone through too many edits it’s like it’s scared to exist?? like there’s some differences I love and wish they lol#leaned into but it’s like it was terrified to be too different? or like they were rushing the end especially#like in my ideal form it’s a tv show coz I think they honestly have enough that could be genuinely expanded in a way more interesting way#via that format probably not like a super extended series like you COULD but you’d definitely need more expansion but I could see the potent#but like idk one SOLID musical season with expanded character story and not like one of those rush cram shows like a good solid one#like Regina’s characterization is so fascinating but also feels like slightly off and like they could’ve leaned way more into things?#like I think keeping Regina as a closeted lesbian gives the greatest potential and interest for an expanded story#like I loved maybe the first half of the movie the most like that one song she sang to manipulate Aaron would work so much more perfectly if#she’s singing it about/to Cady? I also think in my ideal brain an cool flashback episode for Janis and Regina would be so cool coz there’s#so much you could flesh out in a flashback than you could in a retelling which while I do like the retelling since it lets you imagine thing#I just! potential! I also want more of them interacting and I do think changing Janis to be a lesbian works if they leaned more into it?#I also think in my ideal form janis would have more comeuppance or acknowledgement of her shit? I also think an arc of Regina coming out#like one thing they missed from the original is Regina playing soccer at the end & I think they could hint more towards that and maybe lean#more into her at home life in an expanded story way coz her mom is clearly like… yikes. granted maybe some of my views on the movie are too#biased by personal experience but like the way she snaps at her mom usually in my experience isn’t out of nowhere? like parents behind#closed doors. or frustrations with what her mom has clearly been putting on her the way she tells her mom not to talk about her body is very#like idk a lot of the characters in this version feel more real to me bc they act really similar to people I know irl so the expanded story#could be cool. another one that in my ideal brain would have more is Gretchen and especially her relationships with Regina as well as with#that one guy and her parents I wanna see more of how that works and her arc to feel more meaningful when she dumps him & mentions family#also as much as I didn’t care much for the straight plot stuff there’s 100% missed potential there that I could see in the differences like#iirc in the original it’s regular algebra not AP calc which I think could’ve been used as an interesting characterization opportunity for
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dude why did ppl hate The End of Hope’s Peak High School sm
#toasty talks#dr on the brain obviously#most of the complaints I see are that it contradicts the plot of the first games#but I honestly couldn’t fully grasp DR1 or 2 prior to having seen the anime.#personally I thought it tied things together well. I’m sure the contradictions are there and I just didn’t notice but#it clearly never broke my immersion or anything#plus!! you get to see the DR1 and 2 character being (mostly) alive and well in the end!! A++#I’m planning on rewatching so I’m just thinkin abt it cuz like. I enjoyed it quite a bit. I don’t get the hate#if it’s just that it’s ‘bad’ then. I mean you are definitely allowed to feel that way but let’s not pretend that the games are Good.#dont get me wrong I LOVE them but they are Badgood. very entertaining. full of flaws. 10/10 would not recommend you have(n’t) to see it. yk#also I suspect some of the dislike comes from watching it in the wrong order (which is the fault of some streaming sites).#unless you look it up you might not know to watch the Future and Despair arcs in alternation which is def the best way to watch it#anyway. basically I am excited to rewatch it LOLZ. I liked the plot lines :] AND I thought the new characters they add were pretty cool#danganronpa 3#the end of hope’s peak high school
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‘what’s with the ken-posting pav? 🤔’ you may ask. well have you considered i’ve been watching p3 reload snippets in secret 👀 like someone’s 2nd persona awakening 👀👀 which pulls not a single-whammy, not a double-whammy, but a TRIPLE-whammy of lines, in succession, that are ALL my favourite tropes and themes 🔥, which have mostly only been seen in my little baby boy Theon as well. Now in this comparative essay I will—
#In the lens of ‘what came first? The chicken or the egg?’#Obviously there was some inspiration that’s how all my best head children come to be#BUT it has also been 5-ish years? Since I properly consumed the game? And my memory is shoddier than expected#What I’m trying to say is that Theon diverged and developed as I forgot the intricacies of p3. And now that I’m back it’s like#fun comparison times between the murderous children :3#Dolphin you will LOVE october 4th it’s all the angst you crave and more + many familiar tropes from Theon’s arc ^^#Anyways I think I’ve reevaluated my tier list of persona characters and I think ken is my favourite from p3 now#No shade to toaster waifu I love her too still. I think she and (graces) sophie would be great friends ^^#But yeah because of that it feels like a dime a dozen for these robot girls 😅 and now I’m pickier about how it’s implemented#They’re all great though don’t get me wrong 😭. very gender and very loveable#So yeah. tastes. they evolve. but it only means I enjoy a great variety of blorbos over time :D#just pav things
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