#was excited to get new glasses and now it’s just another thing to fucking deal with

[worldsover]

Better Things ft. Karina, Ningning

length ✦ 7k

genres ✧ toxic relationship; cuckquean; cockwarming; degradation; needy subby gf!Ningning, hook-up!Karina

✦✧✦✧✦✧

Ningning is a doormat.

Ningning is your girlfriend.

Ningning is some girl who lives with you and if she were your girlfriend, you probably would have had sex with her before a dozen other women. If she were your girlfriend, you probably wouldn't have had sex with those women. If she weren't a doormat, she would have left when she caught you in bed with another girl the first time. Would have left when you made her watch the seventh time. Would have left after she ate your creampie out of some random girl you just met at a club. That's why you can't even bring yourself to feel guilty about taking advantage of her.

Well, that, and new pussy's better than guilt.

But to say better implies some level of good. It's fine. You're exhausted. Exhausted from work. Exhausted from dealing with people. You're so exhausted, yet Ningning greets you in the doorway with open arms and a warm hug like she has all the energy in the world. Like you've ever given her an ounce of that energy back. She's wearing a red tank top that shows off her cleavage and short shorts that cling to her toned legs. That could've worked before, could've made you carry her straight to the bedroom.

The doormat must have waited where the doormat belonged, all day, as it tightens its embrace.

Ningning releases you and gives you a chaste kiss on the cheek. The sweetest smile on her face. Eyes like your next words are precious gold. "Welcome home, babe."

Could've made you feel warm inside. You have no gold left to give. "Work was shit."

"I'm sorry," Ningning responds. "You seem stressed." She leans in for another kiss, trying to comfort and soothe you with her affection. Give Ningning an inch or six or seven, and she'll take 26 miles. You don't have the energy for a marathon.

You pull away. "I'm tired," you say dismissively, already making your way to the couch without acknowledging her further.

Ningning pouts. "Right. Of course. Go rest on the couch. I'll get you a drink."

She returns with a glass of water, but you wish it were something stronger as she settles in beside you on the couch. "You're really are tense, babe," she says with concern, running her hands over your shoulders and neck. "I... I could help. Daddy."

Your pet name sounds forced, calculated out of her mouth. It has been too long since you've truly desired or pleasured Ningning, and she makes sure you're aware of it every time she tries to initiate intimacy with you. And even when she does manage to catch your attention, it's only because other women have used her as an unwilling participant in their own sexual encounters with you.

So when she begs and pleads with you now, it's easy to brush off her advances and ignore her kisses. But as she continues to whisper promises and titles like "Take your stress out on me" and "Daddy's good girl," a dark idea begins to form in your mind.

Suddenly, Ningning's hand slips down to stroke you through your trousers and her lips attach themselves to your neck like a leech. She must sense the shift in your demeanor because she becomes more desperate and persistent in her seduction.

You remain silent, mulling over her offer. Suddenly, Ningning's grip tightens on your bulge and she exclaims "Daddy! See? You're getting hard already. That means I can use me now, right? Please, I'll be so good for you."

The rush getting to your head makes you reply in earnest for the first time. "You're right."

Ningning gasps softly, her lips forming a grin. "I-I am?"

"Yep. I need a good fuck."

Her hand slips from your pants as she springs up, jubilant and bouncing with excitement. "Yes! You deserve it," she exclaims, her eyes shining with glee. "How do you want me? Which hole do you want to jerk off with? To dump your cum into?"

You pull out your phone.

Instantly, her joy turns to disappointment as she realizes what this means. "Daddy...why? But...but why?"

You open Tinder and show her all the matches you have.

"No." She pouts, her face genuinely forlorn. "No, please, no, Daddy, I'll do anything. Not another random whore. I've been so good, I did such a good job getting you hard. Why do these sluts get your cock?"

"You barely did shit. You're not good, you're just desperate."

"Please!" She's back to clinging to your arm, back to giving you desperate pecks on your cheek and wherever she can peck, but you don't let her kiss your lips, turning your face away. "Kiss me, use me, anything! What do I have to do? Stroke your cock faster? Gag on your big Daddy dick? Be your personal porn star all day? Please, tell me, I, I need you so bad."

Your gaze vacillates between her and your phone.

"Your cum, I need it. I need you to stretch me out. Daddy, I need you to grope me, throw me around, force your dick down my throat, anything, please, I need you! Please, use your bitch."

You have made your decision. "Maybe later. After I hook up with a hotter girl. You can have seconds."

She has to hold back a tear, shuddering, trembling in frustration. "Later?"

You nod and look down at her, sternly.

"Okay. Yes. Of course, yes, Daddy, you need to… feel good after, after a stressful day. Seeing you happy is more important, and I'm not doing a good enough job."

"You're not."

She swallows hard. "Yeah. So if one of those sluts can make you feel better than me... I suppose I can wait my turn." The kisses that punctuate each of her words, that travel to wherever you allow them, slow down. She has left marks and saliva all over you.

"Are you done?" You hold up your phone. "If you want me to use you sooner, then I'll have to find someone sooner, right?"

"Yes, I understand." She sits up, her hands clasped together demurely. "Wait. But, you're still hard."

"And?"

"May I suck you, Daddy?" she asks.

You shake your head. "I've got better things to do with my time than you."

Ningning begs with her eyes, pouting and pleading. "I know, I know. I'm just a useless needy slut who can't satisfy you... but at least I can warm your cock with my mouth. Right? I'll keep quiet while servicing your cock and you can keep swiping on Tinder."

You lean back in thought.

"You know I can be a good cock warmer for you. If that's all I'm good for… please?"

You examine her face—adorable and needy—her lips twitching as if she's about to burst into tears. She is right. Those very lips are heavenly wrapped around your shaft, sipping and slurping on your cockhead. "Fine," you say.

"Yay!" she celebrates. "Thank you, oh my god, thank you, Daddy." She gives you one last kiss on the lips before going to her place. On her knees, between your legs, in front of the couch. It'd only be more appropriate with your feet on her.

Your focus remains on your phone as you begin searching for a hot girl to hook up with.

"It's been so long since I tasted your—"

"I thought this was for my pleasure," you say. Hearing her speak instead of feeling her mouth on your cock annoys you.

"Sorry. You're right. This is for you. Doesn't matter what I want." She unbuckles your belt and pulls down your trousers.

You nod as you return your attention to the phone screen. You've been picky with the girls you swipe for, but this time, you're looking for anyone with a hot face and nice tits. While your girlfriend is certainly cute, she doesn't exactly fulfill those criteria, especially not now. Especially not tits.

Ningning presses her face against your underwear and takes a long whiff, a smile growing. She runs her tongue on your boxers, marking them with some saliva; its dampness seeps through the fabric.

Grabbing her hair, you say, "Dumb bitch, begging for scraps, did I ask you to do that?" You yank, causing her to wince in pain.

"Ow, n-no. I'm sorry, Daddy." After looking into her eyes for a few seconds, you let go of her hair, then Ningning immediately frees your cock. She's mesmerized as if she's never seen it before, and you find the target of her attention: the leaking pre-cum. She can't help herself from giving your tip a kiss. "Okay, you can keep swiping," she says. "I'll make you feel so good while you find a tight hole to use."

You don't respond, instead doing just as stated. Left, left, left, left, left. It's looking like one of those evenings. The only plus side is the simple sensation of pleasure as Ningning suckles slowly like a lollipop.

"Do my lips feel good? Is it nice having your pet warm your cock while you find prettier whores?" Truthfully, if there's one thing Ningning is expert at, it's sending shivers through your body with her mouth. She explores every inch of your cock with her tongue, skillfully tracing along the ridges and then sliding back down to your shaft.

Finally, you find a few pretty girls here and there. It's still many more left swipes than right, but most of the women you swipe match immediately. However, you lose interest in most quickly.

"Ah, I, I luhhv, this, cah…" In between Ningning talking with a mouthful, you relish in the sounds of quiet sucking. It distracts you from your ankle-shallow conversations, the dumb pickup lines, the straightforward advances.

You're tempted to grab her hair again and shove her lips down the base until she chokes and gags, but then Tinder would've been a waste of time anyway.

With her lips so diligently latched to your shaft, Ningning starts to drool. You give her one glance, and she immediately starts to lick your shaft clean. "I love cleaning your cock. That's all I'm good for, I know. I love being on my knees for you, having your perfect dick in my mouth, looking up at you and seeing your lust… e-even if it's for other girls." A hint of sadness in her voice. But even as she knows she will never be enough for you, she finds pleasure in submitting to your desires and being on her knees for you. And despite her words, her actions show that she loves it just as much as you do—if not more.

The lazy blowjob continues for some time, your erection carefully nurtured by Ningning's lips. You finally find the match you're looking for, the hottest girl you've ever seen in your life. Karina, 23. Every picture hardens your dick more than anything this cockwarmer toy of a woman can do. Whether it's a casual crop top or an elegant low-cut black dress, her ample cleavage leaves little to the imagination. Karina was the one for tonight. Your conversation with her quickly becomes sexual, which becomes an invite to your place.

Ningning notices your smile. "Did you get a match?" she asks gleefully. "Did you find a new pretty whore to break?" Her lips are more active on your shaft now, gliding up and down with renewed enthusiasm.

"Yep."

"Ahh." She releases your shaft, sticking out her tongue as saliva bridges from her bottom lip to your tip. With puppy dog eyes, she looks up at you and timidly asks, "I-is she prettier than me?"

"Duh." You show her Karina's pictures. "She has bigger tits too."

Ningning looks down. "That's great, Daddy," she says quietly. She perks herself up by kissing your dick. "I'm glad you found a better whore to fuck. When will she be here?"

"In a few hours."

"Okay, Daddy. I'll take care of this cock. I'll keep it nice and warm and wet. You can just relax until she arrives. " She returns to her duty, her lips a pillowy cushion, and she sucks with no complaint.

You idly browse your phone while Ningning keeps her lips sealed around your shaft like it's the most precious thing in the world. When you get up for snacks, she follows you around the house, never letting go of your cock for fear of losing it forever. Returning to the couch, you lie down and watch some shows while Ningning remains on her knees, expertly sucking away.

It's not until you receive the text that Karina is on her way that you finally pull a half-asleep Ningning off of your dick. You quickly gather yourself and prepare for Karina's arrival.

The doorbell rings. You answer the door. Your jaw practically drops to the floor when you open the door. Karina stands before you, clad in a tight pink tube top that shows off the toned shape of her midriff and accentuates the weightiness of her ample breasts. So much skin on display that you hardly know where to look first. A tantalizing hint of vanilla fills the air, adding to the already-charged atmosphere.

"Hello, handsome," she purrs, her voice naturally sultry. She leans in for a kiss before even stepping inside.

The kiss lingers longer than expected, your tongues dancing with a hint of alcohol, perhaps wine. Her hands find their way to your shoulders while yours rest on her waist, reveling in the softness of her smooth skin. Eventually, you release each other from the passionate embrace. "Wow. Hello, Karina. You look absolutely stunning."

"Aw, thank you."

You invite her inside. "Make yourself comfortable."

"I'm glad we matched so quick. Your pics were such a tease." Karina pokes you in the chest.

"And I'm glad you accepted my invite," you reply with a grin.

She giggles. "How could I say no? Straight to the point. And trust me, I could definitely blow off some steam today." Karina scans the living room, then freezes when she notices Ningning sitting there.

You bury your face in your hands; you completely forgot about her.

"Who's that?" Karina asks with an arched eyebrow. "You didn't mention anyone else joining us."

Ningning speaks up: "I'm Dad—"

"She's nobody," you say.

Karina laughs, her gaze lingering on Ningning's figure. "Nobody? Really?" She turns back to you with an impish grin. "Well, she's quite gorgeous. Maybe she could join us and make things even more fun?"

Ningning practically bounces in her seat. "That would be amazing! Can I please join, Daddy?"

Karina runs her hand down your chest, causing you to catch your breath. "So she calls you 'Daddy', huh? That's interesting." Her eyes flicker over Ningning before returning to you with an impish glint. "Well then… what do you say… 'Daddy'?"

Hearing the pet name spoken by Karina in such a seductive tone sends a shiver down your spine, and you release a quick exhale. "Just you and me. All night long."

"Ooh, when you put it like that…" Karina trails off with a smirk. "You better not disappoint." She wraps her arm around your neck and goes in for a deep kiss, your lips locked together as your tongues swirl in each other's mouths. At this moment, it's easy for you to forget about your own girlfriend waiting in the living room, stumbling inside while still entwined with Karina.

"Daddy, p-please, I'll behave," Ningning stutters out from behind you. "I can make you feel good too. I promise, I'll be a good girl."

Karina's lips part from yours with a soft moan, and the sound thrums through your body like a sweet melody. More than anything else, you want to hear the notes of those moans louder and harder and over and over again. Karina catches sight of Ningning watching them from the corner of her eye and chuckles playfully. "Oh, honey, look at that face. She looks like she's about to cry."

"Ignore her."

Karina smirks—a deadly thing. "Ignore her, huh? Sure." She gives you one last lingering kiss before breaking away with a satisfied sigh. "Now show me where your bathroom is so I can freshen up."

You lead the way, but before you can show Karina into the bathroom, you get distracted by the creamy skin of her neck and begin kissing it fervently. Your kisses trail back up to her lips, and once again your tongues dance together. You've kissed Karina more in the past few minutes than you have your girlfriend in a long time.

Karina shudders when you pull away. "Ffuck, this is gonna be an incredible night, huh?" She runs a hand through your hair before giving you a sly smile. "You're such a good kisser. No wonder you have her wrapped around your finger… say, what's her name?"

"Doesn't matter. Just think of her like my house pet."

Karina's teeth sink into her bottom lip. "Damn. Okay," she says, nodding, "get comfy in your bedroom, babe. I'll be ready in just a moment."

You nod and watch as Karina disappears into the bathroom. When you head back to the living room, you find Ningning quietly sobbing to herself.

Holding her chin with a firm and unyielding grip, you force Ningning to look at you, and her eyes widen in fear. "What the fuck?"

"Wh-what?" Ningning sniffles.

Giving her cheek a few light slaps, you scowl at her. "Don't 'what' me, or give me those puppy dog eyes. Why the fuck are you still here?"

"I-I, I'm sorry," Ningning stammers through her sobs. "I don't know... I thought maybe I could join in or take care of you afterwards or..."

Echoes of a crack, you land a harder slap on her cheek, leaving a red mark behind. "I am not fucking you!" you snap. "Do you really think I would waste my time with someone like you when I have a goddess like Karina in my home?" You let out a heavy sigh. "What am I going to do with you?"

Ningning avoids making eye contact as she apologizes once again.

"Fine," you say, standing up. "Follow me to my room."

"Really?"

"Just do as I say."

You sit down on the edge of your bed and point to the floor in front of you, a spot that is all too familiar for Ningning. She obeys without question, kneeling by your crotch as you tug down your pants and underwear to reveal your soft cock. You then yank Ningning's head down towards your lap.

"What do I—" she starts but is cut off by your hiss.

"Are you stupid? What have you been doing for the past few hours?"

Ningning whimpers quietly. "Yes, Daddy." She begins stroking you with her small hand.

"Use your mouth," you command.

"Right, right." She quickly swallows your member, her lips dragging along its flaccid length. As you harden in her mouth, she gags when it hits the back of her throat, but diligently she cleans up all the saliva.

You close your eyes, picturing Karina instead, and after a few minutes, pictures in your mind materialize as the door opens.

"Hey, what do you think—" Karina's voice trails off as she sees Ningning between your legs, servicing your now fully erect cock. "I thought you said she wasn't joining us," she says with a giggle.

"Well, I'm just using her to get you ready for me," you reply. Despite the ministrations of Ningning's lips and tongue, your attention is solely focused on the woman standing in front of you.

Karina steps closer, her eyes fixated on Ningning. "That's such a turn on, seeing her between your legs like that," Karina says, smirking.

Ningning moans happily as she continues to orally service your dick.

"Look at her," Karina says, "such a cute thing."

"No, look at you," you reply. "That top looks perfect on you. Your body's perfect."

"Thank you, babe. I wore this just for tonight." Karina brings her hands to her chest, and you must be drooling when she squeezes. "You like?"

You nod. "You're the hottest girl I've ever seen, Karina."

Ningning lets out a sad whimper around your cock.

Karina sits down on the edge of the bed next to you, watching intently as Ningning works to get your cock even harder with her mouth. "Wow, your cock is perfect. She's almost got you ready for me." She grabs your jaw and pulls you in for a kiss.

You're in a new endless world of bliss, Karina's lips on yours, Ningning's lips on your cock. The sound of her blowjob is noisy, wet, sloppy, but you notice only the moans coming out of Karina's mouth into yours. And even better than that is when Karina presses her full breasts against your arm, giving you visions of what's to come—hours of playing with those breasts greedily between your fingers.

Again, when Karina releases the kiss, she lets out a light moan, and it's the prettiest thing you've heard. "I can't wait to ride that big fucking cock."

"You don't have to wait." With a firm grip on Ningning's hair, you pull her off your cock and toss her onto the floor with a gentle thud. "Get a condom for me," you command.

Ningning lays on the ground, spit-covered lips quivering. She can't make eye contact with you or Karina. "Yes, Daddy."

Karina's legs rub together. "She's such an obedient girl." She brings her legs over and straddles you before she starts making out with you once again.

Though your hands are all over her body, they naturally find their way toward her breasts.

"Yeah, fuck, touch me," Karina says breathily, "feel me up."

"Your tits are incredible, holy shit."

"Just having your pet isn't enough for you?" Karina asks playfully.

You shake your head. "But you're more than enough."

Karina's lips press firmly against yours, her teeth grazing your lower lip in excitement. As you deepen the kiss, you can taste the faint hint of her lip gloss mingled with the subtle tang of your own blood. Her hands begin to explore, trailing down your body until they reach your shaft. Like Ningning before her, she struggles to fully wrap her fingers around your girth. "Fuck, you're so thick," she whispers in awe.

You let out a deep groan as Karina starts to twist and slide her hand up and down your wettened cock. Just then, Ningning's soft voice interrupts your passion-filled moment. "Here's the condom, Daddy," she says softly.

"Put it on with that dirty little mouth of yours."

Karina giggles then brings her lips back on yours, brings her tongue back into your mouth.

"You, you really want me to…"

You give her a stern look.

"Of, of course, Daddy. Whatever you want," she nervously replies before awkwardly scooting towards where you're sitting. You can see that she's struggling to find the space between you and Karina straddling your lap. Eventually, you hear the sound of the condom packet opening and feel Ningning putting it on with her mouth.

Karina's moans get louder, and she runs her hands through your hair.

"It's on, Daddy," Ningning announces timidly as she sits next to you, her hands resting meekly on her thighs.

You and Karina seem to want to kiss forever, Karina especially reveling in the spectator; however, she breaks it first. "Get on your back," she says, her eyes piercing into yours. "I'm riding you and this fucking beautiful dick into the bed."

As you both shuffle around and get comfortable, you push Ningning aside to the corner of the bed. You sink into the pillows while Karina kneels above you, gazing at you with hungry desire.

Ningning's tiny voice is barely audible as she begs, "Can I watch? Please, Daddy?" Her eyes gleam with admiration and delight at the sight of you and Karina together. "I love seeing you feel good. I promise I'll be quiet, I won't interrupt."

There might have been words in your right ear.

Karina laughs as she positions her slender figure over your cock. She takes hold of it and guides it towards her entrance with expert precision. "Are you just ignoring her? That's pretty fucking…" She sinks down into your length and moans loudly, musically. "Hot, oh, fuck, you feel so good." Her pussy clings closely, warm and snug around you.

Feeling dizzy with pleasure, you grab onto her shapely hips as she moves on top of you. She moans in response and adjusts to fit your entire length inside of her, her hand feeling your hardness through her slim waist.

"Wait, fuck, please. Don't move yet." Karina gasps. She begins to gyrate her hips back and forth, causing your head to spin even more. With that body and those tits and that tight hole and that impossibly perfect face contorting with bliss, any man could cum before the first thrust. But somehow, you manage to resist as she begins lifting herself, then fucking into you slowly. "That's, that's it. Nngh."

All the while, your eyes are dead set on her tits, waiting to watch them in action.

As Karina drops herself down onto you again, coating your dick with her juices, she starts to bounce at a steady rhythm. Even though they are confined by fabric, her ample breasts jiggle enticingly with each motion. "Fuck, that's too good," Karina says, moaning, closing her eyes. Then, she opens them as she looks over to where Ningning is squirming. "Aww, look how she's eyeing your cock. When was the last time you fucked her?"

"Hm. Maybe a month ago."

"God, you're so mean to her. I can't imagine depriving someone of this amazing dick." She moans as your length hits a particularly sensitive spot inside her, and then she leans down to grab your face. "I love it." There, she kisses you while her ride starts to intensify. You love the weight of her tits, and the loud slapping sound of her ass bearing down over and over.

"I'll come back later, Daddy." Ningning's voice is filled with dejection before fading away.

As Karina rides you cowgirl style, she sits up straight once again, her toes curling, her breasts bouncing, and her hair flying around her. You reach for her tube top, and she helps pull it up. You didn't think this ride could get better—then, the drop, as her boobs are set free. There's a magical ripple, so plenty for your eyes to feast on. And while the way her tits drop is hypnotizing, the way they bounce without the restraint of fabric is even more so. Karina brings her arms up and you assist her in removing the top completely before flinging it aside, leaving both of you bare and vulnerable to each other's touch.

In this new position, sitting up against the headboard, you lean in to kiss Karina deeply before trailing down to explore every inch of her body. Your lips linger at her long neck, her defined collarbone, and her lithe arms, but always find their way back to her luscious breasts where you suck on each pink nipple with fervor.

"Yeah, yeah, fuck, just like that, I'm so, so sensitive there." Karina moans breathlessly as she grinds against your cock. Her body vibrates with pleasure, and you can feel the clench of her cunt around your cock, tightening and relaxing with every deep thrust.

As you notice her soft mewling turn into breathy gasps, you intensify your actions: while your lips are latched to one of her firm nipples, and one hand is massaging her other breast thoroughly, your free hand goes down to her clit, rubbing in neat circles, causing her to arch her back and cry out in pleasure.

"Fuck, yes! Gonna, gonna cum!" Her words are punctuated by deep groans of pleasure, and you revel in her vocal responses, the sound of her deeper voice more harmonious to your ears than your girlfriend's high-pitched cries.

Her legs tremble as she slows down, giving you the opportunity to take control. You thrust upwards with determination, while simultaneously stimulating every sensitive spot on her body. Karina throws her head back, and she cums on your cock gracefully; you give her no quarter, pounding her through every pulse of her orgasm. Her cunt's tight grip makes you lightheaded, but you continue as a machine, worshipping her tits with your mouth and fingers, playing with her clit, until she's driven to new heights of pleasure.

After many long and languid inhales and exhales, Karina sighs contentedly, her body sated from the intense lovemaking. "I haven't cum that good in so long. Fuck." She pulls you close and kisses you deeply like the gratitude spoken didn't just escape her tongue. "So you haven't fucked her like this in a month? I almost feel bad for her."

"Don't."

"Sure." Karina playfully taps your shoulders, her fingers dancing over your skin. "Well then, I think it's only fair that I reward you for that."

With a soft wet pop, she lifts herself off of your slick member, the condom shining in the dim light of the room. She kneels before you, hunger in her eyes as she looks at your throbbing cock. Her tongue darts out to moisten her lips in anticipation.

"Do you have another condom?" she asks.

"Yeah, it's over by the drawer," you reply, still trying to catch your breath from the intense ride.

She scoffs. "Yet you made her… whatever." Karina's fingers graze your skin as she peels off the condom, the cool sensation a stark contrast to the heat emanating from her body. "Trust me, this much feels better. Plus I want to taste your precum."

She aligns your shaft between her perfect breasts, the soft sensation of them cushioning your cock. "Fuck, Karina. I've never done this before," you say with a gasp.

"Figured as much. Your other plaything's tiny tits could never compare to this, right?" Karina smirks before letting a glob of spit drip from her lips. Your dominant tendencies seem to have rubbed off on her and it turns you on even more.

But what really turns you on is the warmth and plushness of her breasts against your sensitive skin. She takes charge, using her skilled hands to stroke your cock as she holds her breasts together, creating a delicious pressure. Her movements are both gentle and firm as she guides you between her cleavage with precision. Each time your tip pokes out from between her breasts, she gives it a lick or a kiss that sends shivers through your body and elicits groans from deep within your lungs. And every time she does so, she manages to get just enough of the taste that she craves, as she keeps you on a plateau of pleasure and causes you to leak beads of semen.

You can't help but move your hips in rhythm with her while she continues to stroke you with her breasts. She notices and soon lets you take control, allowing you to thrust at your own pace. When you feel yourself getting closer to climax, you slow down and start kneading her breasts—first softly, then harder as your desire and arousal build. You treat her absurd body with the roughness it deserves, pulling her up from her knees by her malleable tits. "Oh, shit," Karina says as you throw her onto the bed, "I love how rough you are."

Eventually, the two of you end up fucking in every corner of the bedroom, finding places where you haven't fucked Ningning or even any other woman. You have Karina arched over the dresser as you enter her from behind, her moans mingling with the sound of rattling wood. You carry Karina, both hands sinking into the flesh of her buttcheeks, giving you both a workout. You two move to the floor, where a torrid round of reverse cowgirl shows off how her ass was as perfect an asset as her tits.

But the most intense and primal position is when you have her pinned against the door, her breasts and face pressed against it, her arm pulled back as you fuck her standing—well, she's only standing because your cock is propping her up, her legs jelly. In this frenzy, Karina is both a willing participant and a willing object, surrendering herself to the pleasure that awaits in each new position and location.

"Yes, yes! Just like that!" Karina cries out as sweat drips down her back; you lean over to taste the saltiness as you nibble on her neck.

And right there, in that position against the door, you make Karina cum again. This time, she squirts violently and her release sprays onto your legs, onto the floor, clear liquid making a mess between her thighs. You hear a whine from the other side of the door. You can't ever be accused of neglecting your girlfriend of her needs.

As if drawn by an uncontrollable magnetism, the two of you find your way back to where you started: you lying on the bed, and Karina riding the life out of you. Her breasts bounce with each thrust and your hands can't resist kneading them roughly. Red marks appear on her otherwise flawless skin, adding to the passionate chaos of the room. This roughness only intensifies Karina's tightness around your cock as she begs for more.

"You love it when I'm rough?" You growl into her ear. "Love feeling this big dick pounding into you?"

"God, yes! Fuck me back!" Karina exclaims.

Suddenly, Ningning opens the door. "Daddy, I just—"

But she's interrupted as Karina shouts and another wave of orgasm wracks through her body, causing her to pull away from you, too sensitive to continue. "Oh... my god," she says, out of breath. "I can't believe you made me cum again." Karina's lips dive into your neck, her wetness dripping down your thighs onto the sheets that you and Ningning share.

"Ningning's whisper breaks through the heavy atmosphere, her voice tinged with concern. "I just wanted to check up on you," she says softly. "You've been at it for a while. It's almost midnight."

Karina disentangles herself from the crook of your neck and moves to lay her head on your chest. Looking at Ningning with a mischievous twinkle in her eye, she lets out a playful laugh. "Yeah, he's been fucking me senseless for a while now. Damn, he's good."

A smirk spreads across your face.

"I...uh..." Ningning struggles to find the right words, unsure whether to express pride or sadness.

"You just wanted to watch, didn't you?" Karina says, running her hand down your bare chest. "You naughty little thing."

You chime in, "Oh, I know her well. She was listening the whole time, pressed against the door with her ear. I could hear her." You'd ask if she made herself cum. You don't care.

A blush creeps onto Ningning's cheeks as she nods shyly.

"Wow, she is soo needy." Karina looks down and notices that your erection is still going strong. "Fuckin' hell, you stud. Haven't cum yet?"

"Nope."

Karina peels herself off of you and lies down next to you on the bed. "Here, I'll lay down so you can pound my pussy until you cum. Does that sound good to you?"

You waste no time positioning your cock between her legs, then you grab her ankles and place them over your shoulders.

"Oh shit, yes..." She draws in a sharp breath as you thrust into her all at once, causing her eyes to roll back in ecstasy. "God, fuck, I'm still so turned on..." Her words become moans as you piston into her, your primal instincts taking over.

You watch as Karina's irresistible breasts jiggle with each and every thrust, her soaked pussy gripping onto you tightly.

"You don't care if she watches do you?" Karina giggles like she's drunk off your cock. "Looks like, ngh, you don't care what she does at all. Hnn…" She looks at Ningning, who is standing by the door, unable to look away. Karina pats the bed to her. "Come here, join us on the bed. You can get a closer look at Daddy's cock going in and out of me. Don't you want to see how I please your Daddy? Watch him fuck my brains out. Watch why he's choosing me over you."

"Daddy, wait—"

Karina moans. "Hurry up or get out, I don't think your Daddy gives a fuck."

Ningning only hesitates one more second before dragging her feet over to the bed.

"Good girl," Karina praises as Ningning lies down next to her obediently.

"Can you touch me, Daddy? Please? Or will you just hold my hand while you—"

You swat her hand away when she reaches out towards you, causing Karina to erupt in laughter. "Looks like she'll just have to watch."

You kiss Karina like you love her, like she's your girlfriend, or your wife, or your long-lost love you haven't seen in years. It must be breaking Ningning's heart, but you can't see or care, with Karina's face the only face in your mind. The only reminders of Ningning's presence are the occasional whimpers and moans that escape from her lips.

"Come on, babe," Karina urges with a fierce kiss, "don't hold back. I want to make you cum in front of her." She places her hand on your chest, slowing your movements. "Flip me over and rail me, babe. Give me everything she wants."

You swiftly pull out and bring Karina to her hands and knees.

"Ooh, that's it." She moans loudly as you push her head down and thrust into her from behind. Her back arches, showcasing the perfect curve of her ass.

As your movements become more forceful, Karina's moans echo through the room and she clings to the sheets with desperation. You finally make eye contact with Ningning, her hands buried in her shorts and her breath ragged as she watches you and Karina together.

"God, you're so rough. Yes!" Karina shouts.

Meanwhile, Ningning's gasps and moans grow louder as she tries to pleasure herself. Despite her best efforts, it seems that nothing can satisfy her.

"Do it," Karina says, looking back, "cum for me!"

All of the sensations come crashing together—the movement of Karina's body, the tightness of her pussy around you, and the sight of your girlfriend watching as you fuck another woman. With one final rough slam, you burst inside Karina, gripping her ass cheeks and calling out her name. Every last drop is drained from your balls as you fill the condom to the seams.

After the intense pulsations subside, you loosen your grip on Karina's ass and she collapses onto the bed, breathing heavily and moaning in satisfaction. "Holy fuck. That was amazing," she says between giggles. She notices that Ningning has not stopped pleasuring herself this entire time, her fingers slick with wetness as they slide in and out of her swollen folds. "Looks like I'm not the only one who thought so. You enjoy seeing your man blow his load in another woman so much, don't you? Are you pretending to be me right now?"

You are surprised by Karina's bold words, but not surprised at Ningning's increased moans and trembling body as she reaches her desperate climax because of those words, likely making a mess of her underwear.

"That's so hot," Karina purrs with a wiggle of her hips. Your half-hard cock remains inside of her as she speaks. "Give me a few more thrusts before you pull out."

You oblige, gazing up at the ceiling while Karina wrings every last bit of pleasure from you into the condom. She disentangles herself from you and leans in for a kiss.

"Mmh, that was fun. We should do that again sometime. Oh, and can I use your shower?" Karina asks.

"Of course," you reply. "Actually, do you mind if I join you in a sec?"

She nods, smiling. "Sure, babe. That sounds nice." Karina heads to the shower with a flick of her hair over her shoulder, drawing the attention of both you and Ningning to her toned buttocks.

Ningning lies on the bed, spent on her own self-pleasure. "Did, mmnh, did you have fun, Daddy? Was she good for you?"

Stretching, you remove the condom from your now-flaccid member. "The best."

"Nnh." Her breathing quickens. "That looks good."

You offer her the condom, almost filled to the brim with your load.

"F-for me? Really, Daddy? I can have your yummy cum?"

"Sure."

She's excited for the first time in a while. "Yes! Thank you! Oh, thank you, thank you, Daddy!" Ningning takes the cum-filled condom and brings it to her lips, drinking the cum out like a woman parched in the desert. Her lips make wet, sucking noises as she swallows up the thick, sticky globs of semen. "Oh god, Daddy, you taste so good."

Each gulp of cum elicits a moan from Ningning as she savors it. You can tell that she's still sore from her last orgasm, and despite that, her hand snakes its way back down to fingerfuck herself again. She keeps the condom in her mouth for a while, making sure she doesn't miss out on a drop, turning it inside out to be sure—even when it's empty, she gets herself off again with her lips wrapped around the used protection.

As Ningning prepares to bring herself to another climax using the condom around her fingers as a substitute for your cock, you excuse yourself and head to the shower. What a doormat does with her time does not concern you. You have a shower to hop into and an actual woman to enjoy it with.

✦✧✦✧✦✧

AFF, AO3

[leclsrc]

more than anyone ✴︎ cl16

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

word count: 13.7k  

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

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

nsfw warnings under the cut!

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

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

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

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

“What’s going on?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wrong.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So it’s a no.”

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Charles laughs dryly. “Who asked?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Charles.”

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

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

—

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

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

“Hmm?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah.”

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

A beat. “What?”

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

“Europe?” You shook your head. America.

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

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

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

“You’ll be fine.”

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

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

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

“Charles,” you sighed. 

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

Just: “We’ll be okay.”

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I need to talk to you.”

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

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

“Why should I be charming with you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Say it.”

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How American.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

“Hi.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So you’re friends?”

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Who said that?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So what happened?”

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

Cut. Lovely. Just lovely.

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

—

“Okay. What else do you remember?”

“I… do you remember the recital song?”

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

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

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

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

“Do people ask?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s it mean?”

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

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

“I don’t underst—”

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

“I don’t—I do not ever remember say—”

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

Muffled by the bedspread: Charles’ place.

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

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

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

“Do you want gelato?” No, no.

“Love Island?” In a minute.

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

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

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

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

She doesn’t answer, because you already know.

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

Behind you: “Are you okay?” 

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

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

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

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

You nod in response. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

From: Charles Perceval Leclerc <cmhpleclerc@gmail.com>

Date: 14 October 2014

To: You

Subject: Urgent!

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

From: Charles Perceval Leclerc <cmhpleclerc@gmail.com>

Date: 14 October 2014

To: You

Subject: Buttercup

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

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

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

charles

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Tremendous. Merci, Buttercup.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[prettypinkporkchop]

I’m a paul girly can u please do one where Paul is grumpy because everyone is coupled up with their imprint and his is away for college but at the bonfire the girls surprise Paul with his imprint and he goes from a mean grumpy to a clingy sweetheart make it long pls I love u💕

I love you!!!!! ❤️

Paul kicks the log that's below him. Everyone that's lined up on the cliff turns to him. "Paul, lighten up." Embry says. "Shut up." Paul growls and charges at him, pushing him into the water. "Really?" Jared looks at him. "Fuck off, Jared." Paul rolls his eyes. Paul misses you so bad. He hates when you're away.

Everyone is at Emily's. She made the pack lunch. They're all eating inside the house. Paul is quiet, eating his sandwhich. "Dude! Imagine what'd it'd be like if Jacob and Renesmee had babies? I sense new drama." Embry laughs. Paul grumbles and rolls his eyes. "Hey, me and Kim are planning. Just saying." Jared raises his hands. "Nuh, uh! You're just stupid horny." Quil shoves him. They burst into laughter. Paul just sits there. "Paul Lahote. Don't be so rude. I know it sucks, but she's coming back soon!" Emily pats his back. He moves his shoulders around, wiggling her hand off of him. "Yeah. I know." He says.

Back outside, everyone is training. Even the Black pack. Leah is laughing, and just her laughter pisses off Paul. He's keeping his cool. "Bro, if I phase right now, I'm biting your ankle." Embry playfully pushes Quil. "Kinky." Quil smirks and then phases. He didn't even bother to take off his shorts. When he phases, he accidently bumps into Paul. Paul growls, loses his cool, and phases. Quil's wolf slowly backs away. Sam is calling out to Paul to chill out. Paul disregards Sam and starts attacking Quil.

It's been like this for weeks. Leah, Kim, and Emily are the only ones that know you are coming back tonight at the bonfire tonight. Right now, you're at the airport heading back home. Being away from Paul has been hard for you. You're getting excited at the fact that when you go home, the last two years of your schooling are online! Paul knows nothing! This is going to be the best surprise. "Forks!" The lady at the desk, taking tickets for the plane entry, calls out your destination. Only two other people follow suit. They don't look familiar, so obviously, it's just their layovers.

Emily looks at Sam because Paul just snapped at Seth for no reason. "Paul. I'm about to just send your ass home if you don't stop." Paul sighs and leans back in the chair, looking at the sun as it sets. The fire is warm on his legs, but all he can think about is you. Seth, being Seth, offers Paul a plate and a drink. "Yeah. Thanks." Paul said dryly. Seth feels so bad. He's the only one willing to deal with Paul's anger. Everyone else is over it but at the same time, feel bad. "You know she'll come back." Emily says. "I've got that. But when? I don't know. And she has to go right back. And it'll be like this for another two years." Paul growls. "You know it's hard for her too. You have to support her." Leah butt's in. "Jesus, Leah. You know I support her. She's at school, right?" He looks at her. She nods her head and walks away, going to talk to Kim. It's getting unbearable for Paul. Being away from an imprint is the toughest thing for a shifter. It's been two months of texting, phone calls, and video calls. You're gone for two months, back for two weeks. It's been like that for a year now. Every time you leave, Paul gets angrier and angrier.

Kim and Leah get in the truck and drive to the airport to wait for you. You'll be back in an hour or so. Paul sees Emily smirking at him and then Sam. "What is it?" Paul asks. "Nothing." She shakes her head. Paul just sighs, and Seth comes back with a plate of steak, potatoes, and muffins. In his other hand is a glass of coke. Paul takes it and nods at Seth. Paul starts scarfing it down.

You leave the terminal and go out to the open space. People are walking around you and you're trying to catch Leah and Kim.

You: girls! I'm near the entrance.

You text them. Not even a few minutes later, Kim in the distance spots you. The two women run to you. You run to them, too. Your fully packed backpack and duffle bag on your arm are heavy and bouncing. You tackle both of the women who hold their arms open. You three laugh and just about fall over. "Let me take this!" Leah smiles, grabbing your bag. "UGH! Thank you, life saver." You gush at Leah. "God, I've missed you guys." You sigh. "Paul has been a dick, as usual. I'm literally about to snap his neck." Leah laughs. You nod your head in agreement. "I can only imagine." You reply.

You girls get to Leah's truck. You sit in the back seat while Leah drives. "Nobody questioned why we left. Not even Jared!" Kim says offended. "Them rowdy boys wouldn't notice if the sun fell on them while they're together." Leah laughs. "True!" You call out. "How's Billy?" You ask. "He's doing good. Old man can't fall over. I swear he's invincible." Leah laughs. "Yes! I try to help him do stuff around the house, but he just shooes me and Emily off." Kim says. "So, typical Billy. What about Jake and Nessie?" You ask. Leah rolls her eyes. "The guy is barely even with us. Ever since they got their house, them two have been loners. He only comes out during get-togethers, wolf shit, and bonfires." Leah replies. As she says this, a car pulls out in front of you guys. She swerves to the side, making you hit your head on the window. "Shit! Asshole!" Leah honks her horn. Kim flips them off. You lean back up in your seat. "Geez." You laugh awkwardly. "We're stopping at Paul's so you can drop off your stuff and then going to the fire." Leah says, totally disregarding that you almost died.

You guys finally make it. You can see the smoke from the fire and orange in the distance in the yard. You can see the guys running around. You squint toward the fire and see Paul sitting in a chair by himself. You giggle at his sulking. "Wait, I didn't think this far." Kim laughs. "How do we surprise him?" She turns to Leah. "I have an idea!" You lift a finger. They turn to you. "I sneak up behind him, putting my hands in front of his eyes and pull a 'guess who'." They nod together and then clap their hands. "UGH! Finally, I can breathe!" Leah breathes out. You laugh at her dramatic self. You step out of the truck. You slowly walk your way behind Paul. "I can hear you creeping, and I'm not in the mood." Paul growls. You quickly put your hands in front of his eyes. "Fuck." He growls but then stops instantly as he smells your scent. "Guess who." You whisper. He doesn't hesitate to stand up, throw the chair that's in between you, and wrap his arms around you. You hold him back and breathe in what you've missed. Paul Lahote. He's back in your arms. "Oh my fucking god, my baby." He mumbles in your hair. "I fucking love you." He says. "I love you too, Paul." You reply. Then, there's loud clapping all around. You two pull away from each other and see everyone clapping. "How'd you even get here?!" He smiles at you. Before you can even answer, he grabs your face and kisses you roughly. You kiss him back and wrap your fingers around his wrists. His lips are soft, and the kiss is longing. You fall into it, moving your lips with his. You pull away and look into your man's eyes. "Leah and Kim picked me up. All of the girls knew." You reply, your thumbs running over his knuckles. "Damn it." He smiles, chuckling. He lifts you up and spins you around. "My girl." He laughs. You laugh along with him, and he sets you down. "Alright, we get it! Now, time to share her." Emily laughs, hugging you. Paul smiles, not giving any more attitude.

You hug everyone, and Paul refuses to leave your side. You love it! Considering, you refuse to leave his, too. Now you guys are sitting around the fire. Jake and Nessie showed up. You're sitting on his lap. His arms are around your waist. He leaves random kisses on your back and arm. He randomly squeezes and presses his cheek against your back as if you could disappear any moment. Once the fire talk is over, you turn to Paul. "I don't want you to go again." He frowns. "Baby, I have good news." You smile. "What?" His eyes widen and sparkle with hope. "My physical classes are over. I'm home now. They're online." You watch as his lips part, and he slowly begins to smile. "Oh my God. YES!" He holds you. You pull his face off of your chest and kiss him softly. He doesn't instantly kiss you back. Pulling away and going back in, over and over. Everyone is leaving you two at it.

After holding onto you for a hot while, Paul decides to apologize to his pack and play around with them. You sit down on the chair, chatting with Emily. "God, Paul is back." She sighs in relief. "I know! Even on the phone, he seemed off." You giggle. Paul grabs your shoulders suddenly and then kisses your head. "Alright, back off with the boys." He does this a few more times. He runs off to play with the guys and then runs to you to give you a quick kiss before running back.

You're typing away on your laptop while Paul is still in bed sleeping. You're on the couch with your legs crossed doing some work. You open the highlighter cap and swipe it across words on the thick ass book that sits next to you. The bedroom door opens, and there stands a quiet Paul. His sleep shorts are hanging low. He yawns and scratches the back of his neck. "Good morning, my baby girl." He says in his scratchy and low morning voice. He walks over to you and presses a kiss to your forehead. "Good morning, my love." You scrunch up your nose with a smile. He looks over your neck and chuckles. "You didn't leave hickeys last night, did you?" You sighed in annoyance. "Eh, maybe I got carried away." He clicks his tongue before walking into the kitchen. "Damn it, Paul." You turn on the camera on your phone and see three big purple bruises. "Emily asked me to come over today when you go over there." You say. "Good because you were coming with anyways." He smirks, pouring his milk into his cereal. You blush and then bite your lip. "AWE, no, don't do that. You'll get what you got last night again." He winks. You roll your eyes playfully. "And don't do that either." He warns, taking a bite of his cereal.

You're mixing the batter to Emily's cake. She licks some chocolate off her finger and flips through her recipe. "Girl, this will take hours!" She sighs. "Are you nervous? I mean, it's a wedding cake! That's a lot of pressure." You continue to mix. "Nah! It's a small wedding." She shrugs it off. "Woowoo!" You hear Embry and Quil. In walks everyone, including Jacob. "Surprised you're here." Emily smirks at him. "Hey, I had to see y/n again." He laughs. You smile at him. "Well, I'm here permanently." You say. Paul walks behind the counter and puts his arm around your waist, kissing your cheek. "Normally, I'd say get the hell out of my kitchen, but I'm giving you an exception today." Emily says to Paul. "Thank you, Emily!" He smiles. "Oh wow! A thank you!" Jared jokes. Paul flips him off with a smirk. "Don't hate the love." You laugh. You place the bowl down on the counter to finish up your assignment Emily gave you for the cake. Paul huffs and pulls you back into him. "Hey!" You giggle. "Alright, lover boy, let the girl bake." Emily pats his shoulder. Paul groans and nods his head, walking toward the group of guys. "Yes, ma'am." He says. "I could really get used to this." Emily laughs. Sam nods his head, crossing his arms. "Yes, much better." He laughs. "Paul, I have to show you this new trick I can do while jumping off the cliff!" Embry says. "I saw you do that shit, dude. You looked dumb." Jacob teases. "Aye now." Quil warns and wraps an arm around Embry. "Don't be mean to my boyfriend." He glares. "WOAHHHH WOOOAHHH WOKKAHHG." Embry shoves him off. "Emily! Can I give y/n one more kiss?" He begs. "Quickly." She says, putting one of the cake pieces into the oven. He jumps up and gets behind you while you put icing on the base of the cake. He kisses your head over and over before you turn your head and kiss him softly. He smiles and then sits back down. "Alright, alright. I'm done." He says. "Lover boy!" Jacob sings. "Oh, loverboy!" Jared follows Jacob. Paul glares at them. "I'll kick your asses. I'm not joking." He growls. They start laughing. "There's the hothead!" Jared ruffles his hair. Paul grabs his hand tightly. "Ow, ow, ow." Jared laughs.

[am-i-interrupting]

do you mind if i ask for a bimbo gn!reader who thinks they have an unrequited crush on vox all the while being oblivious of vox's own attempt at flirting, please?

Daft Dolls

All that training with Velvette about how not to just pace but run in high heels really did pay off. Not only was it a valuable tool to have in Hell of all places, it was also just pretty damn useful to know in general.

You weren’t running from loan sharks. No, you were running towards a specific hotel. You weren’t in trouble. Far from it. You were excited. You could not wait to see the look on his face.

The doors were slammed open as you barged in. You looked across the lobby of the hotel.

Vaguely you registered other people (a man dressed in red who just appeared out of thin air) but your eyes zoned in on the pink clad spider at the bar.

“The fuck you doing here, toots?”

“I got you out of work!”

Your voices overlapped. Angel Dust looked at you with a raised brow. “What?”

“I got you out of work,” you repeated as you walked towards him, the door closing behind you. “Well, not work but work work. You know, Valentino work. I know it’s not what you wanted but being on set with me is better than being on set with Valentino, right? At least, that’s what I was thinking ‘cause when I went to talk to him about it he was mad. Like mad mad. He threw bottle of rosé at me.”

“Are you okay?” Angel asked.

You batted his hands away from you. “I’m fine. It’s no big deal. He has shit aim anyway. He missed but with the help of Vox I was able to get you off of Val’s set and onto mine!”

Angel Dust just stared at you, absolutely silent.

As he processed what you said, a blonde woman came up beside you. “Um, hi, I’m Charlie. You’re one of Angel’s friends, I guess? It’s so nice to meet you.”

You took her outstretched hand (it was really soft) and shook it. “Nice to meet you too! Angel’s told me about you. I’m—“

“Vox helped you?” Angel asked, coming out of his stupor. “Like TV head Vox? Overlord Vox? That Vox? He helped you get me out of work?”

“Yeah,” you said shaking your head. “He was already up there with Val. I kind of just barged in. I wasn’t thinking. That was probably a stupid thing to do but you were on the news and then you were messaging me all freaked out about what Val was gonna do because you were on the news so I just kind of went up there to talk about it and anyway. Yeah, why?”

He downed the glass that was on the bar beside him. “You’re so oblivious sometimes,” he said.

“What?!”

He pointed a finger at you. “You call me at least once every two weeks and moan and groan about how—“

You clasped your hands over his mouth. “Can we not ta— Ew! Angel!” You yanked your hands back, now covered in his saliva. “Gross!”

He smirked at you and leaned in close, “Just making sure you’re prepared for that hand job he’s gonna get.”

You pushed his shoulder and he pushed you back. This led to you both lightly hitting each other with no real intent to harm one another.

That was until a different woman’s voice sounded through the room, “What the fuck is going on?”

The both of you stopped and turned towards her. Grey skin, white hair, orange eyes, she was gorgeous. You couldn’t help but say as much.

She looked completely thrown off by your blatant statement meanwhile Angel threw his head back with a laugh and Charlie looked over at her with a huge smile.

“Vaggie,” Charlie said in a sing-song voice.

“No,” the woman (Vaggie) immediately responded with. “Absolutely not.”

She turned around and started walking away. “Sorry,” Charlie said before moving to follow her. “But they’d be perfect for the Hotel!”

“No, we’re not having two Angel Dusts,” Vaggie said.

“But, Vaggie,” Charlie’s voice then grew too distant to hear.

Angel waited a moment but then he turned to you again. “You really got me out of work?” he asked, voice so close to sounding fragile.

“Course I did,” you told him. You grabbed his hand. “Your my friend, Angie.” You let go. “I need to go back though. I’m on my lunch break and it’s probably almost over. I just got so excited, I had to come tell you in person.”

Angel pulled you in for a hug and squeezed you with all six arms. “You’re the best, toots.”

“I know, I know,” you said. “Anyway, I gotta go. See ya!”

You blew Angle kissed as you walked backwards to the door. You spun around, prepared to open it when you saw the red clad man from before holding the door open for you.

“Oh, thanks.”

“Of course, my dear,” he said, a radio filter on his voice. “Please, allow me to walk you back. I’d love to thank our mutual friend in person for helping our other mutual friend.”

“You know Vox?”

“Yes, indeed I do, very well, in fact. I’m Alastor. Pleasure to meet you, my dear, quite a pleasure,” he said.

You gave him your name in turn.

The two of you walked together in silence. You did notice as the two of you walked, many people sprinted away which was odd, especially for you.

You were normally approached by people when you were out. They didn’t run away.

See, several years ago youd made a deal with Velvette. You were one of her models and she’d provide you with protection from Hell’s many dangers along with the occasional free clothes as a bonus. Time passed and you and Velvette actually ended up getting along fairly well. She’d put you in her streams, in her posts, she’d hang out with you outside of work. That’s when one day she heard you singing when she invited herself over. A couple days later, you were basically told you were going to make an album. The rest was history.

So, people running from instead of approaching you was different, weird, even strange.

You looked over at your company but he simply wore a smile. You could hear him humming actually, something upbeat and jazzy. You supposed if he wasn’t deterred you shouldn’t be either. Maybe it was just one of those off days in Hell, especially since it was so soon after the extermination.

Eventually you got to the three Vs’ tower. What you didn’t expect was for Vox to immediately teleport to the entryway.

His posture was straight which was normal but it seemed tense. If that wasn’t enough to tip you off the fact that he was still sparking was and his eye strobing definitely was. You followed his gaze to Alastor and found yourself suddenly very cautious of the man.

While Alastor didn’t seem that bad on the surface you’d known Vox longer. You trusted Vox. You more than trusted Vox actually but the point was you took a very lengthy step away from Alastor and toward’s Vox even if he was sparking.

“What marvelous company this one makes,” Alastor said, gesturing to you. “Wouldn’t you say, old friend?”

Vox took a step in front of you. “Get the FUCK out of my territory!” he said.

Alastor’s smile turned into something devious, something knowing, and something very unnerving. He gave a bow and then vanished into the shadows.

Vox placed a hand on your back and guided you inside. “Do not ever go around him again, understand?”

“Yes, sir,” you said. Not once in your half a decade in Hell had you ever seen Vox like this.

He sighed. His sparking calmed down and his eyes stopped strobing. “Sorry, just, um, I— he’s— it’s complicated. Just don’t associate with him.”

“Sorry, I was just going to that hotel Angie’s staying at. He insisted on walking me back, that’s all,” you explained.

“It’s— Wait, what? What hotel?”

“The Happy Hotel that Charlie Morningstar started. There was an ad for it on 666 today before Angel’s fight.”

Vox stopped. “Alastor’s back and he’s staying at a hotel run by Lucifer’s daughter?”

Prior to all of the things that happened two days after the extermination, Vox had already said (as what you assumed was a way to placate Valentino) that he would be personally in charge of directing your music video but it seemed like since Alastor he wasn’t letting you out of his sight. That was silly though.

He did come into your apartment in the tower though and just sat on your couch. That was normal though. Vox did that when he was stressed. He said your apartment was less noisy than staying with the other Vs. Whatever the case, you made him dinner last night.

Now it was the next day and Velvette was dolling you up as she was prone to do. She blended out your lipstick with her finger. Then she put a thick layer of lip gloss on top.

“Pout for me. Perfect. You look pretty, innocent, and fuckable,” she said.

She pulled you out of your chair and to the nearest full length mirror. She was right, as always. She’d given you a very soft blue makeup look for the most part with sharp eyeliner and bold pink and black lips. She had dressed you in a pastel pink cropped sweater, a matching miniskirt with a high pastel blue g-string, and tall white boots. She’d outdone herself but she always did.

She ushered you out of the dressing room after you both got done gawking at yourself and to the set. There you found Angel in a very similar get up but with the pinks and blues reversed.

“You ready to blow this shoot?” Angel asked,

“Wrong kind of shoot for a blow,” you told him.

He rolled his eyes with a smile. One hand of his went around your shoulders. The other went around the waist.

You both went to set and chatted while you waited for Vox to arrive.

It was only a few minutes before he was walking through the doors, a tray of three cups in his hands. He set it down on a nearby table. Velvette went to grab one but he cut her off, taking it instead. You caught sight of her offended expression before it morphed into a done but knowing look. One hand on her hip while the other plucked a different cup off the tray,

Vox turned, now two cup in hand. He caught sight of you and raised an eyebrow. Velvette doubled over laughing. You couldn’t help but wander why. It was too loud to hear what they were saying but it didn’t look like either of them had moved their lips.

Maybe one of Vox’s soundboard noises went off. That was known to happen occasionally but you couldn’t think of why.

You didn’t really get the chance to think of any reasons though as seconds later Vox was in front of you. He extended the hand holding the cup he’d taken from Velvette.

“You look nice,” he said.

“Thanks, Velvette’s work,” you explained, taking the cup from him. You hummed to yourself when you were met with your favorite drink.

“I’m sure that’s not all true,” he said.

You were too busy to notice how his eyes lingered on your face but Angel did. Throughout the next few weeks Angel noticed a lot.

He’d never really seen you and Vox interact before. He would just hear stories from you afterwards and holy fuck. You had to be dense to think this man wasn’t absolutely obsessed with you.

Vox brought you your favorite drink every single day. He complimented you every single day. He would correct and critique everyone else in a very detached way at best and frustrated way more often than not. But with you, he was calm, gentle almost. He took your ideas and incorporated them. He would go out of his way to physically correct your poses or guide you through specific motions. Once you mentioned off handedly that your feet were hurting and there was an early lunch break where he didn’t even eat, he massaged your feet for you.

When Angel brought this up, however, he was brushed off.

“He brought Velvette a drink too.” Yeah, one she complained tasted like piss.

“He does that all the time. It doesn’t mean anything.” Angel had never heard Vox compliment anyone in his nearly seventy years in Hell.

“He just knows me better, that’s all.” Not once had Angel ever seen Vox being even half as kind to Velvette or Valentino.

“I’m sure he does that with other people’s ideas.” Angel remembered being told multiple iterations of the same story with different people, all because they did something as small as suggest different shoes for someone to walk in because it was too loud.

“It’s probably just easier to do that than explain. He knows I’m used to being puppeted around by Vel.” He spent five minutes explaining to Angel what to do instead of just moving his four arms into position.

“Do you want me to give you a foot massage, Angie? All you have to do is ask.” Well, yes, but that wasn’t the point!

Angel watched as Vox laughed at something you said. “Fucking dumbass,” he muttered to himself as he grabbed a yogurt off the snack bar.

“I know, right?” Velvette said, scaring the shit out of him in the process. “You think this is bad? Ugh, imagine being surrounded by it all the time and Voxy’s just as bad and there’s no escaping him. I have to put up with his bitch ass whining all the time. It’s exhausting.”

Angel relaxed enough to lean against the wall. “Kind of makes you want to press them together like dolls and make them kiss, don’t it?” he asked.

“Yeah. . . Wait a minute! That’s it!” Velvette slapped Angel’s shoulder.

She whipped out her phone and started typing frantically. Her legs started kicking from where they dangled over the edge of the snack bar.

Angel peeled open the yogurt and tried to lean to have a look at what she was typing. She was too fast though and shut off her phone with a satisfied smirk.

Her eyes were glued to the pair of you. You pulled out your phone and saw a message from her. You looked over at her with furrowed brows. She just smiled at you manically. You shook your head but gave her a thumbs up.

When lunch break was supposed to be over, Velvette clapped her hands together loud enough it echoed through the room. “Listen up, sluts!” she said, taking control over the room.

You watched as she and Vox had a back and forth which ended with Vox confused on the set couch in a new outfit Velvette poofed on him. It wasn’t anything too far out of his usual style but it was a change. It was simple black slacks and a white button up shirt but the sleeves were rolled past his forearms and several of the buttons were undone. He looked. . . You were staring that’s for sure.

The music came on and you began lip singing. You put your hands on either side of his head. You threw your leg on the other side of his lap and straddled him. You moved your body up and down, not grinding on him due to not sitting on him but it was a close thing. Your face was right in front of his. You tried to hold eye contact with him but for some reason his eyes kept darting down.

“Fuck it,” he said under his breath.

Then an arm was wrapped around your hips forcing you down and a hand was in your hair guiding your head closer to his. Your lips met his and static filled your entire body. His tongue was caressing your mouth, making you feel like you had a mouth full of pop rocks.

You moaned when he flipped you so your back was pressed against the couch. He rolled his hips against yours and you could feel him through his pants.

“Fuck the music video,” he said against your lips. “How would you feel about filming a porno instead?”

“Mmm, kinky,” Angel said.

“I am so sending this to ‘Tino,” Velvette said.

[daintyys]

Can I request a jealous Coriolanus snow fic pls?

jealousy, jealousy

MDNI - fem!reader x coriolanus snow, 1k words, angst, jealousy, cursing, possessiveness, alcohol consumption, intentional lowercase, i wrote this a hot minute ago just didn't get the chance to fully edit it until now hehe

coriolanus was making his way in the world. he had just been elected president of panem, and it seemed like everything was finally falling into place for him. that is, the fact he was infatuated with you, and had no clue how to go about telling you. coriolanus and you had gone to university together, becoming close over the years, and he assumed you just wanted to stay friends.

for weeks after coryo's election, all he seemed to be doing was hosting galas and spending hours in meetings. boring. the only thing that made him look forward to doing anything was knowing that you would be there. you were his personal assistant. whilst attending university with coriolanus, you made a deal with him: if he ever got elected president, you would be his right-hand woman. and here you were.

on a particularly busy day, coriolanus had not 1, but 4 meetings in a row, and then after that, a night long ball to celebrate the new year. he was not excited for all of it. sure, he had power, but he hardly got any sleep.

the meetings drew on for what seemed like ages, with coryo sealing his approval on bills he had no care for and huffing agreements with his government workers. what finally woke him up was a knock on his office door.

"come in." he groaned, smoothing his hair back. you opened the door slowly, a tray of coffee and cookies in your hands. "i heard you were having a long day, and thought some caffeine would prepare you for tonight." you hummed, placing the tray at the end of his desk. coriolanus' mood changed immediately, his frown turning to a grin. you knew him all too well. "that sounds about right, y/n." coryo approved as he sipped his coffee.

you leaned against his desk, arms crossed. "if you're overworking yourself, you know you can just say no, right? after all, you are the president." coriolanus leaned back in his chair, shaking his head. "i'll be fine. thank you for your concern, though." you nodded, heading for the door. "y/n, wait. you're coming to the ball tonight, correct?" the president choked out, looking at you intently. "i will if you want me to, coriolanus. just save me a dance, hm?" you giggled, leaving his office and shutting the door behind you. coryo scoffed, a huge smile plastered on his face, rubbing his temple.

coriolanus could hardly hide his smile as he saw you enter the ballroom. you looked beautiful, your hair in a french twist, and wearing a gorgeous navy-blue gown. you didn't go straight over to him, which was surprising. instead, you made your way to one of coryo's advisors, a man a few years older than you were. he watched as the man kissed your knuckles and reached out to touch your earrings, seemingly complimenting them. fuck.

coriolanus was enraged, his stomach churning violently at the sight of you and another man. you were his. you had always been his. he could go over there and just beat up the man, but that wouldn't look good in the press. you took the advisor's arm, and he lead you over to the bar, handing you a glass of champagne. coryo noticed how happy you looked with the man, how you laughed with him, and it made him positively sick.

it had never occurred to coriolanus that you could have feelings for somebody. not that you were an unloving robot, but coryo had just never heard about you dating anybody. you'd never told him, at least. maybe the man was a just family friend or something, but coryo couldn't seem to get the thought of you all giddy and tipsy with one of his employees out of his head.

coryo soon found himself tossing back glasses of champagne, trying to ease the pain and stop himself from going over to the man and snapping his neck. "fucking bastard." coriolanus chided, handing his glass to a confused waiter. his eyes bore into you, you were standing against the wall with the advisor, deep in conversation. you had promised coriolanus a dance, so what the hell were you doing?

-----

the party was drawing to a close, finally. and even though it was close to 2 in the morning, coriolanus was wide awake. he couldn't stand not being able to watch you leave, let alone not being able to watch you at all. especially not with the man. how controversial would it be for the president of panem to punch the smug smile off of one of his advisor's faces?

he'd finally had enough. his heart was aching, and it had been hours. you hadn't even looked at him. your president. how shameful. coriolanus strided over to you, grasping your wrist lightly. you jumped.

"coriolanus?" you turned towards him, flushed cheeks. his blue eyes bore into yours, narrow and concentrated on your expression. "a word, ms. y/l/n?" you nodded, and coryo lead you into the hallway. you couldn't help but giggle, the alcohol was getting to you. "don't laugh. i'm not fucking laughing." coriolanus fumed, spinning around and planting either of his hands on your shoulders.

you shuddered, he was freezing. "what's going on?" you slurred. "i think you know what's going on, y/n." coriolanus huffed, flush creeping up his neck. "enlighten me, mr. president." you tittered. coriolanus released your shoulders from his grip, and smoothed his suit jacket. "what's the story between you and that man in there?" he questioned, crossing his arms.

you paused. you knew what he was getting at. "you're not jealous, are you, coryo?" a smile toyed at your lips. coriolanus scowled, a look of irritation coming over him. "i-i'm. good god, who was it, y/n?" he loosened his tie, absolutely furious. "my cousin, if you're so interested." you leaned against the wall, smirking.

coriolanus groaned. "unbelievable. i thought you were going out with him. i would have fired him, y/n..." he trailed off, rubbing his temple. "you were jealous." a laugh escaped your lips, and you reached out to touch coryo's arm. "quiet." he whispered, holding his arm out for you to link with.

"yes, mr. president." you took his arm, walking down the hall together. you still had a dance to fulfill, after all.

asks 🩷

[r0-boat]

MAybe some fluff sfw headcannons for Submas if s/o was expecting twins? Together or separate are both fine

Absolutely!

Submas Twins their partner expecting twins

Cw: babies,pregnancy, s/o is expecting babies lots of new parent fun.

Ingo

You know one of those parents who immediately color assigns children? Yes thats him. Everything they get has to be in the color assigned to them it's not to tell them apart no he could tell them apart easily he was a twin once before he knows the small little differences having his two little babies in their different color PJs make them look like a package deal. Because they are! Do not separate! Ingo was already a little nut for color coding you remember him having a multicolor pen when he would write notes down but now it just takes it to a whole another level.

Ingo is in new parent mode his rose tinted glasses are bright red everyday he has that soft kitten Smile as he can't take your hand off your tummy. The twins your future children his future children is all he talks about. Once he opens his mouth everyone knows that the next words coming out is going to be about as pregnant partner.

If you want to be involved with Planning and Building the nursery you better be on it because Ingo will be too excited and accidentally start without you. It's nice that your husband the father of your children is so excited but you're also just as excited.

Emmet

Words cannot express the excitement he feels the man is practically vibrating. Two babies for the price of one! Instead of color codes like his brother he assigns little Pokemon they don't have any joystick or Venipede onesies. I guess he'll have to stick with Eevee and Pikachu for now while he calls up an old friend, one of the many perks of being friends with a celebrity Fashionista. Emmet fuck with his friends and family think thinks about dressing up his future little children in the same things because he thinks it's funny.

Online he read somewhere that carrying twins means you're extra susceptible to all kinds of things that could happen when you're pregnant which scared him shitless. Emmet becomes extra protective. He will not I repeat will not let you do things that he thinks are dangerous! At first it does feel nice when you don't have to lift a finger. You're happy that your husband is taking the time to research however you don't want poor Emmet to be drenched in anxiety for the next 9 months.

Ingo always has a hand on you but Emmet oh man he is all over you I mean your husband was normally very cuddly but this he's practically attached to your leg he does not leave your side. Every hour asking if you need anything anything at all.

[cookiecomics]

(warning from future me: this is very long, soz)

heyy!! i'm about to start another reread of atott but although im trying to get better at this, im bad at leaving comments (i get too invested in the action & dont mark down my thoughts... so when i get to the comment part i don't remember all or anything i wanted to talk abt + i'm ruminating on what just happened. that's true for the updates i've been following and doubly so for binge-reading sessions) so i just wanted to say some things directly to you, right now, before i forget - i adore the colosseum to this day. i was invested from moment one and the way you described everything was so impactful. to this day i also remember the way ren was panicked & aiming to return home despite his concussion, it felt very visceral and real. also the entirety heresy ring, akechi finding out he was in the fraud ring (this cracked me up iirc. that boy read you akechi), the toy grandma wanted to give ren & akechi managed to get to him (and ren/arsene crying bc of it....), the river, the hanged man game.... gods, you captivated me so much even within those first chapters.

another moment that is very present in my memory is the whole section where ren is in shido's palace, hiding from akechi w/o knowing it's him, finding out he was the "birdman" and then the aftermath, akechi's high fever, the way ren did his best to take care of him, how he told him he'd do the hit on the principal for him. it was all so good!! like i found ur fics from the accomplice tag iirc so i wasn't surprised when it happened, but it was all so exciting still! my memory sucks so i can't even paraphrase what ren told akechi before leaving to do it, but i do remember how akechi was still convinced (and kinda hoped) ren wouldn't actually get involved & he'd just end up dead. then ren came back, with new glasses to boot! lol

ohh also that moment where ren crossdressed and akechi was definitely attracted but ofc he can't Say It so he just critiques his makeup capabilities instead....... i was like. of course. of couse you would.

and i found atott shortly after finding out i'm arospec despite being very interested in making fictional characters kiss & romantic scenes in general, so it was very interesting to read akechi believe he was aromantic & have to deal with Actually Having Romantic Feelings Fuck This lmaoooo tho tbf i'd actually react similarly if i found out i was demisexual instead of completely ace like i think i am, so i also identified with it in that sense, since i've know about that part of my identity much longer than being arospec lol

ah. this is very long but i have more i want to say... so im gonna keep talking lol. ren realizing he was cluster-b helped me realize & come to terms with my low empathy. i remember when first reading akechi suggest ren get himself checked for sociopathy i was a bit skeptical bc i worried it'd be just edgy stuff, but i'd been trusting your writing & decisions so i decided to be optimistic & i rlly liked how you handled it, and, again, it helped me come to terms with the parts of me that also wouldn't be seen favourably by some of these ppl who insist they're mental health advocates lol

also, i rlly like akesumi so when sumi realized he was munin i was giddy. her own smile about it made me happy too.... oh this makes me remember the scene of futaba finding out ren is her online friend too gods such good scenes!!!! and finding the palace keywords. which made me remember the bad ending chapter in maruki's reality which i only managed to read on my 3rd read of the fic & then was immediately invested into too.....

anyway, what i want to say is, thank you so much for writing atott. it is almost constantly running through the like, background of my thoughts, and the story has been very important & dear to me. i hope you know it is genuinely engraved within me at this point. i love it so much. ♡

GOSH what a beautiful thing to come back to ;3; thank you so so much for your kind words and for trusting me as well dsfkjhsdfjk as someone who is cluster b AND on the a-spec merrygoround, I'm glad my handling of the topics have been great for you ;3; thank you for telling me all that you love about the fic ;3; hoping to get an update soon for Goro's birthday <3

Again, any and all love for Ren's palace makes me giddy since it is by far the aspect of the fic that took the longest to plan ;3; and there's no such thing as "too long" comments or asks for me by the way please know this is very sweet to read, i hope you have a great day! and look forward to people having a hashtagbadtime next chapter sdkjfhjkf

[highladyluck]

Season 2, Episode 6 Liveblog

Elayne is getting a puzzle! :D this is such good enrichment for Elaynes

Rand’s secret little smile at ‘you can fight anyone’

“It needs to be healed” creepy but I kinda love it in a fucked up way

Not the pitcher :(

“That’s almost nice” WTF that’s so dehumanizing and so Seanchan

Well that’s almost entirely by the book

Compare/contrast these two chained up figures

Importance of chosen names

This is a much more effective mindfuck then whatever TGH Selene was attempting

Psssst Rand it’s bad when your new girlfriend separates you from your support network

Min you are harshing the vibe

“She broke the 3 oaths?” “Every single one” (Elayne took notes)

Names are a theme

I don’t think I want Lanfear doing me favors

“Many paths through the dark” I do appreciate leaning into the Lanbiguity

Suroth, if the Empress saw how you were toying with her Gardener she’d be very upset, those are Imperial property

Loial, have you considered: Stab them with the plant

We are about to have pitcher problems

The way the a’dam prevents a damane from using things they think of as weapons is a weird twisted echo of the 2nd oath. I’ve wondered if the Oaths would prevent Aes Sedai from making a’dam and I think it would depend on what the Aes Sedai termed a weapon that someone could kill another with.

Yeah this is pure book although the ‘you’re not a person’ line is an extra ouch

“Pour a glass of water” echoing horribly the water-cleaning from the tower

When you deal with the devil, that is actually how it works, I’m afraid

Temple of the Forsaken??? Y’all I need some fic set here. I need Dark Raves honoring Asmodean. I need therapy sessions that make you worse sponsored by the Acolytes of Graendal. I need Moghedonists whispering the sacred crypto wallet keys to each other.

Siuan is probs putting out diplomatic fires in Caemlyn now that they lost Elayne? Or attending Gawyn’s birthday party I guess

Oooh is it the trippy ~TGH dream sequence?

Lmao she calls him Ishy

“See the world as it really is in the World of Dreams” what a fascinating take

Do not ask about Egg!!! this is Lanfear she will make Egg into a flesh balloon for touching you

Smart Rand would be like ‘oh now I know you’re lying [about Egwene being Ishy’s]’ but Idk how smart he is

Oh this is heartbreaking she found the lost sister

Ooooooh are we going to see Bayle again so soon?

Nyneave like ‘I’ll allow it” but only because Elayne is saying what she would have

Elayne is getting a puzzle! :D this is such good enrichment for Elaynes

Awwww what a nice nosy boy who will repeat the contents of the letter

Watch she doesn’t stab you when you look away

Mommy issuessssss

I like the air knives

Because you want a legacy!

Ooooh lesson time. Everyone is barfing in this ep

Rand’s secret little smile at ‘you can fight anyone’

Oh god [MY BOYS!!!]

KISS!!! -ok moment’s gone

Mat and his lil grabby hand on Rand’s shoulder, my tactile boy

‘Some of the damane can sense people channeling’ guess we def changed the lore about how channelers sense each other, mildly annoyed about that, but it’s consistent within the show

That’s smart, trying to see the catch in the water like a mirror

Exercising power

Oooof that’s a new twist “I hope they told you at your White Tower how special you are”

Renna are you going to make her set it on fire??? The thing that comforts her? [post-ep I was thinking about the contrast in how the Seanchan command Loial and his tree powers- they are uncomfortable with it and have to ruin the moment. They don’t have the same power over him without tools.]

Well that was an uncomfortably sexually charged moment of excited panting [please tell me it wasn’t just me]

Proud of you, Egwene <3 Hah you made Renna mad good for you

Elayne: “I need a bestie real bad”

Mat gets it because Mat also has The Depression

RESCUE TIME

Min is like I am here to give you bad news, as is my fate

Mat’s good at bullshit detecting & does not handle betrayal well

This is very sweet but I feel like the subtext is “You will be eaten alive as king”

Pope hat

Oh my boys they are so sad

It’s time for… [Alanna and her posse corner Rand] OH SHIT IS IT HAPPENING?

I don’t think Nyneave does modulation

“It needs to be healed” creepy but I kinda love it in a fucked up way

Ooooof next time we see Ryma she’ll be with my Most Problematic Of Faves I guess 🫣😬☹️

This series loves to hang characters and if it can’t get Mat than anyone else will do

[Renna pours out the cup Egwene just filled] Oh fuuuuuuuck you Renna

You still won. You’re still alive

Our lost Blue Sitter coming in at the clutch

[cyberrat]

85th Batch Of Fics: 1st Fill

Hanzo/Cassidy – Off Limits AU – cont B84F5 – body worship; somnophilia – Cassidy is back in Japan but the jetlag hits him hard.

EXTRA LARGE FILL

---

Actually thinking on it, it hadn’t be all that hard to figure out how he wanted Deadlock to make up for their blunder. The actually difficult part is to come up with an explanation to his father as to what shipping Cassidy to Japan the second time in one year would actually do to benefit their clan.

Luckily, Sojiro does not ask. Hanzo tries to convince himself that that is because his father finally starts to trust him and his judgment with the family business – and isn’t that gross for this instance where he’s not thinking about family duties but only with his own dick – but can’t quite manage to do that.

The most likely scenario is that Sojiro is too busy with his own affairs and the added stress of Genji doing… well whatever Genji does.

He’s just glad that for now his father has taken the duty of taking care of his younger brother back into his own hands. It means Hanzo has a lot more time to focus on his own dealings with Deadlock. Make sure they understand that they can’t just fuck around with the Shimada.

By… taking their resident whore away from them and spending some time fucking around with him.

Hanzo’s throat grows tighter the longer he has to sit in his car waiting for the flight to finally arrive and his guards to escort Cassidy to him. His nice new conviction of ‘I don’t need this Alpha’ had flown out the window the second he had witnessed him pretty much ripping the throat out of that other Alpha.

He’s never seen himself as being easily swayed by feats like that; he’s grown up seeing his tutors do all kinds of wild dominance displays. But something about Cole being the one exploding in a violent fury and clearly drawing a line in the sand has been… well. It’s been eye opening. It’s been exciting.

He hasn’t been thinking about anything other than the fact that the whole time he’s been in the States, Cassidy has let him do all manner of shit to him. He’s let Hanzo bully him around in that airport bathroom and he’s let him play with his body when he’s been too exhausted to do shit.

It’s been all Cassidy being nice and docile. Wanting Hanzo to do those things to him.

In a way, at least. He’s not delusional enough to not factor in that this is Cassidy’s job and he’s been doing it for decades at this point.

Still, he’s never denied Hanzo anything and that did count toward something, right? Right.

“Fuck,” he hisses under his breath, pressing the heels of his hands into his eye sockets until stars explode in the darkness behind his eyelids. Who would have thought that this would become so difficult?

But then again – who would have thought that Hanzo would end up in this position in the first place… thinking about another Alpha and wondering just how long it would take to get his hands on his stinking hairy body aga-

There’s a soft rap against the tinted glass of his car window and a second later the door is opened and Cassidy’s face appears as his head is gently but firmly pushed down by one of Hanzo’s guards to make sure he wouldn’t knock into the frame.

He looks pale and tired; it’s probably for the best that they are especially careful with their cargo.

Hanzo can feel the impact of when Cassidy folds himself inside the car and finally lets his ass plop down into the expensive leather seats. It makes him feel unhinged how that one thing is making his heart beat faster and gets his blood to pump hotter through his veins. Like just witnessing how massive the other Alpha is is enough to get him to almost salivate.

Cassidy shoots him a crooked, yellow-toothed grin and drags one large hand across his face before drawling with a bone tired voice: “Howdy, partner. Lemme tell ya, flyin’ to Japan is no damn picnic.”

Hanzo has to curl his fingers into the finely pressed fabric of his slacks so he wouldn’t reach out for the other Alpha. It would not do to have their scents intermingle more than strictly necessary as they make their way toward their final destination.

“I trust that you have been taken good care of, though? I did pay extra to have you in a scent closed area.”

“Oh… that was you, was it? I thought they were just makin’ a mistake. Or maybe I smelled too strongly for ‘em. Yeah, that was mighty nice. Got some nice leg room in there.”

Hanzo scoffs, slowly relaxing the tight grip he has on his clothes as the first desperate need to grab the other is slowly easing off into a nice, vaguely hurting ache at the back of his mind. He glances at him from the corner of his eyes.

“I doubt they would have let you on there if you didn’t have a private cubicle. You do reek.”

“They did let me on the last time, pal. An’ I took a nice shower beforehand.”

He looks pleased with it for some reason, though; not really arguing the fact that he just exudes that Alpha scent that most other Alphas in polite society try to mask somewhat. Hanzo is customarily wearing an aftershave that takes off the sharper notes of Alpha musk, but Cassidy…

He looks like he delights in it. Maybe because he usually is among other Alphas and out and about anyway – but the more probable scenario is that he enjoys rubbing it into the other guy’s faces that, at the end of the day, they are fucking a fellow Alpha.

At least that is what Hanzo assumes. He can’t say that he knows Cassidy but he likes to think that he has gotten a bit better of a handle on him.

“So… where’re we goin’?”

Hanzo glances over to him. In all honesty, Cassidy sounds so bone tired that it is a surprise he’s even still awake. He has his chin braced on his fist and still his head is almost against the tinted car window.

“...We are driving toward a private location where you will be confined during your stay here.”

“Not at your manor or whatever the Hell it is you’re livin’?”

“...of course not.”

.oOo.

Cassidy tries to stay awake but he falls asleep within a couple minutes of the car gently moving. His head is sinking back, his body going slack, and a deep snore starting to rumble through the seating space of the car.

Hanzo stares at him from the corner of his eyes. The divider between him and the driver is dark to give him some privacy and even blocks off their scent, but it would be too risky to actually touch the other Alpha now… no matter how badly he wants to.

He realizes that it’s a lot easier to acknowledge when Cassidy is conked out. Maybe that is in part because he can simply do whatever the Hell he wants to him. It renders the other Alpha helpless, after all. Not that he would stand a chance in a fight against Hanzo… is what he would have thought if he hadn’t seen what Cassidy is capable of.

His heart beating faster, Hanzo leans forward, elbows on his knees, letting his head hang so he can breathe through the sudden rush of emotions. Not all bad. Not at all. But he is not used to this… turmoil.

He closes his eyes. When he inhales, all he can scent is Cassidy; thick and cloying on the back of his tongue. For once it is just his stink. Unadulterated Alpha, not cut through with the scents of others. It’s just… Cassidy.

He must have driven the airport personnel insane. He would not have been surprised if they had stuck him into one of those cubicles even without an express permission for it.

Had Cassidy enjoyed it? Had he reveled in the fact that for a few precious hours he’s been perceived not as a whore but as a stud Alpha that could have them all if he wanted? Maybe all the sweet little flight attendants had been tripping over themselves, eager to serve him. Maybe they had fought behind the scenes to get the privilege of slipping into the Apex Alpha’s cubicle and offer him more treats, more amusement, more… everything.

Hanzo swallows hard. His head swings around, staring at Cassidy. He can feel resentment building in him at this stupid little hypothetical that he’s been fantasizing up in his head.

He does not know whether that is actually what has happened, but in a way it would make sense. It would make sense for those Omegas and Betas to start swooning over a guy like Cassidy; a calm, quietly dominant Alpha with a good head on his shoulders.

Fuck Hanzo fell for that shit.

And it would make sense for Cassidy to enjoy it, too. To finally be able to stretch out and be waited on hand and foot with nobody any the wiser that he’s made it his calling in life to be dominated and fucked by anybody that could pay Deadlock moderately well for it.

Hanzo can feel jealousy creeping in at the edges, digging its sharp claws into him which is… entirely uncalled for.

Cassidy did nothing.

He shakes his head and rubs his hands over his face. This wasn’t how he imagined Cassidy’s trip to go. He does not want to stew in idiotic little dreams that may or may not have happened. What he does want… is to fuck around with another Alpha basically right under his father’s nose.

He wants to feel alive. He wants… to have fun.

.o.

Cassidy woke up to drag his heavy body out of the car and acknowledge the gorgeous surroundings with a low whistle through his crooked teeth, but he'd been stumbling toward the front door like a drunk man and not resisted when Hanzo pushed him into the bedroom and started undressing him.

His speech had been slurred to the point of complete incoherence, maybe offering Hanzo a good time or something, if his big hands loosely grabbing at him were any indication, but as soon as his body hit the actual bed, he’d been out like a light yet again.

Hanzo huffs, looking down at the big oaf. He’s only half undressed, so he just continues what he’s been doing. Now that there are no eyes on them anymore – he sent his guards away until he called for them – he can at least follow up on what he’s been wanting to do the entire time in the car.

Minus strangling Cassidy for things that he may or may not have ever done.

Cole does not even budge as he’s divested of shoes and socks and unceremoniously pushed until he flops onto his back. He’s completely out and from the look of it, he won’t be up for a while yet.

So he takes his time; opening that gaudy belt buckle and dragging the old leather through the hoops. He just holds it in his hand for a moment, feeling how heavy it is in his hands. How warm still from the other Alpha’s body.

The leather is cracked and looking like it is just hanging on for dear life, but the buckle is nice and shiny like Cole is taking care of it for some reason. It is a hideous thing and Hanzo has no idea whyever the other would keep it around… but it is clear that there is some form of sentimental value attached to it.

That, or Cassidy simply has a terrible sense of aesthetics.

Next, he opens his pants, swallowing thickly when the other’s belly can finally relax from being constricted. It must feel pretty good because Cassidy groans even in his sleep. There’s an angry red line beneath his gut which Hanzo absentmindedly rubs for him.

Why is the sight of this old Alpha’s hairy stomach so irresistible to him?

He wants to bite it. He wants to stuff his face into the crease and feel the trapped warmth of his body. He wants to put his cheek on Cassidy’s gut and close his eyes and listen to the sound of his intestines gurgling as he digests the airport cuisine. He wants to… He wants to dig his fingers in and feel the hard muscle beneath the layer of fat. Those strong worker muscles that he’s put to use when killing another Alpha in a matter of seconds.

He wants to feel what he and others can just naturally sense about this man. That he is an Apex Predator beneath his charming facade and that he’s got the power to show for it.

Hanzo closes his eyes and breathes through all of these feelings, sitting back and putting his loosely closed fists on his knees in some mock meditation.

Cassidy doesn’t care about Hanzo’s struggles against what he knows is acceptable through his father and society as a whole and his own blatant wants and needs. He just starts to stretch out, lifting his arms high above his head and grunting low and animalistic as he stretches the length of his spine before sagging once again into the mattress.

Hanzo watches him from the corner of his eyes until his snoring starts up again.

He truly… could have had so much more in life. Certainly where he came from; where above all else, they value brute strength, ruthlessness and that Alpha masculinity that Cassidy got in spades.

“Just… how?” Hanzo whispers as he twists once more toward the other. He reaches out one hand, placing it on Cassidy’s gut just underneath his belly button. He slowly moves his thumb back and forth, feeling the crisp hairs crinkling beneath his touch.

He can not deny his burning curiosity as to how Cassidy stumbled into this life all in all but he has a feeling that that will be one of the things he might never find an answer to. Cole has been reluctant to talk about it and it does not seem like he might be inclined any time soon to share some light on the matter.

Maybe he could force him…

but then again that wouldn’t be… ah… ideal. It would be efficient and satisfy his own violent nature, but even he understands that forcing someone to divulge their secrets is not something that happens in polite society. Certainly not something that one would do to a… friend.

Hanzo’s mouth twitches at that thought, his hand jerking away from Cassidy as if burned. He looks around the room, feeling restless suddenly, and stands up. He putters around for a bit, watching Cassidy sprawled out on the bed. The word keeps rattling around in his skull, making him feel supremely uncomfortable because he knows that it is… the truth.

The truth and also less than the truth.

Eventually, Hanzo does move back toward the older Alpha. He watches him for a while. There’s a voice in the back of his head sounding an awful lot like Genji, telling him that he is being creepy just staring at the other like that.

Yo, your autism is showing.

Hanzo jerks upright and looks around again. That one sounded like Genji had spoken right into his ear, but of course there is nobody around. He closes his eyes and moves his head from side to side, forcing his muscles to start and relax.

Finally, he leans a knee onto the mattress and starts to unbutton Cassidy’s shirt bit by bit. He slowly peels it apart, staring at a few faded tattoos and scars hidden beneath the thick hair everywhere. The tattoos look cheap and like they might have been the result of some dares or some drunken nights. He can’t see any real significance in them, at the very least – though maybe that is just some cultural divide between the two of them.

Still, he lightly brushes his fingers across them, feeling oddly… fond of their grotesque, shoddy lines.

It’s tricky to wrestle the other’s arms out of the sleeves of the shirt. He is not particularly trying to be careful but Cassidy sleeps through all of it.

Hanzo pauses once he has his left arm dragged out. He never noticed it before but in the light currently falling into the room he now can see a very faint white line on his skin. Holding Cassidy’s wrist and elbow, he leans closer in, slowly rotating the other’s arm as he tries to get a better look.

The line is running right around the circumference of the Alpha’s arm just underneath his elbow. He touches his finger to it, rubbing it back and forth across the fine white line. He can’t tell whether it is a tattoo or a scar. As far as he can tell, Cassidy does not have any other white ink tattoos , and he can feel a little… lip, maybe. So it had to be a a scar but from the look of it it eerily reminds him of the one circling the other’s cock.

The reminder of that clear castration attempt has the small hair on the back of Hanzo’s neck stand on end. He brushes his fingers along the line some more, then slowly sets Cassidy’s arm down on the bed. He wonders about it as he keeps undressing him.

There are a lot of scars littering his body but some are just far more cruel than others. The castration is one. This amputation attempt another.

The old Alpha groans and grunts a lot when he has to get up, something that Hanzo had only attributed to his age and him being a lazy bastard, but the more he looks at bite marks that clearly went viciously deep and shot wounds that look like they barely missed anything vital, he wonders just how much damage has been done to the other’s body over the years.

All of the scars are old; some probably older than Hanzo himself; so Cassidy probably has risen in the pecking order enough to no longer be used as a canvas for the crude knife doodles of some pack member, but still…

They are marks of a long life lived.

Once he has the Alpha finally naked, Hanzo starts to fold his clothes and puts them away to the side. To the other side of the room, that is. He somehow likes the thought of Cassidy not being able to cover himself up immediately. He likes the thought of him walking around naked and his strong Alpha body on display for Hanzo to watch.

He likes it, despite all the new things he’s found out about him. Or maybe because of them. Cassidy is… strong. Hanzo likes that.

A lot.

He pulls out his phone and checks what he’s missed over the past hour or so. It’s just a couple of texts from his father that, while not requiring his input on the matter, but simple his notice, put a sharp spike of adrenaline through him.

It reminds him that him being here… like this… with another Alpha is not something his father would approve of. To put it mildly.

That only excited him that much more.

[msommers]

artificer, fighter, and warlock for riya and iggy!!

i give u kees mwah // d&d character class asks

artificer: How good is your muse at picking up new tools/skills? Are they proficient with any tools? How are they at making things with their own hands?

RIYA — if she's interested in the tool/skill and it's a hands on activity, then she'll be a quick learner! otherwise it takes her a bit to pick things up either from lack of intrigue or the struggles she has with continual study of text. she's proficient with alchemist’s supplies and i have to assume that's from her fucking around and finding out through her years at the college lmao. i hate that i have to do it to her but riya's a weaponized incompetence girly and i've gotta call her out on it. she's never made anything with her own hands and she'd rather flirt her way into having literally anybody else do it before she gives it an actual try. give her proper instruction and a veeeery long period of practice, then she'd probably do an Okay job on something she has an excitement for doing, otherwise it's trash. don't waste the resources babes

IGGY — unfortunately i think iggy’s memory troubles would hinder her ability to pick up new things with ease, and contributes to the fact that she has zero tool proficiencies as of leaving vyrantium. that said she would be great at making things with her hands! as long as somebody’s there giving her instructions and occasional gentle reminders to stay on task if something else nabs her attention. she’ll be a great workhorse for the grey wardens tbh, just stick her on wall/reinforcement building when she’s not out there cutting down darkspawn and it’ll get done well enough to feel secure.

fighter: What's your muse's fighting style? Are there any weapons your muse is comfortable with, or a weapon they'd like to learn to use? What drives them to fight?

RIYA — she's a little all over the place when it comes to strategy (she'd swear there's a method to it but if you ask for the explanation you'd be there for like 15 minutes hearing the debrief on how chaotic her head is during combat), but the classic Glass Cannon is a nice default no matter what her prepared spells look like. has a little bit too much fun rushing the enemy if i'm being honest. she's best friends with staffs, a few types of blades, and technically she can handle a couple of other weapons but she doesn't particularly care for them. she's learning how to use herself as a conduit for magic instead of the bestie staff. she fights out of a desire to live, for the thrill of action, to protect her allies and those needing her aid, and to make her family proud. 

IGGY — when she’s in control of her faculties, her default is protection duty as that’s been her most frequent directive for so damn long. i, tabby the player, had it to where any activation of her lycan order hybrid transformation meant that she’d fully lost control of any logical thoughts and decision making. aka it’s her going full feral mode, only animal instinct (and rage, if that’s active) pushing her forward until it wears out, she’s knocked unconscious, or one of her runes is activated to rein her in. she’s capable of wielding whatever weapon is put into her hands because of the long decades she’s spent training and fighting, though she favors a sword or axe if given a choice. she’s driven now by a desire to do good with what time she has left, devoting her capabilities to ridding the world of however many darkspawn she can because surely it all makes a difference (she desperately needs it to make a difference, to maybe in time even slightly make up for all she’s done). tbh??? she’s probably made some kind of vow to herself to never harm another person again which motivates her efforts elsewhere.

warlock: Has your muse ever made a deal to get something they wanted? Is there anything your muse wants enough to broker for it? What would your muse sacrifice to get what they want?

RIYA — i imagine a joking thing between the clairmont kids came out of their mother being The business woman where they’d make silly nonsense deals with each other, either to have fun or be difficult depending on their mood (riya would constantly make deals to have her absence at boring events be covered by one of her brothers). she negotiated with warden recruiter rasha while in a whole ass prison cell to save bastian’s life, and would have given him anything to see it through. recently made a deal with warden commander satine and she puts that down to having experience requesting insane things from her own mother. unfortunately i think she'd sacrifice quite a lot for something/someone she cares deeply for, and she wouldn't think twice about it in the moment. IGGY — her only genuine deal would have been with the magister during the oneshot, because she was actually given something of real value in return for her efforts. any deals made with the family that had her enslaved would have been small things just to appease her or trick her into thinking they were giving more than they truly were, y’know all about furthering the control and dependence.

[carpetcat2]

Aw man I have so many thoughts on Drill and Scrap Knight. Copy n pasted pretty much word for word from a twitter thread bc I don’t want to resummarize them. Put under a readmore for dialogue spoilers up to Drill Knight’s boss fight.

I was fully prepared to be obsessed w any other Hexcavators, but Drill Knight was surprisingly delightful. You don't understand him like I do.

He has the vibe of someone who didn't really think of his life in the long-term but is also terrified of death.

He likes the infamy gained from his heists bc 1. He's an attention whore.

But like. On a deeper level I think he's desperate to not be forgotten. He genuinely is prepared for the possibility of dying young, but he doesn't want to be forgotten just as quickly.

It's said in camp NPC dialogue that, besides Scrap, the other Hexcavators were pretty new. It's not a group that was around for a long time.

And just based off of the other Hexcavator dialogues, it seems they see it as a temporary thing too, or at the very least don’t plan on staying long-term. (Taken from SK wiki bc I didn’t want to go through screenshots again.)

They just have to do this one heist and they're all set. So it's really neat to see Drill say this line. He cares about this seemingly temporary group and it is so interesting and sexy of him

Anyways. That’s the Mostly canon compliant stuff here’s the fanficcy stuff I wrote about Scrap and Drill based off of their apparent unique relationship.

I would’ve put this under another readmore, but apparently you can only have 1 on posts so now you have to deal with my insane rambling.

I think Scrap is like. Pretty old. Like. 58 or something while Drill's somewhere around his 30s. They're equals for the most part but the age is important.  

She’s in no way the epitome of an adult who should be responsible for a kid let alone a teen. She’s like a wine aunt who's kind of a bad influence, but she still has valuable insight on life that Drill very much values.

They met when Drill was like. Some weird scraggly little teen and they've been pestering each other since.

Do you get where I'm going yes yes you do

 DK: There's no thrill in a heist without danger ScK: Well, there's no thrill without skill, you little shit. Lemme show you how it's done before you keel over or something.

  So that day rolls around and she just wakes him up like ScK: Wakey wakey birthday boy! Or should I say... Birthday man ;D

And Drill is still trying to figure out whether it's a Tuesday or a Friday morning. 

ScK: We gotta do something big for your big day! Like... Or or like... Or maybe!!! Fuck it were doing all of the above. We're gonna have a busy day today so LETSGO And then they rob a couple sorcerers and one of Pridemoor's treasure vaults 

 And by the end of the day they're breathless. It's become dark by then and the only light they have besides the fleeting setting sun is the dim glow of the magical relics they stole refracted in the facets of gems they also stole. 

They're trying to keep their voices down, but the excitement is too much. It wasn't a big deal though. They were the best scavenger and the best thief! 

Their chatter finally slows down and they just sit there for a moment to appreciate the chilled air. "Oh shit wait. Gotta do this before I forget" scrap breaks the peace to go rummage through their loot and drill glances over, curiously.

ScK: Tada!!

She pulls out an expensive looking bottle of wine and a glass that somehow did not break while inside the bag. 

DK: Oh... Wow  DK: Let me guess. You plan on getting blackout drunk again?  ScK: What? No, this is the fancy shit. Obviously it's for you.  DK: Really now? ScK: Yeah, really! I know your standards are high and all so I made sure to get the best of the best for you! Why did you think I dragged you all the way to Pridemoor's vault? DK: The various magical relics? The ridiculous amount of gold? Really, I can't think of any other reason.😒 ScK: Those were also very compelling reasons, but this one's the big one!

And she holds out the bottle and glass for him to take.

DK: ... You do realize that the legal drinking age is 21, right? ScK: What?? Where's the guy who raided Pridemoor's vault with me just an hour ago? Here I was, thinking you didn't care about the law. DK: Obviously I don't. 

And then he takes the items from her. but like. listen. listen.

"I didn't think I'd live past 18" 

And he's now at that middle point and that fact is just sinking in.

Y'know that feeling when you're overwhelmed w emotion or whatever but you're in denial about it / trying to push it down bc it's stupid?

You're in conflict with what's going on bc by all means it shouldn't be happening, and you're trying to keep it together to not dour the mood bc it's supposed to be fun/happy.

He's like. frozen in place for a moment because everything's just setting in. 

"Holy shit. I'm an adult." And he's reluctant at first to actually try it bc he couldn't really fathom the possibility.

ScK: Aww, come on! Don't tell me you're chickening out on me! ScK: Hey.. earth to Drill? Yoohoo! ScK: .......Are you alright?

He then (tries) to chug the whole bottle to deflect the question, which is something you absolutely should not do if you want to be correct about drinking wine.

She knows something is up but just isn't sure how to handle it. She doesn't really bring it up but still tries to lighten the mood. 

And she's not exactly equipped to handle something like that bc she's very much someone who pushes down issues too.

Far from an amazing influence.

Recognizes an issue, but doesn't personally address it. “He's a tough guy.. He's not gonna want to talk about it with me and that's fine. He can handle it himself.”

Note: He doesn't, and now Scrap has to reconcile with the fact that she actually has to act responsibly because she does in fact care about this loser and doesn't want him hurt.

It's not going to be as easy as just repressing it and laughing it off later, because the weight doesn't solely fall on her shoulders this time.

Something something she acts mean and pushes people away because she doesn't want that responsibility over another person in that way again. She's fucked up in that position more times than she wished she did and doesn't really trust herself to be in that position ever again.

The convo is important for the both of them bc Scrap has to confront that shared mindset of not thinking about anything longterm and find reasons that would comfort someone about it + acknowledge that amount of responsibility she has over her friend and take that seriously.

And like. I talked about Drill's deal. Actually looking forward for the future. Starting to delve more into the long-term.

DK: The highest quality wine from Pridemoor's vaults... Honestly, I have no idea how I'll top that when I actually reach drinking age. ScK: Well, that'd be a problem for when you get to 21! We could rob Pridemoor’s Castle itself! DK: ....Yeah. Yeah, that sounds cool.

[hinatastinygiant]

Chapter Thirty Five

Chlosyne Janais Eruca

Pairing: Haikyuu!! x Fem!Reader

previous | next | 2099

KENMA'S P.O.V.

"Kenma!" my coworker Sora beams through my computer screen. "How's it going?"

I sigh as I see her bright face light up my otherwise dark room. "Bright," I reply as I squint my eyes. "What do you need?"

"I was wondering if you could do me a big favor," she adds as she pulls her face closer to the screen, causing her brown and green eyes to bulge out from behind her clear glasses.

"Not again," I sigh. "What is it?"

"Well," she mutters, almost about to change her mind as she slides her hands down one of her two purple braids. "I was wondering if you could talk to that Build and Sell client for me... I'm still working on the pet grooming design and I don't think I can take another case without my brain exploding, Kenny!"

"Please don't call me that," I reply as I close my eyes to prevent myself from getting pissed off at her. "I don't think I should meet with that client. I'll just lose them like I lose all of them."

"Ah geez, there you go again. You only struggle to keep clients because you say stuff like that! You gotta act more excited about the project or else they won't think you're a good fit! You gotta act the part," she attempts to explain to me as she takes off her glasses and inspects them up close to her eyes.

"What do you expect me to do? I'm a fucking graphic designer, not a businessman. I would have majored in that if I didn't want to sit behind a computer all day," I respond.

Sora shakes her head as she begins to scrape something off her glasses with her pointer finger. "Yeah, well, you do good work. Your portfolio certainly shows that. Hell, you and I both know it's ten times better than mine is. But you also gotta act the part, mkay?"

"Yeah, whatever," I roll my eyes as I watch her continue to pick at whatever's stuck to the lens of her glasses. "I'll talk to the client but don't blame me if we lose them."

"Deal!" she beams as she looks up and smiles widely. "Thanks, Kenny, I really appreciate that!"

"Sure, but you gotta tell me what's so damn interesting with your glasses," I scoff.

"Oh, I just got some dead skin cells stuck to the frame. It's all good now though! It's not as bad as the green dirt that grows on the nose pads or the random stuff that spreads throughout the frame! That stuff's the worst!" she laughs.

"That's fucking disgusting," I shake my head. "Why don't you just get new glasses?"

"Do you seriously think I've got enough money for that?" she scoffs. "I'm not spendin' any money for something I already have!"

"So gross," I whisper to myself as I reach my hand to my mouse. "Bye, Sora."

"No Kenny, wait!" she calls out before the end tone of the call cuts her off. I can practically hear her saying 'aw man' even though she's not in the same room as me.

After, I lean back in my chair and look down at my watch. My meeting with the client is tomorrow, so I've got all night to myself. That is, until I remember that I'm supposed to see Kuroo. With a sigh, I pack my things up and walk out of my room. By the front door, I left that copy of the book girls: A Paean that Kuroo wanted for whatever reason. I've never read it, but judging by the way he obsesses over it, it must be good and commissary money.

When I get to the penitentiary, I'm asked to sit in the visitor's room and wait for Kuroo. When he walks in, I already know the rules. I get one hug when he walks in and one when he leaves. After the two of us sit down, he smiles softly and folds his hands together on the table between us.

"So?" he asks curiously. "How's it going?"

"How's what going?" I reply, unsure as to what he's referring to.

"Work. You know, 'cause you said you were struggling to meet new clients," he responds.

"That's really what you want to talk about?"

"Well sure, what else would we talk about? You probably don't care to know I beat five guys in a game of tic tac toe and won a Snickers bar," he grins.

I sigh at his answer. "I suppose that means you're doing well then."

"As well as I can do," he then shrugs. "And you?"

"Sora found me another client. I have a meeting with them tomorrow. It's some Buy and Sell thing. I don't really think it'll be all that interesting but Sora says I've got to act that way or I'll be out of a job," I explain to Kuroo.

"She's right, you know," Kuroo then chuckles. "Girl's weird as all hell, I'll give you that, but she's smart. Besides, she's a couple of years older than we are. She knows what's up."

"Yeah, I guess you're right," I nod as I look around the waiting room. "Oh, by the way, I brought that stuff you wanted."

"No fucking way!" Kuroo gasps so loud that he attracts attention from the whole room.

"Hey! Settle down inmate!" one of the guards shouts back.

Kuroo puts up his hand to apologize before looking at me excitedly. "So you got the book?!"

"Yeah, I got the damn book. Thought you'd be more excited 'bout the money, though," I say as I hand him a prison guard approved box. Kuroo's eyes light up as he lifts up the box and holds it close to his nose.

"Mmm," he says as he takes in a deep breath of the front cover. "Thanks, Kenma, you're the best!"

"Why'd you want it so bad anyway?" I finally ask him.

Kuroo smirks as he holds open the book and slides it across to me, pointing to one of the pages. Within, holds the most disgusting content. But really, I shouldn't be surprised.

"Porn," I shake my head. "It's fucking porn."

previous | next | 2099

want to join the taglist? Click here for more

Taglist: @isentsworld

[problematicfanfics]

First Time Drinker (WIP)

Wilbbo, 18+ characters, alcohol use, intoxicated consent

no NSFW (yet)

this is OLDDD. if you remember this stream veteran points. i vividly remember fundy enlarging his eyes and mouth and i was drinking since they were so i thought it was the FUNNIEST shit ever. i also barely ever see wilbur x tubbo shit so idk their ship name. anyways. ignore all errors.

* ⋆★

“In one year, I wanna be- Tubbo, this is for real. In one year I wanna be doing this in person with you. Just fucking- New years, fuck, new years eve just sat in a pub just fucking drinking...”

“It’s not new years eve,”

“...With Tubbo. Fuck.”

“IT’S CHRISTMAS EVE.”

“That’s what I want Tubbo, can you do that for me?”

“A hundred percent Wilbur, sounds… fun.”

Tubbo knew three things for certain about Wilbur when he was drunk

1. He got super giggly. Laughing, even if no one said anything

2. Lots of theatrics. Loud singing, screaming even if someone was next to him, and just over all being super outgoing.

3. And he seemed to just talk a lot. Cutting off sentences with curses. Slurring of his words, even if he hadn’t had a lot to drink it sounded like he couldn’t get it all out properly.

Tubbo closed the door of his mum’s car.

“You sure you want to do this?” She asked him through the car window. He knelt down and rested his arms on the door frame. “It’s been a year, and they all seem excited.”

“But are you excited?”

“Definitely. I’ll be fine.”

“Ok... Text me. And don’t get too drunk!”

“I won’t!” He waved to her and she drove off.

“Here,” Wilbur handed Tubbo his half finished cup of chilled glass whiskey. “Try.”

Tubbo shivered as the cold glass made contact with his skin. His mind was already a little cloudy from earlier, he promised his mom he wouldn’t drink that much…

“Sorry Wilbur, I don’t know my tolerance and I don’t want to over-do it.” The glass made a rattling sound as it was pushed back over to Wilbur. He pouted. “Cmon, Tubbo! One more drink! Just to TASTE! You can’t say you're not intrigued,” He sang his last few words to sweeten the deal. A sigh came from Tubbo before he picked the glass up again.

From the moment it touched his lips he knew he was going to hate it. It burned going down and nothing was pleasant. Quickly he coughed, asking the bartender for a water.

“First time drinking?” The bartender finally asked. As Tubbo drank the water Wilbur answered for him. “Yep, it’s his first time. I would say he’s taking it like a champ for never having had before… I guess.”

“Yeah! You got this kid. Are you his brother?”

Finally Tubbo was done with his water and available to answer. “No, just friends! Been friends for three… three? years now. I think three,” The boy counted on his fingers. “So you’re… also eighteen?” Wilbur was asked.

“Oh no, I’m 24. I don’t keep track exactly but somewhere there. Give or take a month.” The man across them nodded in understatement before being called over by another bar goer.

The two exchanged glances. “I’m… sorry everyone pretty much cancelled. I tried. I really did! They all said they will probably come! But everything got cancelled last second and i felt bad because not only had i hyped it up so much but you seemed really excited-”

Never mind, Wilbur was known for FOUR things when he was drunk.

4. rambling

“-I suppose I just really wanted to make this memorable and right now it’s just bloody DEPRESSING. I’m sorry, Tubbo, I really am,”

“It’s really fine, Wilbur. I’m happily spending my first drink with just you and as long as we’re both happy that’s all I care about.”

[powerfultenderness]

Uh-oh

Summary:  As the unmasked Vigilante tied you up with gauze, you came to the shocking and rather embarrassing realization that it’s not fear that you’re feeling, but arousal. You try to keep your voice down, hoping your coworkers don’t notice you discovering a new kink.

Pairing: Reader/Vigilante 

Warnings: Kink discovery (is that a thing?) 

Word Count: 903

[Masterlist][Ao3]

As the unmasked Vigilante tied you up with gauze, you came to the shocking and rather embarrassing realization that it’s not fear that you’re feeling, but arousal. As if sensing the intensity of your stare, he pauses and looks up at you.

“Is this ok?”

This maniac was just contemplating killing you and your coworkers but was now worried about whether he was tying your restraints too tightly? It was..sweet, in a way…maybe? Oh boy. 

You gulped, “You should probably…tie them tighter…” 

His brows scrunch up in confusion behind those wire framed glasses you’re not sure if you like or not, they fit him well, oddly enough, but you’d rather there be no barrier in front of those pretty green eyes.

“I mean, if you don’t want me getting out too soon.” 

You try to keep your voice down, hoping your coworkers don’t notice you discovering a new kink. 

“Oh! Right!” He responds and tightens one of the makeshift ropes around your ankle, causing you to bite back an excited squeak. 

Uh-oh. This was…not good. 

-

You’d been working so many hours lately, that you hadn’t had time to go grocery shopping. Yesterday you resorted to a dinner of peanut butter and jelly on a spoon. The bread aisle was definitely where you were going to start when you finally got around to shopping. 

So it was that you found yourself freaking out at a diner as you looked at the busboy in the back before ducking your head behind a menu and repeating the action several times. 

“You’re a fucking busboy!”  “Oh, great! Now we definitely have to kill them, because you’re giving away stuff about my secret identity!” 

Yea, that was definitely him. As if you could ever forget the man that’s been haunting your thoughts for weeks now. 

When the waitress arrives you order the first thing you see, not really interested in eating anymore.

“Hey, uhm. Do you know his deal?” You ask her, trying to be subtle with a toss of your head in his direction. “Does he have like, a girlfriend? Or boyfriend maybe?” 

She raises a brow at you, “Who Adrian?” Aw, what a nice name. 

Then she smiles. “I don’t know. Why, someone have a little crush?” 

“Yeaaa, I’m just trying to decide if I should try to talk to him orrr…” You let out an embarrassed laugh. 

“I’ll send him over to refill your water.” She says with a wink before walking away to put your order in. 

You’ve never slurped down water faster. 

A few minutes later you bury your face in your hands, wondering just what the hell you were thinking! You should have turned around and walked right out the second you noticed him! What did you even want him to do? Tie you up again? Well…yes. But then what? Actually, your mind could conjure up a few ideas of wh-

“Hi there! Refill?” 

A cheery voice startles you from your thoughts, causing you to jump slightly in your seat.

“Aha, sorry, didn’t mean to scare ya! You must have been thirsty!” Oh he has no idea. “I swear I just saw you come in a few minutes ago!” 

He’s got the goofiest, cutest, smile on his face as he blathers on about the importance of staying hydrated. 

“I, uh, thanks.”

Was this really the man whose threat of violence sent your hormones into a tizzy? 

“Sure, no problem! I’ll swing by later to make sure you’re staying hydrated!” 

You thank him again and your eyes coincidently catch sight of his forearms as he walks past your table. The muscles in his arms are well defined and thick. Yea, he’s definitely the man that you’ve been dreaming about. This uniform does him no favors, you definitely prefer the Vigilante suit. 

Oh. 

Was that another… Oh no. 

Thankfully for your fried nerves, your food arrives rather quickly and you now have an excuse to guzzle down your water. And just as he promised, Adrian stops by your table to refill your water.

“By the way,” you start after thanking him. “How’s Eagly doing? All of us at the office have been rather curious.” 

That amiable smile of his instantly drops. “Who’s Eagly? What office? I don’t know anyone named Eagly! What a silly name!” 

“Oh. My bad. I must have been mistaking you for someone else. Nevermind.” You wave your hand in apology and smile up at him. 

He stares at you, eyes wide, in silence as if he’s trying to figure out what to say or do. That is, until someone calls his name from the back and he stiffly excuses himself. 

As soon as he turns a corner you drop enough cash on the table to cover your meal and a generous tip. After all, the waitress might have just unknowingly set you up with the man of your dreams. 

-

Once he was done clearing another table in the back of the dining room, he rushed to the front where you had been seated. 

Fuck!

You were already gone and the cash he could see on the table meant that he wouldn’t be able to find your name off of a credit card receipt. He panicked internally for a second before he remembered. He knew exactly where you worked. All he’d need to do was stake out the veterinary office for a day to find you. And he’d definitely find you. 

[gaysimpsstuff]

Accidental Turn-Ons; Hawks x Dom! Reader

Genre: angst to fluff to smut

Type: Oneshot

Summary: Hawks returns home from a mission, clearly exhausted, and you take the time to give him a little massage! However, it doesn’t quite have the effects you expected.

Word Count: 3.5K

Warnings: minor dub-con (Y/n doesn't know that what they're doing is sexual for Hawks), stress, minor injuries, Keigo's adorable bird tendencies, sexual innuendo, dom y/n, wing play, feather play, nicknames, edging, dacryphilia, handjobs, aftercare

Other: Yo this might actually be my best smut yet

Inspiration: This was actually inspired by my own piece of work, MHA Characters + Their Biggest Kinks where I spoke about Hawks’ wing and back kink and how it relates to his avian traits.

Taglist: @smolchildfangirl @mandalorian-baby-bird @waffleareniceandfluffy @catcherisvibin @thesubtlewhore @popcatx0

You paced the living room, glancing between the TV and the door. The news station had cut away from the fight five minutes ago, which meant your boyfriend was either in the hospital getting treated for any injuries he might have sustained, dealing with fans, dealing with paperwork, or on his way home.

Your phone buzzed and you raced to grab it off the couch, fearing an incoming call from the hospital, or a news alert about the well-being of the man you loved.

You bit the inside of your cheek as you realized it was just an email from work, not even marked important. You tossed your phone back onto the couch with a groan.

Wasted build-up. Your mind grumbled

Your eyes flicked back to the TV, watching as the reporter rambled on about yet another stupid thing America had going on as you waited for something, anything to happen. Right when you were getting ready to pick your phone back up from the couch cushions when you heard a light tap tap tappity tap against the thick glass of the sliding glass door that led to your balcony.

You dashed across the living room, accidentally knocking a chair over as you raced to reach the sliding glass door that led to the balcony. You'd recognize his special knock any day, even if he changed it all the time whenever he forgot it. You always had patience with him, you knew he had too many things on his mind with Hero Work to always remember a random knock.

You grabbed the handle, yanking the door open with a wide grin, finally laying eyes on your bird boy. He had a hand stuffed in his pocket, the other rubbing at the back of his neck.

"Hey, Y/n. So sorry I'm late, been flying all day so naturally I'm a little sore. No excuse for missing movie night but-"

"I'm just so glad you're here!" You exclaimed, taking his cheeks in your hands and rubbing at his cheekbones. "I'm so sorry you're hurting, come inside I'll get a heating pack, or a cooling pack, maybe some lotion and I could give you a massage." You babbled, tugging him inside.

"A massage and some cuddles sound great," he sighed, eyes tired. You never liked the fact that Keigo was a hero. He worked too hard, too much, and for so long. He was still young, he should be appreciating life and spending time on himself and with his lover and not with the commission. "Oh I uh, I found this for you."

He took one of your hands off his face, taking his other hand out of his pocket and pressing something cold and smooth into your palm. You opened your fingers, a soft smile growing on your face at the sight of a smooth pretty white rock with grey and black speckles.

"Oh, Kei, this is beautiful. I love it~" you pressed a kiss to Keigo's cheek, loving the way he trilled. He was always so excited to pick up random items he found pretty or interesting, and he'd always give them right to you. It was truly adorable, you loved his gifts. His wings fluttered in happiness for a moment before he winced slightly in pain, happiness vanished in a reminder of his stress from the day.

"Ouch, okay, sitting down time," he muttered, stumbling past you to flop down on the couch. You grabbed the lotion from the kitchen counter (you kept it there for whenever he came home with sore muscles). You set the stone down on the coffee table, tapping it twice in a small show of affection before sitting next to Keigo.

"Shirt off Birdie," you said, squirting some lotion into your palm before rubbing them together.

"Hey, at least buy me a drink first," he chuckled, tugging his jacket off and peeling off his tight hero shirt. You sighed, deciding not to comment on his tacky flirting, knowing you'd been dating for almost a year now.

He turned his back to you, crossing his legs. He folded his wings, lowering them to give you access to his shoulders and shoulder blades. You pressed your fingers against one of his shoulders, finding a large knot almost immediately. You heard him hiss, and your frown increased.

"I know it hurts but it will hurt a lot less when I'm finished," you told him, pressing a gentle kiss to the nape of his neck. The hair there rose against your skin, a shiver shooting down his spine. You blinked, confused at his reaction. Maybe it was uncomfortable for him. You resolved not to kiss there again.

You continued to rub against his tightened muscles, listening to his soft hisses and groans. You pulled away after about six minutes, picking up the lotion bottle and squirted some more into your palms.

"Hey, when you finish with mm~ when you finish with that shoulder could you do around my wing joints? Down my spine, y'know?"

"Are there muscles there?" you asked, most people didn't have muscles down their spines, usually it was just the ridges of said bones.

"Yeah, I do," he explained quickly. You nodded pressing into his knot, slowly working down when it eased up. You moved your fingers downwards, feeling his shoulder blades and spine before reaching his wings joints. He shuddered, similar to when you kissed his neck, but a little larger. You hummed, pressing your fingers down and finding another knot, right where his skin turned to bright red feathers.

"Oh, yeah, yeah right there that's perfect." You glanced back up at him, confused, he didn't usually speak when you massaged him, he'd also never asked for a massage so close to his wings, he was usually very cautious about having his wings touched. Maybe he'd just gotten tired of dealing with wing pains by himself, it was probably a lot different from other knots.

"I'm so sorry you have to deal with this," you cooed. "You really deserve a break, it's not healthy to work this hard all the time."

"I know, Little Feather, but it's nng- n-not my fault. The citizens need me." he panted. You sighed, moving your other hand to work out both wings' knots at the same time.

Keigo's head flopped forward, and his hand flew up to slap over his mouth, holding back a soft whine. You lifted an eyebrow in suspicion, there were only a few times when you heard him make noises like that.

Slowly, you pressed your fingers down closer to the underside, right over a few of his downy feathers.

"Oh fuck~" he hissed.

"Okay, that's it." you lifted your hands away from them, holding them in the air. "What the hell's going on with you?" His head whipped around so fast you were surprised it was still attached to his neck. His golden eyes widened, pupils blowing out, nearly completely covering the honey iris.

"W-what?" he exclaimed, feathers puffing up.

"I'm sorry if I seem mad, I'm not, I'm just- very confused. You're literally moaning. I am giving you a massage and you're moaning. Explain."

His cheeks dusted over in pink, and his eyes fell down to his lap.

"Okay uh- fuck I- this was not how I planned on telling you, erm- I promise I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable-"

"Keigo, it's alright, I'm not uncomfortable, just confused. Take a breath darling,"

"Okay, okay, okay." he took a deep breath. "My wings and back are... sensitive, like- in a sexual way. It's why I never let you touch them, I didn't want you to get uncomfortable with that."

"Oh Keigo, you should have just told me, it's perfectly alright, you know I love you, and I love your bird traits. I'm not uncomfortable with this." you smiled sweetly, pressing a hand to his cheek.

"You're- you're not?" he glanced back up at you, golden eyes filled with hope.

"Not in the slightest. To be honest, I don't see why anyone would be uncomfortable with it. It's just another erogenous zone, like someone's neck, ears, or nipples would be. And lots of people keep those bits on display."

"Thanks," he murmured, rubbing his nose against yours. "That does make me feel better, but uh- there's something else.." he trailed off, nervous.

"Your obvious boner? I was gonna leave you to take care of that yourself, but I'll gladly do it for you if you'd like."

"Oh uh-" his cheeks brightened as if attempting to match the tone of his wings. "I would very much like that," he admitted, offering you a slightly nervous smile.

"Anytime, Birdie~" you stood up, hands landing on either side of his waist as you pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead. "But I would very much like to experiment with those wings of yours, see what we can do with them. Just how far can we go?" You smirked at him, tongue darting out to moisturize your lips. Keigo let out a soft breath, shifting against the couch to make room for the tent in his pants.

"I- I have thought about using them before- my feathers can move fast, so they can act as a vibrator if I focus, but I could never use it on myself. I know I'd get distracted, then the feather would stop moving, then I'd have to start all over again. I'd basically just be edging myself all night. I know I'd just give up and jerk off."

"I can work with that~" you pressed your lips against his, surprising him. He whined into the kiss, hands flying up to fist your shirt.

Unfair. He thought, he already had his shirt off, and he knew he'd be naked in just a few minutes, but you hadn't taken anything off yet. Knowing you, you would stay clothed just to tease him. The most you would do was lift your shirt a little to show him your stomach before quickly covering it again. That was what you usually did when you dommed. At least for the foreplay.

You pressed the tip of your tongue against his lips, pushing past his defensive barrier of shiny white teeth, perfect for the press, and you licked along the top of his mouth. His whole body shuddered against yours, his hips jerking upwards.

You grabbed his thigh with one hand, squeezing. A warning, he knew, against bucking up again, against disobeying. He tasted your saliva, feeling it pool onto his tongue. His eyes finally drooped closed, enjoying the taste of leftover's from last night's dinner on your tongue.

He whined against the back of your mouth, feeling you move your other hand up towards his back. He already knew what you were going to do. Without pulling away from the kiss, you plucked a feather about the size of his hand from his wings, running a finger down the stem, brushing it against the little red bristles. Soft against your finger, yet forcing Keigo's restrained cock to grow even harder than he ever thought possible.

You slowly pulled back from the kiss, taking his lower lip hostage between your teeth, tugging it as far as it could go before finally releasing it. You felt Keigo's hot breaths fanning out across your face, and your grin only grew. You loved breaking him apart, the strong, well-put-together Hawks was an act only for the cameras, only you could ever know the real him, the horny, whiny, needy baby he truly was.

"Look at you, falling apart already? I've barely done shit to you."

"Fuck- that's just 'cause it's you~" he purred

"Flattery won't get you anywhere, doll." Your shit-eating smirk only grew, and Keigo could feel himself melting into the couch cushions. "C'mon, take 'em off, you're a big boy, I'm sure you can do it yourself."

He nodded, hands flying away from your shirt and grappling with his belt buckle faster than you could say 'Hawks.' He tossed his belt behind the couch, not caring if it hit anything, and quickly shimmied out of his pants and underwear, letting them pool around his ankles. His cock slapped against his stomach, six inches and throbbing.

Looks like his prediction was correct. He was naked. You were not. You didn't look like you were planning on undressing anytime soon, which left Keigo feeling slightly disappointed. However, any negative emotions vanished the second you ran his bright red feather down his nose, over his lips, then under his chin. He knew immediately you were trying to lift his face with the feather, despite the single feather not being strong enough by itself, not unless it was under his control. But he was not in control, you were, and fuck it if that wasn't the best part.

"Good boy~" you praised him, sliding a hand up his bare thigh, brushing it carelessly close to his dick. He bit his lip, eyes flicking between your hand and your eyes.

"Please, please touch me," he whispered, slightly embarrassed by the situation. It had been a long while since you'd last had sex, and an even longer while since you had been the dom. He'd all but forgotten how to properly beg. You could tell.

"Come on, doll, I know you can ask me nicely, or at least better than that." He groaned, hands gripping your hips and attempting to tug you into his lap, a plan formulating in his head that ended in an amazing thighjob. But his plans never worked, not at least with you involved. No, you were too stubborn, one of the many things he loved about you. But not really in this precise situation.

"Nah ah ah~ hands off the merchandise." Your hand squeezed his thigh again, twice this time. That was all he needed to let go. He found purchase in a nearby pillow, moving it behind him and tugging on the little dangly bits on the corners. He forgot what they were called but he was ninety-five percent sure it started with a 'D' or something.

"Fuck, please, I need it, you know I need it, I-I've been nothing but good all day, please touch me, please~" He whined, eyebrows furrowing. That plus his reddened cheeks made just the cutest face. You couldn't wait to make his eyes go crooked and for him to drool.

"That's it, good boy~" You ran the tip of the feather up his cock, circling the tip. He shivered in response, biting back a loud moan. "Come on, don't make me mad, vibrate yourself with your feather~" you cooed, teasing tone making his stomach churn in the best way possible.

He bit his lip, looking down at the feather slowly circling the tip of his dick. It had already nudged his foreskin downwards, leaving the red skin fully exposed. He took a deep breath, trying to block out your presence, and how hard he was, just focusing on the single red feather, twirling around in loops.

He felt it twitch against his skin, before finally starting to shake, then at last it was vibrating. He twitched it away from his dick, slightly nervous about how it might feel. You sighed, pressing it directly onto the little hole at the tip.

"Ghhh- oh fuckkkkk~" he moaned, pressing his head against the couch cushions. It felt better than he ever possibly could have imagined. Feeling the feather on his dick, his dick against his feather, it was double the pleasure. He whined loudly when the vibrations suddenly stopped. "Nooooo I want it, bring it back, please," he begged, looking up at you with wide eyes.

"Doll I didn't even do anything. You lost focus. You gotta try a little harder." you said, tapping the feather against him again. Pre-cum stuck to it, making red glisten with a little bit of white. He cursed at the sight (and feeling) of his own pre on his feather.

Soon enough, it started to buzz again. And you put it back on him. This time, you traced it up and down his base, running it over the tip again. One of his hands flew up to his mouth, knuckles pressing against his lips. His hips bucked up against the vibrating feather.

"Ooooohhhhhh fuckfuckfuckfuck so goooood~" he moaned loudly. Again, the buzzing stopped without warning. "Nooo fuck no! I need it please fuck!" He looked like he was on the verge of tears- no way it was really that good. You'd have to ask him to use his feathers on you sometime.

"I know baby, I know," you ran your fingers through his hair, tugging lightly. His breath hitched, golden eyes filling with tears of pleasure. "But you gotta focus to get it done, okay?" he nodded, wiping his tears, but he only managed to spread the warm, salty liquid over his face, making him appear even more debauched.

How cute

You wrapped your hand around his dick when it started to vibrate again, the feather curled up between your palm and his dick. Slowly, you began to jerk him off, feeling the feather vibrate faster than you'd felt any toy vibrate, and his dick throbbing and pulsing against you left you feeling like you just might cum in your pants.

"FUCK!" he shouted, back arching off the couch. One of his legs flew upwards, toes curling around the air. He was shaking at this point, looking like he was just on the verge of cumming. "Oh, Godddd fuckkkmeeeee~" he wailed, tears overflowing and falling down his flushed cheeks.

"No god's gonna fuck you, darling, only I will because you belong to me. Isn't that right?" You pulled on his hair and his moans grew louder, the vibrations intensifying, which you thought was impossible at the rate it had been buzzing against your skin and his.

"Youuuuu fuck- I- I belong to youuuu~" he moaned, hiccuping a little.

"Fuck, you're so fucking cute like this, so adorable when you fall apart beneath me, gonna break soon?" He sniffed loudly, nodding. His moan broke out into a disappointed wail when the vibrations stopped again. He tried to get it to move but it just wasn't going to. You opened your palm, revealing the feather, the stem bent awkwardly. Hawks sighed, sadness filling his eyes.

"I was just 'bout to cum too..." he whimpered.

"Oh, you'll still cum. We don't need anything else between us anymore~" you tossed the feather aside before spitting into your palm, beginning to jerk him off again. It certainly didn't feel nearly as good as it did with the feather, but at this point, he was so close he just couldn't give two fucks about how good it felt, just that it would get him where he needs.

"Oh yes yes yes fuck yes more more- gonna cum gonna cum ooooh fuck baby you're gonna make me cum!" He cried out, bucking up into your hand, sobbing as pre ran down the sides of his dick and onto your fingers.

You pulled him to you by his hair, loving the loud moan he let out from the pain. You pressed your lips right up against his ear.

"Then fucking cum, my baby boy~" you purred seductively. Moments later, his whole body spasmed, legs shaking violently and wings flaring outwards. He wailed, screaming as he finally came into your hand, white ribbons landing on his legs, stomach, and even a little on the couch. Subconsciously, he knew he'd have to clean that up later, but he was not about to worry about that right now.

"Godamn! If that wasn't the hottest thing I've ever seen!" you exclaimed, truly in awe at just how good his orgasm looked. He had gone limp, flopped back against the couch, and panting. You pulled your hand away from his dick, licking away the bits of cum from your skin before sitting down next to him, tugging his body closer to you.

"Unf, that was the best damn orgasm of my life," he murmured, voice a little hoarse.

"Looked like it, you alright darling? Can I get you anything? Water, blankets, bath?" You worried a little, hoping you didn't completely brain-fuck him.

"Jus' some cuddles." his head flopped down on your shoulder, eyes fluttering shut as he yawned.

"Hey birdie, don't fall asleep on me," you chuckled. "We still gotta get you all cleaned up and put in bed."

"Not... a problem..." he whispered, breath tickling your skin as he nodded off.

"Heh, that's a problem," you smiled affectionately. He deserved his rest. You resolved to stay still for a little while, then clean him up as gently as you could before carrying him to bed. He wasn't that heavy, after all. "I love you, my darling Keigo~" you whispered, resting your head on top of his and closing your eyes.

Maybe the mess could be cleaned tomorrow, you were also very tired.

[ch4nb4ng]

Evil Roommate

pairing: leeknow x afab!reader, roommates enemies to lovers

warnings: softdom!lino, cheating (mentioned), making out, grinding, oral (f receiving), fingering penetration, cum play (?), praise

requested : yes!

word count 6.2k

summary: the new roommate was a handful. lazy, disrespectful, arrogant, and a whole bunch of other negative things. but wow, you were sexually frustrated and he, well, attractive, was an understatement.

“Can you actually like, wash your kitchen utensils when you're done using them?”

The amount of huffing and puffing you have heard from your new roommate in the past two weeks was ridiculous. If you had a dollar for every time he had gone against anything you had politely asked for, you would be rich by now, and definitely stable enough to move out and away from him.

“I will,” he mumbled, mouth stuffed with half of the carrot he was chewing on, very loudly, “can I not enjoy my food first?”

“No,” you replied without hesitation, giving the fakest of smiles in return, “you should do it before you eat.”

Another eye roll from Minho was like water off a duck’s back.

“I'd also appreciate it if you didn’t talk to me with your mouth full of food either.”

“What the fuck is your problem?”

You coughed, turning on your hills to face a very unimpressed roommate. His stare was eye shattering. Yes, he was very, no, extremely good looking. However, every single thing that made up his personality could not be more different to you. Sloppy, messy, lazy. Took no responsibility for any of his actions, especially the high pitch noises (that obviously were not his) you would hear from his room in the early hours of the morning. You would pinch your pillow together, praying extremely hard that the noise would stop, and by the time it did, you would get maybe 2, 3 hours of sleep. College was becoming tiring, not only from staying up to complete assessments, but the lewd noises you could hear from at least 2 people in his room. Your blunt attitude towards Minho’s unhygienic and disrespectful habits were definitely justified.

“What are you talking about?”

“Why do you nitpick everything I do?”

Your jaw dropped, completely dumbfounded.

“Me? Nitpicking you? Please,” you scoffed, “you don't clean up after yourself ever, you leave your dirty clothes everywhere, and don't even get me started on the fact that I barely get any sleep because of your wild sex adventures with other people that occur almost every weeknight, when you know I have to wake up early to go to class next day.”

A combination of frustration and exhaustion could be heard through the harshness of each breath. The smirk that appeared on his face was absolutely punch worthy. What on earth was there to be so cocky of?

“My wild sex adventures,” he paused taking a bite of the dreaded carrot, “please, tell me more about my wild sex adventures.”

His tongue was now obviously pressed against his cheek, a devil coated smile still very apparent on his face. The longer he was looking at you like that, the hotter your cheeks became. Pure anger began to course through you; all he had to do was sit there and look pretty. It was definitely enough for you to get the green light to slap him across the face.

“Shut the fuck up,” you hissed, “I don’t need to explain how I can hear them moaning your name every night, or the banging I hear from wall to-”

“Hmm,” he hummed, “you seem to be listening very well.”

Distracted by your anger for a brief moment, you gasped suddenly, feeling Minho’s fingertips at your sides. You turned around, swatting his hands away, giving him that slap that you felt you had earned across the face.

“Who the fuck said you could touch me?

“Did you just fucking slap me?”

“Yes I fucking did,” you spat, “what do you take me for?”

“You know what you’re right, but you walk around here with a stick up your ass. I hear you on the phone to your friends, complaining about how you don't get any action from anyone.”

You stood there in disbelief. “So you’ve been eavesdropping on my convos as well?”

“Well it’s kind of hard not to hear, you know, the walls in this house are kind of thin.”

Your jaw clenched, his eyebrows furrowed, the conversation was at a stand still.

“Can you get to the point please?”

“I sure can sweetheart,” the name sending a shiver down your spine, “if you're that sexually frustrated, go and do something about it instead of taking it out on me?”

A laugh that you didn't even know you were capable of bellowed from your chest. You stumbled back, grabbing onto stool behind the bench for support.

“Me? Sexually frustrated? Please,” you huffed, “I’m not sexually frustrated, and it definitely has nothing to do with you.”

Another scoff escaped your lips as you shuffled back to your room. Closing the door behind you, a heavy sigh came from your chest as you sat on the edge of your bed. How on earth was he able to read you like that? So well and so accurate? It was all you could think about, not to mention the fact that it was also night time simultaneously.

You let your body fall onto your bed sheets. The feeling of restlessness was consuming your body. As you crawled into bed, you looked straight into the ceiling. Why were you thinking about his words so much? Were you really taking it out on him? You shook your head, mentally slapping yourself for even considering the thought.

Minho was a lazy slob who was extremely inconsiderate of others, especially you. But why was the thought of his fingers on your sides becoming the main source of agitation.? The silence of your thoughts was deafening, but they were easily interrupted as soon as you heard the door open, a high pitched voice followed what felt like the most ludicrous creek you had ever heard. ‘I should really put some oil on the door huh?’ You paused for a couple of seconds, this time physically face palming yourself for the dumb excuse you had made to see who he had decided to bring over to accompany him tonight. Legs completely ignoring your brain, you were out of bed, hand twisting the knob and peeking a look at the poor girl that would be subjected to Minho’s torture tonight. Tip toeing out of the doorway, you kept the weight of a feather on your toes, making yourself as invisible as possible.

“Y/n?”

Your pink panther stance of attempted deception looked utterly ridiculous and not sly at all was extremely confusing to the two. You quickly relaxed into a normal stance, the fakest of smiles coming across your face as you see who it is he brought home to have his way with.

“Chaeyeon… heyyy,” you lingered, “I didn’t know you were coming over.”

You would have been happy with literally anyone else. But Chaeyeon? Chaeyeon? It’s like she was your number one arch rival. Minho knew how much you hated her, yet he still let her come over. Everything about her you could not stand, not to mention the fact that she home wrecked your last serious relationship. Even though it was a while ago, you can forgive but not forget, her face being a constant reminder of your hurtful past.

“Oh hey Y/N,” she almost signed, her amount of excitement to see you matching yours, “I didn’t know you lived here.”

The arm he had around her waist made you sick.

“There’s a lot of things you don't know about me,” you mumbled, foot swaying back and forth, eyes focused on said foot.

“Okay, so you guys have had a little reunion,” Minho interrupted. Anything would have been better to break the awkward silence than his sarcastic comments, “we’re gonna go to my room now.”

“NO!” you interjected, covering the hallway with every bit of your being, “I mean, what’s the rush huh? Changbin is coming over as well.”

You paused, Minho’s face clearly cussing you out if yelling was inappropriate at this current moment.

“Uh no thanks Y/N-”

“We should all hang out!”

The excitement coming from your voice was so inauthentic, it was hard to miss.

“Yeah! Let’s all hang out,” you walked behind them, placing a hand on each of their backs and you hurried them to the couch, “I’ll get some beers in the fridge.”

“I actually only drink vodka,” Chaeyeon yawns, obnoxiously twirling her hair, her other hand aggravatingly high on his thigh.

“Oh that’s totally fine,” you gritted through tightly clenched teeth, “we have a bottle in the fridge, I’ll grab that for you as well.”

You scuffled back over to the fridge, mentally cursing yourself as you grabbed the necessary beverages. The confusion you were giving yourself about why you were putting in so much effort to spend time with the two people you literally hated more than anything was mind baffling

“So,” you began again, passing a Corona to Minho, a glass to Chaeyeon, “how have you been finding your course so far?”

You sat the Smirnoff and Orange juice on the table. Yes, you were being nice, but not nice enough to pour the drink for this bitch.

“Oh it was so great,” she smiled, “Jisung and I were living together, it was, well, a dream really.”

The feeling of your nails became prominent in your fists as your fingers caved in. The mention of his name was enough to make you see red, let alone the idea of them being happily together. The itch of your eye begging to roll was becoming too prominent, so much that you had to get up and walk away for a second. You stood up abruptly, confusion etched into Minho’s features. You didn’t want to make this a big deal, but the fact that she continued to gloat about it, long after you stopped listening was enough to reach your breaking point.

“I think I heard my phone ringing from my room, it must be Changbin.”

“I don't think I hear anything,” Minho smirked, plastering his lips on the edge of the bottle. The way his lips wrapped around the tip of the warm glass was something you ‘accidentally’ became fixated on. You puffed your cheeks, storming to your room and somewhat aggressively shutting the door behind you. Scrambling for your phone on the bedside table, you panicked, unclear mind as you scrolled through your phone contacts. You paused, an inducing amount of oxygen filling up your lungs. It did little to calm the irritated tingling sensation in your fingers.

Changbin’s name had finally popped up on your phone after what had felt like a lifetime.

“Hello?”

His voice was husky, guilt panging your chest as you realsied you had probably woken him up from his not very often deep slumber.

“Changbin,” you gasped, “you know how much I love you right?”

“What do you need me to do?”

You snickered at his words. He had been your friend for too long to know that those words would never be said unless you needed something.

“Can you come over,” you pleaded, “Chaeyeon is here with Minho because he invited her over late at night, and I told them you were coming over?”

“Jesus Y/n,” Changbin sighed, a playful chuckle tickling your cheek, “so you want me to come over and make Minho jealous?”

“Wait no wtf,” you jumbled, “make Minho jealous? I just want you to flirt with me and Chaeyeon so she leaves.”

“Mhm yeah,” he chuckled once more, voice laced with sarcasm as he spoke, “I’ll come over, but if you don't sleep with him by the end of the night, I’m gonna be extremely disappointed.”

“Yeah okay whatever just get your ass over here now.”

And with that you abruptly ended the phone call, Changbin giving you no peace of mind. Were you this easy to read by everybody? A frustrated sigh exploded from your chest. The games your head and your heart were playing with were helping you come to no resolution. You sat on your bed, thoughts were running crazy. Now would be a really great time to just put on Netflix and curl into bed, have some snacks and fall asleep, chip trail on ur chest to be found in the morning.

You were interrupted by the very loud knock on the door. Sprinting like your life depended on it, you were relieved. Seeing Changbin’s face had never before given you so much joy.

“Changbin,” you shouted, wrapping your arms around him in a tight embrace.

“Y/n what are you doing-”

“Shut up and go along with it,” you mumbled into his chest, letting up, but still keeping your body tightly wounded against his. Minho’s jaw became clenched, or were you just imagining things?

Regardless of what it was, your brain quickly shifted to the way Chaeyeon was eyeing Changbin up and down, almost like it was the first time she had ever seen an attractive male. ‘She definitely wasn’t looking at Minho like that when he walked in’ you thought, an unconscious smirk coming to mouth. You bit down on your bottom lip, an extremely poor attempt at masking the satisfaction of your goal being achieved so easily. One step closer to kicking her out, for good, because there was no way you weren’t talking to Minho after this about making an explicit declaration of her abandonment from this house.

“Minho,” he smiled, earning a nod, “Chaeyeon,” he smirked, an almost gag spilling out of your mouth.

“Changbin,” she followed, repeating his smirk, “long time no see.”

She gulped, engulfing a large sip of alcohol into her wicked mouth.

“Let’s play a game!”

“A game,” you questioned, raising an eyebrow, “why would we play-”

“I think that’s a great idea!”

You turned to look at him, a puzzled expression still very apparent on your facial features.

“Get the vodka out from the fridge, and let’s get started.”

***

Two bottles of vodka down, and what looked like 8 bottles of Corona sitting empty on the table, the games that were being played were becoming more difficult to comprehend. Sound of giggle and laughter constantly filled the room as everyone slowly began to lose their minds to the intoxication.

“O-okay, never have I e-ever, done a sexual act in public.”

Filters of chuckles and laughter filled the room as everyone, but you took a sip.

“What?” she asked, offering you her fake sympathy, “you’ve never done anything like that before?”

“I-I mean,” you stuttered, the look of confusion was evident, “I don’t think I have-”

“Yes you have.”

All eyes were snapped open and pressing into Minho’s skull as he began to converse.

“Pfft, no I have not,” you scoffed, taking another swig. An eye roll left came from Minho, followed by a sound of what seemed to be disgust as he shot gunned his current bottle.

“Yes you have,” he nagged, playfully hitting your shoulder, “I saw you.”

Complete silence fell over the room as he words lingered in the air. You genuinely had no idea what he was talking about.The feeling of the room had suddenly changed. His eyes became soft, fixated on nothing but the way your body slumped against the rough material of the couch.

Your mind began to drift. Thoughts floating into earlier scenes of the night. The closeness of his breath fanning your neck ever so softly, palms spread across your hips. The idea of marks on you swimming into your head. God that would feel so good. Letting him grab you and throw you onto his bed. Climbing up your frame, starting from the bottom of your legs, keeping a tight grip on your inner thighs. The feeling of faint lips stealing every inch of your being, tantalisingly hitting every, single, spot, finally reaching your-

“Y/N? Y/N!”

The feeling of Changbin's shaking your shoulders definitely brought you back to reality. His hands did feel nice, but they weren’t the ones you were longing for. Your head was thrown back, disbelief filling you as your mind continued to fill the gutter.

“When?”

As you moved closer, you giggled, placing your finger tip across his knee. You let them dance, index fingers tapping away at the skin you so desperately wanted to see in this moment.

“Mr. Lee Minho, when did you see me?”

“I’m not saying it here in front of-”

“Who? Chaeyeon?”

Your prowling continued, bodies even closer as you slowly began to climb him like an inanimate object. This would have been completely awkward sober. Nothing about this was romantic in the slightest. To an outsider, or Changbin and Chaeyeon, you were right there, situated across Minho’s lap. It wasn’t quite a straddle, it was just something. They both stayed quiet, paying little attention to your animalistic act, already focused on feeling each other up. Or so you assumed, seeing as they didn’t say anything. All that was heard was the sound of the front door. You snapped your head for a quick moment, eyes scanning the emptiness the room suddenly felt.

“It was in the car.”

Minho’s words felt heavy, like he had more to say.

“The car?”

You were taken aback, face moving away from the closeness of his. Part of your brain clicked, remembering exactly what he was talking about. With Jisung. The memory of hurt was quickly forgotten as the feeling of Minho’s palms spread across your body was bringing you to life. The adrenaline came all at once. Your mind was telling you to move away, but your body was saying something else, affirming it’s position.

Minho was leaning in, barely any spaces between the two as his fingertips began to spread lower and lower, firmly gripping either side of your ass as he moved you closer. A helpless whimper escaped your lips as you felt your legs tighten, heat running down to your core, quickly. What the fuck was happening right now?

“You were on top of him,” he whispered, pulling your hips against him once more, “just like this.”

“F-fuck,” was all that managed to slip out of your lips. This was becoming difficult. So difficult to say no and move away. You knew it was the right thing to do. Things would just be awkward and you could go back to hating him. No matter how much you tried, how much you wanted to, you were powerless. Every fiber of your being was being given up to him. You leaned in closer, foreheads now touching as you looked at him. His gaze was anything but lacklustre as his jaw became tense. His body began to ache simultaneously with yours. The pressure was becoming too much.

“Do you want this?”

“What?”

A small whine escaped you at the loss of his tips gripping your body. They quickly made their way to either side of your face. Your body began to rock back and forth on it’s own. You had become desperate for any sort of friction that you could create.

“I said, do you want this?”

“Do you?”

His expression made you nervous. It was hard to read. All you could see was the black substance of his pupils enlarge, increasing in diameter by the second. Almost like a supernatural being was possessing him.

“Fuck,” you grunted, wrapping your hands around his neck to steady yourself on top of him, “you’re making it hard to say no.”

Things were already becoming hazy the longer you stayed. A huff of frustration came from him as he was giving all his effort not to give into the way you were rubbing your dampening heat against him. It was like a drug he could not refuse.

“Kiss me if you want me.”

He huffed, the edge of his lips just barely brushing against the tip of your nose.

“Kiss me, and give me the green light.”

You waited a moment, any part of your brain that wasn't concentrated solely on his palms digging into your sides trying to reason. You looked at him once more. His eyes, nose, lips. His lips.

“Fuck it.”

He was quick to work, pushing you down to lie flat against the couch. A small kiss to your lips was felt as he pulled away, lifting his arms up and throwing his shirt to the floor at Usain Bolt pace. The smirk on your face was too easy for him not to see.

“You like what you fucking see don’t you?”

“Just shut the fuck up and kiss me.”

Of course. Of course he was still that arrogant cocky motherfucker that you could not stand. The one who never cleaned up after himself. Or took too long in the shower for the hot water to run out. All of these evil perceptions you had of your roommate were disappearing as his lips were gently placed onto yours. It was a little too slow for your liking, but it was deep. Boy, was it deep. Each movement of his tongue was made with so much precision as he lowered himself onto you. His thighs were clenched, a soft groan could be heard against his lips as his groin pressed into you. Holy fuck, were you really doing this? It was so wrong. Everything in the world was saying to stop, stop this.

“Mm- wait,” you paused your hands on his chest to push him away, “wait.”

A flash of panic waved over his eyes as he quickly jumped off of you, face palming the floor.

“What’s wrong? Did I do something wrong? Did I hurt you? Are you-”

“I’m fine,” you interjected, giggling at the never been seen care and caution he had for you, “I just don’t think we should do this.”

“Oh,” was all he could say. You kept your gaze lowered; looking at him would have made you feel so guilty. The feeling of regret started to seep into your bones, but you couldn't tell: was it regret of this ever happening, or was it regret from stopping? Your head was too muddled to even attempt to comprehend what had just appended. The only sound that could be heard was your scuffed footsteps, quickly pacing back to your room and shutting the door, hard. The loudest sigh known to earth could be heard on the opposite side of the room as you let your body collapse. The ache between your legs was growing by the second; and as much as you tried to suppress the feeling of Minho’s lips on yours, fingertips dragging along your sides. No. It was much easier this way. Setting boundaries as roommates seemed to be a better idea for the long run.

But the long run was boring. You would both have to pretend that this never happened. Having other people over for sexual purposes would just be awkward now; the more you thought about it, the realisation, and the jealousy hit that you had already crossed said boundary. And maybe that’s why your feet had dragged you to the front of his bedroom door. How the fuck did you get here? You brought your knuckles to the wooden frame, door becoming slightly ajar as you gently knocked. Minho’s snapped his head around, covering himself quickly as you walked in. You cocked your eyebrow, a face of confusion apparent on your face.

“What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” he huffed, turning back to his previous position, “what do you want?”

You wanted to just walk out. Mind your business and just leave. But it was hard, quite literally. The imprint of what you assumed to be Minho’s naked lower half painfully pressing into the sheer sheets that was covering him. He paid you no more attention, giving you all the power to initiate whatever it is you wanted to initiate. You slowly crept in beside him, nuzzling your head into the back of his neck as he groaned in annoyance.

“Y/n, what the fuck are you doing in my bed?”

“Hmm, I think I changed my mind,” you whispered, reaching around to grab him. A blunt hiss escaped Minho’s lips as your action made him turn around. He was so close to you now. So close that you could feel his breath spreading across your left cheek.

“Are you being serious right now?”

The look on his face was unimpressed to say the least.

“Yeah, I mean,” your voice was calm as your hand began to take flight, sliding down to the base of his shaft, “we’ve already crossed the line, let’s go a little further.”

“Oh yeah?” His voice was dripping with sarcasm. He grabbed you by the wrist that was currently on him, pulling it away and climbing on top of you. Both hands now leaving his side, securely attached onto both wrists as he pinned them down above your head. Nose clumsily tickling yours as he reattached his lips to yours. The feeling of his lips was much softer and calmer than before, almost like he was protecting you. Wanting to keep the moment so delicate, though the way his bare hips involuntarily grinding against your clothed core was far from it. A soft whimper came from your lips, vibrating against his. A soft chuckle was heard from Minho as he pulled away; it made you nervous. To be more specific, the way that arrogant, mischievous smirk that you knew all too well was spread across his face.

“You’re so responsive to me,” he growled, quickly planting another one on your lips before sliding down to your jaw, then your neck, stopping at your chest. Nothing needed to be said as you quickly discarded your shirt, silently thanking your past self for not wearing any underneath. Minho situated himself in front of your now bare chest, waist sitting against your heart as he took one nipple into his mouth, fingers enclosing around the other. A loud whine left your lips, back arching in reaction to him. He looked up, satisfied filling his body as you weren’t able to return his gaze, head already rolled all the way back as he continued his playful assault.

“It’s so cute,” he mumbled between kisses, “so responsive and I’ve barely done anything.”

His lips travelled down the center of your stomach, dipping dangerously closer to where you wanted him most. His continuous rhythm between kisses was immaculate. Any of the incoherent sounds you made, or the crude remarks he made were left unsaid.

“Fuck,” you hissed, painfully throbbing at the way Minho played with the waistband of your panties.

“Not fun to be teased y/n,’ he paused, making sure you were looking at him, “is it.”

A pang of guilt hit your chest for a moment. I mean, it’s not like you did it on purpose, right?

“Minho I’m-”

“Save it,” he scoffs, “whether you did it on purpose, or not, I’m not gonna let you have it so easily.”

His fingers stopped their performance across your hips, continuing a little lower than before. The smirk came to his lips once more, index finger running down your slit. The friction was fierce, but not fierce enough. You wanted, no, you needed more. All he could do was smile at your mercy.

“So fun to tease darling, but you’re gonna have to be more vocal if you want these panties off.”

“Minho please,” you whined, “for fucks sake.”

You bucked your hips forward, desperate for any more contact from the bare minimum he was giving you.

“That doesn’t sound very nice to me.”

“Minho please, please, please,” you whispered, voice becoming super weak, “fuck me, or finger me, anything please, I need to feel you.”

“Now that’s more like it,” he smiled, finally pulling your panties down. You have never lifted your hips faster in your life. The vulnerability of your naked body was somewhat confronting, but your brain was so fogged out from the immense teasing, you cared little.

“Fuck,” he gasped, spreading you effortlessly with two fingers, “you’re so wet for me, aren't you?”

The heat in your cheeks rose as you became embarrassed at his words. Minho didn’t know this, but feeling humiliated was something that could make you cum on the spot. Words intended for insult went through your ears and straight down to the core, the heat becoming like an intense fire igniting in your body as one of his hands moved along your inner thigh, the other gently beginning to circle around where you needed him most.

“Oh my god,” you gasped, “oh my god Minho please, more.” Your voice was becoming needier by the second, but the longer it went on, the less you seemed to care. His tongue was now a factor coming into play, small kitty licks lapping your clit at a suddenly fast pace. Your legs are already trembling, but Minho does more to appease, hooking his arms under and around your thighs to stop the flustered look on your face. It was confronting how quickly he was getting you to your high.

“Please,” you sighed, eyes hazed as you attempted to look down at the way his tongue was on you. The combination of him sucking on your clit, then pushing it through your entrance almost made you scream. However, the noises that came from your mouth were small, heavy pants, progressively getting louder and louder the tighter the knot in your stomach became.

“Do you wanna cum princess?” His voice was whiny, mocking the tone you had used earlier. You nodded ferociously, knowing any attempt to speak would come out horse or just broken.

“Such a good girl,” he purred, replacing his tongue with two fingers, “but if you want to cum, you’re gonna have to beg for it once more.”

“You’re such a fucking dick,” you groaned, an attempt of grinding your center onto Minho’s fingers failing miserably, “you’re being so unfair.”

“I’m unfair?” he scoffed, beginning his digits back to a bare minimum pace, “you’re the one

who was teasing me all night. I know Changbin is like, your best friend so there was no chance you were bringing him back to fuck him. Then you start to kiss me, hard and fast may I add, AND THEN ! you aren’t sure and you leave me to pretend like nothing happened.”

There was no witty comeback you could say in response because he was right. You were the one who has done the teasing for most of the night.

“You looked so fucked out right now baby,” his tone coming back to a calming medium, “begging for me to make you cum, which I can do right now,” he paused, climbing back to your side, lifting your left leg to continue his easy access to ur clit, “or you can beg even more to have my cock inside of you. The choice is yours.” You swallowed, hard. How could he say something so filthy? Out of all the times you had heard him bring other girls over, he would never talk like this. It was always so nice and calm, full of praise and compassion. Maybe they didn’t act like cock teases and let him just have what he wanted.

“C-cock,” you mumbled, pushing your backside against his now pulsating cock, “please give your cock sir.”

“Ooo sir, I like that one, but you’re gonna have to do more if you want me to fill you up princess.”

Words were becoming extremely hard to not only facilitate in your mind, but put them on your tongue and get out to him. He knew this. He knew your were on the brink of collapsing in cum, but the torture was too entertaining for him nonetheless. Although you're frustrated with him was increasing, you couldn’t lie to yourself that the way he was using you like a sex toy was turning you on. After being up his ass so long with rules around the house and how you wanted things done, it was nice to finally let go. Submit to his rules instead of yours.

“P-please Minho, sir’ you panted, head turning to look at the sadistic face of enjoyment he was having from this, “I’ll do anything, a-anything to have your cock inside of me right now.”

“Anything?”

“Anything.”

“Okay then tomorrow morning, you have to make me breakfast, AND wash my dishes.”

“Seriously,” you panted, “that’s what you're thinking about right now?”

“You said anything.” He shrugged, suddenly taking his fingers away from your dripping core. A gasp of disappointment came to your lips at the loss of delicious contact. Minho sat up, ducking under your leg, and positioning himself right back to where he was previously. However, this time, he was on his knees. Although you were touching it before, you really hadn't had a chance to look at how big it was: way more than what you expected. He stroked himself a couple of times, making sure not to get carried away with himself before he pushed it between your folds, letting his pre-cum mix with your juices. He slowly descended into you. Jaws dropping simultaneously, you gasped. The way he was stretching you out did burn a little bit, but once he was fully inside, your eyes rolled to the back of your head. Minho waited until the look of slight discomfort faded from your features.

“Are you okay?”

You nodded, biting down on your bottom lip and he slowly pulled himself back out. He kept a consistent, yet slow pace as leaned in closer to you. He was now hovering over, letting his face become buried into the middle of your breasts. The feeling was so immaculate, you were desperate to cling onto something for support.

“Dig them into me,” he groaned, strangling his vocal cords, “dig your nails into my back and scratch me like your life fucking depends on it.”

Perfect. You did as he pleased, a loud moan of his name wrestling from your lips as you felt the red marks appear on his backside. The pressure from before was already building in your stomach again, and he could tell. The way you were super tight for him was one, but the way you were now clenching around him was another. He knew he wouldn’t last much longer if you kept doing that.

“Fuck,” was all you could manage to say, a deep grin plastered on his face.

“You’re close aren't you,” he cooed, attaching his lips to your neck, “talk to me baby, tell me what you're feeling.

“Mhm, yeah, fuck I’m so close baby. H-Harder.”

The pitch of your tone was becoming whinier by the second. To add to that, the way you became confused, as if Minho was a vampire, because the way he was sucking on your neck was kind of painful. Nevertheless, you relished in it, knowing too well that a very, very dark mark would replace his mouth. The idea of him showing his possession of you, knowing that he finally won you over did not make you happy, nonetheless, you were too fucked out to care.

Your legs were now pushed all the way back, pace fastening by the minute, allowing Minho to push even deeper into you. And that was it. Right there, the spot you had never even known was even there.

“Ah fuck!” Your moan was loud this time, completely unable to control anything. The smirk, in combination with the satisfied growl that left his lips was a face of pure ecstasy as he realised that he had finally hit your G-spot.

“Fuck that feels so fucking good,” Minho grumbled, “are you close? Because I think I’m gonna cum.”

It was like your stomach was an orchestra. Minho’s words were the conductor, completely controlling how close you were to your release.

“Y-yes,” you cried, “I’m gonna cum so hard right now.”

“You wanna cum baby?”

“Yeah.”

“You wanna cum right now?”

“Yes baby,” you pouted, a perplexity of sounds escaping your lips, completely out of your control.

“Cum on my cock princess,” Minho whispered through what sounded to be like pained groans, “be a good girl and cum with me inside of you.”

And there it was, like it was on queue as your body completely flopped, legs shaking and a string of lewd curse words fell from your lips. The way your pussy clenched around him was enough to make him pull out, spilling into the dip of your stomach. A loud breath of what seemed to be exhaustion fell from his lips. Your eyes were previously screwed so shut, it hurt when you opened them again, sensitive to the light.

“Fuck,” you both cursed simultaneously, making one another giggle. Minho fell to your left side, flat on his back as he invited you to scooch over next to him. Face pressed against his chest, fingers playfully dragging up and down his torso. For some reason, he felt so safe and secure at this moment. Almost forgetting how he literally just fucked you into oblivion, your eyelids become heavy. It wasn’t until Minho spoke that you were revived from your alternate state of consciousness once more.

“I didn’t know you had it in you.” His voice sounded genuinely surprised, unsure if you should be offended or not. You looked up at him, quickly pressing a kiss to his cheek. He wasn’t sure how to react, but the dark shade tinting his face right now said enough.

“Please,” you scoffed, “You did me good, but was that the best you can do?”

He ran his tongue across his bottom lip, but down on it after, “Is that a challenge?”

You said nothing, instead sitting up and pushing your legs on either side of his hips. A soft moan escaped his lips as he felt your still dripping heat sitting on the base of him.

“Why don’t you find out and see?”