rafeandonlyrafe · 2 days ago
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normal procedure
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words: 2.1k
warnings: 18+ only!!, dubcon, gynecologist!rafe, patient!reader, virgin!reader, gyno exam, fingering, p in v sex, protected sex
a/n: we can pretend that this is a roleplay scenario because obviously no real doctor would do this, lets all take a breath and remember this is fanFICTION aka not real or an endorsement by me (or my readers) of anything in this story
“oh, um-” you gulp, blinking as the fluorescent lights shine down on you.
“your feet ma’am.” he repeats, tapping the stirrups. you lift your legs, well aware that you're lacking any sort of underwear underneath your hospital gown.
your doctor secures your legs in the straps before his eyes drift to your center, now on display with your parted thighs.
you gasp and pull your gown down to somewhat cover yourself.
“ma’am, i assure you this is all part of the normal exam.”
“i-i-” you swallow thickly, blinking again, swearing the lights are only getting brighter, hotter, as a bead of sweat forms and falls on your forehead. “what's your name?”
“im doctor rafe cameron. certified gynecologist. you can just call me rafe though.” he explains softly. “and there is no need to be nervous.”
“okay… how long have you been a gynecologist?”
“asking all these questions is just going to delay what we need to get done.” rafe says. “shall we begin?”
“i suppose.” you nod. you know usually girls wait until after they have sex for the first time to visit, but with your twenty first birthday coming up as still a virgin, you decided you might as well stop delaying the inevitable.
“im just going to lift your gown.” rafes hands are slow and gentle as he brings the hem up, revealing your bare cunt to him.
“does it all… look okay?” you question. 
“you look perfect.” rafe says, his voice lowering in tone as he reaches for his gloves, pulling the latex over his long, slender fingers.
“okay.” you nod. surely a doctor would know. it lessens your anxiety the tiniest bit.
“im going to touch you now, okay?” rafe looks up at you, and his eye contact holds you still, blue eyes gleaming with intensity as they look into your brown ones.
“y/f/n?” 
“oh, yes.” you nod quickly. “yes, that's fine.”
rafe hums, the corner of his mouth turning up into a smirk. “so if i read your chart correctly, you haven't had sex yet?”
“no, s-sir.” you shake your head, eyes moving to the ceiling to avoid that captivating gaze, even if the fluorescents make your eyes hurt.
rafe mutters something under his breath, but you're sure your ears are just playing tricks on you. no way he would whisper “perfect” to himself. surely he's a professional.
rafe lays two fingers on your inner thigh and your entire body jolts, the gloves cold against your bare skin.
“it's okay.” rafes other hand rests on your thigh, rubbing gently with his thumb. “im going to begin the exam, if you feel any discomfort at any point just tell me.”
“okay.” you nod, and you swear despite the chilly gloves, his touch leaves a trail of fire as he brings his two fingers closer to your pussy, before suddenly swiping through your folds.
“oh!” you squeal out, hips lifting slightly before pushing back down.
“it's a normal bodily reaction.” rafe assures you before you can even feel embarrassment.
rafes fingers swipe through again, but at least you're expecting it this time. you blink quickly, trying to keep yourself calm as his other hand moves to join in examining your cunt.
“just going to use my thumbs to look around. let me know if it gets to be too much.”
just as rafe said, his thumbs begin to pull and poke at your skin. you move your gaze from the ceiling back down to rafe, seeing the same intensity in his eyes but now focused on your pussy.
“im going to touch you some place that may make you feel… fervent. please know that any reaction your body may have is normal and all part of the exam.” rafe places his thumb directly over your bud, and your body lights up like a firework.
you don't even realize you're moaning until the side of rafes mouth quirks up again into that signature smirk.
“oh!” you squeal again. “oh my god, im so sorry.”
“it's all normal.” rafe assures you. he gives you a moment to get used to the pressure on your clit, simply touching it with the pad of his thumb before he begins to swipe over it, stimulating your clit while his eyes move back and forth between your pussy and your face contorted in pleasure.
“is this supposed to feel so good?” you question. you didn't do much research on what actually happens when you get in the gynecologists chair, but you swear what you've heard from friends is that the exam isn't comfortable.
“yes.” rafe says simply, and you have no reason to not take his word as truth. “my thumb is going to stay there as i insert a finger.”
you nod, glad to have the distraction of his thumb moving around your clit, even if your cheeks flush with embarrassment as you grow wetter.
“hm, looks like i won't need any external lubricant.” rafe looks up at you. “sometimes i have to with virgins. but your pussy is perfect.”
“thank you?” your thought process is quickly shut off as rafes finger prods at your entrance, getting his gloves significantly wet.
“sorry if this is cold, but i have a feeling you'll warm me up quickly.” rafe pushes his finger inside slowly, and you have to tilt your head back and squeeze your eyes closed to keep more sounds from coming out of your mouth.
“does it all feel normal?” you're well aware at your voice must sound strained as rafes finger rubs against your inner walls.
“yes.” rafe says, this time his voice having an air of shakiness to it. “you're tight, but it's to be expected from a virgin.”
“s-sorry about that.” you can't tell if rafes emphasis on the word is negative or positive. “i didn't see myself losing it anytime soon so i scheduled my appointment.”
“and why is that darling?” rafe questions, his voice a purr as he begins to move his finger in and out in slow strokes.
“why am i a virgin? uhh…” you trail off. “i guess just haven't found the right guy yet.”
in truth, the whole idea of sex gets you nervous. hopefully after getting assurances that everything works okay down there, it'll be one less thing to be anxious about.
“we can take care of that today if you'd like.”
the thumb stroking over your clit flicks upward suddenly, making your hips jump up, legs straining in their spread position.
“what do you mean?” you ask, feeling and hearing rafes finger speed up, your slickness making it easier and easier for him to move.
“i can take your virginity. it's part of my duties as your doctor. only if you'd like, it's an optional part of the exam.”
“you mean like… insert something in me?”
“yes, my cock.” rafe smirks as he pulls his finger out, tapping against your wetness and letting the sound spread through the exam room.
“oh!” you look at rafe to make sure he's serious, but his expression doesn't convey any sort of joking around. “gynecologists do that?”
“for our virgin patients if they'd like. id wear a condom of course and take your virginity so it's less of an ordeal for you. and i can assure everything is working fine.”
“and by everything you mean…”
“making you cum.” rafes thumb applies a bit more pressure to your clit. “although you're already not far off, are you?”
“wouldn't know.” you can feel something growing in the pit of your stomach, an unfamiliar feeling you can't quite place.
“what do you say y/f/n?”
“s-sure.” you nod. “if this is all normal, i guess it's fine.”
“great.” rafe smiles, before looking down at your cunt. “ill have to work two fingers into you before fu- helping you lose your virginity.” he explains.
thankfully, his thumb keeps tapping and pressing down on your sensitive bud as a second finger lathers itself in your wetness, sliding through your folds before dipping into your cunt.
his finger are barely an inch inside before they're back out. “you'll have to excuse me for going one handed for a second.”
rafes thumb moves away from your clit, and you're about to cry out for more, immediately missing the feeling, when rafes mouth drops and his tongue takes its place.
“doctor!” you shout.
“all normal.” rafe assures you, his lips already shining with your juices. “taste is an important part of the exam too. and you're very sweet.”
you watch as rafes head dips again, his mouth working on your cunt as his two fingers that you hadn't even realized have been pushed inside of you begin to move.
rafes free hand reaches for his pants, pushing them down to get his already hard cock out. he begins to stroke as his tongue licks at your clit, fingers opening you up.
you feel another jolt of pressure when his fingers spread to scissor and close, scissor and close, working your gummy walls open for him.
rafe presses a series of wet, sloppy kisses over your cunt before restraining himself and pulling back, licking greedily over his lips to not waste your taste.
“are you ready?” rafe asks, reaching into a drawer to get a condom.
“yes.” you nod quickly. you're more than desperate now for his cock, especially as his fingers slide out and leave you empty to squeeze around nothing.
rafe stands up, bringing his cock up into your sight line. your eyes widen when you see he's much longer and thicker than his two fingers that were already a tight fit inside you.
“don't worry.” rafe says as he tears the foil of the condom before getting the rubber out and rolling it down his length. “im gonna take good care of you.”
your hips already sit at perfect height as rafe steps between your legs. you would close them out of shyness if it was at all possible.
rafe taps his tip over your clit, making you moan out, but you don't bother to hold back, not when rafe lets out a moan as well.
“the room is completely noise proof, and sounds are nothing to be embarrassed by.” rafe assures you as he rubs his cock against your pussy, thoroughly wetting himself before pushing against your entrance.
it's a slow push to break the ring of muscle, and then an easy slide once he's in.
“h-holy shit.” you whine out, hands gripping the side of the bed as rafes hips immediately begin to swing in and out.
“any pain?”
“none.” you answer quickly. there's no hiding the intense pleasure being brought to your body, especially when rafes thumb retakes its place on your clit.
“there ya go.” rafe smiles as he feels your cunt flutter around his cock. “i can tell you're getting close.”
rafe glances at the clock, wishing he could fuck you for longer, but if he extends the time for the exam too long the nurses will surely get suspicious.
“how does it f-ffffffff-” your ability to speak briefly lapses when rafes thrust speed up. “feel for you?” you manage to complete your sentence.
“your pussy feels amazing. you're so tight and warm. any guy would be lucky to be inside of you.” rafe says, his hips moving faster, desperate to cum. “perfect.”
you are practically glowing underneath the praise and impending orgasm, rafes thumb moving faster with real purpose now.
your head tips back and before you know it, a wash of light and pleasure has taken over your body, and you're moaning and twitching as what you're certain is your high breaks.
“that's it.” rafe smiles, feeling your pussy flutter around him, clit pulsing with the strength of your orgasm as he thrusts harder into your pussy, putting all his might into helping you ride out your orgasm and spur on his own.
rafe lodges his cock as deep inside of you as he can as he cums, briefly cursing the barrier of the condom from preventing himself from flooding your womb.
“very- good.” rafe pants, pulling out extra slow despite the clock ticking down, watching as your hole squeezes back tight as he pulls out.
rafe discards the condom and then his soaked gloves, sticky with your wetness before tucking himself back into his pants.
“take all the time you need.” rafe undoes the stirrups and let's your legs flop down. “ill come check on you in five minutes, i need to see if my other patient is here.”
and just as quickly as he entered, rafe leaves the room, leaving you with your pussy a sloppy mess and heart beating fast.
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mochinomnoms · 2 days ago
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say you can't sleep, baby, I know
NSFW!Trey x Reader
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Synopsis
You're doing this on purpose, aren't you? You're trying to rile him up, right? He's supposed to be the responsible, big brother of Heartslabyul, he tries so hard. So, so hard to stay out of trouble and have a normal day-to-day life. Trey used to pride himself on his levelheadedness and restraint, but that all went out the window into a swan dive into the lake when he saw you in his bed in that damn one-piece. “Happy Birthday Trey~”
[wc} - 5,258
[cw/tags] - afab!gn!reader (im sorry folks it's all i know how to write still), NRC is a university in this, domesticity kink, birthday sex, breeding kink (sue me), oral (giving & receiving), trey can be a little mean as a treat
[notes] - i apologize for the person i've become after seeing trey's new b-day card. it does things to me and this is 100% self-indulgent for me. also, tried to use very neutral descriptors for reader so tell me how that went and if it reads well! lastly, the outfit the reader wears is based on sabrina carpenter's outfits from her short n' sweet tour, specifically the baby doll one!
Written while listening to “Espresso” by Sabrina Carpenter, I recommend listening to it while reading :)
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Let’s consider exactly the type of person Trey is.
Ever since he’s started school at NRC, he’s always taken a bit of a parental role in Heartslabyul, even before he became vice housewarden. Even Cater would joke about it when they first became friends:
“You’re, like, a total big bro! O-M-G, no! You’re like a dad friend! I’m totes willing to bet that the incoming freshmen are gonna slip up! Call you Dad or something!”
Evidently, when Riddle came into the picture and Trey was appointed his vice, Cater was proven right. He didn’t mind it too much, despite what others might think. 
He liked the familiarity of it, being the oldest at home, it translated well into his position at Heartslabyul, and it came with the added bonus of being able to minimize any chaos that arose. 
That was his main goal, especially with Riddle’s temper during his freshman and at the beginning of his sophomore year. Honestly, he had phenomenal conflict resolution skills, and he just wanted to make his life as easy as possible. 
Everyone at this school liked to make that difficult, though, especially the freshmen of this year.
“Oh fu—I mean sh—dam—fuc—shi—FIDDLESTICKS!”
“Dude, just say fuck, why you gotta say the corniest shit—OW—Treyyy! Deuce hit me!”
Deuce had a guilty look on his face as Trey looked up from his notebook to raise a brow at the two.
“W-well, Ace cussed, so he has to put money in the swear jar!”
“Aw what! Come on Trey!” Ace whined, shoving Deuce’s face to the side as the latter grunted and started pulling at his cheeks and arm. “Riddle’s not here, he’ll never know, so I don’t gotta! Don’t make me!”
Trey simply smirked and gestured to the jar on the fireplace mantle, helpfully available to everyone in the lounge. 
“You know the rules, bud, two thaurmarks for the f-bomb and a .50 cent for the other.”
Ace tossed his head back and groaned, begrudgingly dragging himself over to the jar as he dug around his pocket for change.
“Don’t be rude to your father, Ace.” A few giggles and snorts vibrated amongst the small group studying in the lounge as you wagged a finger at Ace, Grim squinting angrily at the book in your lap. 
Your lips quivered as you hid a laugh, jokingly chastising the ginger. 
“No need to be a brat.”
Trey had to withhold a snort at that comment, rich coming from you. He knew better than anyone that you could be as much of a brat as you were another parental figure.
“Oh ha-ha, very funny, Prefect. What, does that make you, Mom or Dad 2?” Ace stuck his tongue out at you as you grinned and focused back on Grim. 
“Okay Grimmy, so remember, what alchemy recipes need mandrake root?”
Watching from the corner of his eye, Trey watched fondly as you murmured soft words to Grim. It reminded him of his Mom talking to his siblings after a nightmare, or of his Dad after one of them would get hurt in the kitchen. 
Soft, soothing, parental. You’d make an excellent parent one day. 
Trey felt himself get warm at the thought, adjusting himself in his seat and looking back at his musicology notes. He couldn’t sing very well, but he can memorize notes, and that’s what the upcoming exam was focused on. 
That’s what he needed to focus on, not the way you cradled Grim against you like a parent with their child. Focus on his alchemy flashcards, and not the way you cleaned up the mess on the table so you could bring everyone a tray of snacks he’d prepared earlier that day. Focus on the history textbook in front of him, and not the way you cleaned up the lounge as it got later and later.
It wasn’t fair. It was so unfair how well you fell into the role. Cleaning and humming, one of his spare aprons on you as you wiped down the tables of crumbs and stacked a pile of dishes. It was unfair how sweetly you murmured to the few remaining students, and told them to go to bed and rest up. 
They obliged, probably half asleep at this rate, since it was an hour until midnight. Ace and Deuce had retired a while ago, the latter leaning on the former as they haphazardly stumbled to their room. 
Riddle had dropped by after his housewarden meeting, satisfied by the study group, but ultimately stuck to his very strict evening routine. 
Now it was just you two. Even Grim had been tugged along with Ace and Deuce earlier, not unlike a rag doll slung over their shoulders. 
“Trey? Honey, when are you going to sleep? It’s almost midnight.” His eyes fluttered tiredly as he felt your hands slide over his shoulders and a kiss pressed against his temple.
He felt warm again, heat pooling in his belly. You were so unfair. 
“You should go to bed soon, come on, I’ll take care of you.”
He can think of a few ways you could ‘take care’ of him. 
“It’s fine, why don’t you get Grim and head back to Ramshackle? Curfew is in 30 minutes, you know?”
You rolled your eyes, sighing into his ear, making a tingle go down his spine.
“Okay, but please go to bed soon? I left you a little birthday surprise in your bedroom~”
Trey perked up at that, eyeing your mischievous grin as you waved your fingers goodbye, going down the hallway to the dorms to grab Grim.
To be honest, he’d forgotten that his birthday was tomorrow, he’d been so focused on his midterms that it just slipped his mind. Well, he can’t say he’s not excited to see what you got him, especially since you’d been not too subtly probing him for preferences.
He groaned, running his hands over his face and sighing, heavy and exhausted.
“Ugh, just a bit more and I’ll retire for the night.” Trey reassured himself, eyes straining as he looked between the books in front of him. 
The words on the papers blurred after a bit, the sound of the grandclock lulling him further into sleep, his head nodding off until a ping from his phone started him awake.
It was Cater, his Magicam user popping up on his screen. 
cay-cay_diamond: hbd trey!! 🥳🎉🎉🎉grats on being an old man now!
Blinking at the clock, Trey realized that it was now a few minutes past midnight, so it was technically his birthday. He’s lucky that Riddle followed his own sleep schedule so rigorously, or else he’d be getting a scolding for breaking curfew.
luckyclover: Old? I’m only like 4 months older than you cay-cay_diamond: yeah. old. cay-cay_diamond: anyways! enjoy the gift in ur room!!! i helped (name) pick out the wrapping 😘😘😘
Trey hummed, a small smile on his face as he imagined the two of you bickering over wrapping paper and messily wrapping up a box with a bow. You did seem very excited for him to find it earlier, maybe you two picked something out together. 
He was curious on what exactly you got him and why you hadn’t waited to give it to him at his actual birthday party. And why did you need Cater to help you…you’d always shoo him away when he’d tried helping you with gifts for other’s birthdays. 
Stacking his books into his left hand and walking towards the junior dorm rooms, Trey looked at his phone as it pinged again. 
cay-cay_diamond: on that topic thooo…u should rly go 2 ur room and get ur present! the poor thing! they’ve been w8ing very patiently 4 u~ luckyclover: Waiting? (Name)??? cay-cay_diamond: 🤭🤫😉
Trey sighed, shaking his head and tucking his phone away and digging out his room keys. It was times like these, deep into the night, when he was thankful for having his own room. He felt a bit bad now, you probably fell asleep in his bed waiting for him. 
Though, the thought of you clutching one of his pillows, maybe in one of his sweaters to keep warm, made him smile. Then he could come in, gently take your clothes and shoes off to get you more comfortable, and dress down himself to slip in right behind you.
As he finally managed to get to his room, he heard shuffling as he turned the keys. Trey smirked, noticing that only his rose lamp remained on, and all the drapes to his canopy were now closed. 
He could just barely make out the shadow of you moving behind them, hearing you gasp and the bed squeak, making him let out a soft laugh under his breath.
“You’re breaking curfew, you should be asleep you know? You're such a troublemaker sometimes.” Trey teased you as placed his books on his desk, tossing his hat onto its stand and slipping his shoes off to throw them into his wardrobe and grab his slippers. 
He yawned, the late night really starting to sink into his body as he started undressing, his jacket and vest getting hung back up in the closet as he worked on his sash and unbuttoning his pants.  
“Only like a third of the time!” You whined, the bed softly squeaking as you followed his movements behind the canopy. “Besides, I really wanted to give you your present. Don’t you want to unwrap me?”
Trey paused at the purr in your voice, narrowing his gaze as he saw your hand ever so slightly move the curtain at the end of the bed to peek at him. You were still mostly shrouded in darkness, but there was a very soft glow coming from inside the canopy, so he could just barely make out your mischievous smile.
Though, you quickly frowned, eyeing him up and down out of concern. 
“Not if you’re too tired though, you have bags under your eyes, Trey. Do you just wanna go to sleep?”
Giving you a weary smile, Trey finally tossed his sash to the side and reached for the curtains, pushing them to the side to finally take a look at your “mysterious” present. 
“In a bit, let me see what you got me…”
Trey’s breath hitched, he suddenly felt very wide awake as his eyes roamed up and down your body. 
From the corner of his eye, he could see that you set up string lights along the top of the canopy for ambiance, making you look like you were almost glowing. Though it wasn’t that that made him lose his voice. 
You were sitting on the edge of his bed with your legs curled underneath you, dressed in the most darling sage-green, sheer baby doll dress. The dress's puffy sleeves and hem were lacy, matching the lace on the stockings. 
Holy shit you were wearing stockings.
“Ha, I wanted to surprise you, I thought you could use a stress reliever.”
You're doing this on purpose, aren't you?
“I should’ve realized that you’d be tired from studying for midterms, sorry.”
You're trying to rile him up, right?
“But, still, do you like it? I wrapped myself up just for you~”
He's supposed to be the responsible, big brother of Heartslabyul, he tries so hard. So, so hard to stay out of trouble and have a normal day-to-day life. To behave.
“In any case,” You shifted onto your knees, the dress splitting in the middle, the only thing keeping it together being a small bow at the base of your neck, revealing the lack of undergarments, just your bare skin underneath. “Even if you’re too tired and just want to sleep, I just wanted to say…”
Trey leaned in as you wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him in, batting your eyelashes and ghosting your lips over his with a teasing smile. Your hands caressed the back of his neck, a thumb rubbing soothing circles, making him melt. 
“Happy Birthday Trey~”
It’s now that he noticed that you even added a gloss to your lips, and he could smell the warm perfume on your neck as you pressed your lips to his, tongue swiping over his mouth, asking for permission to enter. Obliging, Trey sighed into the kiss and tangled his tongue with yours, his hands slipping underneath the baby doll and squeezing at your waist.
He really should go to sleep. He has to wake up early for the party. He has to dress in his birthday robes. He has to make sure that the others don’t burn down the kitchen or damage his expensive bakeware as they made his cake. 
But the way your skin felt under his gloved hands, skin meeting skin, lace, skin, and lace again.
How could he be expected to sleep now?
Trey used to pride himself on his level headedness and restraint, but that all went out the window into a swan dive into the lake when he saw you in his bed in that damn one-piece.
Humming in delight against your mouth, Trey slid his hands down, as you curled into his body in response, and squeezed at the fat of your thighs before picking you up. 
A yelp left your mouth as he picked you up and tossed you up the bed, pulling off his shirt and tossing it behind him as he crawled on top of you.
His tongue darted out to wet his lips as he saw the way the dress fell open to expose your body, your chest moving up and down as you watched him with a giddy smile. 
“Oh! I guess you’re not that tired—ah!”
You gasped as Trey grabbed your calves, tugging you up to place the back of your knees on his shoulders. He leaned in to press a chaste kiss to your right thigh, smirking against the lace. 
“I was tired. I should be asleep,” Trey murmured against your stocking laced skin, pressing kisses as he went farther and farther down. “Resting—kiss—Up—kiss—but no.”
He gave you a half-hearted glare, which you responded with a smile and lacing your hands through his hair as he pressed another kiss to the bend where your thigh met your sex. 
“You broke curfew, you wanted to keep me up with your little ‘present’, you know I’d get in trouble for hiding you out in my room.”
Trey gave you a bite on your thigh, groaning as he felt your hands tighten in his hair, moving back to press a soothing kiss to the mark he left.
“Are you trying to get me in trouble? Throw me in the doghouse?”  “Cause I’ll make sure you come right with me, after a little taste of my birthday treat.”
The same time he ran his tongue up your sex, Trey could feel you shiver and pull on his hair as he ate you feverishly, like a man starved from food or water for ages. 
“Mmm! Trey!” You threw your head back, bringing one hand up to slam a hand over your mouth to muffle your cries, the walls here weren’t known to be sound-proof. 
He should probably care a bit more, especially when you let out a particularly high-pitched squeal as his tongue began fucking into your hole. 
“Trey! Oooh, Trey~” 
Bringing a finger to join his tongue, Trey smiled against your skin as you squeezed your thighs around his head, using his free hand to push his pants and underwear down to palm at his dick. 
“Trey—aaaah—wait, let me—mmph—Honey—” You let out a shuddering gasp, pulling his head up from your sex. Trey locked eyes with you, leaning into the hand you slid down to cup his cheek and caress his lower lips, wiping the slick and drool from the corner of his mouth.
“Yes? Honey?” Removing his hand from inside you to cover your own hand and kiss your palm, Trey smiled and hummed, “I like that, you know, reminds me of a husband coming home to his spouse.”
Pressing kisses up your body, soft and tingly, up your neck, and back to your lips where they belonged.
“Hmm, I really like the sound of that, (Name) Clover.” You murmured against his lips, smiling as you wrapped a leg around his waist to bring his dick closer to your sex, rubbing against him as you both sighed into each other’s mouths. 
“Is that what you want? You want me to be a cute little spouse? Dress up in a cute apron? Greet you when you come home from work?”
So focused on the softness of your lips and the wetness sliding against his dick, Trey didn’t even notice you twisting your body to turn him onto his back, the back of his head hitting the back of his pillows as you sat on top with a cheeky grin. 
“Hm? How would my husband want me to welcome him home? A hug? A kiss? Mm, what about…me?” Trey watched you with flushed cheeks as you kissed down his body, mimicking his earlier actions as you helped him tug off the rest of his clothes. 
“Oh, how nice it would be for you to come back to a warm, clean home with a spouse…” Looking up at him through your eyelashes and giving him a kitten lick to his tip. “...ready to give soft wet holes for you to fill~”
Giving him a vision into that sweet, sweet future, you swallowed his tip, down his shaft, and started sucking. 
“Haaah—”
Trey lolled his head back into his pillow, letting out a breathless moan as you bobbed your head up and down his length, your hand working the rest that didn’t fit into your mouth. 
“Fuuuuck. That does sound nice—mmh!” Reaching his hand down, you immediately took one of your hands to lace it with his, squeezing it as you hummed around his cock. 
“My lovely spouse—nnnngh—their pretty mouth—unnnh—soft holes—aaaah—all for me to come home to every day, what a dream~”
A particularly harsh suck made Trey arch his back and squeeze your hand harder, a giggle vibrating his dick as you pulled off. 
“Hehe, is this your way of proposing? Kinda dirty to do it with your dick on my mouth.” You giggled, pressing kisses and quick licks along his shaft. 
“That’s okay though, you and I both know that deep down, you’re a bit of a pervert. Right?”
Trey scoffed, tugging you up with a bemused smile. “Yeah? How can you tell? Thought I hid that pretty well.”
A soft laugh escaping you, you held both of his hands, bringing them up to press kisses on his knuckles, making the green-haired man sigh fondly. 
“The way you look at me sometimes, like you’re undressing me. It makes me feel all warm and tingly, especially when I piss you off.”
Both of you let out a breathless moan as your wetness rubbed against his hard dick, grinding against one another as the tip occasionally caught against your hole, making you shiver. 
“Is it bad that sometimes I wanna get you mad so you’ll fuck me real mean? Is it bad that I want you to use me? To fuck your stress out with me?”
A lump forming in his throat, Trey let go of your hands to pull at the string holding your flimsy baby doll together. Eyes half lidded, he pushed the fabric off your shoulders, watching it pool at your elbows as you placed your hands on his chest to steady yourself as your grinding turned into vigorous humping against him, making you both gasp in pleasure. 
“Ooh, Trey, honey, baby, hubby~ Won’t you use me? Be a little mean? Pleeeease? Fuck me, fill me up like I know you want! Pleeeeease Trey? Pretty, pretty please?”
Lips smashed against yours as Trey bolted up, groaning into your mouth as he grabbed your hips in an almost painful grip. 
He picked you up once again, throwing you on all fours, covers tangling against your knees and hands, as he ripped your dress off and tossed it. 
Trey’s left hand placed itself on your hip, while his right pushed down on your back, following up your spine to the base of your neck where he pushed you down to shove your face into the sheets, forcing you into a doggy pose.
“So you do like getting me in trouble, little brat. Fine, I’ll be mean.” 
Trey lined his dick against your throbbing hole, leaning down to press a tender kiss to your ear and moving the hand on your neck to wove with your right, squeezing it reassuringly. 
“Squeeze three times if you need me to stop, otherwise, I’m going to fuck that brain right out of your pretty little head, since you don’t seem to be wanting to use it.”
In one, swift move, Trey slammed his hips to your ass, sinking nearly half his length into your warm, waiting hole. 
“FUCK! YES—MMMPH” Burying your face into the sheets to muffle your cries, Trey did the same into your shoulder, shivering at your tightness around him. 
Setting a rhythm, hips smacking into your ass, Trey worked the rest of his cock into you until he could hear the smack of your ass against his hips, the sound echoing with the creak of the bed.
Your tightness around him was heavenly, as was the sight of you sinking further into the bed and arching your ass to sloppily meet his thrusts. Straightening again, bending your arm back so that your hands could remain intertwined.
His left hand caressed your back and the fat of your behind, before bringing it down in a harsh slap to your ass, making you yelp and squeeze his hand in a vice grip, though you also tightened around his cock. 
Rubbing a soothing circle against the reddening skin, slowed his thrusts, making you whine and push against him. 
“Haaah, that okay? Feel good?” Trey murmured, smiling at the frantic nod and wiggle against him. “Want me to keep going?”
“Mmmph... yessshh... mmmore, mmmore... pleeeashh, honey~” Your sounds were muffled as you bit into the blanket, getting higher and higher as he obliged, not one to deny you after all. 
Every other thrust was met with a slap to one cheek, then the other, the skin turning redder and redder with his handprints marking you. The harder he went, the more and more slack you went, until he was eventually just fucking you like his personal toy. 
Though, you did offer yourself as his present, didn’t you? So it was only fair that he got to use his present as he wished, and right now, he wanted to feel you cumming around him. 
Ceasing his smacks, making you whine, Trey instead melded his body against yours, the weight both overwhelming and comforting, as his left hand instead moved to your sex to rub you to completion. 
Trey watched as you gasped for breath, completely burying your head into the bed to muffled your screams as you came around him, trembling and squeezing him. 
The feeling of your walls pulsating around his shaft was becoming dangerously addicting, and he was very greedy for more of that. 
“Fuck, fuck, fuck! I’m so close! You can give me another one, right?”
Slipping his arms around your waist and pulling you up, Trey adjusted you so that you sat on his dick, kissing the side of your neck for reassurance as he let go of your hand to quickly slide his arms under your knees. 
From all his years of tossing bags of flour and sugar, from kneading dough, from all the labor he’s done as a baker, picking you up was like child’s play. 
Folding your knees up to your chest so he could hold you, back flush to his chest, was nothing for him. Everything for you, though, your over sensitive hole squeezing down on him again.  
“FUCK! I caaame! Treytreytreytrey—” You dug a hand into his arm, tossing your head back and lolling your tongue out with a dumb, drooly smile on your lips. 
“A-almost there—nngh—just squeeze if I need to stop—I’m so close~”
Smashing his lips against yours for an open mouth, wet kiss, Trey pounded faster into you, determined to feel your walls pulsate again, this time as he filled your insides up like one of his pastries. 
Then, an awful, perverted thought filled his head, like a devil was whispering in his ear. 
Why doesn’t he fill them up with his kids? Don’t stop until his cum is drooling out of their hole, and go again to make up for the lost seed. He already wants them to be his spouse, why not add a few little ones to that picture?
Trey was losing any bit of restraint that he may have had as he was now determined to fullfill his fantasy. Even if you couldn’t do it, magic made anything here possible, and right now is good practice anyway.
“I’m—aaaahhh—I’m gonna come inside, okay? Fill you up, yeah?”
Digging your nails into his skin, you nodded against his mouth and whined. 
“Yessssss! Fill me up! Inside! Gimme a baby Trey! I wanna make you a daaaaddy~”
Squeezing your legs further against your chest, Trey pounded faster and faster, trembling as he reached close and closer to his peak. 
Warmth flooded his body, tingles, and he swears sparks, flying over his skin as he felt you clamp down on him for a third time. 
Your voice squealed higher and higher, any previous attempt to be quiet for naught as you practically screamed.
Trey shuddered as he finally came, cum flooding your warm insides as you went limp in his arms. 
Panting for air, both of you remained still for a minute, the bed feeling stuffy with the curtains still closed. After another minute, Trey pulled you up and off of him, shaky as his now limp dick left your warm, comfortable embrace.
Doing his best to gently place you on the bed, Trey let out a breathless laugh as you collapsed on the bed like a rag doll, blinking your eyes tiredly at the ceiling of the canopy. 
“Haah, sorry, I went too hard there, huh?”
You shook your head, giving him a tired smile and reaching a hand for him, which he took and brought up to kiss. 
“It was good, really, good. You liked your present?”
Snorting and nodding, Trey carefully scooped you up to move your head onto the pillows and gently roll off your garter stocking, thumbs rubbing soothing circles as he did. 
“Yeah, I did. Come on, let me get you a shirt.”
You whined as he pulled away, exhaustion starting to steep into him as he tied back the curtains to the canopy to let the stuffiness out. Trey picked up the baby doll he’d tossed earlier, placing it into his wardrobe drawer as he dug out a shirt and sweatpants for himself and a shirt for you.
As he closed the drawer, he noticed your backpack hidden underneath it, digging in it to grab you some underwear. You had packed a pair of pajamas, apparently, but…he’d rather see you in his clothes. 
“Hmm, honey? Come to bed…” You whined, hands reaching out for him impatiently as he slipped on his clothes, crawling over to you and helping you slip your underwear and his shirt on. 
“I’m here, I’m here.”
Trey slowly blinked, eyelids heavy as he scoop you up to place you two under the covers, the soft mattress making him practically become one with the bed and you as you nestled into his chest. 
Your legs tangled with his as Trey wrapped his arms around you and tucked your head under his chin. He could feel fatigue and sleep quickly taking over him as your voice vibrated against his chest, soft and sleepy. 
“Happy birthday honey, I—yawn—love…you…”
A different kind of warmth, soft and sweet, filled him as he squeezed you tighter against him, murmuring back. 
“I love you too…”
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*Riiiing* *Riiiiiiiing* *Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing*
An irritating, loud noise filled Trey’s ears as he groaned, half-awake as he turned over to smack his hand on his phone, silencing the alarm. 
“Aah…Noisy…hhggh.” Trey groaned, rolling over, careful to not crush you under him to blindly reach for his glasses. 
“Glasses…glasses…ah..”
Plastic and glass finally under his palm, Trey slipped his glasses on his face, ultimately throwing himself back into bed next to you, who’d begun shifting awake.
“Mmm, honey?” 
Grunting in response, Trey threw an arm over his eyes, irritated at the sun seeping through the window into his eyes. 
“Early…”
You chuckled, a yawn escaping you as you decided to move closer and slip a hand under his shirt to rub at his chest, pressing kisses into his neck as well. 
“You’re so grumpy in the morning. Come on, you've got a big day ahead.”
“…Ugh, I do?”
Snorting at his response, Trey grunted as he felt you move, peaking under his arm to see you resting on your elbow. You had puffy, dark circles under your eyes from the little sleep you managed to get. 
“Birthdays are a pretty big deal, right?” Smiling at him, Trey squinted an eye and groaned, squeezing his eyes shut in protest.
“Ugggh, yeah…”
Hearing you hum, Trey groaned in surprise as he felt you straddle his waist and caress his neck and cheeks, making him remove his arm to blink up at you. 
Your hair was a tangled mess, sticking up in all sorts of places. The bags under your eyes more noticeable under the night. His shirt dwarfed you. You were a hot mess, all things considered. 
He probably wouldn’t say it out loud, with how cute you were last night, but he thinks you look most beautiful like this. Better than any frilly, skimpy, or tight outfit.
“Come on, Birthday Boy, want me to give you a little pick me up?”
Kissing him with a smile, Trey moaned into the lazy, sloppy morning kiss, tilting his head back as you pressed kissed down his neck, deciding to work on leaving a love bite at the nape of his neck.
Trey’s phone chimed, making him sigh as he reached for it, letting you continue your love bites and kisses, 
Squinting at the few messages, it seemed like a few of his friends and classmates were already sending him birthday wishes. Though, a message from Cater made him blot up, a sudden shock of alertness running down his spine. 
“Ah! Trey, what is it?”
cay-cay_diamond: morning!! happy bday 2 the bday boi again! thought i let u no tht u owe me a favor, had 2 cast a silencing spell on ur roum last nite. totes ruined my beauty sleep! cay-cay_diamond: also i know u got ur lil cutie 2 distract ya, but liek dont b l8 2 ur bday breakfast, grimmy might eat it!
“Shit, we were too loud, Cater had to cast a silencing spell on the room.”
You made an ‘oh’ shape with your mouth, giving Trey an apologetic smile. 
“Sorry, but at least you enjoyed it, right?”
Trey smiled, more awake now, and nodded, sharing a sweet kiss with you. 
“Definitely. You might have to consider making your go-to gift for now on, it’s gotta be my favorite one I’ve ever gotten.”
He solidified that statement with one more, firm, assuring kiss with you, before having to leave your sweet dream into the real world. 
At least he could have one part of that dream with him at his side from now on: you. 
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comments and reblogs appreciated 🩷
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moonstruckme · 10 hours ago
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vampire!james is such a fun concept!
what about if reader was a newly turned vampire too and James lets her feed on him
like the scene with elena feeding on damon in TVD?
because blood sharing is intimate :P
Hi lovely! I don’t really remember what this was like in TVD because I last watched that show probably 10 years ago and I don’t think I finished it but hopefully this is along the lines of what you were thinking, thank you for requesting <3
cw: blood, feels mature at times but no smut (vampires are just hot idk)
vampire!James x fledgling!reader ♡ 1k words
James hates seeing you like this. He remembers what it feels like—being aware for the first time of every nerve ending in your body, your mind whirring at a thousand miles a minute, everything worse and louder and so much more than it had felt when you were human. 
He’d warned you the transition would be like this, but you’d wanted it anyway. You keep trying to act like you’re alright even now, trembling from head to toe in the corner of the bed, eyes darting towards every sound and movement like your body thinks you’re under attack. The three bags of blood you’d gotten from the butcher lie empty on the floor. Normally James only needs one every few days, but this is one thing he’d forgotten about the transition, he supposes. The hunger is intense. He won’t be able to get you more for at least a few hours.
“Sweetheart,” James says softly. You still flinch as though he’s shouted. “You should try to go to sleep. It’ll help with the cravings.”
“I don’t think I can.” Your lisp is sort of cute. You haven’t been able to retract your fangs yet, have pricked your own lip more than once. “I can hear so many hearts. They’re loud.” 
James nods. He’s learned to tune them out, like the hum of electricity or the rush of wind outside, but he knows what you mean. If he focuses, he can listen to the beating heart of the bird nesting in the tree by your window, the neighbor’s cat, the woman who lives at the end of your street. Sometimes they seem synchronized together, the unceasing, steady beat of life in the world. It gets louder when he’s starving. 
“The butcher won’t be open until morning,” he tells you, though you know already. You nod, wrapping your arms around your legs. “But I can try to help, if you want. You could try feeding from me.” 
It’s an idea James has been toying with since you said you wanted to turn. He doesn’t think you could survive off each other forever—he’s not sure if he still makes new blood, if his body works that way anymore—but he doesn’t have need for his blood the way a human does. Maybe he could sate you for a bit. 
You give him a look of wary surprise, but James knows how you feel well enough to recognize the hope behind it. Any chance of feeding will sound good to you right now. 
“Can we do that?” you ask. 
“I don’t know,” he answers honestly. “But I don’t think it’ll hurt to try. Might taste a bit stale, though.” 
It’s a lame joke, and you don’t laugh. Your trembling worsens, your restraint barely holding out against your cravings. Your voice is small. “I don’t know if I can be gentle. I feel…weird.” 
James offers you a smile. “I know, honey. It’s okay. Can I touch you?” 
You nod. James is careful about it, not wanting to overstimulate your sensitive nerves. He takes your hands in his, slowly guiding you onto his lap. 
“You’re alright,” he promises. “Let me help.” 
Your brows crease, and your lip starts bleeding again when you prick it with your fang. James gently thumbs the droplet away. “I don’t want to hurt you,” you whisper, scared. 
“I’ll be fine.” He looks you in the eyes, swiping his thumbs over your cheeks calmingly. “You did it for me, right? That wasn’t so bad. Just…” James palms the back of your head, bringing it to the crook of his neck like an embrace. “Take what you need.” 
James doesn’t have a heartbeat for you to hear, but that doesn’t matter; once you’re close you can’t restrain yourself anymore. You bite into his neck eagerly. 
It feels like you described. Part of James worried that you were stretching the truth, trying to make him feel better, but the places where your mouth connects to his skin are suddenly the center of James’ universe. He can feel his blood rushing to meet you, to sate you, fill you up and be everything you need. Your low moan vibrates against his skin, and James laughs, dizzy and drunk on you. 
One of your hands fists in his hair, pulling his head further to the side. He bears his neck to you readily. He hopes you glut yourself on him, stay here with him, keep your mouth suctioned to his skin until you both die whatever deaths immortals can. 
He feels a bead of wet roll down his chest. You make a soft, thoughtless sound in the back of your throat, leaving his neck to chase it. Your tongue licks a stripe up James’ left pectoral. 
He blinks slowly as you wipe your mouth, breathing hard. It feels like waking up from a dream. You have blood smeared around your mouth and nearly dripping from your chin. You look embarrassed as you catch it with your fingers and lick them clean. 
“Sorry,” you say. 
“It’s okay.” James smiles at you. He still feels slightly doped up, but it’s also sweet to see you like this, pupils still blown from the taste of him and shy about it at the same time. “You were right, that was nice.” 
One side of your mouth tilts up tentatively. “I didn’t hurt you? You were so controlled when you fed from me.” 
“That’s not your fault, honey, you can’t be controlled this early on.” James kisses you, pleased to find your fangs are starting to retract. “It’s not possible. But no, it didn’t hurt.” 
Your smile blooms with relief. “You didn’t taste stale,” you reassure him. “You sort of tasted like yourself, if that makes sense.” 
He nods. You’d tasted like yourself, too, all sticky sweet and addicting. 
You let your breath out in a whoosh, sagging in his hold. “I’m…god, how do you manage to walk home after this? I’m so tired.” 
“It gets easier with time,” James reassures you. He pets the back of your head, turning you both around so his back rests against the headboard of your bed. “You can sleep, though. We’ll clean you up tomorrow.” 
There are no arguments from you. You’re fading fast, head falling naturally back into the curve of his neck. 
“Sorry,” you mumble, “I wasn’t as nice about it as you were with me.” 
“Sure you were, sweetheart. You’re always nice, I don’t think you can help it.” 
“Yeah, well.” You turn your head slightly to mush a kiss over the puncture marks you’ve left him. “Thanks.” 
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aakeysmash · 1 day ago
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college!sukuna accidentally bumping into you at a café. *inspired* by this ask!
college sukuna masterlist
The bells right next to the front door chime when he enters the café. Today he’s distracted: the kitchen sink back at the apartment is currently leaking and he’s searching online for someone to come look at it. Not that he didn’t already try to fix it, but he doesn’t have the right bolt to repair it alone. He’s just going to order the usual, sit at one of the tables in the corner and play candy crush until Yuuji gets out of school.
He’s a regular here since his brother’s elementary school is right in front of it. Sometimes he just wants to kill time, and pastries here are good for his macros. Or at least he tells himself so.
“Hello, what can I get you?” A female voice asks him from the register. He doesn’t strain his gaze from his phone.
“The usual,” he says. Then he thinks about the familiar voice he just heard and snaps his head up.
“What are you doing here?” “Sukuna?” You both say at the same time.
His surprised face morphs into a smug one in a split second.
“Didn’t know you liked me so much that you started to follow me, baby. You could’ve just waited for me at home if you missed me that much, I would’ve made sure to put some cream in your… coffee,” he says winking at you.
You put on a fake smile before answering. His innuendos are getting worse by the day, he’s disgusting.
“I’m going to poison your coffee if you keep this up, Itadori,” you whisper, as to not make the manager hear you. “Go get some pussy, please, you’re insufferable,” you whine when he gets closer.
He looks you up and down, licking a corner of his lips, mischief still in his gaze. He knows you’re right, sometimes he does a bit too much, but the way you huff and puff brings him more joy than any game on his phone does.
“You know I wouldn’t touch you with a ten foot pole, Y/N. I don’t fuck snitches,” he responds, rolling his eyes.
You chuckle at that. This has been one of your inside jokes since the start. You managed to file 15 noise complaints in the first three weeks of your stay in the apartment, and the owner had to threaten to kick out Sukuna if he didn’t stop fucking girls so loudly. Sukuna had to agree and bite his tongue 5 times during that conversation. He knew you filed the complaints just because he didn’t want to say he was the one who ate Yuuji’s cookies, instead blaming you. Yuuji didn’t talk to you for a day for that, and you took it to heart.
Also, you exaggerated how many times he fucked inside the apartment. By a lot. You knew he had game, or at least you were certain of that seeing how confident he was, but he also hated when Yuuji managed to see some of the girls. Which happened only one time and it was when you moved in. You just filed noise complaints for every little noise you heard from his room, and seeing how the landlord didn’t doubt Sukuna had game either, you won by default.
“So… One black coffee? I don’t know your usual, I’m just covering a friend for today. It’s been a long day,” you say sheepishly, putting some of your hair behind your ear, cringing when you hear your own voice. Suddenly, the screen of the menu is so interesting to you. It’s not like you’re embarrassed as hell to see him here when you’re clumsily trying to understand how things work. It’s not like you’re trying not to look at him at all. Fuck. He is never going to let you live it down if you make a wrong move.
“I can see that,” he adds, serious. He sees your crestfallen look when he finishes his sentence. Maybe he shouldn’t have said that out loud, even if it is pretty obvious. He never saw you this nervous.
“Couldn’t you just fucking lie?” You grit out, composing yourself, pinning him with some sort of rage.
“Not my style, doll,” he answers, raising his shoulders. Your eyes turn into slits and you’re about to say something else when he catches movement behind the counter. The manager.
“Two coffees and a strawberry cake,” he says, getting back to his phone.
You raise an eyebrow. You thought he hated strawberries. You start typing his total when said manager turns to Sukuna.
“Your total is-“
“Man, I haven’t seen you in ages,” the man behind you enthusiastically interrupts you.
“Satoru,” the pink haired man nods, pocketing his phone and making some sort of special handshake with him. They know each other?
“Mind if your coworker here comes home with me?” Sukuna asks the handsome man you have next to you.
Your manager is silent for what feels like 10 long seconds. “Y/N, don’t give into this brute,” he tells you, staring at you behind those dark ass black glasses he wore the entirety of the day. He managed to do the work of three people without breaking a sweat, but he also spent most of his time tasting pastries the chef cooked. He’s nice, you think. But he’s weird as hell. No wonder they’re friends.
“He’s actually my roommate, boss,” you say, smiling up at him. Then you look at Sukuna and your smile drops. “Unfortunately.” Your said roommate flips you off.
“You know what, fuck you. I was just doing you a favour by letting you go earlier, stupid,” Sukuna says, bored.
The white haired man chuckles at the interaction, then tilts his glasses down his nose to look at the man in front of you, amused. “Oh, it’s her, huh.”
Sukuna snarls. “She’s a pain in the ass.”
“Oh, he’s talked about me? What did he say? Is it enough to kick him out and ask for Yuuji’s custody?” you ask, mockingly. Your manager turns to you and you’re almost blinded by how blue his eyes are. You genuinely have to blink a couple of times to make sure you’re still able to see.
He completely ignores your questions, giving you a once over. Then he gets his glasses back on correctly.
“Go home, Y/N, don’t worry. You’ve done an excellent job today. Feel free to come whenever,” he says, giving you a smile as bright as his eyes, then leaves while you think about how your cornea must be damaged now.
“Off the clock, come on,” Sukuna says, taking his phone out again, not sparing you a glance.
“Why don’t you jump off of my dick instead,” you hiss, going to take your purse from the service room. You don’t see the way he tips you anyway, even if you didn’t ask, and takes his order to the nearest table, positioning the cake in front of him. Like he’s waiting for someone.
You get back out front and side eye him, rummaging through your purse violently before sighing defiantly. You forgot your keys.
You turn around to look at Sukuna, who is just a couple of tables away, jumping a little when his eyes are already on you. He gives you a confused look behind his cup of coffee, before putting it down and mouthing “You look stupid, come sit.” You raise one of your eyebrows and you’re going to flip him off when someone bumps into you.
“Yo, cutie,” the man in front of you addresses you. You smile politely and sidestep to the left, getting out of the way, but he follows your movement, positioning himself closer to you.
“I was wondering if you were free now that you don’t have that little apron on,” he tells you languidly, swiping your arm up and down with his hand, stopping at your shoulder. When you try to get it off, he just grips you harder.
“Get your hand off of me or you’re getting kicked in the balls in front of everyone,” you deadpan. He’s slimy, probably conventionally attractive for a lot of girls, but he’s creepy.
He whistles lowly. “I love it when they’re a little feisty,” he smirks, trying to get even closer. You’re raising your knee when he gets pushed off of you and you kick a strong thigh instead. You widen your eyes comically and the man you just kicked winces.
“Man, what the fuck-“ the creep starts, before getting interrupted.
“Don’t touch my girl,” Sukuna seethes. The man takes a step back. Your heart skips a beat. You didn’t think he’d come to your rescue. “Even if her kicks are strong as fuck, I gotta say that. I might have unfortunately just saved your sorry ass’ future sad child,” he says, glancing at you. You giggle.
“There’s no way a fine thing like that is with you,” the man continues blabbering, albeit scared of Sukuna’s imposing feature.
“There’s no way a fine thing like me could ever be with someone like you, you mean,” you say, standing closer to Sukuna.
The man scoffs. “You could do so much better.”
"You? Lying is a sin, motherfucker."
On cue, Sukuna raises one of his arms and drapes it over your shoulder. You’re surprised by how delicately he gets you closer to his body, like he’s thinking you aren’t going to like what he’s doing. You look up at him, laying your hand on his chest, giving him the okay. He stares down at you, swallowing.
“Yeah, I’m lucky,” he says thickly, smirking, before lightly kissing your forehead. The kiss is barely there, you wouldn’t even have felt it if right now you weren’t hyper aware of how intoxicating and warm his body pressed to yours feels. You think you might have a fever from how much the spot he grazed is scorching. Your ears are buzzing, and you don’t distinguish the words the two men are exchanging, getting out of your daze only when the creep exits the cafe with his tail between his legs.
“I didn’t need you, you know,” you say to Sukuna, still looking up, letting your hand fall from his chest. Fuck, he’s ripped.
He nonchalantly gets the bag your manager (grinning behind his hand) is passing him before escorting you out. You notice he didn’t get his arm off of you, and you realise you don’t really mind the soft weight of it. Or maybe you just don’t mind being close to him. Or maybe you don’t mind him at all.
“Now you can tell Yuuji how fucking cool his brother is,” he shrugs, getting you imperceptibly closer to him. You roll your eyes, whining, while he huffs out a laugh.
Back at home, Sukuna goes to take a shower, leaving you with a yapping Yuuji. He’s telling you about his day at school and you get your phone out to read the text you just received, noticing the ping sound.
Worst roommate ever: the cake is urs. eat it. or don’t. idc
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yooniivrse · 2 days ago
Text
uh oh, i'm falling in love | myg
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summary. the night that yoongi realises you might be a lot more than just a close friend to his heart.
pairing: yoongi x reader
genre: fluff, best friends to ??, one sided love? (up to reader's interpretation)
word count: 1.5k
warnings: none <333
notes: this was a request from my love, @perfectlyoongi-main. you can find the ask for this oneshot here. listening to labyrinth by taylor swift on repeat while writing this definitely made me feel very very single, but i loved writing this sm. as always, likes, comments, reblogs, asks and feedback is so so appreciated!! i hope you guys enjoy <333
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main masterlist
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You stop in front of the small, old-fashioned photo booth, hands on your hips as you look it over with mild scepticism.
It’s a flimsy structure tucked in a quiet corner of the mall, slightly worn down with chipped paint and a fading sign hanging above it. It’s the kind of booth that hasn’t been updated in years, where the pictures are low-quality and slightly off-colour, but you look at it with the excitement of someone who’s just discovered a hidden gem.
“I don’t think we’ll both fit inside,” you muse, tilting your head as if a different angle might magically increase its size.
Yoongi stands beside you, hands shoved into the pockets of his dark denim jacket, eyeing the booth with a barely hidden look of reluctance.
If he's being honest, he’d much rather be back home with you, watching movies in the comfort of his living room, eating pizza, and letting the night pass by as it usually does. It’s how he’s spent his birthdays for the past three years since meeting you, a quiet tradition he’d grown to look forward to. But this year, you’d insisted he get out of the house, brimming with excitement at the idea of taking him somewhere, refusing to tell him what you had planned.
And even though he could’ve turned you down, Yoongi knew he wouldn’t. Not with the way your face lit up when he agreed, that joyful glint in your eyes that made his heart beat just a little faster.
“Maybe we should just do this somewhere else,” he suggests, already eyeing the dim mall corridor as an escape route. “There’s no way we’re both fitting inside unless you sit on my lap or something.”
He means it as a joke, but the moment the words leave his mouth, he realises the weight they carry. His heart skips a beat as you turn to him with that playful smile he knows so well, eyes sparkling with a mix of determination and mischief.
“I don’t think—”
“Oh, come on! It’s your birthday,” you say, nudging him with your elbow. “And we’ve been best friends for long enough that it won’t be weird.”
Yoongi opens his mouth to respond, but the words seem to disappear before they can reach his lips. The suggestion should feel casual, even funny, but there’s a strange tension that settles in his chest, stopping him from brushing it off like he usually would. It’s the same tension that’s been creeping up more often these days, the one that leaves him feeling almost breathless whenever he’s around you.
“Unless,” you add with a sly smile, your expression feigning innocence, “you’d rather sit on my lap?”
He chuckles, the sound more nervous than he intended. “Fine. Whatever,” he mutters, rolling his eyes. But as he steps forward, he feels a strange warmth creeping into his cheeks, something uncomfortably close to anticipation.
You squeeze into the booth first, settling onto the small, tacky leather stool with a satisfied grin. You pat your lap playfully, but Yoongi only shakes his head, stepping into the cramped space behind you.
His heart thrums erratically as he settles onto the stool, his knees brushing against yours as he wraps his arms loosely around your waist, pulling you just close enough that you both fit within the booth’s limited space. You lean back against him, so naturally that he wonders if you can feel the way his heart races at the contact.
“See?” you say, glancing back at him with a grin. “This isn’t so bad.”
The camera’s light starts blinking, giving a brief warning before the first picture snaps. You immediately turn to him, nudging his cheek to bring him closer, and in the tight space, it’s all he can do to keep his balance as he leans in, resting his chin on your shoulder.
“Smile!” you chirp just as the flash goes off.
The light catches him off guard, and he blinks, momentarily dazed by the brightness. He hears you laughing softly, your shoulders shaking against him, and he’s hit with a wave of warmth, one that spreads through him as he watches you, momentarily forgetting about the camera entirely.
With a slight grin, you shift in his lap, angling the two of you for another shot as the timer counts down again.
You’re so close he can feel the faint trace of your perfume, the warmth of your skin, the rhythm of your breathing as it syncs with his. And for some reason, the thought of being this close to you—closer than he ever thought he’d be—stirs something unexpected within him.
Another flash, capturing you mid-laugh, oblivious to the storm of emotions brewing within him.
As the countdown begins again, you glance back, your gaze meeting his, and Yoongi feels himself freeze. There’s a hint of something in your eyes—an invitation, perhaps, or maybe a question—that makes his heart race all over again.
His eyes drift to your smile, the soft curve of your lips, the brightness of your gaze, and he can’t ignore the way his own heartbeat echoes in his ears, loud enough that he’s sure you can hear it too.
The timer clicks down to the next flash, and he forces a smile for the camera, though his mind is elsewhere entirely. He’s trying to make sense of the strange rush of feelings flooding through him, feelings that have been building up slowly, subtly, over time.
The booth is quiet now, the only sound the soft hum of machinery and your shared breaths. You tilt your head slightly, resting it against his shoulder, and his entire world narrows down to this single moment. Yoongi feels his arms tightening around you, an instinctual gesture that’s both protective and vulnerable.
The timer clicks down to one last shot. "Alright, funny face!" you call out, pulling an exaggerated grin, and he chuckles, trying to shake off the gravity of his own emotions as he mirrors your expression. The flash captures the both of you, frozen in a moment of joy.
As the final picture fades, you stay in his arms a beat longer than necessary, and the realisation hits him like a tidal wave, too strong to ignore. This isn’t just friendship, he thinks, feeling a pang of something so overwhelming that it borders on painful. Somewhere along the line, he’s fallen in love with you, and he doesn’t know if there’s a way back.
But you’re oblivious, still laughing as you climb off his lap, crouching down to grab the strip of photos as they print out. “Look at this!” you say, waving them in front of his face. “I'm definitely hanging these up on my fridge.”
He blinks, his gaze lingering on you as you sort through the photos, laughing at the silly faces, the close-ups of your laughter, and his slightly dazed expressions. You’re so focused on the photos that you don’t notice the way he’s looking at you now, eyes soft with something deeper, something he can no longer deny.
“See, I told you that it'd be fun.” You glance up, still beaming, and he forces himself to nod, plastering a smile over the vulnerability he feels beneath the surface.
“Yeah,” he says quietly, his voice almost lost in the small space. “I guess it was.”
But even as he smiles, the weight of his realisation settles heavily in his chest, pressing down on him with a strange mixture of longing and fear.
He wonders if he’ll ever find the courage to tell you, or if he’ll spend his days hiding this quiet, aching love, content to stay by your side as a friend, the way he’s always been.
You turn to him, still laughing over one of the photos. “Hey,” you say softly, a note of seriousness creeping into your voice. “Thanks for tonight. I know this isn’t your usual birthday thing, but… it means a lot.”
And for a brief moment, he thinks about telling you everything. He thinks about confessing, about admitting that the thought of spending his life without you, without these small moments of joy and laughter, terrifies him more than anything else. But the words catch in his throat, stuck beneath the weight of a love he’s too afraid to speak out loud.
“Anytime,” he finally says, his voice a whisper, barely audible above the hum of the booth.
You look at him for a moment longer, a soft smile playing on your lips before you hand him one of the strips of photos. As you walk out of the booth, he follows behind you, trying to ignore the ache in his chest, the quiet, unspoken confession that lingers in the space between you.
Maybe one day, he'll find the courage to tell you how he feels; maybe one day, he'll get to be more than just your friend.
But until then, his love will stay hidden in the attic of his thoughts, known only to him.
And for now, that's enough.
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blingblong55 · 1 day ago
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Sex is on fire- Simon "Ghost" Riley NSFW
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Kinktober Day 14
Based on a request: I recently saw my husband in the yard working and fuck did he look so sexy. So now I can't help but imagine Ghost as my husband, working in the yard and there's a spontaneous fuck. He's hot and so is this idea ---- F!Reader, MDNI, 18+, smut, P-in-V, oral!sex, unprotected!sex, husband!ghost, wife!reader, exhibition? ----
A/N: we won't talk about the first time I posted this, got it? great, thanks <3
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The late afternoon sun casts a warm glow over the overgrown garden, highlighting the faded stones of the path winding through it. He looks at you, a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Hot, huh? Well, I aim to please," he says with a playful wink, trying to match your lighthearted tone.
He spots the sledgehammer leaning against the shed and picks it up, testing its weight in his hands. Then, with a growl of effort, he swings it at the nearest stone, cracking it neatly in half. Simon grunts with satisfaction, sweat already beading on his brow as he continues down the path, methodically demolishing each stone. His muscles flex with each swing, rippling beneath his shirt.
He pauses after a few minutes, wiping his forehead with his sleeve. "This is actually... kind of fun," he admits with a grin. "Cathartic, like you said. Feels good to just let loose and destroy something." He looks at you, his eyes brighter than they were earlier. "Thanks for this. For knowing exactly what I needed, even when I didn't."
He steps closer, pressing a quick kiss to your lips before returning to the path, ready to continue his destructive work. You bite your lip as you keep your eyes on him, “Mm, fucking sexy… wow,” you smile and lean back, god, does he look so sexy. “You keep going until you’ve had enough, handsome face.”
Simon pauses mid-swing, glancing over at you with a raised eyebrow. A slow, heated grin spreads across his face at your words.
"Oh? Is that so?" he asks, his voice dropping an octave as he sets the sledgehammer aside and stalks towards you."Watching me work up a sweat gets you all hot and bothered, does it?"
He reaches you and leans close, his breath ghosting over your ear. "Maybe I should take a break and give you something else to bite those pretty lips of yours," he murmurs, nipping lightly at your earlobe. His hands come to rest on your hips, pulling you flush against him. You can feel the heat of his skin through his clothes, the hard planes of his body.
"Or maybe," he continues, his voice a low rumble. "You want to join me? Help me work off some steam?" He rocks his hips against yours, letting you feel his growing arousal.
"I could put that tongue of yours to good use," he suggests with a wicked grin. "Keep me company while I finish tearing up this path." He pulls back just enough to look down at you, his eyes dark with desire. "What do you say, beautiful? Want to get your hands dirty with me?"
“I’m not picking up a sledgehammer, but I’ll happily get my mouth dirty." you wink. Simon's eyes darken with lust at your suggestive words. He grins wolfishly, his hands tightening on your hips.
"Mmm, now that's an offer I can't refuse," he purrs, his voice low and rough with desire. "Get on your knees for me, baby. Let's see how well you can use that pretty mouth of yours."
He guides you down to the ground, his strong hands supporting your back. Once you're kneeling before him, he steps back and starts to unbuckle his belt, his movements slow and deliberate.
"Remember, no biting unless I tell you to," he teases, his eyes locked with yours as he unzips his pants. "Unless you want to earn yourself a punishment later."
He tugs his pants and boxers down in one smooth motion, his hard cock springing free. It juts out from his body, thick and throbbing, the tip already glistening with pre-cum. "Fuck, look at you," he groans, wrapping a hand around himself and giving a slow stroke. "On your knees for me, so eager to please. Such a good girl." He steps closer, his cock bobbing mere inches from your face. "Open wide, baby. Show me what that mouth can do."
“Fuck, you see… this is why I enjoy watching you,” you say before taking his cock into your mouth. You take his hand and place it on the back of your head. You look up and begin to bob your head, your eyes rolling back a bit, gagging but enjoying the thickness of his size.
Simon groans deeply as you take him into your mouth, his head falling back in pleasure. His hand comes to rest gently on the back of your head, holding you in place as you work. "Fuck, Y/N," he grunts, his hips rocking slightly to meet your bobbing motions. "Just like that, baby. Take it deep."
His cock pulses against your tongue, the taste of him filling your mouth. He's thick and hard, stretching your lips obscenely around his girth. You gag slightly as you force yourself down further, taking him into your throat. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes but you don't pull away, determined to please him.
"That's it," he encourages, his voice strained with arousal. "Choke on it. Fuck, you look so good with your lips wrapped around me." He tightens his grip on your hair, guiding your movements. You relax your throat, letting him fuck your face, using your mouth for his pleasure. "Gonna... fuck... I'm gonna cum," he warns, his thrusts becoming erratic."Swallow it all, baby. Every fucking drop."
With a final, guttural moan, he releases, flooding your mouth with his hot seed. You swallow reflexively, milking him for all he's worth. "Fuck yes," he gasps, riding out the waves of his orgasm. "Such a good girl, taking it so well."
Finally, he pulls away, letting you catch your breath. You sit back on your heels, looking up at him with a satisfied smile, his cum glistening on your lips. Simon smirks down at you, his eyes hooded with satisfaction. He tucks himself back into his pants and zips up, then reaches down to pull you to your feet.
"Mmm, you're insatiable today," he chuckles, brushing a thumb over your cum-slicked lips. "Not that I'm complaining. I love seeing you like this - so hungry for me." He leans in and captures your mouth in a deep, filthy kiss, licking the taste of himself from your tongue. You moan into the kiss, your body pressing eagerly against his.
"Fuck, I need to finish this path," he pants when he finally breaks away. "But first, I think I need a little more motivation." His hands slide down to cup your ass, squeezing roughly.
"How about you strip down and bend over one of these garden benches for me?" he suggests, his eyes glinting with wicked promise. "Let me fuck you right here in the yard, where anyone could see what a dirty slut you are for your husband." He punctuates his words with a sharp smack to your rear, making you yelp.
"What do you say, baby? Want me to split you open on my cock while you watch me work? I bet you'd love that, wouldn't you?" You nod eagerly, "Oh... fuck yes, I want that, I want that so bad," you say with need. What more can a wife say? No? Her husband looks so fucking sexy when he does manual labour and asks to fuck her in their backyard and she is meant to say no? Fuck that shit.
Simon grins wickedly at your eager response. He gives your ass another hard smack before stepping back.
"Strip," he commands, his voice leaving no room for argument. "And bend over that bench. I want to see that pretty pussy on display for me."
You waste no time obeying. Hastily shedding your clothes, you position yourself over the garden bench, your legs spread wide. The cool wood against your bare skin makes you shiver with anticipation.
Simon takes a moment to drink in the sight of you, his eyes roaming over your exposed body appreciatively. "Fuck, look at you," he groans, palming himself through his pants. "So perfect, so ready for me. I'm gonna ruin you, Y/N. Gonna fuck you so hard you forget your name."
He moves behind you, running his hands over your curves possessively. Then, without warning, he drives his cock into you with one hard thrust, burying himself to the hilt.
"Yes!" he hisses, gripping your hips tightly. "Take it, baby. Take every fucking inch." He sets a brutal pace, pounding into you relentlessly. The sounds of skin slapping against skin echo through the yard, mingling with your moans and his grunts of pleasure.
"That's it, fucking take it," he growls, one hand coming up to fist in your hair, pulling your head back. "You love this, don't you? Love being used like a cheap whore by your husband." He angles his hips, hitting that spot inside you that makes you see stars. "Gonna fill this cunt up, pump you full of my cum. Everyone's gonna know who you belong to after this."
You moan, your back arches, “Oh… fuck… ah… ngh~” It's too fucking much but it is so fucking good.
Simon pounds into you harder, spurred on by your desperate moans. His fingers dig into your hips, leaving bruises in their wake. "That's it, baby," he pants, his voice strained with impending release. "Cum for me. Cum on my cock like the dirty little slut you are." He reaches around to rub your clit in rough circles, sending you careening over the edge. Your pussy clenches around him, milking his cock as you come undone.
"Fuck, Y/N!" he roars, slamming into you one last time before stilling, his cock pulsing as he fills you with his seed. "Take it, fucking take it all." He collapses against your back, both of you panting heavily in the aftermath. After a moment, he pulls out, watching with satisfaction as his cum drips down your thighs. "Look at the mess I made," he chuckles, swiping some on his fingers and bringing it to your lips. "Clean up your mess, baby. Taste what I gave you."
As you lick his fingers clean, he tucks himself away and zips up. Then he turns back to the broken path, picking up the sledgehammer once more. "Why don't you go inside and get cleaned up?" he suggests his voice already back to its usual gruff tone. "I'll finish up here and join you in a bit. Maybe we can go for round two in the shower, hm?"
He winks at you over his shoulder before turning his attention back to the debris, swinging the hammer with renewed vigour, his earlier tension seemingly melted away.
Tags:
@liyanahelena @goldenmclaren @ghostslillady @moonsua1 @frizzseaberries @frazie99 @idklols @katybaby00 @saoirse06 @vampsquerade @alxexhearts @juneonhoth @tiredmetalenthusiast @jinxxangel13 @strangepuppynightmare @enarien @Simonssweetgirl @luvecarson @nellsbobells @ikohniik @nobodys-coffee @strawberrychita @sae1kie @queen-ilmaree @Llelannie @Macnches2 @avidreadee123 @talooolaaloolla @skelletonwitch @bittermajesties @1234beeandpuppycat @sparky--bunny @honestlyhiswife @who-can-appease-me @ghostwifeyy @konigssultwithghost @pinkblossomsworld @lovelyvqer @the_royal_bee @beansproutmafia @soapybutt17 @a-goose-with-a-knife @foxface013 @born4biriyani @mychemichalimbalance @marshiely @iruzias @sleepyycat @noodlezz-bedo @trinthealternate @azkza @VampyTheGoth
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shy-writer-999 · 1 day ago
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Summary: Let's balance out the end of kinktober with some toot-rotting levels of sweetness. We'll make up for it tomorrow!
CW: Afab reader w/GN language. Teeny tiny bit of smut. Short and very sweet!
MINORS DNI. NSFW CONTENT.
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What do you look like when you’re angry?
How do you grieve?
When you’re sad, do you shut down? Do you curl up in bed and heave sobs, or do you favor silent tears trailing down your cheeks?
Among others, these are the things Law wonders when he thinks about you. He wants to know you—to really know you. To be privy to your faults, habits, and your quirks. The things about you that no one else sees. Intimate moments of suffering along with the day-to-day.
Do you talk to yourself when you’re alone?
What does your hair look like right when you get out of the shower?
What’s your favorite time of year?
His heart contorts into alien shapes when he sees you. He clams up. You have no way of knowing the intensity of his emotions, the weapons of desire that his heart and brain exchange. The magnitude of your presence assails his senses, quickens his breath, stops his heart.
He’s well acquainted with the way you laugh and the way your lips turn into the smile that he looks forward to every day. He tries to act normal around you, and he succeeds. He succeeds too well, in fact, he’ll never have a chance with you until he does something out of the ordinary.
He stares sometimes. You notice that, at least. But you try to play it off.
Law can only tolerate so much anguish until it bubbles over.
When he works up the nerve to kiss you, his hand lingers on the small of your back. Your eyes are open from shock and you’re rigid. You’ve mused on how his lips feel, if his kisses along your jawline would tickle, if he would run his fingers through your hair. What would his fingers feel like entwined with yours?
But Law’s thoughts about you go deeper than that. He passed that point—the point of fantasizing about being intimate with you—months ago. He still indulges, of course. When he does, he’s fixated on what your face would look like pleasure-ridden and fucked out. How your breasts would feel in his hands.
The day that Law kisses you, he makes you blush first. He’s awkward, or, if not awkward, something akin to it. When he smiles at you, sits by you at lunch, and finds you in the some random corner of the ship later, he knows that today is the day.
The desire and ardent admiration are festering inside of him and he can’t take it anymore.
He wants to know what your skincare routine is and hear your scratchy morning voice. He wants to wash your plate after dinner, to treat you as nicely as you deserve. He wants to give you the world, but your lips haven’t even met yet.
When they do, the world fades away. You melt into his embrace; rigidity dissipates when you realize that he wants you—that your desire is mutual. It’s like getting struck by lightning; an electric current sends sparks where your skin meets.
His rough hands feel soft as they cup your cheeks. When he pulls away, he holds you there for a moment. It's silent as he watches your cheeks dust pink and your eyelashes flutter.
“I think I love you."
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oy vey my heart hurts. i need this man stat. TT^TT
here's my masterlist and here's my october posting schedule.
tomorrow is the last day of kinktober!!! :0
finally, trick or treat? (tumblr links)
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cherry-leclerc · 3 days ago
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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 :)
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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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perfectly-imperfect82 · 1 day ago
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Is that a kid? - Daycare
“What happened?" Mini asked the daycare worker after she rushed here being told she needed to come pick up Harper
"There was a small incident"
"What happened?" Mini demanded again, starting to get frustrated at the no explanation over the phone when they called and now
"Harper bit another child" she stated only causing her to be confused. Harper doesn't bite people, she never has.
"Where is she?"
"In the timeout corner" she said walking that way, Mini following right behind him
"Why is Emily with her if she is in timeout?" Mini asked, noticing Emily sitting next to Harper holding hands
"The only way to calm them both down was if we kept them together" he said
"Harper" mini said
Harper rushing to her mom once she saw her. Mini kneeling to get eye level with her to talk to her but was thrown off by her stoping right in front her
"Emmy has a owie" Harper whispered to her to mom causing mini to look at you but not seeing anything standing out
"Where?"
"Head"
"Come here" mini said to you as you slowly walked towards her
"Can you turn around so I check on your owie?" Mini asked as you looked at her hesitantly
Mini fondly watched as Harper grabbed your hand and guided you closer to her mom
"Look" Harper said holding your hand as mini looked closer, gently moving your hair so she could see the red bump on your head.
"Does it still hurt?" Mini asked causing you to shake your head no
"Okay" mini said turning you around, "you two say here. I'll be right back"
Harper reaching for Mini as you looked at her wit widening eyes
"I just have to talk to your care worker really quick. Why don't you guys play while you wait" Mini said, directing you guys to the blocks near by
Anger filling her since the worker didn't mention you were injured
Taking a deep breath to stay calm around you two, "can you tell me how Emmy got her owie?" Mini asked Harper, knowing you wouldn't speak
"Mean boy hit her with block. I bit him" Harper said with an angry face before looking at you, "I protect you" Harper pulling you in a hug that you softly returned. Mini now understanding why Harper had bit the boy, to defend you.
"I'm proud of you for defending Emmy. But next time we find an adult and tell them, okay?" Mini said causing you two to nod
"You two stay here" Mini said as she went to find the day care worker
"Did you know that Emily was hurt?" She asked causing the care worker
"She's hurt?"
"Yes, the boy Harper bit hit Emily in the head with a block. There is a small bump there. Harper shouldn't have bit the boy but you need to have a talk with him about hitting people" mini said as she care worker started to look embarrassed
"Of course. I'm sorry we didn't catch that"
"Have you contact Emily parents?" Mini asked
"No"
"I'll be picking up Emily with Harper" mini said as care worker nodded
Mini quickly calling Caitlin to explain what happen and to meet them at the ice cream shop a few streets over.
"Let go girls" Mini said, grabbing both of your hands, "We are going to get ice cream." This getting smiles from the two young girls
"Mommy and mama?" You asked looking up at Mini
"They are going to meet us there" mini said causing you to nod then start talking to Harper as you guys walked to the ice cream shop
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lightseoul · 20 hours ago
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hi! please could you do number 7 with the mc having a ghost-related quirk??
decided to quickly write this one just in time for halloween! i hope y'all enjoy this little piece amidst the boop war we all find ourselves in right now lol. thank you for playing n have a nice day <3
(this is lightseoul's 2k milestone event ft. bakugou katsuki! to play, view the numbered list of prompts here, then simply send an ask with your chosen number and i'll whip something up!)
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7. "THE GHOSTS WOULD DISAGREE WITH YOU." (1.3k)
“you’re a fucking weirdo, you know that?”
you don’t even look up from the churro you’re munching on, opting to ignore the ash-blonde sitting right next to your left.
“what,” he continues, and if you didn’t know any better, he’s starting to sound a little annoyed. “you’re not even gonna defend yourself?”
what you’re not about to do is tell him you’ve heard that taunt over and over again growing up, lest you end up seeming pitiful, which you aren’t.
so you merely shrug. “i don’t see the point. i know it’s not true.”
at that, you finally glance at the man, who’s looking nothing short of speechless under the dim light of the lounge that’s decked out with ‘spooky’ embellishments.
cute is the first thing that comes to mind.
he just fucking insulted you is the next.
still, you can’t help the smile that takes over your features. “you’re the weird one, anyway. why would you say that to your date?”
bakugou promptly breaks eye contact, choosing to stare at the human skeleton that’s conveniently parked at the corner of the room. you follow his line of vision, and you have to stop yourself from snorting at the sight.
the people manning this haunted house-themed attraction sure took budget decorating to the next level.
beside you, the pro-hero huffs. “i’m only saying that because this is your idea of a good first date,” he gestures vaguely to your surroundings, an incredulous expression on his face as he tosses you a pointed look. “a horror escape room? really?”
“what?” you say, trying to sound the slightest bit defensive for the sake of it. “it gives us plenty of excuses to get closer.”
whatever bakugou expected you to say in response, it surely wasn’t that.
the man only splutters, quickly diverting his gaze and plopping back against his seat with his muscled arms folded across his broad chest like a petulant child.
he then mutters something that you wouldn’t have caught for the life of you if it weren’t for the thing.
you grin.
“you wanted me to latch onto you for safety? you could’ve just said so.”
almost instantaneously, bakugou whips to stare at you, an absolutely horrified expression etched all over his face.
“what the fuck?”
you flash him the most innocent look you can muster. “what?”
he’s now glaring at you, but there’s no missing the redness that has crept up the high planes of his cheeks. he opens his mouth as if to say something but hesitates. he tries again, gaze fixated on you for a couple more seconds until he shakes his head in disbelief.
“…there’s no fucking way.”
you shrug again, but bakugou only stares at you, eyes squinting in suspicion. “unless…”
and, in a blink of an eye you almost could’ve missed it if you weren’t staring at him yourself, you see profound realization dawn on his features.
you gulp despite yourself.
“you have a fucking quirk?”
the truth must have been written all over your exterior, because the man leans back in slow motion like the way one would when faced with a relatively shocking revelation.
you rub at the back of your neck, suddenly feeling too self-conscious. this was the part that always made you feel uncomfortable, no matter what the context.
but especially during a first date.
“i never said i was quirkless…”
“yeah, no shit,” he retorts, not missing a single bit. “what is it, superior hearing or something?”
you shake your head slowly, “no, but it does make me privy to things that i don’t perceive with my own senses.”
bakugou’s eyebrows furrow in what you think is confusion. “what else?”
“uh—” you pause, eyes drifting down to your fiddling fingers, “—i can also levitate, be invisible, and permeate through things.”
when he doesn’t say anything for a moment, you finally chance a glance at the man, and he’s looking honest-to-god gagged.
pro-hero dynamight is fucking gagged and it’s because of you.
before he can get a word in, though, you quickly follow it up with: “but they make me so nauseous that i can barely pull them off. they’re useless, really.”
when you’re met with nothing but silence, you continue.
“i know,” you chuckle, although it comes out awkward and stilted. “it’s weird. you’re right, after all. i was just messing with you.”
more silence.
not knowing what else to do or say, you take a huge bite of your pastry, although you’re far from hungry, stomach now churning in embarrassment.
you’re in the middle of chewing the remnants of your last bite when bakugou finally speaks up.
now, you’ve heard about how the #9 pro-hero, despite his aggression and temper and generally unpleasant personality, is exceptionally intelligent, perceptive, and intuitive, but you never really thought much about it.
not even when you found out a few hours earlier that the blind date your friends set you up with was your distant superior dynamight himself.
and while you always had a thing for capable men, you didn’t want to fall early and hard lest you hurt yourself in the process. so you merely pushed back against the prejudices and expectations you had of him, and decided to just observe the person who was actually in front of you for the rest of your date.
but when he says the next thing, everything you’ve heard about him suddenly makes sense.
“…so it’s a ghost quirk.”
you don’t even get the opportunity to choke on your churro or gape at him because bakugou shakes his head so fervently, before: “that’s such a fucking waste.”
“e-excuse me?”
at your query, he locks eyes with you. “you have a strong-ass quirk, yet you’re working in admin for us. you could be doing more.”
a thousand questions fight to escape your lips, but what manages to emerge victorious is: “how’d you know i’m working admin for ground riot?”
bakugou scowls at you, but again, there’s that scarlet on his cheeks. he doesn’t answer your question, though, instead going for: “that’s your fucking takeaway?”
you shrug, not knowing what else to say. “i know my quirk is strong. but i was always made to feel like i was weird and creepy for it growing up—and until now, actually, which is why i don’t really talk about it—so i just learned not to use it.”
“well, most of it,” you add, and bakugou cocks his head to the side in question.
you take a shaky inhale.
“…ghosts still choose to talk to me.”
“that how you pick up on things beyond your five senses?”
you try not to gawk at him and at how fast he put two and two together. “…yeah.”
neither of you says anything for a few moments before bakugou finally shifts in his seat, rolling his shoulders back.
as he does so, he pipes up with: “well, i guess they’re not always accurate, though.”
you frown. although you rarely use your quirk, you still pride yourself in your capacity. “what do you mean?”
at that, bakugou turns to regard you, an unidentifiable expression on his face. “i did not want you to latch onto me.”
this time, you really can’t help it. you snort, and that grants you a glower from the pro-hero. you take it in stride, though, waving him off.
“sure, big guy.”
“don’t—” he sits up, “fucking—i’m serious—”
“yeah, but the ghosts—” he throws you a punch, which you dodge, “would disagree—” you dodge another, “ with you—” he barely misses you, “—though,” you finally finish.
and really, you don’t even need your trusty ghosts to know that—the blush that’s taken over the entirety of his face is all the proof you need.
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featherandferns · 2 days ago
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I saw this trend on tiktok and immediately thought of fem!reader x jj | content warnings: none
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
There's nothing like doom scrolling on TikTok on a Sunday morning. Thank God for Cleo and her wonderful handy-woman skills; the wifi in the house had never been faster. The bedsheets smell like lavender and blossoms from the latest batch of laundry detergent Kiara bought. The smells comforts you as you stare mindlessly at your screen, your thumb swiping through the TikToks of strangers across the planet. Slime scooping; sourdough bread baking; outfit checking; an Office compilation of the best Jim moments. Then, just as you're about to pretend like you're going to do something productive on your day-off from working the tackle-and-bait shop on the pier, a TikTok flashes up that has you moving.
Your phone now ditched on the bed, you wander through what was formerly JJ's father's house in search of your boyfriend. He's were you seemingly left him like misplaced housekeys; leant against the counter in the kitchen, immersed in his phone just as you were moments ago. You suppose all you Pogues had learnt to enjoy the mundane joys of modern living now that you weren't running from life hazard to life hazard. Simple living allowed simple pleasures, like Instagram Reels.
Somehow holding back your eagerness, you casually wander into the kitchen. At the sound of soft footsteps on the wooden floors, JJ looks up. He smiles at you before looking back down at his screen.
"Sup," he murmurs.
"Got bored," you reply, referring to your previous bed-rot state of being.
"Think Kie and Sarah are out in the garden," he offers.
You take a few steps towards him until you're stood toe-to-toe. Your proximity seems to catch JJ's attention (finally) and he shuts off his phone, meeting your gaze.
"I can think of some other ways to be entertained," you slyly reply.
JJ's lips twitch at the corners. Phone now in his pocket, the two of you follow the same path of thought as you loop your arms over his shoulders, crowding into his space. His hands fall to your waist; warm and heavy as they cradle your figure. Your lips find one another easy and you smile into the kiss, just as JJ does. And then comes your detour.
Your hands snake inconspicuously down his body in the same way your antsy fingers explore whenever the two of you are together. JJ deepens the kiss, nipping teasingly at your lower lip, and it takes everything inside of you to hold back your grin.
Just as you planned...
Mustering every morsel of strength in your body, engaging every muscle to ever exist in your flesh, your hands suddenly slip around the back of JJ's thighs.
"What're you doi-"
You quickly grab and lift and, somehow perfectly, hitch your six-foot boyfriend up and onto the kitchen counter.
The kiss is broken as you do so and you open your eyes to find a bemused, or perhaps bewildered, JJ looking down at you. It's hilarious seeing him from this angle: perched daintily on the edge of the counter in the way that he'd manhandled you there so many times before. He cocks his head.
"What just happened?" JJ asks.
You crack up and JJ starts to laugh too, though it's sprinkled with confusion, maybe reluctant to find the humour of a joke he's not yet in on. One of his hand caresses down from your shoulder to your hand, reeling you in closer, in between his legs.
"You don't feel emasculated?" you wonder, intertwining your fingers. JJ shrugs.
"Why would I?"
You cock a brow and regard him a moment. "You don't know what that word means, do you?"
"Not one bit."
As you continue to laugh, JJ cups your jaw and pulls you up onto your toes. He silences your laughter with his mouth on yours. It's hot and heavy and somewhere in the delectable dance of tongues and teeth, he lowly yet playfully remarks:
"Thought I was the one who got to throw you around, huh? You coming for my job now or something? Gonna go for the boat next too?"
"Don't tempt me," you murmur back against his lips.
The two of you kiss and it isn't until your hand is rubbing seductively at his thigh that JJ is pushing you away, gentle but firm.
"Yeah, nah, this is weird," he says. You laugh as he jumps down from the countertop.
A screech slips out, however, as he takes you by surprise. In a matter of moments, you're sat where JJ once was, staring down at your boyfriend. He grins, wasting no time in resuming the make-out.
But not before mumbling, "that's more like it."
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citruslullabies · 1 day ago
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OMG. I SAW UR CURLY HEADCANONS AND I TOUGHT THEY WERE AMAZING!! COULD U MAYBE DO THE SAME THING BUT WITH DAISUKE?? :O
Coming right up hon!
Daisuke Mouthwashing headcannons
Romantic
Pre-crash Daisuke:
He's a silly guy
Constantly cracking jokes, trying to make you laugh
People wouldn't know if you two were dating or just best friends if it weren't for the fact he's a puppy dog with you
Following you around whenever he can, looking at you for praise whenever he can
It's kind of like the meme "no, I'm not calling you good boy. That mission was shit."
..other than he is a good boy so call him such
And boy does he love PDA
Well, not really
He just loves affection, public or private
I like to think he's just a bit more silly in public
Kisses your cheek and makes an over exaggerated pop whenever he pulls away
Daisuke was hanging out with Swansea, goofing off as usual. But he saw you in the corner of his eye and without a second thought, ran to you and practically pounced. Before you could get anything but a giggle in, he pressed his lips to your cheek and kissed you with a loud pop!
He's not really a petname sort of person either
It's mostly funny nicknames for him
He will call you his grumpasaur when you're grumpy first thing in the morning. I don't make the rules.
Post-crash Daisuke:
For awhile, he still acts the same. But his personality is a little watered down, y'know?
He's stressed and scared after what happened
But he tries not to let that get him down!
Although he is more clingy, more scared of letting go of you. One accident already happened and almost wiped their captain out, what if you were next?
He didn't want to think about that
It made him nauseated to think about
And eventually well.. he crawled through that vent to get to Anya
And he got severely injured. You couldn't bear to see him like that
You most likely died soon before, trying to keep Swansea from killing Daisuke
Begging and pleading that there had to be some other way
But it didn't work out in anyone's favor
Platonic
Pre-crash Daisuke:
You guys are super duper close!!
Lots of jokes and pranks on the other crew members
Constantly goofing off whenever you can
Not too affectionate.. the occasional hug here and there. But besides that it's all fun and games
He has definitely drawn on your face before while you slept
I'm sorry. I don't make the rules. He would definitely make an attempt at drawing a flower on your cheek and it look like a penis
He'd still giggle about it though.. maybe it wasn't an accident
He has definitely (jokingly and lovingly) made fun of Swansea
Just standing up and trying to mimic his mannerisms while you're laughing
..yeah, too bad Swansea was in at that very moment
"look at me, I'm Swansea! I'm a big smelly engineer!" Daisuke said in a forcefully deeper voice, making you laugh as he held his arms out in front of him as if to mimic toting a stomach around. Swansea in question could only look unamused as he cleared his throat, making you both stop in your tracks. Oh if looks could kill.
But yeah you guys have a purely goofy relationship
Post-crash Daisuke:
It's the exact same as the romantic, but the difference is, he tries to convince you to go into the vent with him. He wants to get Anya and doesn't want to be alone
But you of course refused, stating it wasn't safe but did he listen?
No
In fact he continued on to the vent and got himself injured
You gave him the 'i told you so' look but.. you felt really bad when looking at your friend. He was in bad shape.
And so you died a similar way
The only big difference is, you died after discovering him
Thanks for requesting!
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fayes-fics · 3 days ago
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Kinktober: Knife Play
Kinktober 2024 Masterpost
Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x fem!reader
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Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI, knife play, predator-prey, cutting lingerie, brief oral sex (m to f).
Word Count: 0.8k (omg, almost a drabble, I'm shocked)
Author's Note: Last fic for Anthony. I love it when he plays predator with his wife. I mean, s2 was just him growling like a damn animal in the heat, so it fits, tbh lol. Not betaed. Enjoy! <3
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You've never been more grateful for Madame Delacroix.
That’s the thought that drifts fleetingly through your mind as Viscount Anthony Bridgerton - casually barefoot in just britches, braces and a white shirt - prowls up to you, a determined, deadly look on his face, a steel blade glinting in the candlelight as he does.
This is one of your riskier games, and for that reason, it inflames you like nothing else—feeling like prey to the most wanted predator. Cornered, ready to be devoured by him, never wanting to escape.
You are wrapped in meticulously crafted lace and silk undergarments that the aforementioned modiste makes for you, which he always ruins within moments of seeing you in them. Unable to contain his lust for the sight of your body scandalously enrobed, the parts you most want him to see peaking out from behind the luxury fibres, your nipples pebbled, your thighs already damp as he rounds upon you.
He crowds you against the bookcase of his study, his hand warm on your belly through the gossamer thin layer. Then he tilts that hand, and you inhale sharply at the cool metallic blade.
He runs the tip of the blade up your centre as you pant lightly, the danger of it adding to your arousal, knowing he will never truly hurt you, freedom in the unbreakable trust between you, signified by the matching wedding rings you wear. 
Scant words are usually exchanged when you play like this, eyes saying everything you need to communicate. 
When he reaches the valley between your breasts, his lip quirks, and he changes path, the translucent lace over the swell of your breast snagging under the knife tip.
He traces the neckline with the blade then you gasp as the cold metal touches the skin of your clavicle, rounding under the delicate silk strap holding the material over your shoulder.
Staring you down, he twists the blade outwards and pulls the knife away from your body, its sharpness slicing through the layers easily, the fabric falling away from that side, exposing your breast, heaving with excitement.
His other hand spiders up your ribs and tweaks your nipple harshly, making you mewl and suck in a wavering breath, a trickle running down your thigh that he can smell. Leaning into you and taking a deep inhale, scenting you like an animal. 
He growls; the knife is suddenly under your other strap, slicing it from your body, too.
Your slip flutters down, and you are now naked from the waist up, the material clinging to the flare of your hips. 
“I will mark you with my initials…” he threatens, the blunt side of the blade running down your breastbone. You know he never will; it is all in play, but the possibility has you squirming. The forbidden fantasy of him carving your skin until it bleeds his initials has you feral, gripping his muscular forearm, your eyes pleading.
His knife hand falls limp to his side as his other hand wraps around the back of your head and pulls you into a breathtaking kiss. Possessive, plundering, making your scalp tingle and your fingers curl, scraping down his abdomen under his shirt.
He pulls away and ensures your eyes track back down to the weapon as he catches your hem with it, slowly and carefully snagging the blade upwards so it cleaves your garment in half, the fabric just melting away under its insist tug.
The remnants of the silk slip glide to the floor at your feet, and you are now naked save for some matching French knickers, soaked with your arousal.
He drops to his knees before you, leather-bound books pressing into your shoulder blades as you lean back into them for support. His mouth closes over the fabric right where you are throbbing for him—sucking the material and making you yell his name, uncaring who may be awoken by your late-night adventures.
He throws one of your thighs over his shoulder, and your hands shoot out and dislodge books on either side as you scrabble for purchase, eyes rolling at the heavenly feel of his tongue through the scratchy lace.
With a gasp, you look down upon him and watch him slide the blade between your body and the silk, again twisting the knife so he cuts through the silk first at your right hip, then your left, staring up at you with dark, glittering eyes.
“Anthony!!”
You can't help but call his name, wanton, wrecked, as his hot mouth pulls your engorged clit between his lips and sucks so hard you see dots swimming as your lids flutter closed, his hands tugging the last of the material from your body as the knife clatters loudly to the floor.
Prey being utterly devoured by predator… and you couldn't be happier about it.
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masterlist • wips • taglist (follow this blog to be tagged)
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Anthony taglist pt 1: @makaylan @longingintheuniverse @iboopedyournose @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @crowleysqueenofhell @queenofmean14 @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @broooookiecrisp @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @sorryallonsy @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @elizah99 @fictionalmenloversblog @debheart @malpalgalz @amanda08319 @panhoeofmanyfandoms @delehosies @m-rae23 @kmc1989 @ferns-fics @corpseoftrees-queen @magical-spit @bunnyweasley23 @vane28282 @kisskissshutmydoor @hanji-emo-blog @y0ur-favgerman @sya-skies
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houserautha · 1 day ago
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Truth Be Told
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Summary: When you ask your dagger a question, it vibrates to communicate yes. And Feyd has a lot of questions.
Pairings: Feyd-Rautha x F!Reader
Word Count: 2.1k
Warnings: MDNI, dubious consent, dirty talk, inappropriate use of a dagger, male and female orgasms, some blood
A/N: I recently read “Bound to the Shadow Prince” by Ruby Dixon. (Great smutty monster romance novel). I was anticipating a scene with a magical dagger that never happened so I decided to write it with Feyd🥰
Does he want to kill me?
Shiver.
Will he kill me?
Nothing.
The dagger, grasped in your sweaty palm, doesn’t respond. This hardly does anything to calm your nerves. Remembering that it’s specific about phrasing, you ask, Will he kill me before the day is over?
Your breath hitches in anticipation.
Nothing.
Okay, so your betrothed wants to kill you, but at least he won’t today. As long as you ask every day, surely you could survive this courtship — or know when to make a run for it. You thought your sister was a fool when she gifted you this dagger. Technology, magic, whatever powered it, was strictly prohibited. But upon her insistence you took it with you to Giedi Prime and now you’re grateful that you did.
It’s a modicum of comfort in such a harsh place.
Your thoughts of home are interrupted by the sound of footsteps coming from the opposite direction. You’ve only just slipped the dagger down the front of your corset when none other than Feyd-Rautha turns the corner.
He doesn’t look surprised to see you, as if he somehow arranged for this to happen; you, on the other hand, had been trying to avoid him. A series of scenarios play through your head in which you walk past him, all of them ending rather tragically. Instead, you stay rooted to the spot.
Feyd-Rautha sidles casually down the hall, boots ringing out with each step. You hate how furiously your heart pounds when he’s near. It would be one thing if you were just afraid of him. He certainly warranted such a reaction. But there was a small, traitorous part of you that was thrilled to be in his presence, ensnared in his dark gaze. He had a habit of looking at you as if you were the only one in the room, the center of his attention — a dangerous thing to be, indeed.
And you liked it.
“You look frightened,” Feyd-Rautha rasps. His voice glides down your back like cold water.
You lift your chin. “You’re mistaking fear for distrust.”
“Distrust, of me?”
“What are you doing?” You ask, ignoring him. It takes tremendous effort not to roll your eyes at his feigned offense. “I thought you were entertaining diplomats.”
Feyd-Rautha rolls his tongue inside his cheek. “I was.”
There’s something about his blunt, uninformative reply that ignites an ember of anger inside you. “And now you’re here to pester me.”
“Is that right?”
“What else?” You snap.
Feyd-Rautha steps closer. He eclipses the rest of the corridor, a portrait of dark and light, pale skin and armor as black as night. His voice rumbles like thunder over you. “You’ve been avoiding me.”
“No, I haven’t.”
“Hm. Is that why you’ve been darting out of every room I walk into? Freeze when you see me?” Feyd-Rautha’s gaze slips over you in a pointed manner. Your cheeks burn.
“What does it matter to you if I do?”
“Cowardice is unbecoming of you.”
“And pride is unbecoming of you,” you hiss back, “to think I care about you enough to leave whenever I notice you.”
In a surge of movement, faster than you can even process, Feyd-Rautha has cornered you against the wall, forearm pressed to your throat. Panic swells in your chest. Is he trying to scare me?
Between your breasts, the dagger shivers.
Reflexively, without thinking, your hand flutters there. Feyd-Rautha hones in on this, is close enough to you to probably sense the displacement of air. His eyes narrow. Within the span of a few thunderous heartbeats he reaches down your corset, and you cry out as he dips between your breasts and retrieves the dagger.
“What is this?”
“It’s nothing,” you tell him.
“A weapon?” He appraises it, then you. “You think you can hide this from me?”
In his hand the dagger shivers.
You curse out loud.
“Where did you get this?” Feyd-Rautha demands. The blade of the dagger replaces his forearm at your throat.
“It’s mine,” you growl, “give it back.”
The next time you correspond with your sister, you’re going to yell at her for not telling you it responds to other people.
“Where. Did. You. Get. This.”
You hold your tongue. A snarl tears through his chest and he leans his weight into the dagger, drawing blood, warm and thick. It slides down your throat and pools into the divot at the bottom. You keep your silence even though pain explodes at the site of the incision, white hot and searing.
“You wish to disavow the laws of our Emperor by bringing this onto my planet? Into my home?”
Shiver.
An inkling of anger vanishes from his face, something much worse taking its place. The intensity of the blade lessens. “It’s aware. How? What technology is this?”
“I-I don’t know,” you say finally. Your fingers itch at your side — you just want it back. “All I know is that it will answer yes or no to your questions.”
Feyd-Rautha considers this.
You wrap your hand around Feyd-Rautha’s, the one holding the dagger, to prove your point. “I have three eyes.” Nothing. “I’m wearing an emerald dress.” It shivers. The vibration shoots up your arm, and it’s only then that you realize that you’re still touching him.
A flicker of amusement dances in his expression as you quickly remove your hand.
“Interesting,” Feyd-Rautha mumbles.
“Now that you know, I’d like it back.”
A ripple of tension rolls between you, a storm on the horizon. In way of reply, Feyd-Rautha drags the tip of the dagger down the column of your throat, fixated on its progress.
It steals the air from your lungs. “Please.”
“I don’t think so,” Feyd-Rautha distantly says, as if lost in thought. The dagger slips over the swell of your breasts and rests on the edge of your corset, prompting shivers to break out across your skin. All it takes is a single slice for him to cut through the material.
Without the support, your breasts fall free. And while you’re still covered by the lightweight chemise underneath, your hardened nipples betray your arousal. Feyd-Rautha traces around each one with the blade, then flicks them.
“My suspicions about your true feelings are quite evident,” he says, slow and unhurried, “though I would be loathe not to confirm them myself.”
His dark eyes lock on yours. “Does she think of me?”
Shiver. The blade, pressed to one taut nipple, sends a pulse straight to your core. You squirm, trying to evade him — his touch, his questions — but he keeps you securely in place. “Often?” He asks, to which the blade shudders again.
“Please, stop —”
“Oh, but I’ve only just started.”
The coolness of the dagger cuts through the thin material of the chemise. It’s almost painful how aroused you are, every inch of your body alive, aware, buzzing with anticipation. Feyd-Rautha leans in closer. “Does she think of me when she’s touching herself?”
Shiver.
You grit out between clenched teeth, “That’s enough.”
Torturously, Feyd-Rautha offers no amount of relief. A torrent of questions follow. Does she touch herself every night? Does she say my name? Does she dream about what it might be like for me to fuck her?
Each time the blade betrays you, shuddering over and over again in quick succession. The sensation on your nipple is overwhelming, crashing into you with unexpected ferocity. It’s not only the nature of his questions that elicit such response, but the sharpness of the blade, his hips ground into yours and the presence of his cock against your thigh.
Hazily, you wonder if he’s enjoying this because he’s twisted or because he’s aroused by you too. There’s no way of knowing if the blade validates this line of thought, not with the steady stream of questions that Feyd-Rautha is whispering, a man possessed. Is she wet right now, just at my touch? At the sight of me? If I reach between her legs, will I find her cunt aching for my fingers?
You whimper. Whatever tether there is between your nipples and your cunt, it’s been pulled tight. He’s right and you hate it. You are wet, uncomfortably so, desperate for friction. And you aren’t able to disguise your delight when he takes the blade down your navel, free hand gathering your skirts and pushing them aside to expose you to him. His plush lips form a wicked smile.
“So wet, just for me,” Feyd-Rautha rasps. He palms himself through his pants, admiring you all the while. You writhe impatiently.
“You can’t wait, can you?” The blade shivers. A wave of ecstasy sweeps over you as he touches it to the inside of your thigh.
You all but thrust your hips into him, a wanton, greedy thing. Mercifully, Feyd-Rautha grazes the blade to your weeping cunt and then outlines your entrance, more gentle than any man with his reputation should allow. But he finds love in this, does he not? The delicate control that he wields, the certainty of a weapon in his hands. You sense this from him the same way someone can look at a piece of art and know the care the artist put into each brushstroke.
And this realization only entices you more to him, makes the handle of the dagger pressed against your swollen clit that much sweeter.
“You like this, don’t you? You want this. Want my cock, want anything I can give you.”
Shiver after shiver. The blade vibrates over your clit and a cry of pleasure escapes, swallowed by Feyd-Rautha clamping a hand over your mouth. You blink back tears as you silently plead him to continue, the pressure of the blade and the shuddering of your truths, come to light, nearly enough to send you to your knees.
Hatred wrestles with your desperation as Feyd-Rautha breathes more questions into the junction of your neck, like whispering prayers. You’ll take this cock so nicely, won’t you? Won’t you, jewel?
You come at the image of his cock inside you. It’s not hard to imagine, with it currently burying into your thigh. Feyd-Rautha keeps you upright as you buckle under the euphoria of your orgasm, strong and steady in the storm of the aftermath. And you don’t even get to completely descend from the high, either, as he nudges the handle of the blade between your slick folds and into your cunt.
“I’ve almost sated my curiosity,” Feyd-Rautha rasps, “but I have a few more questions for you. Do you think you can handle that?”
The dagger is small, not quite filling you up, but as it quakes in agreement the ridges of it bump against your walls and you jolt. “Don’t make me cover that pretty mouth again.” Feyd-Rautha places a trail of kisses — bites, really, sure to leave bruises — up your neck. He laps up the blood from before, and licks over the incision. “Are you ready, jewel?”
You don’t have to speak. The blade shivers.
His chuckle, dark and dangerous and wonderful, resonates deep inside. You think you’re prepared for the next round of questions, prepared for the splitting answer of your orgasm, but you’re sorely mistaken. Feyd-Rautha pumps the blade into you up to its hilt and then out, over and over, all while eking out questions that keep it shuddering at a toe-curling pace.
But it’s not just my cock that you want, is it? You want my mouth, don’t you? My fingers? Fuck, look at you, you’ll take whatever you can have in your greedy cunt, won’t you? And you’ll call out my name as you come? ‘Cause you’re such a good girl. So good, just for me?
You were already near the ledge but you’ve toppled back over it now. “Feyd,” you gasp out.
Pleasure cleaves you in two and your orgasm tears from you, more colorful and blinding than any you’ve ever had. Stars dance behind your closed eyes. Feyd-Rautha holds the quivering blade at your most sensitive spot as he wrings out your orgasm, murmuring praises, cock twitching against your leg. There’s a warmth there, not from you, but from his own release — and when you finally have the clarity to open your eyes, to face what just happened, you discover that he doesn’t seemed ashamed of this in the least.
Feyd-Rautha just withdraws the dagger from you. He lets your skirts, now wrinkled, drop to the ground. And he holds your gaze as he first sucks your juices from the handle, then licks your blood from the blade. His tongue is long, sinful, and you visually chase it back into his mouth where it disappears behind a satisfied smirk.
“I believe this is yours.”
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ofmermaidstories · 2 days ago
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do we think we can make a silent hill x mha crossover work? is that a thing The Vibes would permit? Us, leaving the city during a golden afternoon after a shitty day at work—driving into the night trying to get to a small town in the mountains. Maybe we stop for petrol, a bottled drink. A snack pack of gummy worms we throw onto the passenger seat next to us. Are we tired? Does it matter? We keep driving and driving until the world narrows down to the curve ahead in our headlights. Maybe we’re just outside of the town’s limits when it happens: the kid appearing in the middle of the road.
Do you scream? Do you even remember? Does it matter? Whatever noise you make, you manage to jerk the wheel, a sharp twist that sounds like a bone snapping, somehow, as the pale concrete of the pylons alongside the road are illuminated by your lights like headstones as you spin straight into them.
And when you wake up? When you blink, laid over your wheel and your horn blaring, screaming into the now white blanket of a foggy day—do you even remember the kid? How slight he was? Does it matter?
Maybe it doesn’t matter to you, right now, sitting up. Nothing aches, you’re not uncomfortable, you’re not even thirsty—you’re just there, still in your car, the horn now silent. Why is it daylight? Where did all this fog come? Did no one really drive past in all the however many hours you were out? Does it matter? Pray to God but row to shore—it’s a Russian proverb, supposedly, but you’d heard it on a TV show once, or maybe read it in a book. You can sit there in your car that smells like fog and pineneedles or you can get out and get yourself help. You get out, stumble; and then you follow the curve of the road down into the valley.
You almost feel relief when you see the tiled rooftops. Civilisation. Driving in the dark always felt like driving between worlds, suspended in time, only you and your music, low, the twin lights of other cars, other ghosts going past. But now you’re broken free of it, running down that road, now, your footsteps sharp and echoing against the rockface of the cliff above you—following you down into the ground levels out and leaves you standing there, at the edges of a rice paddy, your relief curling back into the bitter weight of fear when you realise it’s still so quiet. Where is everyone?
You make your way past a couple of small cars, parked up. One of them has a smashed window; you skitter around the edges, something thick in your throat.
“Hello?” You call out, when you make it to a small cluster of homes, the residential street small and tidy.
There’s a scuff of shoes—like they’re kicking off from a wall, or in gravel—and then you startle as just a few houses in front of you, a small boy jumps from behind a wall and bolts—leaving you to call out, “HEY! WAIT—”
He disappears around the corner before you can even reach him and when you turn you scream—coming face to face with a man in the green and gold of a Pro Hero suit, his hands up, catching hold of you as you scream again, twisting.
“Whoa!” He says. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I heard you call out and—I’m sorry, this must be so weird. Are you okay? Are you okay?”
His hands squeeze your arms tighter, reassurance or warning you can’t tell but you—you try to pull back, as much as you can, your eyes flitting over his face as he does the same with you, brow furrowed, big green eyes worried under a riot of dark, green curls.
His lips part, and he swallows. “Are you okay?” He asks for a third time, a whisper. “You’re the first person I’ve seen here since—since I got separated from the others. Please. Are you okay?”
Your heart is thumping hard but you’re no longer trying to fight against him and instead of answering you shake your head—you don’t know. You don’t know. But does it matter?
Wide, firm hands squeeze your arms once more—and then release you, letting you stand, the Pro Hero’s face (and he must be a Pro Hero, you think with a frown, although suddenly you can’t remember ever having seen him) grave.
“Everything will be okay,” he says, firmly. “I’m here. We’ll stick together, find the others, and get out of here.”
From his belt, there’s the click and fuzzy roll of static, coming from a small radio. You swallow, and nod.
(His words sound familiar to you—why do they sound so familiar? Maybe it’s just the script all Pro Heroes say. But it nags at you. It’s nagging at you. Why? Why does it matter?)
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sugurugetofavoritemonkey · 23 hours ago
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Hii girl since you said requests are open I was thinking about reader who loves to get Ethan hard in the most random situations, maybe while they're with friends or in class.
Ps: I love your writing
A/N : Hii ! 🩷 Thank you so so so much for liking my writing and sending me this fabulous request for our boy Ethan, it means a lot to me and I had so much fun writing this 🥰 Please send me your feedback to let me know how I did, it always helps me improve and I hope you’ll like it. Don’t hesitate to send me other requests for our lovely Ethan, love you and enjoy ! ✨
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Reader who loves to get Ethan hard in the most random situations.
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❦ When Ethan Landry is in love, anything can make him blush and get him hard, really just a kiss or a hug is already enough for him to want you and it annoys Ethan so much to be this weak for you. You could simply be looking at him with doe eyes and a pretty smile while he rambles about his day and the poor sweet boy would avert his eyes from you as he feels his cheeks warming up. Taking his hand in yours in the corridors, to intertwine your fingers, also works very well, Ethan doesn’t mind it, he loves it even, but he’s not used to receiving such affection, just like he’s not used to you complimenting him, as you softly murmur against his lips that he’s « so pretty » while you gently caress his face.
❦ Making out with your boyfriend in front of your friends, your lips pressing kisses on his jaw and neck literally makes Ethan’s head spin as he doesn’t know how to react between completely surrendering himself to you or keeping a straight face in front of Chad and the others.
❦ But obviously, what works best is just letting your hand wander up his thigh under the table and slightly brushing the outline of his cock that’s covered by his jeans that keep getting too tight to his liking, Ethan’s breathing becoming heavy while you act so innocently in front of the others as you all eat.
❦ Sending hot texts to Ethan during classes. That could go from nudes that force him to go to the restroom to take care of his hard-on, to just teasing him. « Do you think this table is sturdy enough for you to take me, Ethan ? », your boyfriend’s eyes are entirely focused on your text as he swallows with difficulty at the fantasy of taking you right here.
❦ Whispering dirty things in his ear while Ethan is in a conversation to make him lose his mind. The poor man doesn’t even know what he was saying seconds ago, as only stutters come out of his mouth now that your lips describe the sinful things that you would like him to do to you.
❦ Making sure you wear the sexiest and prettiest panties under a cute short skirt. And whoops what a strange coincidence, you have to bend down in front of your innocent boyfriend so Ethan can, by chance, catch a glimpse of the pink lace material. Though, Ethan will make sure he’s the only one to see that gorgeous sight, by correctly putting back in its place your skirt behind you when you stand up. What also really works to get him hard is gently asking him in the early morning if he can help you dress, when really Ethan perfectly knows that you can do it yourself. « Please baby, can you help me with the zipper of my dress ? » You bewitched Ethan in such a delicious way, that you can feel the way his fingertips shake a little as he slowly closes your dress.
❦ Considering that your boyfriend trusts you fully, he gave you his phone password ages ago. Little did he know that you would take this opportunity to set his new wallpaper with a quite revealing picture of yourself. At the sight of this, Ethan is debating whether to keep staring at it or to hold his phone pressed very close to his chest so that no one can look at it. « You really are a little minx, aren’t you ? », Ethan would corner you in the corridor as soon as he saw it.
❦ As Ethan helps you study, just like every evening, you make sure to sit on his lap as he explains to you the math exercises, wiggling your butt from time to time just to hear Ethan gasp behind you, his words cut by his own little moans and whines. « Did you u-understand everything ? », Ethan would ask in a stutter. « Yeah, thank you Ethan », you answered him as you kissed the corner of his mouth with a smile.
❦ Ethan reading a book on his own on a bench outside during lunch break as you go over to him with a sweet smile just to sit on his lap, resting your head on his shoulder and whispering in his ear. « What are you reading ? » Ethan doesn’t trust his voice and decides to show you the cover instead while his free hand tightens around your waist.
❦ Asking your boyfriend to accompany you when you go shopping for new sexy lingerie. Ethan shyly waits for you outside the fitting room as he hears you calling his name, hesitantly entering the cabin with you as you ask for his opinion. You slowly twirl around in front of him as his cheeks become red and Ethan knows that he won’t be able to hide his hard-on this time. « You like it ? », you ask him with an innocent smile. « I-I, fuck yes I do », Ethan mumbles as he doesn’t find the will to avert his eyes from your gorgeous body. « But don’t you think it’s a bit overpriced though ? », you ponder. Ethan is quick to make a decision for you, « Don’t care, I’ll buy it for you. »
❦ Watching a movie together at the cinema and there’s a random erotic scene appearing on screen as you ask Ethan in the most innocent tone. « Do you think we could do it ? ». And it’s enough for Ethan to lose his complete interest for the movie, his whole attention now entirely directed to the thought of him and you in the same position as the scene in front of his eyes. Ethan shifts in his seat as he prays for the movie to be over soon enough for him to show you how well he can make this scene come true, hell even in his car if he can’t wait to get back home.
❦ Asking Ethan in the middle of the night to help you sleep in his own way, as you whine sweetly into his ear to wake him up. « Please Ethan, can’t sleep, need you so bad… » Ethan rubs the tiredness out of his face as he takes you in his strong arms that create the most soothing embrace for you. The way you whined and wiggled in his hold was enough to feel Ethan’s hard-on press lightly against your tummy. « My poor baby…Need my help ? Want me so bad that you can’t sleep ? Don’t worry angel, I’m here. »
❦ Now, there’s just a subtle difference in how Ethan would react to this kind of teasing. And it’s simply linked with before and after he lost his virginity to his girlfriend.
❦ Before he made love to you for the first time, Ethan’s reaction would look innocent but really it’s just him trying not to look like a pervert that gets indecent dreams about his girlfriend almost every night and day. He would be a blushing mess that only tries to stop your hand as he fidgets a bit in his seat and stutters while looking elsewhere. « Please, s-stop it, sweetheart…That’s just m-mean… »
❦ After you both had sex for the first time, Ethan would obviously still get madly flustered at your teasing but he also knows that he’ll be able to get back at you when he has you alone for himself, as Ethan warns you about the possibilities which are now offered to him. « You do realize, love, that you’re gonna pay for this tonight, right ? » And Ethan never forgets about his little revenge as he let it all out on you, overstimulating or edging you, it depends on his mood but he, for sure, will tease you in bed as much as you did with him earlier that day. « Did I fuck the attitude out of you, angel ? »
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💗 Ethan Landry Masterlist 💗
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