#third time sometimes is the charm | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

cup-of-starlight-waters · 2 years

Text

Okay, let me tell you a story:

Once upon a time, there was a prose translation of the Pearl Poet’s Sir Gawain and the Green Knight. It was wonderfully charming and lyrical and perfect for use in a high school, and so a clever English teacher (as one did in the 70s) made a scan of the book for her students, saved it as a pdf, and printed copies off for her students every year. In true teacher tradition, she shared the file with her colleagues, and so for many years the students of the high school all studied Sir Gawain and the Green Knight from the same (very badly scanned) version of this wonderful prose translation.

In time, a new teacher became head of the English Department, and while he agreed that the prose translation was very wonderful he felt that the quality of the scan was much less so. Also in true teacher tradition, he then spent hours typing up the scan into a word processor, with a few typos here and there and a few places where he was genuinely just guessing wildly at what the scan actually said. This completed word document was much cleaner and easier for the students to read, and so of course he shared it with his colleagues, including his very new wide-eyed faculty member who was teaching British Literature for the first time (this was me).

As teachers sometimes do, he moved on for greener (ie, better paying) pastures, leaving behind the word document, but not the original pdf scan. This of course meant that as I was attempting to verify whether a weird word was a typo or a genuine artifact of the original translation, I had no other version to compare it to. Being a good card-holding gen zillenial I of course turned to google, making good use of the super secret plagiarism-checking teacher technique “Quotation Marks”, with an astonishing result:

By which I mean literally one result.

For my purposes, this was precisely what I needed: a very clean and crisp scan that allowed me to make corrections to my typed edition: a happily ever after, amen.

But beware, for deep within my soul a terrible Monster was stirring. Bane of procrastinators everywhere, my Curiosity had found a likely looking rabbit hole. See, this wonderfully clear and crisp scan was lacking in two rather important pieces of identifying information: the title of the book from which the scan was taken, and the name of the translator. The only identifying features were the section title “Precursors” (and no, that is not the title of the book, believe me I looked) and this little leaf-like motif by the page numbers:

(Remember the leaf. This will be important later.)

We shall not dwell at length on the hours of internet research that ensued—how the sun slowly dipped behind the horizon, grading abandoned in shadows half-lit by the the blue glow of the computer screen—how google search after search racked up, until an email warning of “unusual activity on your account” flashed into momentary existence before being consigned immediately and with some prejudice to the digital void—how one third of the way through a “comprehensive but not exhaustive” list of Sir Gawain translators despair crept in until I was left in utter darkness, screen black and eyes staring dully at the wall.

Above all, let us not admit to the fact that such an afternoon occurred not once, not twice, but three times.

Suffice to say, many hours had been spent in fruitless pursuit before a new thought crept in: if this book was so mysterious, so obscure as to defeat the modern search engine, perhaps the answer lay not in the technologies of today, but the wisdom of the past. Fingers trembling, I pulled up the last blast email that had been sent to current and former faculty and staff, and began to compose an email to the timeless and indomitable woman who had taught English to me when I was a student, and who had, after nearly fifty years, retired from teaching just before I returned to my alma mater.

After staring at the email for approximately five or so minutes, I winced, pressed send, and let my plea sail out into the void. I cannot adequately describe for you the instinctive reverence I possess towards this teacher; suffice to say that Ms English was and is a woman of remarkable character, as much a legend as an institution as a woman of flesh and blood whose enduring influence inspired countless students. There is not a student taught by Ms. English who does not have a story to tell about her, and her decline in her last years of teaching and eventual retirement in the face of COVID was the end of an era. She still remembers me, and every couple months one of her contemporaries and dear friends who still works as a guidance counsellor stops me in the hall to tell me that Ms. English says hello and that she is thrilled that I am teaching here—thrilled that I am teaching honors students—thrilled that I am now teaching the AP students. “Tell her I said hello back,” I always say, and smile.

Ms. English is a legend, and one does not expect legends to respond to you immediately. Who knows when a woman of her generation would next think to check her email? Who knows if she would remember?

The day after I sent the email I got this response:

My friends, I was shaken. I was stunned. Imagine asking God a question and he turns to you and says, “Hold on one moment, let me check with my predecessor.”

The idea that even Ms. English had inherited this mysterious translation had never even occurred to me as a possibility, not when Ms. English had been a faculty member since the early days of the school. How wonderful, I thought to myself. What a great thing, that this translation is so obscure and mysterious that it defeats even Ms. English.

A few days later, Ms. English emailed me again:

(I had, in fact searched through both the English office and the Annex—a dark, weirdly shaped concrete storage area containing a great deal of dust and many aging copies of various books—a few days prior. I had no luck, sadly.)

At last, though, I had a title and a description! I returned to my internet search, only to find to my dismay that there was no book that exactly matched the title. I found THE BRITISH TRADITION: POETRY, PROSE, AND DRAMA (which was not black and the table of contents I found did not include Sir Gawain) and THE ENGLISH TRADITION, a super early edition of the Prentice Hall textbooks we use today, which did have a black cover but there were absolutely zero images I could find of the table of contents or the interior and so I had no way of determining if it was the correct book short of laying out an unfortunate amount of cold hard cash for a potential dead end.

So I sighed, and relinquished my dreams of solving the mystery. Perhaps someday 30 years from now, I thought, I’ll be wandering through one of those mysterious bookshops filled with out of print books and I’ll pick up a book and there will be the translation, found out last!

So I sighed, and told the whole story to my colleagues for a laugh. I sent screenshots of Ms. English’s emails to my siblings who were also taught by her. I told the story to my Dad over dinner as my Great Adventure of the Week.

…my friends. I come by my rabbit-hole curiosity honestly, but my Dad is of a different generation of computer literacy and knows a few Deep Secrets that I have never learned. He asked me the title that Ms. English gave me, pulled up some mysterious catalogue site, and within ten minutes found a title card. There are apparently two copies available in libraries worldwide, one in Philadelphia and the other in British Columbia. I said, “sure, Dad,” and went upstairs. He texted me a link. Rolling my eyes, I opened it and looked at the description.

Huh, I thought. Four volumes, just like Ms. English said. I wonder…

Armed with a slightly different title and a publisher, I looked up “The English Tradition: Fiction macmillan” and the first entry is an eBay sale that had picture of the interior and LO AND BEHOLD:

THE LEAF. LOOK AT THE LEAF.

My dad found it! He found the book!!

Except for one teensy tiny problem which is that the cover of the book is uh a very bright green and not at all black like Ms. English said. Alas, it was a case of mistaken identity, because The English Tradition: Poetry does have a black cover, although it is the fiction volume which contains Sir Gawain and the Green Knight.

And so having found the book at last, I have decided to purchase it for the sum of $8, that ever after the origins of this translation may once more be known.

In this year of 2022 this adventure took place, as this post bears witness, the end, amen.

(Edit: See here for part 2!)

#sir gawain and the green knight #translations #internet research #english literature #teaching things #dads are the best #long post #story telling #I STILL don’t know the name of the translator but I WILL find out #obscure books

21K notes · View notes

just-aake · 4 months

Text

Detecting Love Part 2

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Summary: Sequel to Detecting Love. Can a spy who's been trained to lie her entire life show the person with the power to detect lies the truth what it means to be loved?

Warnings: fluff, light angst, hurt/comfort

Words: 5171

Natasha Romanoff lies.

Now, that’s to be expected, considering she is one of the greatest spies in the world. Ever since she was a child, she has been trained to be able to deceive everyone she meets.

Lying comes as easily to her as breathing, and deception is woven into every fiber of her being.

A charming smile here. A flirty wink there.

Sweet words flow from her lips like honey.

Making everyone fall in love with all of the different false personas that she created for herself.

With a life and a past as shadowed as hers, it makes sense why she never even dared to imagine finding a person who can tolerate, let alone embrace, someone like her.

Then, she met you.

With your unique power to literally see through lies, you can detect the truth from her even when she’s at her most convincing. And despite learning about who she was and how she is, you accepted her unconditionally, not just as a friend, but as a partner.

For Natasha, being with someone who can truly see her is scary, and yet, that feeling is also better than breathing itself.

The two of you have been dating for several months now, and Natasha has never been happier.

Even if she sometimes occasionally struggles to express her affection openly in public.

As the two of you stroll through the compound, her eyes drift down once again in contemplation to your hand swinging casually at your side.

As if sensing her silent deliberation, you suddenly ask her curiously.

“Do you want to hold my hand?”

Natasha straightens at your question and faces forward, responding promptly in an even tone, “No.”

Now that is sure to sound honest to anyone else who heard it, but you’re different.

Natasha makes sure to trail back slightly behind your line of sight in an attempt to hide the glow she knows you’d probably see around her.

You don’t comment on her evading action, but a faint smile tugs at the corners of your lips as you maintain your pace toward the Avenger’s personal elevator.

The two of you stand side by side, waiting for the elevator to arrive when Natasha suddenly feels the back of your hand lightly graze her fingers before quickly pulling away.

She narrows her eyes in suspicion at you, but you maintain an innocent expression, your gaze fixed on the decreasing numbers above the elevator doors.

Facing forward once more, Natasha is about to dismiss the action as an accidental touch when she feels it again – the fleeting brush of your hand against hers.

This time, she doesn't hesitate to shoot you an accusing stare. Yet, you continue to feign ignorance, your expression a perfect mask of innocence.

A couple of seconds pass before your hand makes contact with hers for the third time.

Before you can retract your hand, Natasha swiftly catches it and intertwines your fingers with hers before letting out a defeated huff.

You don’t utter a word about her actions, but a subtle smile curves your lips, exposing your amusement at her reaction.

With a soft squeeze of her hand, you pull her into the elevator, the door closing shut behind the two of you.

It's moments like these that remind Natasha why she fell for you — your ability to see past her lies, even the most trivial ones.

Once the elevator door slides open to the private floor, the two of you are met with sounds of a heated argument between the Asgardian Avenger and his visiting brother.

“I know you did it, Loki! This is not the first time you’ve taken and hidden a treasure of mine!”

“Oh, would you stop being so dramatic? We're talking about a mug, not some enchanted artifact.”

You raise a questioning brow at her, silently asking her whether you two should come back at another time, but Natasha shakes her head resolutely in response, not willing to let anything prevent her from missing her morning coffee.

As the two of you walk past the brothers, Thor finally notices the new presence in the room.

“Y/n!” he calls excitedly.

His hand lands on your shoulder, catching you in place between the two of them which in turn pulls your hand from her grasp.

Thor’s other hand points accusingly at his brother.

“Is Loki lying about taking my mug?”

Realizing that you’re being dragged into the middle of the argument, your eyes dart to Natasha for help, only for her to give you a thumbs up in encouragement as she takes a sip of the coffee that she just poured from the freshly made pot.

The other Asgardian crosses his arms and snickers derisively at his brother.

“Do you really think that this simple mortal can expose the literal god of mischief? I didn’t take your stupid mug, and she can’t prove any—”

“He’s lying,” you answer plainly, seeing the red aura surrounding the Asgardian.

Loki shuts his mouth in surprise, blinking at you for a moment in disbelief, before pointing at you with a disdainful look.

“I don’t like her,” he states bluntly.

“Ah ha!” Thor exclaims victoriously. “You did take it!”

The two continue with their arguing as you discreetly sneak away to Natasha’s side.

She hands you a cup of coffee which you accept with a soft thanks before an alarm on your phone rings, showing your reminder for the day.

You groan lightly in disappointment, causing Natasha to raise a questioning brow at you as she raises her cup for another sip.

“I have some interviews to get to this morning, so I’ll have to see you later,” you tell her before pressing a quick kiss goodbye to her cheek.

“I love you,” you whisper against her skin.

Swallowing her sip quickly, Natasha turns her head towards your direction, the reciprocating words also on her tongue.

“I—”

But you’ve already rushed away around the corner, disappearing from view.

“…love you too,” Natasha finishes in a soft disappointed tone, her lips twisting at your action.

Public displays of affection aside, Natasha has no problem wanting to tell you how much you mean to her.

But for some reason, you always seem to conveniently find ways to escape whenever she’s about to say those words to you.

“Now I’m no expert on relationships, but that right there was some cunning evasion tactic,” Loki comments, smirking at Natasha. “It appears that she’s not really interested in receiving such words from you.”

A slap on Loki's shoulder propels him forward a couple of steps as Thor reprimands, “Stop trying to cause problems for them, Loki.”

He then turns to Natasha with a firm nod.

“Don’t listen to him, Nat. Y/n loves you.”

Of course, she knows that.

You whisper those words against her skin every morning when you think she’s still asleep and then again against her lips when you wake her up.

The problem is that it seems that she never gets the chance to return the gesture before you find some way to rush away from the room or keep her mouth otherwise occupied and distracted.

A thud on the counter pulls her from her thoughts as Loki leans against the table with a mischievous grin.

“That girl can detect lies, right? Then why don’t you just tell her that you don’t love her, and then she’ll see the truth. That should be easy enough for you. After all, lying is your specialty,” Loki remarks before a smug expression forms on his face.

“Unless that is, the truth is that you don’t actually love her,” he taunts.

Natasha glares at him silently, refusing to fall for his baiting provocation. Not wanting to give the trickster god any more amusement, she quickly downs the rest of her coffee and leaves for the meeting room, deciding to try again with you later.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

With the briefing finishing early, Natasha decides to visit your office during this break in between her meetings. Conversations flow around her as she walks past the front desk toward the administrative part of the building.

“I’m sorry, miss, but I can’t let you enter without an appointment.”

“Well, is there any way you can just send a message to Y/n to let her know I’m here?”

Natasha’s head snaps up from her tablet at the sound of your name and curiously turns to the person who said it, only for her eyes to widen slightly in surprise at their identity.

Your ex-fiancée

Stopping in her tracks, Natasha redirects her attention to the two of them.

“What did you need to see Y/n for?” she asks.

Your ex turns to her at her question, and an expression of amazement crosses her face.

“Oh, wow, you’re Black Widow.”

Brushing off her awed exclamation, Natasha crosses her arm expectantly as she repeats, a slight tone of protectiveness entering her voice.

“Why are you looking for Y/n?”

Noticing her serious gaze and intimidating demeanor, your ex fidgets with her hands nervously as she responds.

“It’s kind of a private matter with an old case that I need her help with,” she explains.

Despite being the one who broke your heart, your mutual break up with her meant that the two of you are still somewhat friends, and as much as Natasha wants to, she can’t prevent your ex from seeking you out, especially since it seems she needs your help.

With an internal displeased sigh, Natasha gestures with her head towards the direction of the elevators.

“I’m heading over to her office right now if you want to come with me,” Natasha offers, nodding at the receptionist reassuringly to indicate that it’s okay, before walking away without another word.

Natasha hears your ex scramble to follow quickly after her once she processes her words.

As the elevator doors close with the two of them inside, Natasha pulls out her phone to send you a warning text.

I’m on the way to your office with your ex.

A read message quickly appears under her text, indicating that you have seen it, and then a text bubble promptly pops up as you respond.

?!?!?

“So, do you and Y/n work together often?” your ex asks, trying to fill the silence with casual conversation.

Natasha looks up at her question, tucking her phone away. She crosses her arms and leans back against the elevator walls, adopting an intimidating posture, as she gives her a hard stare.

With a calm yet assertive tone, she tilts her head curtly and replies with the truth.

“She’s my girlfriend.”

An awkward silence fills the small space after her answer, and your ex’s eyes dart around the enclosed space, seemingly realizing she’s essentially alone with the Black Widow who just revealed that she is in a relationship with you.

Sensing her nervous energy, Natasha relaxes her posture, offering a more friendly demeanor.

“Relax, if I was going to do something, I would have done it already,” Natasha reassures.

Your ex nods hesitantly, acknowledging Natasha’s attempt to diffuse the tension. After a moment of contemplation, she gathers the courage to speak up again.

“So, you know about Y/n and her ability?” your ex asks, her voice tinged with curiosity.

“Yes,” Natasha confirms, adding, “And about what happened between the two of you.”

The revelation hangs heavy in the air, plunging the elevator into an uncomfortable silence once again.

Honestly, Natasha knows she shouldn’t keep putting your ex in these awkward positions with her responses.

However, just because you are on friendly terms with her doesn’t mean Natasha has to be, especially considering she never held any goodwill toward the woman before.

Natasha redirects her focus to the digital display above the door, silently cursing and blaming Tony for the sluggish pace of the elevator.

“I-I honestly did love her,” your ex confesses, breaking the silence once again.

At her statement, Natasha regards her with a raised eyebrow, silently prompting her to elaborate on her sudden declaration.

"I mean, Y/n’s great. It’s just…it got hard to imagine being with someone who always knows if you’re telling the truth or not,” your ex explains with a small sigh, offering a tiny sympathetic shrug before asking. “I’m sure you understand that feeling too, right?"

Irritation flares in Natasha’s chest at your ex’s words, her protective instincts surfacing in defense of you.

"Maybe the fact that she can see someone for who they truly are is what makes being with her so special," Natasha counters, her voice firm with conviction.

The remainder of the elevator ride passes in tense silence until the doors finally open with a ding, signaling their arrival at your floor.

Throughout that time, one part of the conversation continues to bother Natasha, and she finds herself asking, wanting to know the answer.

“Did you tell her often?”

“What?” your ex asks, blinking in surprise and caught off guard by her sudden question.

Natasha presses her lips together momentarily in displeasure at the topic before clarifying, “Did you tell Y/n that you loved her often, you know, before your feelings changed?”

“Oh, um, kind of,” she admits, a faint chuckle escaping her lips. “It’s actually kind of funny. Y/n would always have this cute little shy smile whenever I said it, so I ended up saying those words to her a lot.”

The irritation in Natasha’s chest intensifies at her answer, and her feelings must be evident on her face because your ex starts waving her hands frantically in a slight panic.

“But I’m positive Y/n won’t react the same way if I said it now,” she adds quickly.

Instead of responding, Natasha leaves the elevator without another word.

Your ex’s reassurance does little to ease the irritation that she feels at not yet having been able to say those words to you herself.

The two of them arrive at the door of your office, only to find it locked with the lights turned off.

Just as Natasha is about to text you to ask you about your whereabouts, you emerge from around the corner, skidding to a stop in front of her.

Confused at your flustered state, Natasha gives you a questioning look as she asks, “Why are you rushing?”

You take a couple of deep breaths to catch your breath before answering.

“Because…I didn’t want to…to leave you waiting.”

Natasha feels her heart flutter at your words, her posture relaxing for a moment.

“…wow…you look good, Y/n,” your ex comments.

Natasha’s body immediately tenses again at the reminder of your ex’s presence, and she becomes further annoyed when she takes in the state of your appearance that prompted the remark from your ex.

You are in your usual workout outfit, a standard black tank top, showcasing your body with a gleam of sweat still on your skin, evidence of your workout session.

As if sensing Natasha’s increasing irritation, your ex gestures awkwardly in fear toward the waiting area some distance away.

“I’ll just wait over there.”

Natasha watches your ex walk away with a slight glare in her eyes.

When she turns back to you, her expression instinctively softens with affection and curiosity.

“Where were you?” she asks.

“My last couple of interviews had to cancel, so I decided to go train for a bit,” you answer with a slight shrug. “You know, since you suggested that I try training whenever I’m bored and have some free time.”

Natasha's lips twist slightly in conflict at your response. She's happy you took her suggestion to heart, but now she's also upset that it led to you appearing in front of your ex in such a state.

Gesturing toward your ex, you ask, “Did she say why she’s here?”

Natasha sighs and shakes her head.

“She only mentioned that it was an old case that you can help her with.”

“Okay,” you say, nodding in understanding, probably already knowing what she’s referring to.

Then you look at Natasha with a cute tilt of your head.

“After I finish up with her, do you want to go out for some lunch?”

A small smile forms on Natasha’s face, her earlier irritation melting away at your suggestion.

However, she knows she might not have enough time to wait and go out before her next meeting.

“How about I go ahead and pick up some takeout first, and then we can have lunch in your office when I return?” Natasha offers as a compromise.

You smile at her in response and press a soft kiss against her cheek.

“It’s a date.”

As you’re about to move past her, Natasha presses her hand firmly on your shoulder, stopping you and pushing you back to your original position.

You give her a questioning look in confusion.

“Did you take my hoodie again?” Natasha asks accusingly.

Your eyes dart guiltily to your office before you mutter under your breath with a soft pout, “Maybe.”

Natasha nods slightly in contemplation, her eyes glancing at where your ex was waiting and then back to you.

“Put it on,” she says plainly.

You raise a brow at her in confusion and gesture to your body.

“Nat, I’m covered in sweat. I didn’t get a chance to hit the showers before you texted,” you explain.

“That text didn’t mean that you should come here all hot and sweaty in front of your ex like this,” Natasha remarks pointedly, crossing her arms.

A teasing grin pulls at your lips as a look of understanding crosses your face.

“You think I look hot right now?” you ask happily.

“Seriously?” Natasha deadpans.

Unbothered by her signature intimidating gaze, you pull her closer by the loops on her belt and lean in with a slight tilt of your head.

“Are you jealous?” you tease lightly, your bottom lip caught in between your teeth as you try to hide your pleased grin.

Natasha rolls her eyes, though her lips quirk up briefly in amusement. She knows whether she responds truthfully or not, you probably already know the answer without the help of your ability, so she responds instead.

“Keep it up, and I’ll just come back with one takeout box for myself,” she warns.

You laugh lightly at her response, nodding your head in concession.

“Alright, I’ll put it on,” you promise, before leaning in to press a soft kiss to her lips.

As you pull away, you whisper, “I love you,” the words brushing softly against her lips.

Natasha’s eyes had fluttered closed at the touch of your kiss, but they snapped open when she remembered she wanted to say those words back to you too.

However, to her disappointment, before she realized it, you had disappeared from her side.

Turning around, she finds you already in your office, putting on her hoodie.

A mocking chuckle sounds beside her, and she turns to see Loki leaning casually against the wall.

“Oh, you didn’t even try that time,” he taunts.

Without hesitation, Natasha raises her wrist and shoots a widow bite at him. It flies through his body, dispersing the apparition that he had left there.

Groaning in annoyance at his presence, Natasha quickly leaves to go get your lunches before he can reappear and provoke her further.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

“So this is the one lie detector that you can’t beat,” Fury comments with intrigue, as he examines your file.

Natasha closes the folder promptly and takes it from the table in front of him, stating firmly, “Her name’s Y/n, and no, you can’t have her. She’s just going to help review the list of potential recruits for you. Nothing else.”

She gives him a pointed look, stressing, “Especially not any SHIELD interrogations.”

Leaning back in his chair, Fury chuckles amusedly and raises a brow at her.

“Protective, are we?”

Before she can affirm the lengths she would go to minimize the risks you have to take, the door slams open, and you stroll in, giving her a wave and a charming smile.

You stop in front of her, taking her hand suddenly in yours and giving it a light swing.

“Ready to get started?” you ask.

Natasha’s eyes narrow in suspicion. Something about your behavior was off and unlike you.

She examines your expression critically, and then in one swift, fluid motion, she grabs your wrist and upper arm, pivots on her heel, and shifts her weight, seamlessly flipping you over her shoulder.

With a resounding thud, Natasha slams you down onto the meeting table, the impact rattling the room.

Fury whistles lowly with a slight wince, a mixture of sympathy and admiration in his tone.

“Tough love, huh?” he remarks to her.

Natasha rolls her eyes at his comment and shakes her head, reaching to her side to grab something. She takes one of “your” wrists and snaps a golden cuff onto it.

Immediately, the figure on the table shifts from your face and form to Loki’s.

His eyes glare at her as he gathers his bearings, giving a slight grunt of pain when he moves.

“As if this woman knows anything about love,” he scoffs, standing up from the table with a groan.

Fury hums curiously at the sight of the trickster god, turning to Natasha.

“Who let him in here?”

Natasha sighs as she crosses her arms, replying, “Unfortunately, Thor and he are on friendly terms at the moment.”

Loki raises his hand and waves his finger at her in reprimand.

“Exactly. Now, is this any way to treat a guest of yours?” he taunts with a smirk before his eyes drift to the cuff on his wrist. His expression falls in recognition. “Where did you get this?”

A smirk forms on Natasha’s face as she answers, “Thor lent it to me when I asked. Since I know better than to just take his things.”

The cuff in question is an enchanted artifact that temporarily blocks the magical abilities of the wearer as explained by the god of thunder.

Loki scoffs in disbelief, placing one hand on his hips while waving his other wrist at her.

“Hilarious, now take these off,” he demands.

Natasha’s smirk remains fixed as she shakes her head.

“I don’t have the key,” she admits, tapping her chin thoughtfully before revealing, “It must still be with Thor. But I’m sure you’ve already apologized to him for earlier, so you’d have no problem asking him to release you.”

Loki scowls, his expression darkening with disdain, and then he swiftly turns toward the exit.

“It’s no wonder that girl doesn’t want to accept any love from the likes of you,” he spits out angrily.

Natasha’s lips twist downward at his words, but before she can respond, a knock on the door interrupts the tense moment.

Taking a calming breath, she calls out, “Come in,” already knowing who it is.

You open the door at Natasha’s invitation, only to dodge out of the way as Loki storms past you out of the room, muttering angry curses under his breath.

Turning back to Natasha, you notice the telltale red aura fading from around her and wonder what was the lie that you assume she had just told him.

As you approach her, Natasha’s contemplative, sullen expression quickly shifts to a neutral one when she catches your concerned gaze.

Before you can question her about it, Fury claps his hands firmly, looking between the two of you.

“Alright, let's finish this quickly then.”

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Seated on your sofa, Natasha hugs a cushion pillow closer to her chest, seeking comfort as Loki’s harsh words echo in her mind.

Is it just a coincidence that you manage to avoid her every time she’s about to say those words to you? Or is it possible that the truth is you don’t actually want to hear those words from her?

You place a bowl of popcorn on the table in front of her, snapping her out of her spiraling thoughts as you finish explaining what your ex needed from you.

“So, I just need to submit my notes on the case so that the court can close it out,” you explain.

Natasha hums absently in acknowledgment, but her mind drifts back to her insecurities.

Was Loki just messing with her or were all of your previous evading actions really on purpose?

Unable to bear the uncertainty any longer, Natasha decides to settle this once and for all.

As you take your seat next to her and start the movie, Natasha initiates her plan. She quickly maneuvers herself over your lap, straddling you as her hands rest on your shoulders, pressing you firmly against the sofa with her body.

Your hand automatically rests on her waist and begins tracing light patterns against her side, but your lips twist into a small pout of confusion as you remark, “As exciting as this is, I thought this movie was your favorite.”

Natasha closes her eyes briefly, internally groaning at your adorable words and how incredibly in love she is with you.

If only you could hear it from her for once.

Determined to not fail this time, she tries again.

“I lo—”

Her words are cut off, swallowed by you, as you pull her down into a deep kiss.

Instinctively, she melts against your body, sliding her hands to caress the back of your neck, pulling you closer to deepen the kiss as she gets lost in the feeling of your lips moving against hers.

Then, realization hits her, and she snaps her eyes open and pulls away.

“Hold on, I’m trying to tell you that I—”

“I know,” you interrupt, your hand covering her mouth to stop her mid-sentence.

That’s when Natasha sees it.

The fear in your eyes.

“I know,” you repeat, giving her a look of understanding before swallowing nervously.

You close your eyes as your head drops to your chest, a sad chuckle escaping from you.

“You know, in all my life, I have never been afraid to discover if someone was lying to me,” you admit, shrugging lightly. “I’ve always known that people can lie, so it’s never really surprising or hurtful when it happens.”

You let out a weary sigh and look up to meet her gaze with a sad smile.

“Except for that one time.”

Natasha knows what moment you are referring to — the night your powers revealed that your ex no longer loved you.

The memory flashes in your mind, vivid and raw, as if it happened only yesterday. The betrayal, the heartache, the crushing realization when the red aura appeared around her after she uttered those fateful three words to you.

Your attention returns to the woman in front of you, the one who helped heal your heart. The one who now holds it.

The one who also has the power to hurt you in the exact same way, even though you know she won’t.

“I love you so much, Natasha,” you say with breathless adoration and honesty, but your expression pinches in fear as you continue, your voice trembling slightly. “But I don’t think I'm ready to hear it from you yet. Just…not those exact words.”

You sigh sadly, understanding how unfair your words are to her, and your chest tightens guiltily as you apologize, “I’m sorry. Look, I’d understand if you want to leave.”

You look away from Natasha, your mouth pressing together tightly, fighting the urge to cry.

The silence stretches out in the room before Natasha gently cradles your face, bringing your gaze back to her.

“You make me happy,” Natasha declares firmly.

You give her a confused look at her words.

“Wh-what?”

Ignoring your question, Natasha continues, asking meaningfully, “Am I lying?”

Your eyes observe her for a moment, but you don’t see any indication of a red aura appearing.

“No,” you answer in confusion.

Natasha nods before continuing, “I don’t mind that your powers reveal truths about me, like the moments when I want to hold your hand or when I’m jealous.”

She tilts her head at you in question.

“Am I lying?” she asks again.

Still not seeing any red aura appear around her, you shake your head at her in response.

Natasha rests her forehead against yours, letting out a deep breath, before continuing, “I’m afraid that one day…” she pauses, taking in a shaky breath to prepare herself for what she’s about to admit out loud.

“…one day you’ll wake up and decide that because of who I was, who I am now is not enough for you to stay with me anymore.”

Your eyes widen in surprise, and you go to reassure her, “I wouldn’t—”

“Am I lying?” Natasha interrupts, not wanting you to worry about comforting her at this time.

Your eyes soften sadly when you see the vulnerability and fear in her eyes at her words.

You reach up to cup her cheek, your thumb caressing her face gently in comfort as you whisper, “No.”

Leaning against your touch, Natasha lets out a steadying breath to compose herself for the final part of her point.

“So when I say I can wait…” she pauses, looking into your eyes with a serious and determined expression, making sure you can see the sincerity of her next words.

“…I’ll wait for as long as you need so that one day I can say those words to you…am I lying?”

You watch her carefully for a moment, but nothing appears to counter her claim. Realizing her intentions to reveal her feelings in another way, your heart fills with love and adoration for her as you answer with a soft smile.

“No, you’re not lying, Natasha.”

She gives you a gentle grin and cups your face, pressing a soft kiss against your lips before admitting, “That’s because when I’m with you, Y/n, it never feels like I’m living a lie.”

A breathless, awed gasp escapes from you at her words, and you can’t help but pull her in closer, her red hair falling around you like a curtain.

“I love you,” you whisper against her lips, the words filled with genuine adoration for the woman.

Natasha smiles softly at your words and closes the distance between the two of you once again, her kisses tender and filled with all of her unspoken feelings. Her lips move against yours with gentle urgency, conveying everything she can’t yet say aloud.

The warmth of her touch, the sincerity of her kiss, and the way she holds you protectively — all of it reassures you.

It doesn’t matter that those three words haven’t been spoken explicitly — her actions, her presence, the look in her eyes says it all already.

Natasha may be considered one of the greatest spies in the world thanks in part to her exceptional ability to lie, but even she can’t hide the truth from you.

Without needing to hear her utter those fateful three words aloud, you already know the truth in your heart.

That Natasha Romanoff truly loves you too.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

a/n: Thank you for reading and for all the love that you all gave to the first part! I hope you enjoyed this one too!

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanoff x fem!reader #natasha romanoff fanfic #natasha romanoff x you #black widow x reader #natasha x reader #natasha romanoff

1K notes · View notes

yazmarina · 4 months

Text

dime, ¿esto es lo que tú quería'?

charles leclerc and oscar piastri x fem!reader

how about a reward for monaco's p1 and p2?

warnings/notes: smut, threesome, a blowjob, slight degradation, dirty talk, unprotected sex (wrap it up, people!!!), cumshot, creampie, gagging, light choking

a/n: very ambitious and would not set me free until i wrote it...so please enjoy <3

You really had no idea how you ended up here.

Arthur is a good friend of yours, having met him when you first came to work for Ferrari under the communication department, mostly being assigned to handle the Academy and development drivers' communication needs. You and Arthur got on well, and eventually, you were hanging out with him and his other friends on the weekends.

The two of you were strictly friendly, something you've had to clear out multiple times to work superiors, nosy colleagues, insistent reporters, you name it.

Arthur isn't your type, point blank, period.

His older brother was a different topic altogether.

Charles was sensitive, artistic, a prince charming in all aspects. Being in close proximity to Arthur meant you spent some time with Charles, too, but those were few and far between and every time you were within five feet of Charles, you were reduced to a tongue-tied mess.

Regardless, Arthur insisted you come along to the celebrations after Charles' most recent win in Monaco.

"Charles knows who you are and you're my friend. He won't mind," Arthur pleaded earlier that day as you were packing up after the podium celebrations.

"What if you go running off and I'm left alone?" You asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I won't go running off," Arthur promised. "I'll be with you the whole night. I'll even help you look for a guy you can go home with!"

And yet you're here in the present, sitting on a couch in the VIP section, alone.

Well, not really. You're surrounded by people but none of them are talking to you. Arthur had gone to get more drinks half an hour ago and you know by now that he probably was sidetracked by other friends or something to that effect.

You have half a mind to call it a night, your hand already reaching for your purse, when you hear a voice call out.

"________! You're here!"

You look up and your heart seems to jump right into your throat.

Charles is beaming down at you, a flag of Monaco draped around his shoulders, his previously styled hair now sticking up in all directions.

You caught a glimpse of Charles earlier when you arrived with Arthur, but the race winner was too busy doing shots for you to have properly said hi.

But he's here now. And he's sliding into the space beside you.

"Where's Arthur?" Charles asks, reaching for an unopened Heineken on the table in front of you.

"I have no idea," you half-yell, leaning closer so Charles could hear. You feel goosebumps erupt on your skin when Charles lays a tentative hand on your back.

"You can spend time with me, then," Charles grins, moving his arm further so it fully wraps around your shoulders.

A nervous laugh escapes you but your instinct is to lean even further into Charles' touch. He's still smiling at you, though clearly inebriated with the way his eyes seem out of focus.

"Ah, Oscar!"

You turn your head to see the other third of the podium finishers, Osar Piastri himself.

"Hey!" he calls over the din of the music. "I can't find anyone! I think they just abandoned me," Oscar adds, laughing.

He takes the seat on your left, effectively sandwiching you between him and Charles. You smile politely at Oscar, reaching your hand out.

"Hi, I'm ______," you say, smiling wider as Oscar takes your hand in his and squeezes.

"I'm Oscar," he says then pauses, realizing that you probably already knew who he was if you were any friend of Charles'. He laughs, practically giggles, hiding his face in his hand.

"Sorry, I see you around the paddock sometimes, so I probably didn't need to do that," Oscar explains, cheeks turning pink, or at least you think they do, given that the lighting in this club is atrocious.

Oscar is still holding your hand and you can tell that he's tipsy too by the way he's smiling, eyes hooded and sleepy-looking.

"________ is part of communications in Ferrari," Charles explains, rubbing his thumb over the exposed skin of your shoulder. You turn to look at Charles, and the way he gazes back at you, a half smile on his lips, breath hot on your cheek, has your heart pounding incessantly against your chest.

"She's very efficient," Charles praises with a chuckle. "I like seeing her around when she works."

You make a move to swat at Charles' thigh as if to tell him off. "Stop it, I'm not at enough races for you to see me that often."

You're laughing, mostly in disbelief at the words that just came out of Charles' mouth. He likes seeing you around?

Charles shrugs. "But when you are, I notice."

You feel your neck heat up and even more so when Charles maneuvers you closer, seemingly protective. If you moved any more, you'd be on Charles' lap.

Oscar eyes the two of you and you'd give anything to read the thoughts in his head right now. The younger man locks eyes with you and smiles, sweetly at first, but then his pupils glance down briefly at your chest, barely covered by the tube top you decided to don for the evening.

The sweetness quickly melts away as Oscar bites his lip.

"You're close, then?" Oscar asks casually, scooting closer to you and Charles.

"Arthur and her are good friends," Charles points out.

"So I guess by default, _______ and I are good friends, too."

You laugh and Oscar is grinning once more at you, and god does he look handsome under these lights. You can tell that he wants to come even closer, his fingers tapping nervously on his knee. Some slow song is playing over the speakers, bass loaded and making the entire place vibrate.

You reach out, laying a hand on Oscar's thigh, squeezing just enough to get the point across.

Oscar looks over at Charles and you follow his line of sight, seeing some sort of unspoken agreement cross the two drivers.

Charles dips his head, moving even closer to you. He breathes out right next to your ear and you shiver.

"Ma chèrie," he begins. "I think we need to take this somewhere else."

You turn to look at Charles, blood roaring in your ears. "What?"

Charles looks straight into your eyes as if searching for something. He rubs a soothing hand down your back, letting it settle on your waist.

"You want to, no?" Charles asks, momentarily glancing up at Oscar. "With me and him?"

You feel a rush of excitement course through you. Surely, this isn't happening. The idea of Charles bringing you home crossed your mind briefly the moment he touched you earlier, but that's as far as you allowed yourself to imagine. But the remnants of alcohol in your system and the intoxicating atmosphere of the club must have gotten to you with the way you so brazenly made a move on Oscar.

And now you reap what you sow.

"We can hang out at my place," Oscar throws out nonchalantly as if he was simply inviting you and Charles to more drinks at his apartment.

"I just moved in and it could use a little...housewarming," Oscar adds with a pointed look.

Charles bursts out laughing, leaning down to press a kiss to your shoulder before nuzzling into the side of your neck. You glance around, hyperaware that all eyes have been on Charles the whole night, and for sure it isn't any different now.

"Andiamo," Charles whispers. "We'll make it good."

Let's go. Your months of Italian as a prerequisite to working in Ferrari barely register with you now.

Oscar slips his own hand over your thigh, his large palm covering an expanse of your skin.

"You'll love the view from my balcony," Oscar offers, tilting his head towards you. He smiles, innocent and sweet once more, simultaneously squeezing at the flesh of your thigh.

You bite your lip, suppressing whatever sounds that threatened to come out.

You thought you'd never make it out of the car ride to Oscar's place.

Oscar had brought his own ride and being much, much more sober than both you and Charles, he took the initiative to drive. You and Charles piled into the backseat, giggling.

"Not fair, you guys," Oscar teased from the front, eyeing you through the rearview mirror. Charles merely snickers, hands sneaking up over your chest as you settle on his lap.

"Eyes on the road, Oscar," Charles ordered, yanking your top down, exposing yourself fully to Oscar. You gasped, the cold air of the air-conditioning lending to the stiffening of your nipples. Charles began to toy with them, pinching and rolling them between his fingers, reducing you to a speechless mess. You noticed just how hard Oscar was gripping the steering wheel, tight enough that his knuckles were drained of color.

You barely had time to cover yourself back up once you got to Oscar's place, with Charles tugging you out of the car as soon as Oscar killed the ignition. The younger of the two comes around to your side of the car as you and Charles stumble out. Oscar takes your hand in his and leans down briefly to kiss you, tongue darting out to lick at the seam of your lips.

Oscar pulls away, sending Charles a look. "I was on the podium, too, mate."

"Ah, sorry Oscar," Charles says lightheartedly. "Sharing isn't really my strong suit. But for her, I will try."

Charles lands a smack on your ass, the sound loud enough to make you flinch. You involuntarily whine at the sting, tripping over your feet a bit. Oscar steadies you, laughing along with Charles.

"We're gonna have so much fun with you, chèrie," Charles teases, kissing your cheek.

The elevator ride is even worse. Or better. You can't decide.

It's just the three of you, and you're backed up into the corner, Charles being the handsier of the two, creeping both hands up your sides, his knee pushing between your legs.

"Ch-Charles, not here," you manage to warn. He increases the pressure against your core, grinning as he watches you shiver.

Oscar watches from the side, arms crossed, leaning casually against the elevator wall. You meet his gaze and he winks, smiling languidly just as Charles kisses down the side of your neck.

Soon enough, the elevator doors open and you push Charles away, startled to see a pair of middle-aged women waiting on the other side. You hurry past them out into the hallway, following Oscar who saunters down towards the end with an easy step.

"Right here," Oscar declares, unlocking a door at the very end. Charles guides you inside just as Oscar turns the light on.

The living room is spacious, with a single couch and coffee table occupying it. A deep blue rug breaks the cream flooring. Past the receiving area is the dining and kitchen, set against floor-to-ceiling windows, a staple of Monegasque apartments, as you've come to figure out. A hallway veers to the right.

"You weren't kidding about the view," you comment, taking in the night sky and the sprawling harbor.

Oscar turns back to you, and only now do you get a good look at him. The first three buttons of his shirt undone, his hair the right kind of messy, and his eyes, darker than what you're used to.

"The view in here is just as good," Oscar replies, eyes raking over your body. He reaches out, a hand resting on your waist.

"May I?" Charles whispers from behind you, tugging down the zip of your skirt. He gets it open and you let it fall to your feet, kicking it off to the side.

"So pretty," Charles adds, kissing along your upper back. Oscar hikes your top up and you let him pull it over your head, leaving you bare, save for your panties.

"I could see your tits through your shirt the whole night," Oscar comments, pointer fingers ghosting over your nipples. "Imagined what they might look like."

You gasp, leaning further back into Charles. You had no idea Oscar had that kind of mouth on him.

It turned you on to no end.

"Better than what you imagined?" You breathe out, Charles' fingers making their way over your mound, pressing over the wet spot on your underwear.

"Chèrie, you're so wet," Charles curses, rubbing you through the thin fabric. "Will you let me get a taste of you, hm?"

You nod frantically, already buckling under the lightest of touch from both men. You can only imagine how pathetic you look right now, stripped bare, with them still fully clothed.

"We should move this to the room," Oscar offers, delivering a final pinch to both of your nipples. You yelp as Oscar chuckles darkly, taking your hand in his.

It hasn't even fully started and you're already made to do the walk of shame.

Oscar's walls are still mostly bare but you feel exposed somehow, shivering despite the fairly warm temperature. He leads you and Charles to the door at the end of the hall, stepping inside while undoing the rest of the buttons on his shirt.

You're met with large double doors on one side of the room, leading to, what you can only assume, is a large balcony.

"We can do it with a view, amour," Charles says, wrapping both arms around your waist.

Oscar shrugs his shirt off and you watch as his muscles flex beneath his skin, taut and defined.

"We sure can," Oscar agrees, flinging the doors to his balcony open. The cool night breeze blows past your face and you sigh, heart rate picking up even more.

Charles gently maneuvers you closer to the open doors and your hands start to clam up. Shit, are you really doing this?

"W-Wait," you mutter. "Won't anyone see?"

Oscar approaches you, pointer finger hooking into your underwear. He tugs at it harshly, yanking it halfway off.

"We don't have to do it outside if you don't want to," Oscar says, voice low. He looks at Charles. "Don't wanna get kicked out after I've just moved in."

Charles snickers. "The bed is right there. We'll leave the doors open and let them hear you, instead."

And it's true. The bed is directly in front of the balcony doors, moonlight spilling onto Oscar's navy blue sheets. Oscar grabs fully at your soiled panties now, ripping them clean off.

You gasp, but any shock is melted away when you see Oscar ball up the torn fabric in his hand, bringing it closer to your face. He raises his eyebrows as if questioning you.

"Yes? No?" He asks, tapping beneath your chin. It clicks a little late what Oscar is asking of you but you nod, parting your lips.

Oscar grins, pushing your panties into your mouth.

Fuck.

You hear the metal clang of a belt being unbuckled behind you, followed by the crinkle of fabric as Charles lets his pants and underwear pool around his ankles.

"You and I are going to have so much fun with her, no, Oscar?" Charles asks, a hint of mischief in his voice.

Oscar undoes the button of his pants as well. "Yes, we are."

"How do you want to do this, baby?" Charles addresses you, taking hold of your hips. "Tell us."

"And maybe if you're good, we'll give you what you want," Oscar adds, a hand sliding up your chest before resting around your neck. Your breath hitches as you feel Oscar test the waters, squeezing lightly.

"Oh, wait," Charles laughs condescendingly. "She can't talk."

There's a glint in Oscar's eyes as he adds pressure around your neck. "Guess we have to decide for her then."

You whimper, arms reaching out to wrap around Oscar's own neck. He smiles at you, almost warmly, but you can still see the bubbling desire in his irises.

"You can take the gag out any time you want," Oscar instructs softly, releasing your neck. You take in a big breath through your nose.

"And if you don't like anything we're doing, say 'Monte Carlo'," Oscar adds. He nods at Charles and you feel yourself being pulled backward.

"Get on the bed," Charles commands and you scramble to do so, crawling over the mattress before turning around and laying back on your elbows.

Charles and Oscar eye you intently and you're tempted to cover yourself, but with how they've been acting the whole night, you're not sure how that would be received.

"You wanna go first?" Oscar nudges Charles lightly. The Monegasque grins widely like a kid on Christmas.

"Oh, yes," Charles concedes, getting on the bed with you. He scoots down so his face is level with your cunt.

"Hold tight, my love," Charles says before licking a thick stripe up your core. Your whole body jerks and you cry around the gag in your mouth.

Charles continues to work on your dripping pussy, alternating between flicking against your clit and circling your hole. You moan and whine and whimper, eyes tearing up as you look pleadingly at Oscar.

"Look at you," Oscar laughs. "We've barely done anything."

Charles spreads your legs even wider, licking even deeper. You're fully crying now, the buildup proving too much as you feel your body shake at your approaching orgasm.

Oscar reaches over and toys with your boobs, brushing over your nipples just the way you like it. Without warning, Oscar dips his head down and takes one in his mouth, circling the nub with his own tongue.

The added sensation nearly drives you crazy. The pressure builds rapidly inside you and you're left incoherent as you beg without words.

Not yet, fuck, I can't cum that fast–

You twitch and involuntarily press your pussy harshly against Charles' mouth as you come undone, toes curling and body seizing up. Oscar pulls away and watches as you throw your head back, fingers twisting into the sheets.

"Already?" You hear Charles' voice through the ringing in your ears. "You must really want it."

You blink through your tears, momentarily confused as you see Oscar reach for your face. You cough as you feel the dry fabric being pulled out from your mouth. Oscar tosses your ruined underwear to the side.

"I think she deserves a reward for getting there so fast," Oscar suggests, turning to Charles.

"Which one do you want a taste of first? You get to pick, sweetheart," Oscar says, wiping a stray line of drool dripping down the side of your mouth.

"Ch-Charles," you croak, throat still dry.

Charles and Oscar share a curt nod and the former moves to the head of the bed.

"Hands and knees, my love," Charles orders and you follow, getting on all fours. He settles against the headboard, leaning back as you take his cock in your hand.

"Guess you want me here, then?" Oscar says from behind you. You turn to peek over your shoulder to see Oscar stroking languidly at his cock, one of his hands coming down to spread your ass apart.

"Fuck, this view," Oscar hisses, smacking your ass once.

"I reckon, you don't need me to prep you? I can just–"

You shriek as you feel Oscar push in without warning, and though it was a surprise, the obscene amount of arousal coming from your cunt aids in the stretch that Oscar's cock brings.

He fully sheathes himself inside and he groans, grabbing your hips with both hands.

"Chèrie." Charles' voice forces your attention back to him.

"Don't forget about me, hm?"

You try to compose yourself as best as you can as Oscar starts to fuck you at a relentless pace. You lower your mouth down to Charles' cock, wrapping your lips around the tip.

You take half of him in, coating him in your spit, going lower each time you come down. Charles is nearly as incoherent as you were earlier, curse words in three different languages falling from his lips.

You feel the tip of his cock reach the back of your throat and you stop, gagging around it. Charles threads his fingers through your hair, yanking you back up.

"Open your mouth," Charles says, tightening the grip on your hair.

You do as you're told and Charles angles himself better. He holds you in place as he fucks up into your mouth, hitting the back of your throat each time. You will your breathing to slow, but the constant assault on your pussy muddles your brain and destroys your focus.

"She's so fucking tight," Oscar says through gritted teeth. You can feel his nails dig into your sides.

"Here as well," Charles agrees. "So warm and so wet."

All you can do is sob as you let the two of them use you, filled up on both sides, reduced to nothing but two holes.

"Fuck, I wanna cum on her face," Oscar says hurriedly, hips slowing down, probably in an attempt to keep his orgasm at bay.

Charles pulls you back off of him and he surveys you for a second.

"And I'll do it inside," Charles says. "Will you let me cum inside, chèrie?"

You nod, unconsciously clenching around Oscar. He curses, speeding up his movements again.

"Mate, I can't take it anymore," Oscar rushes, pulling out. You whine at the loss but Charles is quick to get off the bed, replacing Oscar's place behind you.

You feel the Charles' tip press against your hole and you plead, rocking back, desperate to be filled up.

"Charles, please, n-need your cum in me," you stutter. "Wanna be filled up, I need it, need you, please–"

Charles slides in one swift motion and your eyes roll all the way back in your head. He's thicker than Oscar and the stretch is almost painful but in the best way possible.

The older of the two wastes no time and starts pounding into you, rendering you speechless at how brutal his pace is. You're dizzy with arousal, spit and tears mixing on your chin and cheeks.

"Look here, sweetheart," comes Oscar's voice, rough around the edges, his hand cupping your chin.

He's stroking his cock at an impossible pace, bottom lip caught between his teeth. You look straight into his eyes as you stick your tongue out, waiting for him to release all over you.

"Fuck, you really are desperate for it," Oscar sneers, gripping harder at your face. "Open wide."

A warm spurt of liquid shoots straight onto your tongue, landing on your cheeks as well. You squint as it hits nearer to your eyes but you obediently lick up everything you can from your lips, swallowing Oscar's thick cum down.

"Oh god, baby," Charles warns. "Je vais bientôt jouir–"

Charles presses you closer to him, caging your hips against his own. He groans and you feel him twitch within you. You clench down as hard as you can around him, earning your hair a harsh tug from behind. Charles yanks you back against him as he gives a few more thrusts to ride his orgasm out.

"We are not done with you yet, amour," Charles warns.

Oscar's face comes into view and he's eyeing you up and down, his thumb swiping at a stain of himself on your cheek. He brings it to your lips and you lick his digit clean.

"Good girl," Oscar praises. "But he's right. You can give us a few more, right?"

You swallow.

You nod.

#f1 x reader #f1 smut #f1 fanfic #cl16 #op81 #charles leclerc x reader #oscar piastri x reader

1K notes · View notes

yinyuedijun · 2 months

Text

SINCERITY

Flirting with Suo is never a good idea—you can never tell whether he means to charm you or make fun of you when you do it. Sometimes it feels like both. Occasionally it feels mean. More often than not, you like to entertain it. But you can't right now, not when his blood is all over the washroom sink. Your manager will be furious about the mess, and also about the fact that you're giving first aid to three delinquents while you're on the clock. If Suo makes one more joke about marrying you, you'll probably throw up and cry. (Or: Suo, Nirei, and Sakura get into a fight in the red light district and go to you to get patched up. Suo takes the opportunity to tease you mercilessly.)

4.5k words, suo x reader with implied one-sided sakura x reader, sfw with mature themes. set post-canon (they are all 18-19 years old), non-canon backstory details for suo and sakura (speculative as of ch. 146). fem reader – references to gendered professions, e.g. hostessing; reader wears a dress for her job in a girls’ bar. warning for inaccurate depictions of first aid! dividers by @/cafekitsune.

Suo’s never liked your job.

You suppose this is fair. The feeling is mutual. You’ve never liked the fact that Suo chose to go to a delinquent school rather than a proper high school, and he’s never liked the fact that you chose to drop out of your proper high school to go work in the red light district—first at a kyabakura, and now at a girls’ bar. His master, who also happens to be your master, has always told you that this was a natural reaction on his part. Having a secondary school certificate is important, after all. But Suo’s disapproval of your income sources, no matter how politely or subtly phrased, has always felt like it runs deeper than simple concern for your education.

Still, this has never stopped him from visiting you at your place of work, though he only tends to come by under the worst possible circumstances—tonight worse than any other.

When you see the three of them limping through the clamour and heat of the red light district—the neon glow of the street making the blood smeared across Suo’s face shine vibrantly—you entirely forget that you're on the clock. You chuck your sign onto the ground (3000¥ per hour! it reads) as you cut a path toward them, almost tripping in your stiletto heels. Your customer service voice gives way to your regular one, which is so outraged that it startles everyone around you.

“Suo, you motherfucker—are you trying to lose the only eye you have left?!”

Suo is unbothered. His smile is calm and deeply shameless as you approach him. It’s nothing like Nirei, who cringes at the furious look you give him, or Sakura, who looks like a deer caught in headlights when you round on him instead. Like he doesn’t know what to do at the fact that someone is worrying over him, and especially not when that person is wearing an extremely revealing evening gown. For a minute, you think he's going to bolt.

But Suo keeps him there, grip tight on his arm.

“Hi,” he says brightly, like there isn't blood all over his face and shoulder. “Are you busy? We might need to trouble you.”

“Of course I'm busy! I'm in the middle of a shift!” you fume at him. But you still extract Sakura from him, scruffing him by the neck before he can clam up and run. You pull him in the direction of your bar, and gesture for the other two to follow. “Hurry up before my manager sees you.”

Smuggling three delinquents into the washroom of a girls’ bar is not a skill you thought you'd ever need, but it is one that you've become an expert in. This is at least the third time you've done it. The Furin trio rarely ever loses fights, but they occasionally slip up in the part of the red light district that isn't controlled by Roppo-Ichiza. This is somewhat unavoidable, as Keyaki Street is a different beast from Keisei Street. It isn't just delinquents here, but bona fide criminals. “Like, actual fucking Yakuza,” you grouse at Suo for the millionth time. You wipe at the blood remaining on his face—most of it you've already rinsed off, staining the melamine sink with iron—and the paper towel in your hand blooms red.

“But these guys weren't Yakuza,” he says cheerfully.

“They still pulled weapons on you! Bladed weapons!”

“Mm… well, that's true. I'm sorry.”

You scowl at him. “No, you're not.”

“No, I'm not.” He’s still smiling. “In our defense, we didn't have much of a choice. They were about to do something terrible to an innocent person,” he says, and you deflate a little, because you know Suo can't stand to see injustice. This is something you love very dearly about him, and also a quality of his that constantly raises your blood pressure. But then you roll your eyes when he happily adds, “And in my defense, it’s all our Captain’s fault!”

“Oi!” Sakura yells from one of the stalls, where he’s sitting and holding a bag of ice to a knot on his head. “Wasn’t my fault we ended up fighting. They were practically beggin’ to have their asses kicked.”

“You did provoke them, Sakura,” Nirei says. He's in the other stall, trying to stay off his sprained ankle.

“Well, they were dangerous! Not like you wanted to just leave them alone either,” Sakura grumbles, and Nirei apologises, though Suo accurately points out there is no need for him to. After hearing this story, you can't help but agree, and you suppose you shouldn't have expected any differently. After three years at Furin, Sakura is no longer the type to pick fights for no reason. Whatever those guys were up to must have been pretty bad for him to start shit in unfamiliar territory.

Still. The red light district is what it is. Touts, street gangs, and Yakuza are constantly causing problems here, with violence of a scale and nature that Bofurin simply don't see on their own turf. Your street in particular makes someone like Endo look like a joke. “You should still learn to exercise some restraint,” you say to Sakura. “And you”—you give Suo a miserable look—“you know the area. You should have known better. At the very least, you should have called me for backup.”

“But you were on the clock,” Suo points out, and you frown. Despite having absolutely no need, you take out an alcohol wipe and swipe it over his cut. He winces.

“I'm still on the clock now,” you reply, voice dry, “and here you are, distracting me anyway. My boss is going to be on my ass about it if I don't bring in any customers tonight, you know.”

“We can be your customers,” Suo offers.

“You aren't old enough to drink!”

“Neither are you, yet you work here.” His gaze has turned a little sharp. His voice too. You blink, suddenly mollified.

“...okay. If each of you buys a drink after this, I’ll call us even.” Then you glance down at his changshan, which is sliced through, the pearly silk stained red at the shoulder. He’s insisted that the wound is unserious and said that he'd rather clean up his face first, and you're starting to question his priorities. “That is, if you don't have to go to the hospital after this.”

“I don't.”

“I don't know if I believe you.” You pull out some polysporin. “Come closer.”

Suo could do this on his own. His hands aren't incapacitated. But he humours you, as he's always humoured you, and allows you dab his cut with the antibiotic. You feel a little sentimental as you do it, and almost a little sad. Doing this reminds you of when he was a kid who had just started learning martial arts. Granted, he never got any real cuts back then, but sometimes he’d scrape his knees or his elbows or—god forbid—his face, and you would plaster bandaids all over him when he did. But none of those were real injuries.

More than anything, doing this reminds you of when he lost his eye. The state that he was in after the accident. The way his face was bandaged after the surgery. The texture of the gauze against your fingers when you asked to try swapping out the dressings for him.

If Suo notices the way your lip is trembling, he doesn't comment on it.

“You’re so mean—how come you never believe anything I say?” he asks. You press the gauze to his cut with more pressure than necessary, and he blinks. He opens his mouth again, but then the door rattles violently.

“Sorry!” you yell. “Washroom’s closed for cleaning!” You wince as you hear complaints in reply—you’ve been closed for half an hour!—and shoot Suo a sour look as the customer leaves. “I’m really risking it all for you three,” you remark.

“I'll make it up to you,” Suo says. “I'll stick around the whole night and buy as many drinks as you want. Your manager won't be able to hassle you about anything then.”

“No way. You're not wasting that much money on the red light district.” You frown. “Master will kill me if I let you piss away your inheritance like that.”

“I’m not wasting my money on the red light district. I'm wasting it on you.”

“Well, I'm employed at a girls’ bar, so when you waste money on me, you are in fact spending it on the red light district.”

“Then you should quit so I can spend as much money on you as I want.”

“Quit and then live on what income?” You set aside the first aid kit and grab some more paper towel. “Take off your shirt.”

“Oh? Right here? Right now?” His eye goes wide. “How forward.”

Sakura coughs very, very loudly from the stall. If you weren't so used to Suo saying this kind of thing just to mess with you, you'd probably do the same. In fact, you'd probably choke on your spit and die on the spot. But as it is, you only sigh and start unbuttoning Suo’s changshan, starting at the high collar. Any sentimentality or concern you previously felt is quickly drowned out by annoyance.

“Suo.”

“Don’t worry—I don't mind,” he adds. “I thought you'd never ask. I just didn't think it’d happen here. And so suddenly.”

“Don’t do that. I can't do this today.”

“Don’t do what?” he says innocently. He lets you slip his changshan off one shoulder. To your relief, the cut does look very shallow—he’s too quick for anything other than a bullet to land a serious hit on him, you guess—but you still swallow when you see it. It looks like he's bled a lot more than he probably actually has.

Or you hope so, anyway.

“Joke like that,” you reply after a moment. “It's very mean.”

“I’m not joking about anything.” You feel his eye on you as you start dabbing at all the red on his skin, the paper towel in your hands blotting crimson as if with ink. Your breath shakes as you study the wound. He lifts his hand, his knuckle brushing against your cheek. You smack it away, but he doesn't seem bothered. “I was being very serious,” he continues. “Quit working in the red light district and let me support you instead.”

“Suo,” you say, your voice flat, “there is no job you could qualify for on this planet that will let you earn more than what I'm making now. If anything, you should let me support you.”

“Ah,” he says brightly. “I get it now—you want me to be your trophy husband!”

Now you are choking on your spit and you do think you're dying. Sakura sounds like he's not doing much better—something bangs loudly against the washroom stall, and you assume it’s his forehead. Even Nirei is affected, not-so-subtly clearing his throat.

“I do not want you to be my trophy husband.”

“Just a regular husband, then?” he asks. “That’s alright. If I joined the Yakuza, I could make plenty of money. You could even stay at home if you wanted.”

“Suo you motherfucker you are not joining the fucking Yakuza! And I wouldn't be a stay at home wife!”

“Oh? You wouldn't want to be?”

“No, god! Do you know how much I could make if I scored a hostess gig at a high-end place? Why would I ever turn down that kind of money?!”

“Ah, so you want us to be dual income?”

“Of course I would want us to be dual income!”

“You could get a different job and we could still be dual income.”

“There’s no other job that would pay as well.”

Suo sighs, and your brow twitches. You've always been suspicious about why he disapproves of your choice in career. It’s not in his disposition to judge people, but sometimes you still worry that he's doing it to you.

“What,” you ask, “would you be so against marrying a hostess?”

“No, not at all. But I'd be worried if my spouse worked somewhere unsafe. What if you end up at a Yakuza-owned club?”

You pause, startled at the abruptly earnest tone of his voice. Suddenly you feel guilty.

“Oh… well, I wouldn’t work at a Yakuza-owned club.”

“Hm… then I guess it's fine.” Suo nods, as if arriving at a decision. “We’ll get married, we’ll be dual income, and neither of us will work for the Yakuza.”

“Yes, exactly. We’ll get married, we’ll be dual income, and neither of us—” Your eyes go wide as you realize what you're saying. You feel yourself flushing. “Wait.”

“What? Is there a problem?”

“Suo.”

“Don’t tell me you're going to change your mind now. That would just be mean.”

“I'm being mean?” you ask, flabbergasted.

“Well, yes. You don't think it would hurt if you changed your mind about marrying me? And so soon after agreeing, too.”

You stare at him in disbelief. You have a number of possible retorts that cross your mind, and somehow you pick the least relevant one: “You can't trick someone into marrying you.”

“Then can I trick you into dating me?”

“Suo! I said don't do that!”

“Don’t do what?”

“Joke about that kind of thing!”

“I'm not joking about anything.”

“Yes you are? You don't actually want to date me. Stop saying that you do!”

Suo leans in. He stares at you, his gaze distinctly vulpine. It's very attractive, and also intimidating, and you should be used to it by now, but your heart rate ticks up anyway. You swallow thickly as his thumb glides along your cheek again, your skin scorching beneath his fingertips. You forget to bat his hand away this time.

“You’re so mean,” he repeats, voice lilting, “how come you never believe anything I say?”

He's baiting you. He's obviously baiting you, and you consider for a moment whether you want to bite.

Flirting with Suo is never a good idea—you can never tell whether he means to charm you or make fun of you when you do it. Sometimes it feels like both. Occasionally it feels mean. More often than not, you like to entertain it. But you can't right now. His shirt’s stained with such a bright red that it keeps distracting you, just like the blood he's left all over the washroom sink. Your manager will be furious about the mess, and also about the fact that you're giving first aid to three delinquents while you're on the clock. You think they'd go broke before they could spend enough money here to appease her, were she to discover the four of you. You might even lose your job. Then you wouldn't be able to support yourself anymore, let alone Suo, who cracks jokes as easily about being your trophy husband as he does about being Leonardo DiCaprio.

If he makes one more joke about marrying you, you'll probably throw up and cry.

“You're not being very gentlemanly right now,” you finally point out. He raises a brow.

“No?”

“No. I'd even say you're being a menace, actually. Doing a very bad job of”—you almost laugh as you say this, because you've heard this speech so many times—“engaging with my feelings. Not being supportive at all. Really falling off the staircase to adulthood, you know.”

Suo studies you. Something complicated passes through his eye before he pulls away, his expression now back to normal. It's deceptive how innocent he looks.

“Sorry,” he says. “You’re right. I’ll play nice.”

“No, you won't,” you retort, and Suo smiles at you, not replying. But he does give you a break. You finish cleaning up the cut without incident, although you do get flecks of blood on your evening gown, which you hope won't be too noticeable against the black satin. You bemoan the lost cause of Suo's changshan too—made of Suzhou silk, a gift from your master—and silently make a note to buy him a replacement sometime.

You're in the middle of buttoning up his shirt when the door clicks and swings open. Met face to face with your coworker, you freeze up.

Your stage name leaves her mouth in an angry bark. “What are you doing? I told you you're not supposed to be having sex with customers here, you should be doing that someplace—” She stops, evidently spotting the blood on Suo’s shirt, and then the other two individuals locked up in here with you, one of whom is blushing violently and looks to be on the verge of dying from embarrassment. Beneath your hands, you feel Suo’s body go stiff too.

“Oh,” she says before either of them can comment. “It’s just your delinquent boyfriend and his buddies.” Suo waves at her, and she nods back before squinting at the sink. “Are you going to clean that up?”

“Yes,” you say quickly. “Please don't tell our boss.”

“Have I ever ratted you out?” she asks. “Just get out of here soon. People do have to piss, you know.” Then she stops, looking at Suo with a dubious expression. “And make sure your boyfriend doesn't die.”

You're too tired to correct her on the nature of your relationship. “I've been trying,” you say, and she gives you a sympathetic look before retreating. You hear her laughing with a customer about people fooling around in the washroom, and I'm so sorry for the inconvenience, sir, and could you please go downstairs while I clean up. You’re so relieved, you nearly fall to your knees. A calloused hand touches your back as you rub your temples.

“I’m sorry for worrying you,” Suo says quietly—sincerely—and instead of saying no, you're not, you reply, “I know. I’m sorry too.”

Suo’s always hated your job.

He’s always hated your job, your boyfriends, your apartment, and a lot of other things about your life that Sakura doesn’t have any business prying into. And it's just as well. Sakura also hates your shitty job, and your shitty boyfriends, and considering that you live in the same shitty building as him, he isn't a fan of your rental situation either. Nirei’s too polite to say anything about it, but Sakura can tell that he disapproves as well. It’s not like any of them are living the most comfortable lives either—Sakura has personally been living from shithole to shithole, mostly alone, ever since his parents passed—but your lifestyle does make them all feel poorly.

You're just a very easy person to like. And it's very easy to want nice things for you. So Sakura gets it, how Suo feels about you.

What he doesn't quite get is how Suo acts about you.

One thing he’s learned over the years is that Suo is very good at reading people. Sometimes he understands Sakura better than Sakura understands himself, and he can convince Sakura to do things which he himself didn't think were possible for him to do. He's done the same with Nirei, and about half the other people in their grade, and at least a third of the guys in Bofurin. It’s frankly a terrifying skill. But Suo never uses it with you—not to get you to change jobs, or boyfriends, or even apartments.

At first Sakura thought that you were just immune to Suo’s tactics, but he's recently come to realise that Suo simply gets too emotional about you to know how to convince you of anything. He’s even emotional enough to get kind of petty and a little mean with you, which is something that Sakura has only witnessed from Suo during fights. Really bad fights.

It’s terribly uncomfortable, especially when you’re clearly head over heels for Suo.

Sakura doesn't have any business prying into your personal problems. Though truthfully, he’d be happy to thrash some random assholes for you anyway, if that would fix your heartbreak. (He's already done this to at least one of your exes, and it worked shockingly well.) The problem is, Suo is not a random asshole and Sakura isn't sure that you'd want him thrashed in the first place. But it's just fucking painful watching the two of you act like this around each other, so he ends up pulling Suo aside after you kick them out of the girls’ bar, scowling.

Suo looks at him, surprised. “Sakura? What's the matter?”

He doesn't mince words. “How come you were being such a dick to your friend?”

Nirei goes stiff. “Sakura,” he says in his panicked ‘why are you trying to pick a fight now’ voice, “where is this coming from? I don't think Suo was being rude…” But Sakura can tell, as Nirei’s finishing his own sentence, that he's second-guessing himself.

“No,” Suo replies. “I was being a bit terrible, wasn't I?” There’s no humour in either his words or his face, but the corner of his mouth lifts. He actually looks endeared. “I'm surprised you noticed, Sakura.”

“I mean”—Sakura feels himself going red, embarrassed at just the memory of how you looked at Suo; first so worried, then painfully fond, and then like you were going to burst into tears right there in the washroom and ask him to hold you, as if you were in a horrible getsuku drama—“it was kinda hard not to.”

Suo nods. “I suppose it’s natural to be sensitive to the feelings of someone you like.”

Heat floods his face. “I don't like her!”

“Did I say you did?” Suo’s mouth curls when Sakura can't answer. “Don’t be embarrassed. She's a very easy person to like.”

Sakura tries his hardest to ignore Suo—which should be easy, because Suo lies randomly and pointlessly all the time, whenever he thinks it's funny—and says, “If she's an easy person to like, how come you act like you don't like her at all?”

“Was I acting like that? Or was she acting like it was impossible for someone to like her?” Sakura stops. Suo gives him a long look, then smiles. “You would know how difficult it can be to accept being liked, Sakura. And how long it can take to understand that there are people who want to support you unconditionally.”

Sakura opens his mouth once, twice. A third time. Nirei sighs. The two of them watch as Suo—rather than walking in the direction of the subway—steps over to a vending machine and buys a bottle of oolong tea.

“Are you going to wait for her shift to finish?” Nirei asks.

“Mm, I think so.” Suo glances down at his ankle. “But you should go home, Nire-kun. You can’t fight like that. In case those guys come back here, I mean.” He opens the bottle, takes a sip. “They had bladed weapons. It would be bad if you risked it.”

Nirei glances at the entrance to your bar, worried. “But…”

Sakura understands without Nirei finishing his sentence. The security at your bar is terrible, and plenty of people like to exploit that. It was Nirei who noticed a group men eyeing you before anyone else did, following you all the way from Keisei Street to your place of work. And sure, Suo kicked the shit out of them in the end, did much worse to them than vice versa—but who knows if there aren't more of them.

Suo hates your job. All three of them do.

“It’s okay,” Sakura says. “I'm sure the two of us will be enough.”

“...I'll ask Tsubaki if he's free,” Nirei finally relents. “And I'll text Kiryu and Tsugeura too.”

“Thanks, Nire-kun.”

Suo gets a bottle of ramune after Nirei leaves, passes it to Sakura. Tsubaki comes by later, still in his pole outfit, with several pieces of taiyaki for them to share—I’m always snacky after dancing, he explains—and the three of them loiter in front of your bar until four in the morning. Tsubaki asks questions about you in a tone that has Sakura wanting to crawl into an alleyway just to hide, and Suo deflects masterfully with questions about Tsubaki’s new boyfriend. The guys from earlier don't show up. Maybe the sight of Roppo-Ichiza’s top fighter scares them off.

You're surprised to see them there when you emerge a little later. You give Tsubaki a happy but perplexed look as he hugs you.

“Tsubaki? What are you doing here?”

“Keeping these two company,” he replies. “And I wanted to say hi, of course. You should come by the club sometime, you know! I haven't seen you in forever.”

“Sure! That would be nice, but…” You turn to Sakura and Suo, puzzled. “Why are you guys still here?”

Sakura, on instinct, nearly recounts the whole evening to you—about the men tailing you, about how they got into a fight, about the kind of things they said they'd do once they caught you—but Suo answers first.

“Troubling you again,” is all he says. “It’s fine since your shift is over now, right?”

You give the two of them a long, curious look. For a moment, you look worried, but you're eventually disarmed by Suo’s expression.

“I guess it's fine,” you reply. You sound so happy. Suo’s gaze goes soft, and Sakura has to force himself not to look away. “Let's hurry up and go home.”

You smile at them, and it's the kind of smile that makes it very easy to like you. The kind of smile that makes it natural to want nice things for you. The kind of smile that would make anyone emotional, even if they're normally very controlled. It makes something in Sakura squeeze tightly, all knotted up and painful.

He’s starting to understand why Suo acts the way he does around you.

END

this wasn't meant to be a love triangle, my apologies…

this was also meant to be a very short piece (like 500w lol), but I kept thinking about what suo’s backstory might be, and why he was so comfortable in the red light district in the manga, and what these guys might realistically act like in an aged up, romantic context. that all coalesced into this very bizarre fic LOL. I'm not sure how it'll land, but I hope someone out here enjoyed it! I would like to write more about this triangle (+ nirei) but I'm not sure what the level of interest would be, or if it'll even make sense with the manga. I guess we’ll see eventually!

in any case, thank you for reading!! <3

#hayato suo x reader #suo hayato x reader #haruka sakura x reader #sakura haruka x reader #wind breaker x reader #wbk x reader #i cannot believe this was 4.5k words...#yueshuo.fics #divider by @/cafekitsune

902 notes · View notes

prokopetz · 9 months

Text

The Victor Ninov situation is one of my favourite cases of scientific fraud because it's rare to see so straightforward an example of someone being brought low by their own hubris.

Like, okay, faking the synthesis of a previously unobserved element: it's one of the few varieties of scientific fraud that actually has a clear gameplan for getting away with it. The physical properties of unobserved elements are, in principle, predictable, and there are only so many ways to go about synthesising them. If you do your homework, it's not outside the realm of possibility that your claimed results will end up being at least mostly consistent with the results of subsequent legitimate efforts to synthesise that element, and any minor discrepancies will end up being dismissed as statistical anomalies and/or the product of sloppy experimental design. It's by no means an easy game to play, but it's a game you can conceivably win.

And Victor Ninov did it. He rolled the dice and he won – twice. His fabricated results for elements 110 and 112 were corroborated by later work, and nobody noticed that his actual data was a crock of shit. He got away with it as cleanly as he could have hoped. It was only the third time he tried it, with element 118, that he biffed it and claimed results which nobody could replicate, and this is the only reason his earlier frauds were discovered. If he'd quit while he was ahead, it's likely the first two incidents never would have come to light.

Like, they say the third time's the charm, and buddy here learned the hard way that sometimes, the opposite also holds true.

#science #physics #chemistry #scientific fraud #experimental fraud #victor ninov #swearing

2K notes · View notes

tojjist · 6 months

Text

𝐇𝐔𝐆 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐀𝐍 ↳ s. gojo

in which : even the strongest wants some love, so please give it to him! contains : slightly suggestive, so much fluff, extremely self indulgent

SATORU never realized how touch starved he is. He never even thought about it. It simply didn't occur to him that physical contact actually means something.

He's seen people doing it before, on more occasions than he can count. But Satoru never understood the appeal of being in such proximity to someone you can count the pores on their face. Not that he has to worry about that, anyway.

And truly, ignorance is a gift.

It only took one hug from you to change Satoru's world. It took one short embrace, a slight whiff of your subtle perfume for him on your third date to become addicted.

Satoru never lacked anything. He' been served everything he desires on a silver spoon his entire life; wealth, care, power. He's always been privileged. So to crave something he simply can't receive whenever he wants is a strange feeling.

The way he steals little touches, helping you with your jacket, placing his hand on the small of your back, brushing away your hair from your face, and so much more, does not go unnoticed by you. It's not in anyway unpleasant, and you're always sure to give him an encouraging reaction.

It's surprising to see his need for this kind of affection. He tries his best to not come off as creepy or too needy, but he doesn't know what he looks like and what he should do.

He never understands what's so addicting about the simple feeling of you. Is it your smell? Or the warmth you provide? He's content just keeping you in his hold forever.

What takes you aback even more is how skilled he is at sex. You can tell he's been with countless women just by a simple stroke of his hand or a thrust of his hips. Yet, he seems so unsure how to hold you after, feeling as if anything he does would come off wrong.

He comes to you one day distorted, asking to meet up on a whim. He says he really just wants to see you but you know better. You see the slightly distracted look in his eyes, you notice the way his fingers fidget, and the way his feet tap against the tile of the coffeeshop. He’s nervous you can tell, but you don’t understand why as he sounded so fine this morning when he called.

“Hey,” you whisper to him, calling for his attention. His blue eyes immediately find your eyes, trying his best to seem normal.

“Yeah?” Is what Satoru manages as he gathers himself the best he could. “What’s wrong? Do you want to add something else?”

You hold back a chuckle. He’s so different from all the other people you know. In a way, it’s part of his charm. But it also makes him so hard to understand.

“Are you okay?” It’s a simple question, but one that confuses him all the same. He feels a warm presence over the back of his hand. When Satoru looks down, he sees that you have placed your palm over his. It’s calming. It’s sweet. It’s so comforting he doesn’t know what to say.

“Be my girlfriend.”

It’s a demand. He’s not asking, he’s telling you. He had this perfect plan, but your touch ruined everything. Your touch weakened him. He hates you for it. He loves you so much.

It takes him time, and you give him it, to get accustomed to those touches. He learns what to do and when to do it. And you give him all the love he needs. He’s like a little puppy, still discovering right from wrong.

He holds you every night like there is no tomorrow, pampering you and spoiling you with kisses because he can. He begs you to stay in his embrace every morning, even when the duties that should be attended are his and not your own. There is never too little time when it comes to you. He’d put the world on hold for a few more moments of you.

Sometimes he questions if it’s really okay. Should he, as a man, let you make him this vulnerable? It’s not like there’s a guide for these things. Even if there was, he wouldn’t be caught dead reading one.

But those thoughts only last so long. It takes one kiss from you to forget. To ignore. To not care anymore. Because what is he if not a slave to your embrace? Satoru only finds himself at peace when in your arms. For all he cares, the world could burn, as long as you just hug the man.

2K notes · View notes

skywalkerslvt · 3 months

Text

Campfire Secrets- Ellie Williams

❥Pairing: Camp counsellor!Ellie Williams x AFAB!Camp counsellor!Reader

❥Summary: Your growing feelings for your fellow camp counsellor, Ellie, come to light when you both go skinny dipping one night...

❥CW: 18+ smut, fingering, handjobs, skinny dipping, a tiny smidge of thigh grinding, sex in the wilderness, 2.1k words, NOT PROOFREAD

❥a/n: Because it's finally summer, here's a crazy summer camp porn fic about my fav! Just a reminder that my asks/requests are open if any of you horndogs would like to make a request (requests are my favourite thing ever please send stuff)! Hope you enjoy <333

You met Ellie three years ago during your first summer as camp counselors. She had strolled into the staff meeting fashionably late, her hair still damp from an early swim in the lake, exuding a carefree confidence that instantly caught your attention. Her arrival disrupted the serious tone of the orientation, replacing it with laughter and easy banter as she greeted everyone by name, as if she had known them all her life.

You, on the other hand, had been nervous and slightly overwhelmed, navigating a new environment and the responsibilities that came with it. Ellie noticed your apprehension and made a beeline for you during a break, flashing a mischievous grin that instantly put you at ease. “First time, huh? Don’t worry, newbie, I’ll show you the ropes,” she had declared with mock superiority, her voice tinged with playful arrogance that made you chuckle despite yourself.

From that moment, a friendship blossomed between you two, forged through shared duties, late-night conversations under starlit skies, and a plethora of camp activities. Ellie had a knack for turning every mundane task into an adventure, whether it was organizing scavenger hunts, mastering archery, or sneaking midnight snacks from the mess hall. You found yourself drawn to her infectious energy, her quick wit, and the way she effortlessly charmed everyone around her.

During one memorable morning canoeing session, Ellie had challenged you to a race across the lake, her competitive spirit evident in the determined set of her jaw. “Bet I can paddle circles around you!” she had taunted, her paddle slicing through the water with precision. You had accepted the challenge with equal fervor, relishing the thrill of the chase as you navigated the tranquil waters, laughter echoing across the lake.

Evenings were reserved for campfires and camaraderie, where Ellie’s guitar-playing skills and knack for storytelling made her a favorite among campers and counselors alike. You often found yourself mesmerized by her talent, the gentle strumming of strings mingling with the crackle of the fire as she led sing-alongs and shared ghost stories that sent shivers down your spine.

Now, years later on your third summer being a camp counsellor, you couldn’t deny the growing fondness you felt for Ellie. Her infectious laughter and genuine kindness had captured your heart, yet you hesitated to acknowledge the deeper stirrings within you. You cherished your friendship too much to risk it with romantic feelings, afraid to disrupt the easy dynamic you had cultivated together. To make matters worse, this year Ellie was your cabin mate, making your quickly growing feelings even harder to hide.

One scorching afternoon, with the kids engrossed in making friendship bracelets under the shade of the big oak tree, Ellie turned to you with a mischievous glint in her eye. “Hey, have you ever explored the waterfall just beyond camp?” she asked, her voice lowered as if sharing a secret. You shook your head, intrigued by her sudden enthusiasm. “No, I didn’t even know there was one.” Ellie’s grin widened, a playful challenge in her gaze. “It’s a bit of a hike, but totally worth it. We should go sometime. Just the two of us.” The idea of escaping to a secluded spot away from the noise and chaos of camp, with Ellie by your side, stirred something deep within you, though you masked your excitement with a nonchalant shrug. “How about tonight?” you suggested. “We have the night off from the campfire.”

Ellie gave you a mischievous smile, making your face heat as your heart skipped a beat. “Then tonight it is.” You smiled back at her, then got back to work helping the kids tie their bracelets.

You couldn't wait for tonight, though the day went by painstakingly slow. No matter how you tried to occupy your time, whether it was playing games with the kids or taking naps during your breaks, the night just couldn't come soon enough.

But when the sun finally dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the camp, you wasted no time seeking out Ellie in the busy camp. You and Ellie slipped away from the cabins, hearts pounding in anticipation. The path to the waterfall was bathed in the soft glow of twilight, the sounds of the camp fading away behind you as you ventured deeper into the woods.

Ellie led the way, her flashlight casting dancing beams of light that illuminated the trail. The hike was a mix of comfortable silence and easy conversation, the natural rhythm of your friendship making the journey feel effortless. As you approached the waterfall, the distant sound of rushing water grew louder, filling the night air with its soothing roar.

“Almost there,” Ellie said, turning to flash you a grin. The sight of her lit by the moonlight, her features softened by the gentle glow, made your breath catch in your throat. You returned her smile, pushing down the butterflies that fluttered in your stomach.

When you finally reached the clearing, the waterfall was a breathtaking sight. Water cascaded down a rocky cliff, the pool at its base shimmering under the moonlight. Ellie turned to you, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “What do you think?”

“It’s beautiful,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper. The sight was mesmerizing, but your attention kept drifting back to Ellie, standing there with an expression of pure joy on her face.

“Wanna jump in?” Ellie asked, still grinning. You realized then that in your haste to get Ellie out of the camp, you foolishly forgot to put on a bathing suit before leaving. “Shit! I forgot to bring a bathing suit.”

Ellie shrugged nonchalantly. “So did I. We could just take our clothes off,” she suggested with a grin.

You crossed your arms, giving Ellie a pointed look. “You want to skinny dip?”

“Yeah, why not?” Your eyes widened at her suggestion, heat rising to your cheeks as you imagined what your coworkers would think if they found the two of you skinny dipping.

“Ellie, I-”

Before you could finish, Ellie had begun unbuttoning her jeans, stripping down to her underwear and tossing her clothes onto a nearby rock. She gave you a playful look as she hooked her fingers into the waistband of her boxers, to which you turned around flustered, your heart pounding in your chest.

You heard her dive into the pool, water splashing the backs of your legs. You stood there for a moment, caught between your apprehension and the undeniable pull of wanting to join her. You quickly glanced over your shoulder, finding the glimmering water up to Ellie's shoulders. The pool did look really inviting now that she was in it.

Taking a deep breath, you quickly shed your own clothes, feeling a rush of exhilaration as the cool night air hit your skin. You stepped to the edge of the pool, Ellie’s laughter ringing in your ears, and with one last glance at her, you dove in.

The water was refreshingly cold, enveloping you in its embrace. You surfaced to find Ellie grinning at you, her hair slicked back and her eyes glinting with mischief. “Took you long enough,” she teased.

You splashed her in response, laughing as she retaliated. The playful banter continued as you swam together, the night around you filled with the sounds of laughter and splashing water. You made your way over to the waist deep water under the waterfall, leaning your back against the smooth rock as you faced Ellie, relishing in the feeling of her roaming eyes on your exposed body.

As the playful splashing subsided, the space was filled with a more intimate silence. The moonlight danced on the water's surface, casting a soft glow over Ellie’s features. She swam closer, her bare chest almost meeting yours as your breaths mingled in the cool night air.

Ellie’s gaze shifted from playful to intense as her eyes roamed over your face. “You know,” she began, her voice barely above a whisper, “I've always wanted to do something like this with you.”

Her gaze heated your cheeks, and you laughed nervously. “You've always wanted to get me naked in a pool like this?” you joked, though your voice was strained from the sudden desire to touch her.

Ellie chuckled. “Well yes, but that's not what I meant.” Your heart pounded as she reached out, her fingers brushing against your bare waist, sending a shiver down your spine. “Ellie…” you started, but she silenced you with a gentle kiss, her lips soft and warm against yours.

You melted into her touch, your hands finding their way to her waist pulling her flush against you. The water swirled around you as the kiss deepened, your bodies pressed together in the moonlit pool.

Ellie's hands roamed over your back, her touch igniting a fire within you.

She pulled back slightly, her breath hot against your lips. "Are you sure about this?" she asked, her eyes searching yours.

You nodded, your fingers tangling in her hair. "I've never been more sure of anything."

Ellie's smile was both tender and filled with desire as she kissed you again, her hands exploring your body with a newfound urgency. You moaned softly as her fingers traced the curves of your waist, your skin tingling under her touch. Her leg shifted under the water, her knee parting your thighs as she slid it between your legs, pushing her thigh flush against your heat. You moaned into her mouth at the addicting friction against your clit.

Ellie's hands slipped between your thighs, her fingers teasing your entrance. You gasped, your hips bucking against her hand, craving more. "Ellie, please," you whispered, your voice filled with need.

She didn't need any more encouragement. Her fingers slid inside you, her touch sending waves of pleasure through your body. You clung to her, your moans filling the night air as she moved inside you, her thumb circling your clit with expert precision.

As Ellie continued to pleasure you, you reached out, your hand slipping between her thighs. She gasped at your touch, her hips grinding against your fingers. You mirrored her movements, your fingers finding her entrance and sliding inside, matching her rhythm.

The pool around you seemed to amplify every sensation, the cool water contrasting with the heat between you.

Ellie's breath hitched as you curled your fingers inside her, her grip on you tightening. "Fuck, you feel so good," she moaned, her voice a low rasp in your ear.

You responded with a whimper, your body arching against hers as your pleasure built. The intensity of the moment, the feeling of Ellie's fingers inside you while you pleasured her in return, was overwhelming. Your breaths became ragged, each touch and movement heightening the connection between you.

Ellie's thumb circled your clit faster, her fingers curling inside you in a rhythm that had you teetering on the edge. You mirrored her movements, your fingers pressing and curling inside her, drawing out breathy moans that only spurred you on.

"Ellie," you gasped, your voice trembling with need. "I'm so close."

"Me too," she breathed, her lips brushing against your ear. "Come with me."

Her words sent you over the edge, your body tensing as waves of pleasure crashed over you. You cried out her name, your fingers pressing deeper inside her as you rode out your orgasm.

Ellie followed moments later, her body shuddering against yours, her moans mingling with yours in the night air.

For a moment, you clung to each other, the water soothing your overheated skin as you caught your breath. Ellie's forehead rested against yours, her breath warm and steady as she pressed a soft kiss to your lips.

"That was.." she started, her voice trailing off.

"Amazing," you finished for her, smiling as you brushed a strand of hair from her face.

She chuckled, her fingers tracing lazy patterns on your back. "Yeah, it was."

“I hate to ask this of you,” she started, giving you a nervous smile, “but if we want to stay in the same cabin, I think it would be best if we kept this between us.”

You smiled at her, pressing a soft kiss to her lips as you wrapped your arms around her. “Well, I suppose we could consider it our little secret,” you replied playfully, a hint of mischief in your eyes. “As long as you can keep quiet at night, nobody will find out.”

Ellie laughed, her hold around your waist tightening as she nuzzled into your neck.

You stayed like that for a while, wrapped in each other's arms, soaking in the peaceful ambiance of the waterfall and the night around you.

#ellie williams x reader #the last of us #the last of us x reader #ellie williams smut #tlou #tlou smut #camp counsellor ellie #lesbian #wlw #wlw post #wlw ns/fw

823 notes · View notes