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leclsrc · 9 months

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in so deep ✴︎ cl16

genre: friends to lovers, charles has a huge crush and is a lovesick bloke, smut, humor, Fluff

word count: 13.1k

It takes you many cities, a botched Halloween costume and a failed break-in to realize how much Charles likes you. It takes Charles several years to realize he doesn’t need to do much to have you like him back. title from this

nsfw warnings under the cut!

18+ because... penetrative sex, praise central, size kink, unprotected sex

auds here… thank u for all ur love during my periods of being awol .... i wrote this over the course of a week and i hope u all like it!!! its very much a self indulgent thing... :P

The first time Charles realized he liked you, you were both posed for a picture.

It happened at a dinner party in London, in late autumn, thrown by you to celebrate your first year on the paddock as a reporter. Few friends had been invited but, with how noisy everyone was and with the ease of conversation, it felt like a houseful of people in your narrow dining area. Lando was in front of the mirror, tipsy, demonstrating his best rendition of an Irish accent to a genuinely interested Alex and Lily.

Max was playing with your pet cat, Gene Kelly, and mentally plotting a heist to sneak him out with Pierre’s help. Your boyfriend, Liam, was making himself a cocktail. And Lewis had been roaming around with a glass of dry wine and his brand new film camera to document the night’s festivities—but the host was nowhere to be found. Unbeknownst to everyone, full off dinner and tipsy off cocktails, you’d ducked into the balcony to find where Charles had run off to for the night.

The music was muffled when you shut the door, leaving it ajar just a little bit. Lissie had played Cocteau Twins and was singing whatever gibberish lyrics played, fully drunk off a bottle of Tito’s. Still laughing over her predicament, you turned to Charles and refocused your attention on him. Is it boring?

What w… what is? He asked, turning to you. Briefly his eyes flitted to your hand, the bracelets clasped onto your wrist. He noticed you held matching bottles of beer but yours remained full, nail tapping idly on the semi-opaque glass.

My party, you responded wryly, cocking your head to the side. A loose tendril of hair fell over your eye and he itched to tuck it back in place, thumb over your ear. You continued, still pressing for an answer. You left to smoke but you didn’t come back.

I like the view. A half-lie but truthful in some way. He squinted to try and make out blurry, faraway signage. I should move here. Monaco makes me sick. He tried to say it jokingly, but was betrayed by the raw tone of his voice. You hummed quietly, to signify you were listening.

So move. Who’s stopping you? You smiled slightly. Aside from your ludicrous career, of course.

You had a natural disposition of—something. He didn’t quite know how to describe it, almost like the rest of him had yet to catch up with something only his heart was already decided on. You spoke and acted with some kind of smoothness that only the most popular kids in secondary school could have reins over, but you always claimed you weren’t very popular in your teenage years. He just knew he liked hearing you talk, watching you smile. He felt something—but he didn’t want to name it even if he knew exactly what it was. Instead he played into your joke. Yeah, I’ve been told I should move to Dubai instead, become a prince.

You laughed aloud. You are terribly unfunny, you know that?

Am I? He asked. Just then, as the cotton of his tee brushed against your bare shoulder, Liam brashly tugged the balcony door open to find you. He had this drunk smile on his face, brushing his blond hair out of the way and raising a Leica to the two of you.

Hey, I got Lewis’ camera. Smile, Liam had said, eyes squinted behind it. You remained still, half-turned to the camera, and Charles gave a smile whereas you remained in a neutral, half-smiling pose. And right there, at that very moment, as a giggle escaped your lips from having to pose so quickly and even awkwardly, Charles realized with a damning force that he had a massive crush on you.

Liam had left shortly after to resume taking pictures, but would later confront you over your “weird, odd, fucking closeness with the Monegasque bloke” that you would vehemently deny despite a gut-churning feeling boiling low in your stomach. But that’s later. Your conversation continued calmly, along the passive whir of London and the streets below. You both people-watched as you thought of things to say—finally Charles said, Are you interviewing me next weekend?

I always try to get out of it when it’s with you. You rolled your eyes, feigning irritance, then smiled to break the illusion. I think so.

I’ll make sure I have good answers. You’re too smart. Hurts to be in the same room.

Like you aren’t, you said back, but the rebuttal is shy in nature, like he struck you with a compliment so high you couldn’t bear to return it. He felt then like this was the kind of moment where you would start holding hands any minute, timid touches between clinks of bottles. He remembered Liam existed and screwed his eyes shut. He wished so hard to be able to kiss you. Abandon all sense and just kiss you.

—

“It’s 2023 and still London has the most rubbish ass, fucking cunt, stupid wanker stoplights,” Lissie huffs beside you, checking her watch. “Right then. We’re going to be late. You know how Lando is when people are late. Especially because this is his event.”

“We’re not people to Lando,” you reason, tapping the steering wheel. The ETA on your navigation app tells you you’re still twenty minutes away. “We’re his best friends. If he can’t forgive us, we should kick him out of the group chat.”

“Ooh, and add Alex,” Lily pipes up from the backseat, where she’s redoing her eyeshadow to pass the time. “I keep telling you guys he’s funnier than Lando.” Both you and Lissie make faint, vague sounds of dissent and she grunts again, deflating.

“No boyfriends in the group chat,” Lissie repeats an age-old rule that’s been around for as long as you three (four, including Lando) have been friends. “Or girlfriends, in Lando’s case, but we haven’t worried about that much, have we?”

You’re all en route to watch Lando crank out a brand-new deejay set, one he’s spent the summer break working on. It’s all house and inspired by beach music, and he’s very proud of it, so of course you’re all showing up to laud him. You’re not the only ones, though, apparently—whoever’s in the city is showing up to show their support, which includes a whole stretch of drivers.

“Oh, my God!” Lily says all of a sudden, eyes wide at something on her phone; you both gesture for her to show you and she does with speed. “Do you guys remember this? God, Instagram archives are a godsend.”

“Your dinner party in Chelsea!” Lissie coos, immediately sidling into a fond awwww! You tap at the story Lily had then posted: a video of everybody eating. You tap again to view the one she posted a few days later, which was a collage of Lewis’ camera scans he’d gotten developed overnight. There in the upper right corner, you almost immediately spot your photo with Charles.

“Oh, Christ, that picture.” Memories of your subsequent arguments with Liam flash past your head. Playfully, all you say is, “And I never had a boyfriend again.”

“Liam was an Irish arse, anyway.” Lissie scoffs. “Nobody liked him. Lewis joked about cleaning his camera after he used it that night. Plus, you actively avoid dating, so don’t complain.”

“Fair,” you say with a slight smile. Your mind lingers on the picture, the imprint of it burned fresh into your mind.

“You—it’s also because you can’t take a hint, babe.” Lily says matter-of-factly. “Who knows how many guys have, you know… fancied, or, like, had crushes on you, and you just never knew?”

“Are you saying somebody fancies me?” You ask, voice whittling out playfully as your eyes count down the seconds to the green light.

Funnily, silence is all that answers. Beside you, Lily and Lissie exchange a look—one that communicates their years-long amusement over your cluelessness. You whirl back to them, eyebrows raised, and double down: “Wait. Does somebody fancy me?”

“No!” Lily ekes out; you don’t miss Lissie’s poorly-hidden laugh. “No. I’m just—it’s just—no.”

Truth is, it truly seems like the only person in the entire paddock (team and Sky Sports staff included) who hasn’t caught on to a certain somebody’s boyish crush is the crush herself, oblivious as ever, even years and years later. One might think you’d have realized eventually, but perhaps owed to your type A personality and immersion with work, and Charles’ pathetic and total inability to express how much he likes you, the crush has always remained just that, despite your two friend groups’ best efforts to hint at it.

It wasn’t to say, though, that you didn’t sometimes entertain the idea of liking him, too. On that one rainy race weekend when he’d brought you a plastic cup of soup, and embarrassed, laughed sheepishly at Lissie’s joking request for one; then returned twenty minutes later with soup for everyone in the media pen. Or that time in Monaco where he’d pretended to be your boyfriend at a bar to ward off a creepo from hitting on you any further. Or another time, in Budapest, when he’d drank half his body weight in jello shots and slurred out a goofy, heavy I’m soooo sorry, baby while you helped him into the passenger seat of his car.

That one, singular time in Cancun you told your friends once and never again.

But those are isolated incidents, you suppose; plus, dating someone you work with has never seemed like a remotely good idea to you, and you don’t think it ever will.

For all your thinking on the topic, you fail to realize that you don’t know much at all—you don’t know the fact that Charles has liked you for years, after getting to know just how charming and funny you were as a friend. You don’t know that he still gets gut-churning butterflies when he sees you, hands shaky and face tinged pink. You miss the fact that he’s not had any long-term partners in the years of his liking you. You don’t know anything.

“Don’t lie.” You narrow your eyes as you rev the car and continue the trip.

“We’re not,” Lily says loudly and a touch too defensively, crossing her fingers. Quietly, she continues, “You should just pay more attention.”

Whatever she meant to say is lost on you as soon as you make a left and spot the club Lando’s at, already teeming with high-profile guests and their high-profile cars. Half an hour later you’re in—valet and being on the guest list effectively cuts your entrance time in half. You separate at the entrance—you, to find Lando; your two girls, to find your reserved table. You find him eventually, busy behind the booth churning out high-frequency tropical music; he pauses for half a beat to flash a huge grin and a thumbs-up before redirecting his attention to the knobs and sliders you can’t seem to guess the functions of.

These kinds of parties are affairs in and of themselves. They mimic the afterparties during the season—nothing if not shows of opulence and networking: champagne paid for by business magnates, yachts that barely make dents in anybody’s wallets, thick CVs, fruity cocktails spilled on pieces of clothing that cost upward of 3000 pounds. You make eye contact with at least seven skeevy businessmen before you spot your friends, but only because you hear them first—by them you mean Lissie, her loud voice raised even more to match the noise at this club.

“I said I didn’t fu—ugh—I don’t want ye fahkin’ champagne,” she slurs out to an old man in a pressed suit, eyebrows knitted angrily. “Got it?!” Behind her, Lily and Alex (who’s arrived now, apparently) watch, concerned and helpless to stop her but equally (perhaps more) entertained.

You step closer and make a move to calm down the exchange taking place, but somebody whispers a “hey” in your ear and startles you. You turn, and come face to face with Charles. His black tee accentuates the breadth of his shoulders, which you connect to his crossed arms; there’s a shy, boyish grin playing on his face. “Oh, Charles!” You smile. “Hey! Haven’t seen you in a while.”

“Thanks,” he says with a grin, straining to raise his voice. “You look—you look well. Are you alone?”

“No, I’m—” You turn to your three friends nearby, and to Lissie’s argument heating up. “I actually have to go.” You raise your thumb, jabbing it toward them. “But hi again… again!” You both laugh, but he laughs much louder. “I’ll see you around.”

“I jus—” He says, and you stick around for a second to hear him say what he has to say.

“Yeah?”

He clears his throat and laughs stiffly, abandoning his previous statement in favor of a new one. “I just…. want… to have a great time.”

“Ohhhh,” you holler, nodding, clearly trying to mask your extreme confusion under a polite smile. “Okay, well… go ahead!”

You smooth down your dress and laugh again, evidently more forced but, unfortunately for Charles, not any less pretty.

You carry yourself in a very pretty, graceful way, loud and quiet at the same time, like your confident voice when you’re holding the mic and asking questions or making drivers laugh. He might sound creepy, though, a touch too observant, if he tells you so. He observes you instead, for a second, the low cut of your dress and the way the red overhead light shines on your exposed collarbones—and then you’re leaving. He watches you walk over to hug Lily, realizes how stupid he’s sounded, and smothers a hand over his face, humiliated.

—

“I just want to have a great time?” Max’s jaw drops and he shakes his head, disappointed above all else. “Charles, what the actual. Like…. fuck?” They’re all camped out at the latter’s hotel room, around the dining table, in varying states of sober and doing different things to wear off the last hour of the night before they’re all due to train or debrief again in the morning. Charles had relayed the disaster of the night to everyone at some point, but Max is the last to hear of it; this, unfortunately, does not inoculate him from the shock and secondhand embarrassment.

“Pierre told me to—” Charles starts, forlorn.

“Oi, no. I told you to say something like I just wish… I’d seen you sooner,” interjects the Frenchman with a tut. “You know, flirting? Not… whatever the fuck you said.”

“I didn’t—I was—I lost my mind,” he groans, burying his head in his hands. It couldn’t possibly be entirely his fault when you looked so pretty tonight, hair down and a wash of glitter on your eyelids. Just subtle little flecks of them. They brought out your eyes, too. And your blush, the pink flush of it that sat high on your cheekbones.

“…llo? Charles.” He blinks and sees Carlos’ deep eyes, wide and staring right at him, so pointedly he’s genuinely startled.

“Jeeesus fucking Christ. What?” He places a melodramatic hand over his chest. “Yeah?”

“What do you mean with the”—Carlos mimics his confused expression—“I asked you a question, tonto.”

“Don’t bother with him,” chimes in Pierre, half-distracted by his phone. He looks up with a devious smile and continues. “He’s still thinking of Miss Reporter of the Year.” A round of loud, jovial laughter makes its way across the table, a few teasing quips being chimed in here and there.

“I just,” mocks Pierre from across the table, adopting a sing-songy tone as he bumps his shoulder to Carlos’ with a mocking laugh. “Wanna have a great time.” His voice is much higher and more mocking, which is enough to send Charles into a fit of petulant embarrassment.

“This isn’t sixth year,” he grits out quietly, but the blush on his face could just as well be plastered on the cheeks of a twelve-year-old. “Give it a rest.”

“Mate.” Pierre’s voice mellows into something more austere. “You do know she’s leaving the reporters’ job at the end of the season? She’s going to London full-time. No more seeing her all year round. You know this. And I keep telling you. If you are really, and I mean really, interested, I say go for it. C’est la fucking vie, yeah?”

“Plus, if she says no, you can go for pretty much anyone else, anyway,” concludes Max with a convinced smile.

“It’s not the same,” he admits helplessly, smothering his hands over his face in bleak frustration. Behind his eyelids he sees you still, beautiful and smiling and funny—he seriously needs to institutionalise himself before he goes even more mad with the years-long malady he’s called a crush. And seriously, for a twenty-something to have something he calls a crush is despicable in itself. He feels juvenile.

“I can’t tell her. She’s always told people that dating coworkers is a bad idea.”

“You’re not coworkers.”

“We’re—well, we still work closely together. It is the same.” He groans. “It’s just… I’ve said it before. If I admit I like her, things will become awkward. I’d rather we remain friends.”

“Well… see, nobody said you needed to tell her,” begins Pierre schemingly, eyebrows raising. Around them, everybody groans at the birth of another Pierre-brained scheme that will, no doubt, need the enlistment of everyone’s help and will likely end in disaster. “What?! I’m just offering… I’m just saying, mate—you’ve liked her since forever. Why not make a move?”

“—I can’t—”

“Without telling her?”

“Pierre,” groans Carlos, ever the voice of reason, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I don’t—whatever this is you’re planning, it’s going to go to shit. I swear.”

“You are acting like I plan to take somebody hostage.” Pierre shrugs. “You know, girls like when you don’t tell them straight up. You have to show you like them. You know, be interested in the things they’re interested in, compliment them, make them laugh. And then they think, oh, how thoughtful, oh, how adorable, and before you know it, they like you. And you’ve got yourself a girlfriend.”

“Mmm. Uh-uh. Untrue.” Max says decisively, shaking his head. “I told Kelly I liked her.”

“Yeah, sí. I told Isa I liked her, too.”

“Will you two—just—” Pierre gesticulates and makes a funny noise that insinuates just go with it. “Okay?” he points out to the latter, rolling his eyes. He turns back to Charles with a ready, dazzling, so-French-it’s-scary grin and continues. “I suggest you let us be your wingmen and help you charm her.”

“Whoa, whoa, wh—us? You’re on your own here,” Max quips with a laugh. “It’s your stupid idea.”

“It’s not stupid, and it’s going to work. She probably likes you already.” His confidence carries the lie with gusto. “We just need—you just need to show her instead of saying the dumbest shit to her face.” Pierre leans back into his chair and shrugs matter-of-factly. “Max and I will be regular wingmen, but we have a secret weapon.”

“Don’t—” Carlos starts with a sigh.

“Yes. Lando, Lily, and Lissie are all close to her, eh? Well, perfect—Carlos will get information from Lando about things she likes, you gift her those things or talk to her about them, bam she’s in love. It’s literally a perfect plan.”

Maybe it’s worth it. Maybe—

“No.” Charles shakes his head firmly, setting the record straight. “This will not work. Who’s to say she even needs a boyfriend?”

—

Despite what his best and closest friends—on and off the paddock—might have you believe, Charles hasn’t always been so hopeless when it came to trying to catch your heart. His closest call came in Cancun, after a long weekend of racing and a flight to the area, early into the night where he thought he was the only one who decided to opt out of partying.

Your skin’s peeling. You turned from where you sat on a barstool observing the shore, startled, immediately relaxing when you found him standing there eyeing you. Your hair was still damp, crunchy with saltwater, and your skin had tanned considerably, a sunburn sitting on the bridge of your nose. You stuck your tongue out.

I spent the whole day swimming. He observed your bikini, yellow and green contrasting the colour of your skin. He blinked slowly, ordering himself a drink to hopefully pass the thoughts away. His eyes couldn’t stop, though, wandering, the translucent material of the scarf you’d tied loosely around your hips, the tinge of heat on your shoulders and nose. I’m burnt everywhere.

There are remedies for that. He smiled around his glass.

I’m aware, you said lightly, crossing your legs and sliding your finger along the salt rim of yours. But just in case I forgot, maybe you could refresh my memory.

Your voice was so sweet, so low, so tempting. Already he knew he was wrapped around your finger, the same finger picking up grains of salt to press on your tongue peeking between your smiling lips. You brought your glass to your lips. It had been some time since the dinner in London so he pressed, his voice deep and a little rough, Liam can do that for you, I’m sure.

Pity, you said meekly as you set your glass down and looked back at him. He’s not my boyfriend anymore.

Out of eyeline, the bartender’s eyes widened at the exchange he was overhearing.

Is it a pity? He asked, leaning backwards and cocking his head to the side. It’s easy, an easy glide of conversation, flirt, something he’s wanted for a while now. To have you playing into him, and have himself playing into you, just like this. It was naturally easy in a foreign city where nobody knew who either of you were, where you were just two strangers flirting at a beachside bar.

Two strangers laughing while they dug their toes into the sand. Two strangers basking in the water, tinted orange by the sun dipping below the horizon, scarf untied in favor of one last swim before night fell. There was nothing keeping either of you from doing whatever you wanted. Nothing keeping Charles from finally acting on the attraction that honest to God crushed him.

You ended up leaning on the door of your hotel room, keycard fiddled in-between your sandy fingers. You combed a hand through your hair and offered a shy smile. So.

So, he replied, leaning closer. So.

Sooo. You were laughing and your breath smelled like a mint leaf and vodka. You looked up at him, blinking slowly. I have a rule.

What rule is that?

I don’t date coworkers. He wanted to dip down, place a hand on the dip of your waist, and kiss you.

Pity, he said gruffly instead, a smile forming on his face.

Is it a pity? You chewed on your lip and looked at his barely parted ones, pink and pretty. When I’m about to break it? He was about to help you do just that—eyes fluttered shut already—when a crash resounded from down the hall and you both turned to find the culprit. You broke apart and with your separation, whatever atmosphere of tension you’d built up popped, too, leaving you awkwardly standing beside each other.

Oh m… Lissie? You asked, leaning closer as you recognized your friend more and more. You narrowed your eyes, watching the girl crawl her way through the carpeted floor. Oh, Jesus—let’s—get you—

You both hauled her up and wrapped either arm around your shoulders, unlocking her hotel room with great effort and tossing her onto the bed. You stood back and sighed at her half-blacked out state, slightly amused but ultimately relieved she ended her night unscathed.

She pried one eye open and sleepily, she groaned out, what were… you two… doing together outside your room?

Nothing, you said quickly, face warm and eyes wide.

Because you—Lissie raised a lazy finger in your direction—don’t date coworkers.

I wasn’t—it wasn’t—goodnight, you spluttered, eyes refusing to meet Charles’ even as you both exited the room, paying him quiet thanks as he pulled the door back closed.

Sorry, you said, pretty as ever. The light shone on the red splotch on your nose. Goodnight.

And so he went to his room that night, bummed out and still high off your scent.

—

“You’re staring again.”

“I’m not,” he lies through his teeth, averting his eyes away from your figure by the shore. Sue him if he was staring (which he wasn’t… but most definitely was) but he finds you much too pretty. After the disaster that was the Mexican GP, he figures he could use some sort of stress reliever. Apparently he was not alone in thinking this, considering half the paddock hauled ass to Cancun and prompty partied.

Across Charles, Joris and Pierre share a knowing look that doesn’t go unnoticed.

“I said I’m not!”

“So you are not staring at her blue swimsuit then?” Joris tests, mouth twisted into a devious smirk. “It’s black,” Charles says matter-of-factly before catching sight of his friends’ smug expressions and realizing he’s implicated himself. He rolls his eyes and crosses his arms, petulantly almost. “And I wasn’t. Can you fucking—fuck off?”

“Just ask her out already,” Pierre groans, nodding when Joris chimes in with agreement of his own. “I seriously can-not handle another bar of this shit. It’s been years.”

“I don’t know how to,” he laments. “It’s going to be awkward if I do it all formal, and she’s going—she’ll laugh at me, and it’s…” He blows a raspberry. “Non. Pointless.”

“Just kiss her at the party,” reasons Joris with an easy attitude, shrugging.

“Joris! Charles didn’t know about that,” Pierre says, trying to lower his volume, but it’s pointless since they’re barely a metre apart. “Fucking tattletale.”

“Party?!” Charles repeats, eyes wide. “Why don’t I know about a party?!”

“It’s a Halloween party,” Joris says, a wacky grin on his face. “And you said it yourself, didn’t ‘cha? You told us not to tell you if any functions were happening because you’re too tired to go to any. Too… too wrapped up racing.” He laughs. “Or something of the sort.”

“Well the season’s ending,” he huffs, wringing firm fingers over his face, his shut eyes, “and I still fucking haven’t… so I think I’m afforded a party.”

“Alright, then come to the party! Dress code, Halloween. Sexy Halloween.” Pierre wiggles his eyebrows. “You know, speaking of our plan, Carlos overheard Lissie and Lily talking about what your girl’s costume is going to be.” He leans in closer and laces his fingers together. “She’s going as a… Christina.”

“Christina?” The other two echo, confused.

“Christina. I did some digging, and I think it’s this.” Pierre scrolls and dicks around on his phone for a minute before turning it back around to Joris and Charles, who peek with great interest. They seem to be looking at an outdated movie poster of—

“Cas-per the friendly ghost,” Charles reads aloud, trying to get his accent to dissipate. “Huh. What the fuck is that?”

“It’s a movie, idiot.” Pierre shuts his phone off. “Starring who? Christina Ricci.”

“Vraiment? You think his crush is going to show up wearing… a white gown?” Joris asks, his mind stuck on the outfit he’d seen just seconds ago. “This doesn’t make sense.”

“Well Carlos and I agreed, so. Two to two. And Carlos says she and her friends always wear silly costumes like these. So if she shows up as Christina, what better way to start conversation than to dress up as Casper?”

Charles’ eyes widen with comical horror. “No. No, no, no. Did the ghost and the kid fuck?”

“No!” The two men across him yell in unison.

“Right!” He gesticulates. “So it’s not a couples’ costume!”

“But it’s still—” Pierre pauses. “It still matches. Trust me on this one, mate.” He smiles. “We even brought the supplies.”

—

The party is a hit as soon as Charles and his group enter. The former finds refuge at the table, unwilling to socialize. Pierre roams for a bit and ends up finding you almost immediately—you’re wearing low-waisted pants, a strappy top, and you sport alternating streaks of blond and black in your hair.

“Hey!” He calls, jogging up to you. “I heard you were coming as a Christina. Guess who I am?”

You rake a hand through the streaks in your hair and smile. “Not just any Christina. The artist. Xtina? You know?” You twirl a bit, the dark material of your strappy pants swishing as you go, as if the movement will help Pierre deduce the costume’s identity. “Whatever. You’ll get it. Lando is—we’re matching tonight, but I g—it wouldn’t make any more sense if you don’t understand it.” You sigh a bit and gesture vaguely to the crowd behind you, referring to the Eminem-dressed Lando, who you guess is currently caught in the thick of.

“Xtina?” Iks-tina, he repeats, clearly confused. “I remember hearing… somebody saying you were going as a… a Christina.”

“Chris-tina, Xtina, yeah. Christina Aguilera.” You smile, fingers pinching at the material of your belt. “Anyway—where is everyone? I’ve only seen Daniel’s costume and then yours.” The recent memory of Danny’s neon orange traffic cone costume bumping into everybody flashes in your mind.

“Save yourself,” he huffs, smoothing calloused hands over the denim of his jeans. “Zhou and Esteban came as Bella and Jacob, Max as a Tifosi. Anyway”—he points to his ensemble—“guess yet?”

Your mental images of each cited costume are cut short. “Aha! You’re, um. Yes! You’re Ken from the Barbie movie,” you crack finally, remembering the revealing denim vest and jeans combo from the film you’d watched four times over in theaters a few months ago. “Wow, even your briefs say Ken. Very accurate. Minus the non-bleached hair.”

He tuts and shrugs. “I’m no Alex. What’d he come as?”

“He and Lily matched—Sonny and Cher.”

“Let me guess,” Pierre starts, and already you’re nodding because you can tell he’s going to predict exactly how the night has turned out, “Alex is Cher?”

“Wig and sequined dress and all.” You nod, laughing and squinting; Alex’s tall figure, head clad in a long, fringey, black wig, stands out above the rest. “Oh, I did see Carlos at the bar. Ricky Martin?”

Pierre really laughs at that, a loud, distinctly French guffaw involuntarily forced past his lip glossed mouth. “What the fuck, mate! Ricky Martin?! He’s El Profesor from La Casa de Papel. You know, Money Heist? Bella ciao? Oh, my God, he’s going to fucking freak if he hears—heard you said that.”

“He seriously gave off Ricky Martin vibes,” you defend in-between laughs of your own. “So that’s everyone? Oh—oh. Charles! What did… I never saw him! He kept telling me how excited he was for his costume, too…” Just a few hours ago, at that—a boisterous voice honing into the your voicemail inbox, boasting about a costume while you prepped for the party with Lissie and Lily. Your eyes peruse the room, but the lighting is too dark and vague for you to make out anything you haven’t already seen.

“Oh. Charles?” Pierre’s voice lilts higher. “Um. Yeaaah. Um.”

You, however, are sufficiently distracted by your own search for him, and you fail to notice Pierre’s clear scrambling attempt to stall you. He takes a long swig of beer and clears his throat. “He’s just, well, around. I should actually—excuse me, I need to actually go look for him. I owe him a drink.”

“Oh? Oh, okay. Well—be careful?”

You’re a bit surprised by his sudden, jolted departure, but bid him a rushed goodbye anyway. He waves back vaguely, his eyebrows furrowed into an expression of worry as he shoves his way back into the crowd and toward the area littered with tables. It’s only then that Lissie surfaces from the crowd, scratching absently at her nose as she crashes into you with a floaty giggle.

“Lis, you’re all sticky.” You place two palms flat against her shoulders and push her off. “Are you high?”

“Yes but not drunk.” She giggles again, eyes fluttering.

“Oh—that’s not. Whatever, I guess.” You exhale and cross your arms over your chest. “Who’ve you been with?” She listens, plays with the braid in her hair, matching her getup as Lara Croft.

“Um, the deejay. I gave him my number, but he’s actually pretty fucking weird. Come on, I want to pee.” As always, her speech quickens to something inhuman, an effect elicited by alcohol; giving you essentially zero time to react, she loops a hand around yours and drags you with ferocity to the nearest restroom. She moves so aggressively through the thickly-packed crowd you barely have time to react or say hi to people you’re acquainted with en route.

You whiz by the door, and in the rush, you notice Pierre entering the one adjacent with a worried expression etched onto his face. Just minutes ago you’d been conversing—you wonder why he’s suddenly become privy to worries.

“So the deejay,” says Lissie, effectively distracting you for the time being. You hum to signify you’re listening, fixing bits of your outfit in the mirror as she kicks different stalls open to judge their cleanliness. “One, he was dressed up as James Bond. Which is just about the most fucking pretentious thing ever. Two, all he played was Chainsmokers. You’re telling me this pub—club—whatever—in Mexico could only afford to commission this guy? Three, he was”—she kicks the last door open and a gasp escapes her and morphs into a semi-shriek—“a ghost?!”

“Ghosted you? Already?” Your eyes, focused previously on re-lining your lips, flits to Lissie’s in the reflection. She’s distracted, staring at the contents of a stall with comically wide eyes. “What’s up? S’that a fucking glory hole or something?”

“No!” She yells when you approach, immediately lunging forward to pull it shut. “No. It’s—I saw a roach. Serves us for going to a fucking… pub. Don’t go in there, it’s…” She exhales a long breath. “It was a mama roach and… with eggs.”

“What are you talking about?” This isn’t even a pub, it’s a nightclub—one with a door fee that definitely did not warrant rogue cockroaches in the water closet. “Lis, you’re drunk-hallucinating.” You’re not even sure if that’s a thing, but you shove past her and push the stall door open again, ready to come face-to-face with, maybe, a sleeping Tinkerbell or a puking black cat. Worst case scenario, shit on the floor; worst-er case scenario, Lissie is right and you’ve stepped into a den of roaches.

Weirdest case scenario, though, if that’s an actual thing: Charles Leclerc seated on the closed toilet seat, face painted white, wearing an all-white ensemble of a large white shirt, shorts, high socks, and sneakers. He’s got two hands on either side of the wall, as if he’d been preparing to escape; how or to where, you’re clueless. Why he’s here, you’re even more stumped.

His entire face is a stark white, with black smudges of face paint on his forehead (eyebrows, you’re guessing); his hair’s been curled by the humid air at this club, and he looks like himself in all the ways he totally does not, eyes big and caught when yours click onto them.

Despite confusion, you chalk it up, as one would rationally do at a party, to intoxication. You spend a few bated breaths staring at him staring at you, his face of pure shock and embarrassment enough to sober up a drunk for a few days. “Hi.” You can hear yourself say it, but you’re so caught off-guard and full of confusion it feels alien.

“Hey,” he says, wiping four fingers over his stubborn face paint with a smile. The smile and the paint barely fade. “I’m a ghost.”

“I see. Classic.” You pause. “I’m Chr… nevermind. Um—are you okay?”

“A bit, uh—a tad bit drunk. I seem to be in the ladies’ room.”

“Yeah, you seem to be,” you recite back to him, amusement quickly overtaking confusion. “I think Pierre was looking for you. Let me go get him. Lis, make sure he doesn’t…” You gesture a puking movement, and the pair watch and listen to your shoes click against the tile, before the door swings open and then shut again.

“Coast is clear.” Lissie’s voice has been lowered to a conspiratorial whisper. “I reckon everyone you know is already looking for you?”

“This is a disaster.” He rubs frantically at the face paint, but it’s horribly futile. “You know, I didn’t even realize I was in the ladies’ room until you two came in. She cannot see me like this.”

“She already fucking has, mate.” Lissie sounds exasperated. “Whose idea was this? If you say Pierre I swe—”

“—Pierre—”

“—ar to Jesus fucking Christ, Charles—I can’t keep saving you from Pierre’s antics.” She grumbles out a sigh. “What are you supposed to be, even? Have you—did you see how hot she looks? This is like… you look like a… I can’t—” She lets herself taper off, so disbelievingly shocked at his odd costume.

“I’m Casper the Ghost!” Lissie mentally forms a crude picture of the kid ghost, which looks absolutely nothing like what’s in front of her. “Casper was opposite Christina Ricci. Pierre told me so.”

“That’s the dumbest analogy ever, holy Christ. You look like a poster child for some…” She regards him for a moment. “Anemia advert.”

“Take that back.”

“You don’t really have the upper hand here, Charles,” says Lissie with a grimace. “I’m texting Pierre. Are you—did you even get drunk?”

“No,” he woes. “I am totally sober. I had to lie. Pierre went to the table and told me that my—that the costume we planned—it was wrong, and I just—I ran to the bathroom.” Lissie can’t help but laugh at the story, raising her camera to record the incriminating evidence.

Mid-video, Charles’ white face droops and his painted lips part to ask: “You think she found me cute?”

—

Charles likes finding things about you. He supposes the first time he realized just how much he liked hearing you talk about yourself—which you rarely did—happened in São Paulo. He’d been stressing over a spiel to recite in front of a camera, rewriting over words for hours to make everything sound more natural.

Each margin had been hastily written on with pencil, run-on sentences with semicolons in the place of periods. The team scriptwriter didn’t do much to make his lines sound more natural and less like they’d just been spat out of an online translator. You peeked into the media pen and coughed. You don’t belong here, do you?

Tch, he clicked his tongue, turning to offer a smile. I’m working on a script for Sunday. Portugese stuff.

I can help, you responded, walking slowly over toward him. You smiled quietly, approaching slowly like you were waiting for him to greenlight your offer. He did so by pulling a chair out for you, and once you sat you traced a nail over each line, murmuring them under your breath.

You speak Portugese?

You looked up and gave a half-shrug, laughing like you were amused with yourself. Kind of. It’s not very good, but it’s enough. You resumed your editing and he felt content to stare, admire, watch every movement of your lips align with the syllables of the words. You asked for a pencil and began writing something much cleaner. He couldn’t help but let himself be in awe of your intelligence.

You read over the last few lines and turned to face him. Let me guess, you said. You want to make a pun on Ferrari before you say bye.

Ah, he laughs. Yeah.

See, I know you so well, you half-joked, scrawling idle edits on the margins of his script.

He was already looking at you when you turned back to him, seeking his response, agreement, anything. When your eyes met, something caught at your chest—it tugged, tugged, then tugged again, a dull feeling burrowed deep in you. Words failed to wrench themselves free, but once they did, all you could manage was a faint—What?

Nothing. He smiled and shook his head, like he was waiting for you to figure it out. You know… sometimes, I wish I met you sooner. He does. He wishes he knew you back then, when you first learned Portugese. Or when you were in high school, so you could see just how exponentially awkward he was in his own teenage years. He thinks sometimes that he’s lost too much time, met and liked you too late.

Hm, you breathed out, because you didn't know what else to. I know why—so you could always have me. As a proofreader. Right?

Hah. The tilt of his laugh was high and mocking, and he stuck his tongue out, as if to punctuate that. He looked away then, like he wasn’t ready to say certain things to your face just yet. Quietly he added, Always have you… something like that.

—

If you ask Charles what he’s doing hiding in a laundry basket of a luxury hotel in São Paulo, he wouldn’t be able to answer you, either. It’s been some time since the disaster that was Caspergate Cancun 2023, and if he’s perfectly honest, he doesn’t feel like facing you again for the rest of his life. Pierre, of course, has other plans.

All he knows is last night, Pierre suggested he leave a huge vase of roses for you to arrive to in the living room of your hotel; as he planted it in said room, the door’s lock turned, and he sought a hiding place in the adjacent bedroom. Judging by the prevalent scent of Dior Sauvage, this is Lando Norris’ room.

Did u get to escape??? Pierre’s text irritates him. At the same time, the light flips on; Charles curls in on himself, remaining perfectly still. Lando’s voice trills through the room. “I didn’t leave those roses for either of you,” he’s saying to you and Lissie.

Charles hears you hum. “They’re so beautiful.” His heart swells. “I gotta run for a sec, pick up something from Will’s room.” A few seconds pass and the door opens and shuts, which means Charles is currently alone with Lando and Lissie. Which means he needs to plot his escape as soon as he can. Otherwise he’ll be caught in the crossfire and much too embarrassed to—

A foot meets his concealed body and he lets out an oof! as he’s sent flying out of the hamper, along with strewn-around clothes. He keeps his eyes screwed shut, scared shitless and in a fetal position; he only unfurls when a socked foot kicks at his ass. Above him are Lando and Lissie, both extremely confused.

“How did you know I was…?!” He asks, aghast.

“My fucking laundry was breathing, mate, s’not that hard to leave alone,” Lando retorts sharply. “What are you doing?!”

“I left roses for her,” he explains fruitlessly, gesturing to the vase outside. “But you came in, and this was the closest hiding place. I was told this would be a great gesture.”

“Right. Where did you even get that advice?” Lando tries to suppress the critical tone in his voice, but judging by Charles’ embarrassed grimace, he’s failed. Beside him, Lissie makes a hm? noise, goading Charles to answer quicker.

“I got it from.” Charles pauses. “A friend,” he ekes out vaguely.

“No shit. Who?”

“Um—” Charles’ eyes are shut. “Pierre.”

In unison, Lissie and Lando both release incredulous gasps, throwing their hands up in the air. Lissie points at the mess of clothes in the corner of the room to emphasize her point and asks loudly, with comical cynicism: “This seemed like proper romantic advice to you?”

“Scratch that. Pierre’s words seemed like proper romantic advice to you? His girlfriend is—!” Lando places a flat palm a few inches off the floor and shakes it a few times to insinuate Kika’s age, his disbelieving expression growing funnier by the second. “Mate!” His voice cracks mid-syllable, though even this mishap seems to be the least crazy thing about tonight.

Charles, burning with humiliation, releases a shaky sigh. “I know! I know!”

“You don’t know!” They shout simultaneously in response, disappointed if anything. Just then the door opens again and your two best friends hurry to throw assorted pieces of laundry on the lying Charles, exiting to make sure you don’t suspect anything.

“Hey,” you say slowly, because they’re both posed the exact same. “Am I… missing something?”

“A shower, girl,” Lando says, and you flip him off before retreating into your room.

Belatedly you ask, “Did you find out who sent those flowers?”

“Some loser, probably,” he calls right back. Charles emerges to poke him accusatorily, but Lando just shrugs. Charles definitely does not have the upper hand here, anyway.

“Just get out,” Lissie says, completely done with Charles’ antics. “And stop. Listening. To Pierre.”

He rinses the odor of laundry off him once he’s at his room, but thinks, despite himself, that you called the flowers beautiful.

—

Are you—

—no. I’m not. You wiped a hand over your face and caught mascara along with it. I’m fine, it’s fine.

What he said, it wasn’t…

I said, you turned to face him, eyes rimmed and mouth trembling. You didn’t finish your sentence, just tore the microphone off your lapel and buried your face in your hands. There was always going to be a first time. Your first time insulted on a live feed, after the Abu Dhabi weekend, was not any less shocking. You felt small. You felt humiliated.

You didn’t want to show Charles any of it. You moved around the green room, picking up shit to throw into your bag. Thank God the season was fucking over, you kept thinking. I feel so, you said, still failing to finish anything you started to say. You’d been called an annoying bitch by a fan of one of the drivers—to your face, as you exited the paddock.

He moved nearer. Charles, you said, a half-sob, and then you were allowing him to crash, allowing him to hug you. Your arms were weak when they wrapped back around him, linking softly in the small of his back. You sobbed hard into his chest until his grey tee was dark with tears. I want out, I just want out.

You’ll lord your career over that prick when you’ve made a million dollars doing this, he said. You do it too well to want out. You’re too smart. You’re too good. You cried harder, your face hurt and every word felt wrestled unintentionally, like it took too much work to say much at all. I’m sorry, you said. You should go.

No, he said. He held you closer. Not until you feel better.

—

He cries after Abu Dhabi. Bad season, everyone’s said. You snap a few smiling pictures with Max, who wins, and Lily and Lissie and the lot of them, the people who made the year so great. You notice an absence in all the pictures and you find it in a room in the Ferrari motorhome.

You’ve found you both find solace in words. In reassurance. But you’ve also found that your connection enables you both to reassure without having to say anything at all. You sit beside him, lean your head on his shaky shoulder, and wait.

“I was waiting for you to come,” he admits brokenly. “I was just not feeling good.”

“I know,” you respond. “It was a bad race. Shit strat.”

He’s quiet. His breaths are ragged and wet and shaky. “Will you stay? Until I feel better?”

You don’t move. “I’ll stay for longer.”

—

In the kitchen Charles unscrews himself a beer. The sky outside is pink and the sun hides behind faraway mountains, gradually darkening the entire atmosphere, save for the few woolly clouds. He’s by the patio door so he can spot people in the wide yard: Pierre, exchanging a Frisbee with Lando. Max, Alex, and Lissie engaged in an intense match of Uno.

They’re all gathered here in Spain at Carlos’ behest to celebrate the dawn of winter, and the end of the season, Max’s third championship.

He’s yet to spot you—he’d been told earlier you’d be late—but it doesn’t matter. He’s been feeling uncharacteristically himself all day anyway. He wrote that on his notebook this morning, on the flight here, verbatim. Looked up the word to spell it right and everything. He remembers you saying it, that time in London where you and Lando took him around and annihilated Borough Market before lounging on the grassy knoll of a nearby park. I feel so uncharacteristically happy, you’d joked. The syllables were too stunted and too fast for Charles to nail it. But he feels it now. Uncharacteristic.

He tells everyone he’s fine, though, and does a good job of it. Three beers in and he’s beginning to trick himself into thinking he actually is doing fine. Nobody suspects he’s been feeling empty from such a bad finish to the season—the season that was already bad in itself. He hasn’t been feeling his usual drive, his usual appetite. He doesn’t know when it will return.

“Here you are.” Carlos has this goofy smile on his face when he bounds into the kitchen, depositing empty dishes at the sink. “Listen, I have to tell you something.”

Charles and Carlos have always shared an easy dynamic—they’ve both always wanted the same thing. Racing has always been at the forefront of their minds. It makes conversation passionate, easy, fun; it was what helped build their now-natural rapport in the first place. “Yeah?” He prods, leaning against the counter and tipping fizz into his mouth.

“I invited everyone here to announce… something important.” Carlos crosses his arms. “But I wanted you to be the first to know.”

“Me?” Charles knits his eyebrows and smiles. “Wow.” He gulps, cocks his head. “What is it, then? Are you switching teams?”

Carlos’ goofy smile grows. “Isa and I are engaged. I’m retiring next year.”

“You—you’re—” Charles laughs and shuts his eyes all at once. “Oh, my God, mate! Congratulations!” The overload of information isn’t lost on him, but he channels it all into a hug. “Are you really retiring, though? I mean. Wow, this is amazing news—but—”

“I was sure as soon as I asked,” Carlos says squarely, smiling as if he’s conjured an image of Isa’s smiling face (which is likely the case). “As soon as she said yes. As soon as I bought the ring!” He laughs aloud, so overwhelmed with happiness of recalling everything. “I’m so glad you were the first person I told.”

“Besides Lando,” Charles says, because he knows it’s true.

“Besides Lando.” Carlos smiles. “I’m… dios, I’m happy. I always knew I’d have something to look forward to after racing.” They hug again, and then he clambers past Charles and into the patio, where he resumes the façade of being unengaged and still a driver. Left behind, Charles thinks over it himself. What does he have to look forward to after racing? All his life, racing is all that ever existed to him.

The announcement comes eventually—when it’s dark out, intermittent stars white and twinkly against the black above. Charles has once again turned into a blushy mess because you arrived a few hours prior, wearing a lovely dress and with your hair down in messy waves and you said hi to him earlier without him approaching first. They present a stupid, but very Carlos-and-Isa ring-shaped cake to announce it, and somebody queues up music and everyone’s cheering. Of course everyone’s cheering—it’d be impossible for this announcement to not come with bouts of yelling and cheering and goodbyes to Carlos, who accepts them with glee and—dare he say—excitement.

Charles remembers their first year as teammates, the jokes they’d made about needing to beat the other out. For both of them, he recalls, it’s only ever been the drive to race. He didn’t think Carlos would even entertain the idea of retiring yet. He wonders when he will. The thought of it alone is enough to send a well of anxiety run deep into him—which happens after he congratulates the couple, so he excuses himself to the empty outdoors area to get fresh air back into him.

He didn’t mean it, but he finds you already there. “Hi,” you say when he slides the door shut. “You okay?”

“Just… yeah, I’m fine.” You smell faintly like smoke. “It’s crazy, huh. Everyone’s… moving on.”

“So Carlos told everyone, then,” you say, pursing your lips and waiting for his response. He closes his eyes and lets a soft exhale escape him, warm air out and fresh air in, a welcome change from the heady atmosphere in the party. “I knew. I bought that God awful cake. I kept saying get a normal one but they both wanted it to be shaped like a ring.” You punctuate your sentence with a crisp laugh, a stunted exhale of air to break the tension.

You have a natural sway over words, graceful and beautiful and commanding, something he only wishes he could be. For so long he’d been told the feedback loop of one and the same thing: you’re good. You’re the best. You’re going to be the next big thing. And this season had just… aggravated every single insecurity he’s picked up in his years of racing. He wishes sometimes he’d been told something else: you suck. You’re normal. You’re irrelevant. Then at least he wouldn’t exist in some odd panopticon of feeling on top of the world and yet looking at it from the bottom of a pitch black abyss.

“Yeah,” he says instead, wringing his hands. He mimics the wrist movements he’s made to do during gym hours. “It’s wild how—I mean, not really wild, but. I just can’t… even picture my life after racing.”

“You’re young, that’s warranted,” you laugh. “You’re also… I mean, even if you drop out of racing tonight, it’s not like you’re going to become dirt poor or anything. You could become a bloody orthodontist and people will still love you.”

“Will they?”

He didn’t mean to say it aloud but out it comes, garbled and rushed and he’s a bit embarrassed for sounding like a child in front of somebody he finds so beautiful. The silence is suspended and dry, and for a minute all he hears and feels is the slow rise and fall of his chest. To somehow mend the vulnerability, he tries again. “It’s not—I just think I’ll be lonely if I decide to stop racing.”

The fact that Carlos can say with so much ease that he’s willing to drop his career to ensure his pending marriage lasts is almost terrifying, because Charles knows he wants that. He knows—he’s always known—that he wants that intimacy, that realness, but for it to come at the cost of something he’s known for so long is so scary it’s almost a dealbreaker.

“Lonely?” You echo, voice tinged with concern. “Charles—”

“Lonely.”

He says it with an edge to his voice, so final, so steadfast. Loneliness is what he’s always feared and he knows, with a deep drawling punch to his gut, that loneliness is what will come if he decides to stop racing. Even if he’s tired. Even if he’s so pent up with frustration and loss and anger. Racing is all he’s ever known, it’s all he is—when he’s not tied to it, who is he? “Like no one… like I’m just standing in front of what I’m supposed to be, and when people see me, that’s all they see—what’s behind me. Right through me.”

“Well, you’re off racing right now,” you respond, trodding carefully. “So, well. Do you feel that way?”

He knows what you mean: it’s winter break, so he’s not driving or doing some form of it every single day. And he knows in turn what to answer: no, not really, he doesn’t really feel detached from it because there’s a low anticipation in his belly that tells him he’ll be doing it all again soon. But he chooses to interpret it differently; differently, but not falsely.

“I th… I don’t feel lonely,” he says, “when I talk to you. You see me.”

Your stomach drops and your heart begins to pulse a mile a minute, knuckles tightening where they’ve gripped onto the wooden post of the patio. You can feel the air in your lungs pass through every divot of your body as it escapes and arrives in long, shaky breaths. He’s looking at you, his eyebrows knitted like he wants—needs an answer, if you’d be kind enough to please give him one.

“I…” You bite your lip, every thought in your head at odds with the other.

Time feels like rubber, like it’s been stretched and manipulated and Carlos is ducking out to announce that it’s time to blow out candles on the stupid ring-shaped cake and you’ve taken too long to respond and your body feels too heavy but your heart feels too light and your eyes are blinking, open and shut and open again, and you feel like the wind could honestly blow you away now because Charles has given you a neutral nod and left you alone again, to contemplate the weight of what he’s finally, finally admitted, tonight here under the sky of Spain.

You move a hand over your hair, watch him walk away. The words lodge themselves in your throat, but they’re there.

—

One minute after you realized you liked Charles, you swallowed the feelings until they were barely decipherable.

In happened in Dublin, at a pub on St. Paddy’s Day, when you’d emerged fresh out of a breakup with the most arseholic Irishman you’d ever had the displeasure of meeting. And funnily enough, it happened without Charles’ presence. You’d spent the day at Liam’s, hours of fighting over so many things—the growth of your career and the decimation of his, where your relationship had soured, why you never came to visit him, Charles, the sodding bloke you like so much—until finally, you took your things and left.

Wise, because you might’ve honestly gone insane if you stayed a minute longer, attuning your ears to the deafening feedback loop of his voice. Also decidedly unwise, because you had a piece of luggage and barely any battery, in a full city of people you didn’t know at all.

There was no chance Liam would let you return, and no chance you wanted to, for that matter—the fact still stood, though, that you needed to kill the night before your flight to France left at 6AM. You entered the first pub you heard, deposited your bag at the coat check for an extra couple of euros, and accepted the first pint thrust into your hand and first leprechaun hat plopped atop your head.

In between watching people compare how they poured Guinness pints, Sinead O’Connor songs, and exchanging headdresses with a random stranger, you found yourself impressingly drunk. The Irish did it too well.

A university student stumbled past your stool, tears in her eyes; she stopped to steal a shot of whiskey lying unattended on the bar. You looped a hand around her wrist and stared at her menacingly. Manners?!

Fuck manners, she said wetly, wrenching every word out with great effort. Nobody paid either of you any attention. I just caught my best friend and boyfriend kissing. Her accent was unmistakably Irish and was stronger with the tears.

Oh, you said, loosening your threatening grip. Sorry.

Don’t be. I’m sorry I could ever be so stupid, she said, aghast, before finally stalking outside the pub. Half an hour later, you wound up at a table of thirty-somethings, all belting along to a folky sounding song.

Drunkenly you slurred out, I thought it was a stereotype.

What was, love? One of them paused her singing, dipping down to listen to you properly. Your cheek was smushed against the varnished wood, moving with every syllable you eked out.

The songs. You sound like… you belong in the 19th century.

She laughed at that, surfacing and yelling something to the band onstage you couldn’t quite decipher. The song reached its peak, loud and getting the whole crowd singing along, before fading into a familiar opening. S’this better? She asked, her voice slightly raised above the guitar.

You looked up. I liked the other one too, to be fair. M’not a fucking anti-Irish.

Nobody said that, love. Come sing. She hauled you upward, exaggerating her arm swinging in the air so you’d follow suit, which you did. You hummed the opening, eyes fluttering open and closed. You imagined opening them again and finding Charles across the room, already looking, with the same charming, boyish smile on his face that came to you as comfort.

You thought back to the dinner in London, the feeling of his shirt against your shoulder, the way he’d gotten you so easy and laughing and babbly, something you never got with Liam. You squeezed your eyes shut and exhaled raggedly. Fuck.

Linger’ll do that to you, your companion mused. Around you, the entire pub sang along to the song that served as the backdrop to your all-encompassing romantic epiphany. Missing a lover, huh?

No, just… You opened your eyes, watched the band sing out the rest of the prechorus before they slid into the next verse. A new kind of air had crept over the pub, one that exemplified just how much this song could mean to anyone, no matter who. You shut them again and saw Charles. The green of his eyes, mossy on some days and bright on others. The moles on his face. The grooves of his hand, the way it wrapped around things like pens, mics, bottles, your fingers. His voice, how he curved around words. He always knew exactly what you meant even if it took you ages to get to the point, even if you felt like you didn’t know what you meant exactly.

You opened your eyes. Suddenly fights with Liam didn’t matter. Whatever little sympathy you had left evaporated as you listened to the lyrics and realized, with a damning force, that you were thinking of Charles. And this was not weak, this was not vague, this was a strong thing that took you off your feet like a gust of wind, hurtling you out of the pub. You thought of every time your eyes met his, both of you already laughing at something else present. Every time he saw you at the end of a busy work day and asked if you were doing alright.

Just this guy, I suppose. His name’s… yeah. We’ve been friends for ages. He’s really very talented. Very kind. Your voice was drowned out by the music but you didn’t intend for anything to be heard, anyway. And he’s the smartest person I’ve ever met. He always knows what to say. He’s not in Dublin tonight, not even in Ireland, for God’s sake.

He’s your boyfriend, then?

You closed them slowly. No. T’wouldn’t be very smart to date him.

Is he an arse?

No either. It’s just too late.

I’m sorry, love.

Don’t be, you mused, eyes still shut as Linger came to a close. I’m sorry I could ever be so stupid.

—

Charles should be in Monaco. You should be in London. But at four-thirty PM, leaning against the counter of a tiny café in Dublin, you cross paths for the first time in weeks, and everything tilts on its axis.

He notices you first, because he hears you thank the barista quietly. It’s not your reporter voice, not the one you put one when you’re interviewing him or his teammate or his fellow athletes. But it’s your real one, and it’s the one he thinks he could hear through a snowstorm.

A tuxedo-clad man exits and suddenly you’re there. You’re wearing a white top, low neck and thin straps covered by a cardigan. You’re sliding coins into the pocket of your jeans and he watches your hand freeze, drags his eyes back up to you, finds you’re already looking.

You look beautiful, he thinks. You put on a lot of makeup for the cameras, and you looked gorgeous, but seeing you like this—caught, almost, in a moment you didn’t expect to see him—you look unbelievably beautiful. He aches with it.

“You look well,” he says first when he opens the café door for you. “What’s your business in Ireland?”

“Acquainting myself with my new coworker.” You wait for him to follow and squint when the sun hits your eye. “We’ve been here three weeks, fly back to London next Monday. You?”

“It does seem weird for me to be here,” he observes absently. “I needed a change of pace, I think. Gear up for the season.” He shakes his half-full cup of coffee. “Where are you staying?”

“Just up ahead.” A slow silence overcomes you both. “Come over. I have beer. I know you can’t be fucked to have coffee.” He laughs and nods, following you through the road and up into a flat—a BNB, if he’s guessing. There’s a tiny landing and then stairs to a wider living area, where you proceed to unwrap the croissant you’d gotten a few minutes earlier. You chuck it into the fridge and produce two bottles of beer in one go.

“Sit,” you gesture to the spot beside you, and he sits himself there. “We can talk. We should.”

You’ve shrugged your cardigan off, and he observes every detail of your exposed skin, the way your hair layers atop it. Right as he opens his mouth to respond, a blond girl enters, rings of mascara caking her eyes and a wine glass twiddled in-between thumbs. She’s talking her head off and only pauses when she spots Charles.

“Hhhh…iiii.”

“Salut.”

“You’re Charles?” She notices how close the two of you are seated together.

“Yes,” he says.

“Charles, this is Robyn—my coworker’s friend. And by extension my friend.” You pat her knee and point to Charles to get them properly introduced. “She leeches off the apartment.”

“You love me,” she retorts, mockingly—but sweetly. “Anyway, sorry to intrude. I was just on the phone with my situationship.” She rolls her eyes. “Does he think I give two shits about goodnight texts? It feels impossible to be romantically satisfied these days.”

Charles grunts. “I hear that,” he says, just to make Robyn feel less excluded. You get up then, to fuck around at the kitchen sink—he suspects you’re not actually doing chores—but you come back with wet hands and you sit yourself across Charles, on the loveseat, instead of next to him.

“The thing is, right,” she gulps wine, “there’s such a thing with dating now,” Robyn says, not missing a beat, her Geordie accent curving round the syllables with a distinctive twang. She stares at the opaque red liquid in her glass, like that will supplement her with more words. “Like a deal. A big deal. Everyone’s making this huge thing out of it, and it’s like, can’t we be in our twenties and fuck around occasionally?” She laughs, a high-pitched, tapered noise.

You shift from where you’re seated, buried into the material of the seat. It’s quiet and beginning to touch awkward, so you speak in a rough voice: “I dunno, I kind of… get it.”

“Oh do you, now,” she responds, voice saturated with wine. “No, it’s—I was joking. Of course you would, you’re absolutely fucking gorgeous, is all.”

Suddenly you feel all too seen and inclined to touch a fingertip to your cheek, feather light. You blink so you won’t feel tempted to meet Charles’ eyes, because you feel them on you. “It’s—thank you, I mean. It’s nothing to do with that. I just always feel it’s impossible to find someone who loves you. I feel like I’m not very lovable.”

“You? You’re bloody fucking likable!” Robyn’s laugh is so disbelieving you find yourself semi-convinced. “You’re a bit intimidating, yeah, but you’re lovable as fuck, babe.”

You double down anyway, voice thin. “Right. I don’t think I’m very good at being… affectionate.”

“Hah. Bull. You’re affectionate with… with Charles! I’ve heard you talk about him to Jane.”

She turns to Charles before you have the chance to defend yourself. To him she asks: “Is she affectionate with you?”

But it’s basically rhetorical. Everyone speculates, sees the way you two bend the line between friendship and romance, the care with which you treat Charles, the way you two understand each other in ways impossible for anyone else in your orbit. Fuck if it’s not overtly physical. Robyn’s known you three weeks and has never even met Charles until seven minutes ago and already she’s sensed the energy, the difference, even if she hasn’t seen you do so much as embrace.

“It’s—” You say and say too quickly. You wind up slowing your speech so you don’t sound too defiant and lean backwards, willing yourself to relax. “It’s… different with Charles.”

“Different?” She repeats, miming every dip and rise of your voice. “Why?”

“We’re close.” You refuse to meet his eyes. “Be—because we’re good friends. I feel… things are… just. They’re different. That’s all, really.” Barely satisfied with the answer you eked out, you cross your arms over your torso like it’ll help shield you from the interrogation going on. Briefly you let your eyes fall on Charles; he’s reclined, eyes all over the place, blinking in quick flashes.

“But you admit it, at least?” She smiles. “That you’re affectionate, I mean.”

“Only with…” you taper off, unwanting to dig yourself a deeper hole. “Right. Sure, yeah.”

“Well then,” she says, eyebrows raising as she dows the rest of her glass. She sets it down on the low wooden table with a clink. “I’ll get going. Don’t let me keep you two from shagging or whatever.”

“We don’t f—shag,” you interrupt, voice sharp. “And you’re not keeping us at all. Me, at all.”

Us sounds so exclusive, you realize as it leaves your lips. Us. It tastes like sour cherries on your tongue, bleeds all over. Robyn gives you a look. In response, you insist on seeing her out, leaving Charles at the sofa, elbows on his knees, hands toying with the neck of the beer bottle. He can make out faint words but he doesn’t try translating or deciphering them, just listens to your muffled voice peek through every few words. You sound amused, also accused, also endeared—a bit irritated. You end it with a laugh.

You clamber back in after a few minutes and find him at the top of the stairs.

“Sorry,” you wave off, rolling your eyes to fend Robyn’s earlier interrogation efforts of. “She’s very strong-willed.” You climb the stairs, your striped linen shorts folding with every movement of your legs. Finally you make it to the top, on the second-to-the-last stair, staring up at him.

“You know,” he says, watching you ascend to the top finally, but you’re still staring upward. “You should know.”

“Should know what?”

“I missed you.”

You inhale and are grateful to find the air is all him. “I missed you, too.”

“In a different way.”

“Me, too,” you echo again, voice quiet. “I missed you. It feels like I’ve missed you all my life.”

He can hear your still, controlled breathing. “Thank you for seeing me. Even when, you know, it’s… hard. You know what I mean.”

“I do,” you say. “It’s never difficult, not…” With you.

He leans down and captures your mouth in his then, like it’s a thirst he’s always needed quenched. You allow it, kiss him back like you’ve needed this your entire life. His lips are chapped, but you don’t mind—Dublin’s cold. He kisses like he’s smiling, like he’s happy, and you think maybe that’s not far off. He moves downward, to your jaw; lower, along the column of your throat, around your collarbones, cornering you against the wall, letting you lean against it.

Charles’ kisses are light and soft, but also heavy, like he’s trying to waste as little time as possible. You sigh, feeling light, feeling ecstatic. He puts two hands on either side of your face, presses your foreheads together, and shuts his eyes.

You feel the divots of his fingers on your hip, your waist, places he’s never touched before. “I’m sorry I left,” you breathe into him. “Back in Spain. In Madrid. I wanted to think about it. About what you said. About everything, about you.”

“I’m glad I found you here, then.”

You tiptoe to kiss him again, because now that you’ve had it once you’re terrified you won’t have it again. In-between kisses he picks you up, cages you fully against the wall, and you breathe shaky little exhales. It builds up quicker and harder; you feel his cock at your hip and shiver, eyelashes fluttering. “Upstairs,” you say breathlessly.

He likes knowing you want this, because he’ll give you whatever you want. He’d fuck you for hours. Have you shaking, eking out moans of his name. He’d whisper praise up and down your ear. He wants this just as much, if not more.

“I want you, so much,” you exhale when he lies you both down on your bed. “So much.”

He tugs your shorts off, then your panties. He doesn’t usually lack self-restraint, but he thinks he’s never felt this much temptation in his life. He’s so hard. He brings one hand to his thigh and squeezes his dick through his pants, but it doesn’t provide him with any kind of relief. You’re needy already, whimpering, mind dizzy. He slides a finger up your slit and watches you screw your eyes shut.

Slowly he sinks in, watches you accustom to the stretch. “Wanted this,” you breathe out.

He thrusts in further, feels your warm cunt stretch around him, feels your breaths get hotter and quicker against his lips. But he takes it nice and slow, so he can feel every little ridge inside of you as you take all of him. “You like it?”

You nod, too dumbed down to speak. “Good girl. Pretty, pretty girl.”

He’s wanted this for so long, fucking you deep and slow and desperate. He thrusts harder, watches you unravel and your hot breaths pick up in pace. He reaches down, smears wetness around your clit as your thighs begin to shake. Your pretty, flushed face is enough to send him into overdrive, your eyes rolling back as he goads you into orgasm.

You’re still cumming around him when he takes a shaky breath, pulls you tightly back against him, and lets the pleasure take over. He fucks you full, rides his orgasm out while you ride yours out—buries his dick all the way inside, so each spurt fills your contracting pussy up.

He pulls out and collapses beside you, pressing his lips to your shoulder before lying on his back. “I’ll clean you up in a minute.” It’s quiet for a second, just you two breathing.

Then: “I did, I did think about it,” you say, voice reedy. “I thought about you.”

“Yeah?” He watches you blink at the ceiling, lets you clasp your hands onto his.

“About me, too.” You open your eyes and stare into the green.

“D’you want this?”

“Believe me,” you say, threading your fingers into his tightly. Your hair’s fussed from the sex. “I do. But—”

His heart drops.

“I don’t want to… I want you to not…” You sigh. “You know, I like seeing you. I like being that. I like knowing I make you feel good. And I want you to know you… you make me feel amazing. Like you and I… we understand each other.” You pause. “Sometimes I feel like you’re the only person who understands every inch of me.”

“Ditto,” he says, and you smile.

“I look up to you, you know? I don’t want you to anchor yourself onto me. I want you to realize that on your own. You’re smart. You’re a great driver with a shitty fucking team I hated reporting on last season.” He laughs shakily. “You know I look up to you. You know… you know I love you.”

“I do. I love you.”

“I always have. It wasn’t… it didn’t always make itself clear, but I always have. And I know I always will.” You smile. “We’ll be in different cities, in separate timezones, but if we survived the years of not telling each other how bloody fucking much we liked each other, this is nothing. When we’ve sorted ourselves out, we’ll know the right time to finally call this what it is.”

He’s never thought of himself as a writer, but his notebooks might beg to differ. Many times you’ve told him yourself that he has an affinity for describing things, especially when he lets go of language as a limitation. He wonders what you’d say if you knew the amount of times he’s tried to write about you. Careful letters or typefaces, in an effort to form a coherent picture of you, the way he sees you, the way he loves you. But he’s so scared he tears the pages off before they get too intimate, too personal, crossing the border from having a crush on you to being in love with you.

For once he’s not. He nods. It’s bittersweet, but it’s a segue to a better ending. He moves a hand over your hair and holds you close.

“You could never be unlovable,” he says, pressing a kiss to your forehead because finally, he can. “I mean it.”

#f1 #charles leclerc #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc imagines #charles leclerc drabble #charles leclerc smut #f1 x reader

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deadtired-highkeyenergetic · 2 months

Text

I Think They Like You

Summary: The rest of the camp have had enough of you and Astarion dancing around each other, never daring to confess so they decide to give the both of you a little nudge in their own ways.

Astarion watches from his corner by the campfire as you go around to each member of the group, handing them a gift with your signature bright smile. He scowls when Karlach heartily laughs at something you said, slapping your shoulder a little harder than intended which causes you to stumble forward, unprepared for the barbarian’s strength. He scowls even harder when Wyll’s hand lingers on yours a little too long for his liking and Halsin touches the small of your back, thanking you for your thoughtful gift.

“If you scowl any harder those lines will be permanently etched into your face,” Shadowheart appears next to him.

“Thankfully I am a vampire spawn who will remain forever young,” Astarion rolls his eyes in response, folding his arms across his chest. He doesn’t miss the flower in Shadowheart’s hand and a tinge of jealousy blooms in his chest. You’ve given a gift to everyone but him, and teasing words to try and worm an answer as to why lie on the tip of his tongue. Deep down, he wonders if you’ve purposely not given him a gift. Maybe you don’t deem him as worthy of one, he can think of plenty of reasons why you’d deem him as such, but a small piece of him clings tightly to the hope that you’re just waiting for the right time to give him his gift. After all, like what you told him once, ‘save the best for last’ right?

He continues to observe you as you unload a pack full of magical gear for Gale, going through each item with him. Shadowheart snorts when she notices how hard Astarion is gripping his own arms, excusing herself with a ‘just talk to them already’ and heads to her tent.

Once you’re done presenting your gift to Lae’zel, you glance around the camp, looking for the silver haired vampire whom you had yet to give a gift to and find him slouching against a tree, hiding away from the others. His ruby red gaze pierces through you as you make your way over, excited.

“Astarion!” You hop over, plopping down next to him.

“About time, darling. I was wondering when you’d finally give the best gift to your best party member,” his signature smirk plays across his face with confidence but his eyes say otherwise.

“Saving the best for last. Besides, I figured that you’d like to receive your gift once the others have settled down enough to not bother you about it,” you smile at him.

“Best for last huh,” he murmurs, a small genuine smile on his face. “Of course mine is the best gift,” he says with far more confidence.

“The best gift for the best companion,” you grin, turning around to reach into the pack and pull out a dagger, holding it out to him.

“I noticed that you lost one of your daggers in our previous fight, so since I was the one who started the fight I felt responsible for it and decided to get you a new dagger!” Your eyes shine. “Since we needed supplies, I went to the market, happened upon a blacksmith, saw this dagger and…uh…thought it looked beautiful. So I bought it,” you smile sheepishly. He looks over the dagger, noting how it was a far better dagger than his previous one and wonders how much you had to fork out to purchase it. A quick glance already told him it wasn’t a cheap purchase in the slightest, and the rubies inlaid in its hilt only skyrocketed the potential price of the dagger.

“I…”

He looks up at you, raising an eyebrow. “Yes dear?”

“The dagger reminded me of you,” you mumble, feeling the heat spread from your cheeks to the tips of your ears.

“Oh? How so, dearest?” He purrs. “Am I as beautiful as the dagger? As dangerous as it?”

“Its silver hilt reminded me of your hair and the rubies reminded me of your eyes,” you scratch the back of your neck, looking at the ground in embarrassment. “That’s it, really.”

Astarion blinks. The dagger had caught your eye because its colour combination reminded you of his hair and eyes? He leans in closer to you, wondering what you saw when you looked at him. Did you only keep him around for his good looks? You hadn’t bedded him yet, maybe this was his chance to prove his usefulness in that regard.

“Then I suppose I am as beautiful as this dagger,” a coy smile plays on his lips. “That is quite the compliment, dear.”

You laugh, “beautiful and deadly. I’m glad you like it.”

“Of course I do, darling. Now then, to repay you for your…gift –”

“Ah, sorry! I just remembered I have to help Gale prepare tonight’s dinner, see you later!” You quickly jump to your feet and scurry off, trying to hide your embarrassment. His lips had been so close to yours, ruby red eyes staring intensely into your soul and you feel your cheeks grow warm at the thought of it. Had he wanted to kiss you? You’ve never really thought about romance so this territory was extremely unfamiliar to you. Shaking your head, you throw yourself into dinner preparations, trying to rid yourself of these thoughts and miss the way Astarion’s face falls at the sight of you running away.

“Astarion,” Halsin greets him from behind.

“What are you doing here, druid?” He scowls, tucking the dagger away safely.

“I simply came to check up on a friend,” the druid replies calmly.

“Friend.” Astarion snorts. “We’re not friends, we’re simply travelling companions.”

“So you keep telling yourself. I have noticed that you’ve started to grow closer to everyone as of late, especially Y/N.” The druid sits himself where you had been sitting not too long ago.

“And how does that concern you?” Astarion spits back.

“Do you, perhaps, have feelings for them?”

“Of course not!” Astarion snaps a little too quickly.

Halsin simply smiles in return, “I think they like you. Talk to them about it, I imagine they will be just as surprised as you are to find out that you return their feelings.”

“Clearly they have good taste,” Astarion rolls his eyes, “falling for the most handsome person in camp.”

“I mean it, Astarion. Tell them how you feel, I believe new and wondrous experiences await the both of you,” Halsin places a hand on the vampire’s back and gently pushes him towards you. Astarion turns around, baring his fangs at the unfazed druid but walks over to you anyways, thoughts swirling in his mind.

Was Halsin right about you? He didn’t want to look like a fool should he confess. He liked the relationship the two of you currently had, with the stolen glances, the soft smiles, the gentle touches. He genuinely enjoyed all the times you would sneak into his tent for some peace and quiet, picking a book from his stash and reading by his side until your eyes could barely remain open. Then you’d excuse yourself, stumbling out of his tent whilst yawning all the way and he’d quickly leap to his feet to guide you to your tent before you could face plant into the dirt. He didn’t want to lose all of this, ever .

“Hey, Astarion.” Your shy smile washes some of his concerns away. You put down the knife and turn to face him, gaze searching curiously. “What can I do for you?”

Of course that was your first question. You were always far too helpful for his liking, always far too eager to come to the aid of others, even if it meant delaying your main mission of removing the tadpole. He hated how you always threw yourself with reckless abandon into danger to save others, resulting in him needing to do extra work just to ensure you came away from the fight alive. For some reason, it always fell to him to extract you from that fight you couldn’t win, it was always his feet that led him to you, always his daggers that embedded themselves into the gullet of your enemies, always his bloodstained hand that stretched out to you, pulling you to your feet. Always that giddy feeling from the smile you gave him and only him whenever your hand lingered on his .

“Hello, darling. I was wondering…if we could talk. In private,” he swallows, fingers playing with the cuffs of his sleeves.

“Oh, of course!” You turn to Gale, completely missing the knowing look in said wizard’s eyes. “Gale, can you –”

“I can finish the preparations by myself, don’t you worry. Go ahead,” he waves the two of you off far too quickly for Astarion’s liking.

“Thanks Gale!” You chirp and let Astarion take the lead, looping your arms through his.

He brings you to the outskirts of the camp where the trees block out potential eavesdroppers and shelter the both of you from any noses sticking into the business he had with you. For once, Astarion has no idea how to begin, nor any inkling of what to say. He has never prepared a script for this kind of situation before, and silently curses Halsin for doing this to him.

“If it’s something you’re not comfortable saying, you don’t have to force yourself to do it,” you break the silence, but make no inclination to move. Instead, your eyes are focused on him, watching him, checking up on him.

“I…” Astarion can’t believe himself. For the first time ever, he’s lost for words. His signature silver tongue, silenced by…you of all people.

“I have…” He tries again, to no avail.

“Ilikeyou.” The words rush out and immediately Astarion regrets it. Everything in his body screams at him to run, to leave this place far far behind, to banish all memories of you from his mind but he remains rooted to the spot, his undead heart thundering in his chest.

You stare at him, and he shifts from one leg to another, gaze fixed on the ground. Then you realise you’ve been staring at him for way too long and quickly clear your throat, causing his head to snap back up.

“I…” You feel your cheeks flame up again, but if Astarion has already laid it all bare, it’s only fair you do the same too. So you take a deep breath to steady yourself, look him in the eye and say the words.

“I like you too.”

His eyes widen and then he smiles, genuine happiness clear on his face. A wave of relief crashes into him and he takes a step forward, taking your hand to press a kiss to your knuckles.

“I’m glad you return these feelings of mine, darling. I wouldn’t have known what to do with myself if you had rejected me, not that the thought ever crossed my mind.” He cups your cheek with his cold hand, his long slender thumb brushes over your warm skin.

“I’m glad you return my feelings too,” you whisper breathlessly, placing a hand over his. “Thank you.”

“The pleasure is all mine,” he leans in close, lips mere inches away from yours. He looks to you for permission and you close the distance despite the uncertainty filling your chest, lips touching. He kisses you with practised ease while you fumble and he pulls away, amusement colouring his face.

It’s a good look on him , you think to yourself. You ought to create more opportunities for it in the future.

“Your first time kissing someone, love?” He chuckles.

“Well…what do you think?” You shoot back.

“It’s not bad, but you have a lot to learn if you ever want to be as good as me,” he smirks. “Don’t you worry darling, we will have a lot of chances to work on your kissing.”

With that he closes the gap once more, hungrily kissing you deeper. A new kind of warmth blooms from his chest, enveloping his cold body and spreads to his fingertips. He likes this feeling, Astarion decides. He likes feeling you in his embrace, he likes holding you like you’re the last thing in this world. He likes the feeling of your love for him washing over him.

He likes – no – loves you.

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #astarion bg3 #astarion x durge #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #astarion x you #baldurs gate astarion #astarion romance #tav #tav bg3 #tav x astarion #durgestarion

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italiansteebie · 1 year

Text

Somehow, Steve is behind on every pop culture reference of this century, even with all the children he babysits.

That's why when Eddie Munson walks into the coffee shop he works at, he has no idea who he is and why he’s whispering. He almost wants to yell at him to speak up, but the way the guy is pulling his hat down over his face, sunglasses planted firmly on his nose, Steve can’t help but to wonder if he’s okay. If maybe he’s trying to avoid someone.

So before he can order, Steve leans in asking softly, “Hey are you okay? Is it someone in the shop you’re hiding from? Because I can kick them out.” His protective streak apparently extends beyond his kids. The guy seems to brighten at this, “I'm okay, honest. Just trying to stay out of the spotlight.” There’s something in his tone of voice that is more serious than it should be, but Steve continues on with the transaction.

It’s pretty dead in the shop, so Steve decides to strike up a conversation. “You new in town?”

“I- What?”

“Oh sorry. I just- usually only regulars come in on Sundays. I was just wondering if you've moved here recently or if… I don’t know, you're visiting or something?” Steve finishes awkwardly. And the guy lets out the most angelic laugh, Steve thinks he’s in love.

“I’m just visiting.”

Steve gets the feeling this guy doesn’t want to talk, so he moves to finish his drink. Handing it to him with a “Well, I’m here if you need someone to show you around!” and a smile, with his instagram handle written in bold, black ink on the side. The beautiful guy smiles at him, more genuine than it had been before, and turns to walk away.

“Wait! What’s your name?”

Beautiful man arches his eyebrow again, and shakes his head, a small smile gracing his lips.

“Eddie.”

And with that he leaves, and Steve is left starstruck for the rest of the day.

It’s not long before Steve sees Eddie again, in fact he’s there the next morning. Waiting by the counter with his hat and sunglasses planted on. Steve wonders if maybe they’d been glued to his face in some sort of prank. Seems unlikely though.

Eddie approaches the counter, and before he can order Steve leans in, “I was serious yesterday, if there’s someone around here bothering you let me know. It just- seems like you’re uncomfortable or something.” And that beautiful smile graces Eddie’s lips again.

“I’m okay, really. It’s just. A lot of people know me and I don’t… I just want a normal morning at a coffee shop, y‘know?” Steve shrugs, “I can’t say I do, but If you want to talk I’m all ears. Well- Not now of course,” He laughs, “I'm on the clock, but I get out at noon?” He suggests. And who can blame him, there's a beautiful man right in front of him and he’s only human. Of course he’s going to flirt.

It seems to work too because Eddie agrees and shortly after there's a phone number written on his arm, with weirdly strict instructions to not share it with any one.

—

It’s noon, and Steve’s expecting to pull up to a house, but the GPS leads him to a rather nice hotel. One more expensive than he could afford even for one night. He spots Eddie waiting in the lobby, waving at him, signature hat and glasses still on.

“Hey, I decided to meet you down here. I don’t think they’d let you up without me.”

And Steve just smiles and nods, happy to be hanging out with Eddie outside of a place of business.

Once they reach Eddie’s room, Steve trails in slowly behind him, almost in before there's a firm hand on his shoulder pulling him back. He flinches, as a deep voice loudly says “Where do you think you’re going?”

“I- Uh. I was, uhm, going to see Eddie?” He finishes voice pitching up at the end like its a question, biting his lip willing the anxious tears that sprouted not to fall. The guy glares at him, “I don’t think so-” But he’s cut off by Eddie, “Woah, Gareth. It’s okay, he’s with me.” And that seems to calm ‘Gareth’ down, and Steve’s shoulders slump in relief. “I didn’t um. I didn’t mean to cause trouble,” He says, cheeks going red. Eddie waves his hand, “Don’t worry about it, Stevie.” And for a second Steve wonders how he knows his name before realizing he’s been wearing a name tag in every one of their interactions.

“He’s harmless, I promise.” Eddie assures ‘Gareth’ again.

And with that he leaves them alone. They talk for hours, and the time flies by, and Eddie invites him to dinner with him and his friends. He agrees easily, from what Eddie has told him, they all seem pretty cool, although he finds it a bit odd that they all share the uniform of sunglasses and hats.

At dinner, he can hear the subtle clicks of cameras and whispers, and he quietly wonders if there’s some type of celebrity around. Eddie and his friends laugh, but Steve seems to have missed the joke.

Overall it was a great night, ending with him and Eddie leaving hand and hand, sharing a soft kiss as Eddie walks him to his car parked in the hotel lot.

Once safely alone in his car, he squeals like a teenage girl, kicking his feet, twirling his hair, the whole nine yards. He goes to call Robin but in some odd coincidence, she’s already calling him.

“STEVE WHAT THE FUCK.” She’s shouting before he can even speak.

“Robs! I was just about to call you! I had the most amazing date,” He gushes, conveniently leaving out the part where he admits that his date's friends were with them.

“Yeah, I know, Steve. It’s ALL OVER TWITTER.” And she’s screaming again, so loud he has to pull the phone away from his ear.

“What do you mean? It was just a date, I wasn’t with anyone else!”

“You were with EDDIE MUNSON.”

“Yeah I kn- How do you know the name of my date?”

“Steve. Steve, Steve, Steve.” She sighs.

“What?”

“I can’t believe you met Gareth AND Eddie AND Jeff and Keith! The only four men I would ever let inside me!” Steve cringes at that, “Robs. Never say that to me again. And what is going on? Did- Did you follow me to my date again?” He can hear her exasperated groan from the other side of town, no phone needed.

“Steve. Listen to me. Do you know the band Corroded Coffin?”

He shrugs, “Yeah, kind of. Dustin talks about them sometimes.” he doesn't know what this has to do with the beautiful man he just went out with.

“Okay. So here’s the deal. You have gone on a date, and smooched, SMOOCHED, the lead guitarist of Corroded Coffin.”

“I- What?”

“You kissed the lead guitarist of a very popular band.”

“Oh.”

“YEAH, OH, DINGUS.”

His phone chimes and he pulls it away from his ear to check the notification.

‘eddiemunson_CC just followed you.’

Another one follows immediately after that.

‘eddiemunson_CC sent you a message’

“Oop- He’s texting me, hold on.”

“Put me on speaker!”

“Oh, he has a blue check mark next to his instagram name thingy, that's cool!”

“Steve, oh my god, what did he say?”

Steve looks at the message, ‘I was trying to avoid the paps. Sorry, Stevie, they caught us.’ He responds quickly with an ‘It’s okay Eddie! I had a great time tonight!’ He narrates this all to Robin who is responding quite enthusiastically. “We can be famous by association, Steve!” She says in a “duh” tone of voice.” Steve rolls his eyes, “I think I’d rather just date him.”

He ends the call with Robin shortly after that and proceeds to text Eddie, punching in the faded sharpie written number on his forearm, Instagram DM’s weren’t very private according to Eddie, easily hacked or something like that. They text back and forth for a while, arranging a proper date in Eddie’s hotel room where they don’t have to be so discrete.

Eddie’s back in the coffee shop the next morning, uniform intact, basically loitering until Steve is done with his shift. They head back to the hotel room, blatantly ignoring the photos that are being taken of them. Back in Eddie’s room, Steve hears Corroded Coffins music for the first time, it's good. No wonder they’re so famous. Steve shares that sentiment and much to his chagrin, Eddie teases him relentlessly about it.

The internet knows of Eddie's new beau, and by extension, so does Dustin, who yells at Steve for not mentioning it sooner.

And if Corroded Coffin’s next album has more love songs than the others combined, well. We all know why.

inspired by @steddiealltheway's rockstar Eddie and clueless Steve fic!

#steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #steddie fic #steddie ficlet #rockstar Eddie munson #barista Steve Harrington #meet cute #stranger things #stranger things ficlet

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sthavoc · 2 months

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Hi bestieeee, can I request something cute ? It could be short if you like.

You never call Enzo by his name he is used to hearing “mi amor” or whatever you like but when you say his name for something he’s like the confused pikachu meme like what did I do wrong? Who you talking to cuz that ain’t me I’m the love of your life future father of your children EXCUSE YOUUU TREAT ME WITH SOME RESPECT.

Thank you !! 💖

*๑՞ 🍏 𝐃𝐎𝐍𝐓 𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐌𝐄 𝐁𝐘 𝐌𝐘 𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐄 | ENZO VOGRINCIC

·˚ ༘ pairing: enzo x fem!reader

·˚ ༘ summary: you decide to pull a little prank on your boyfriend, wanting to see his reaction to you calling him by his name.

·˚ ༘ warnings: I believe it’s only fluff (if not i’m sorry)

·˚ ༘ note: guys i’m finally on spring break!! I can write more fics now! this one is a small blurb <3 i’m sorry if there’s any grammar mistakes.

The times you’ve called Enzo by his name could be counted. Those few moments could be times when the two of you would either fight or be on serious topics. Apart from that, his name wouldn't be a part of your daily vocabulary around him, or on the list of names you were used on calling him.

But today, you decided to see and test the waters. What would his reaction be to you randomly calling him by his name? Right now both of you found yourselves in the kitchen after you guys had gotten back home from doing your grocery shopping.

You thought this was perfect timing for you to ask him for something.

“¿Enzo, me pasas las manzanas por favor?” And there was his reaction. You tried to ignore it, but the facial expressions he had were difficult to dismiss. Your lips quivered from trying your best not to break character, you even had to seal them completely.

“¿Cómo me llamaste?” He spoke with confusion and astonishment in his tone. You never looked up from what you were doing and continued to put the groceries away.

“¿De qué hablas?” You followed along. The smallest of smiles broke from your lips when your back faced him and he wasn’t able to see any sign of facial expressions on your face.

“Me llamaste Enzo.” He sets both palms on the cold stone of the kitchen counter, his knuckles bending with the action. By this moment you had turned towards him again but continued to move.

“Pero si así te llamas amor.” You played dumb.

“No, no—” He points with his index before making his lips damped with his tongue. “Para vos yo soy tu “mi amor”, futuro marido, el padre de tus futuros hijos, el amor de tu vida.” You were trying your very best not to laugh right now. He appeared offended from hearing his name coming out of your lips.

You couldn't hide the smile on your lips, and he realized it. The crease that formed between his brows hadn't missed the way your cheeks grew for the smile. Which was when he asked—

“¿Por que sonreís?” he continued to look annoyed as you continued to smile.

You shook your head trying to cover your smile, but you were failing to. “Era una bromita amor.”

A smirk appeared on his lips, where he stuck his tongue inside his lower lip with a small shake of the head. “Ah ¿una bromita eh?” He copies. He had walked closer to you, his hands had found its way to your waist. “Pues tus bromitas me van a dar algo chiquita. Pero todo lo que dije es verdad eh.” He points.

“Lo se, y lo siento.” you whisper genuinely. Your eyes looked up at him while you continued to share your smile.

His index finger and thumb rested on your chin while the lack of space stayed between the two before he leaned in to share a gentle kiss. A kiss from which you were able to hear the smooch after you both pulled away.

“respeto, nena.” He said.

And you knew that the man meant for you to have respect for him, on knowing how to call him. It was mostly banter, but he did prefer for you to call him any cute pet name than his name. A million times.

#enzo vogrincic #enzo vogrincic x reader #enzo vogrincic blurb #enzo vogrincic fic #enzo vogrincic imagine #enzo vogrincic one shot #enzo vogrincic x you

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princessbrunette · 3 months

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i just love scolding rafe whenever he does something mean to a pouge, just making him sit on the couch and then standing in front of him with a frown on my face and scolding him

౨ৎ🐇 ₊˚⊹ ᰔ

deep down, he thought it was adorable when you got like this. all huffy and puffy, sitting him down like you had any real authority and telling him off. you really think he’s gonna take some little ass girls advice, stood there with your arms crossed over that tiny floral sundress, stomping your kitten heels at him? nah. but he’d listen anyway, ‘cos he was a good boyfriend.

“its totally outdated, rafe. you can’t be mean to someone purely based on the fact they’re from a different side of the island! they’re people!” you ramble, stood infront of him with your palms splayed stressfully by your sides.

he sits on the couch at tannyhill infront of you, relaxed into this seat, arms crossed over his chest and legs spread as wide as would be physically comfortable. “i don’t expect you to understand the dynamics—” he begins in a slow and disinterested drawl, his eyes fluttering and jaw tensing in irritation when you interrupt him to continue.

“its classist. rafe, i know the real you. you’re nice deep down. but you’re acting like a bully lately and i don’t like it! i have pogue friends, you know that— and, and i’m not ashamed of it either.” you stick your chin up, pouty and proud like a cartoon baby kitten and he rolls his eyes, licking his lips as he shakes his head. if anyones out of touch, it’s you.

“deep down? i’m nice deep down. alright, okay— so i suppose me putting endless amounts of money on your card and decking you out with whatever shoes it is you want that week is… what? mean? that makes me the bad guy?” he tilts his head, squinting at you and for a second he thinks you might back down. he doesn’t seem genuinely angry like he’s going to explode on you, just tired of the conversation and having to make his point.

“thats… not what im talking about rafe, you know i’m grateful.” you toe at the carpet, huffing out guiltily making him shrug carelessly, wanting to hurry things along.

“okay so… spit it out. c’mon.” he exhales, sinking back into the couch, gesturing for you to go on with it.

“so, from now on— you are not to pick on harmless pogues who did nothing to you. it’s unkind and it makes me upset.” you state your point, folding your arms and standing up straight. a smirk twitches at his lip.

“or, okay— hear me out here, you keep livin’ your girly little carefree life and you let me handle things the way i handle them. yeah?” he raises his eyebrows like he expected you to agree and you deflate, puffing out your bottom lip.

“rafe.” you whinge.

“baby.” he tilts his head mockingly, using the same tone as you.

“can you try? atleast?” you stress, and just wanting the conversation to end he rolls his eyes theatrically, nodding his head with his lips pressed in a thin line.

“alright, whatever. now come here, would you?” he holds his arms out to pull you onto his lap and you decide his wishy-washy promise was good enough, happily skipping over.

“yay.” you smile, victoriously and he huffs out a chuckle.

“always somethin’ with you huh? keep you fucked and fed and you still got shit to say. good thing i’m so patient, right?” he smirks, tickling your waist making you giggle. to call him patient would be an outright lie, but you were too giddy to bring that up.

౨ৎ🐇 ₊˚⊹ ᰔ

#anon #rafe cameron prompt

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wh0reforcoriolanussnow · 1 year

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Hey can I do a daemon x velaryon!reader where she is his wife instead of laena and he comes to genuine love her through the years more than anyone they decide to come back to kings landing for laena funeral and the reader start to notice how rhaenyra starts at daemon through the entire funeral. Reader go to talk with her kids ( maegor, rhaegar, and baelon) to introduce to their cousin and she notice that daemon has left and she can’t find rhaenyra. Reader brush off her worries because she trust daemon. Later through the accident with the kid she is in the hall when she sees daemon and rhaenyra walk through she notice rhaenyra looks a bit messed up like her hair and clothes and looks at daemon. Daemon can’t even look at the readers eyes because he knows she will figure out. After everyone goes to bed she want to ask the truth but finds out that’s her brother laenor has died, reader out of grief and sadness decide to stay at driftmark for few days with her parent and tells daemon she will meet him and the children at dragonstone. Daemon and rhaenyra marry each other at dragonstone and readers children literally fly out to driftmark all three of them and tell her what happened. Readers feels angry disgusted humiliated sadness , and she decide to stay at driftmark with her children and nieces and writes to daemon that if he comes and inch close to her or her children she will gladly feed him to her dragon( the cannibal), daemon still tries but her mother tells him to leave while he still can before she does something she won’t regret and how she regrets even letter her children marry daemon and rhaenyra. Couple years the kids has grown up her sons dragon are (greys ghost vervimathior and seasmoke her youngest claimed him after laenor death) and they go back to kings landing for luke positions and daemon sees her and immediately goes to talk with her ( he still loves her and want to work things out) rhaenyra doesn’t like this at all and follows him only for them to sees the reader talking to a little girl who is spit image of reader and daemon and daemon ask who the child is only to find out its their child (reader find out she was pregnant few days after founding out daemon and rhaenyra) daemon is angry that he misses his daughter birth but accept it since he deserve it. Rhaenyra ask for the girls name and reader smirks and says visenya

And some more angst please

Fire & Blood || D. Targaryen x Velaryon!reader

GIF by @redbelles DIVIDERS by @straywords

a/n: I absolutely love this thank u for the request!! p.s this is the longest piece of ff i’ve written 😭 also keep in mind some of the events from hotd don’t happen in this and the the timings are different! And for the sake of my tiktok acc i’m making Elys as fc for the reader to make it easier for me to make tiktoks abt this!

Your darling sister. She is dead. You broke down in your bedchambers as Daemon came up to you, engulfing you in a comforting hug as you continued sobbing. “Shh” Your husband ushered, trying to calm you down.

It absolutely broke Daemon’s heart seeing the person he loved most in his entire life so broken. He wiped the tears away as he planted a kiss on your forehead.

“Her funeral is to be held tomorrow, so rest my love” He whispers against your hair as you sniffle, moving your legs to your bed, Daemon soon following.

“She wanted to die a dragon rider’s death, not on her birthing bed” You quietly spoke, your back turned to Daemon, his hand laid rest on your hip drawing circles. “I know sweet girl” He replied. Your hand coming to his to squeeze it before moving closer to him.

She was gone. The emotions started rolling in as her casket submerged in the water. You sobbed as Daemon pulled you in to his chest, kissing your forehead.

You wrapped your arms around his torso as your three children clung to your dress. “Stay strong” He rubbed your back as you wipe your tears and face the front again.

Your heart broke seeing your nieces, Baela and Rhaena comforted by your mother. You also saw Rhaenyra and her two boys, Her eyes seemed to be fixated on the man beside you before she gives a small smile to you.

“Have you seen the children?” You walk up to Daemon, his eyes somewhere else. He doesn’t reply making you furrow your eyebrows. “Daemon.” You call out again, his eyes moving from the side to your eyes.

Your gaze follows where his eyes were and you lock eyes with Rhaenyra. Turning back around, Daemon looks down at his cup. “Do you know where our children are Daemon” You repeat, “They’re over there” He gently moves your shoulders towards the direction of the boys.

He wraps his arms around your waist and gives you a kiss, “I want to introduce them to their cousins,” You say, holding his hand on your shoulder as he smiles sweetly to you. “That’s a great idea.”

Walking up to your boys, Maegor, Rhaegar, and Baelon, you hug them all giving them kisses on their forheads. “My sweet boys, I want you to meet your cousins” You say to them as you lead them to Rhaena and Baela. You look around to find Daemon but he was no longer where he was.

“Auntie,” A voice calls out as you turn your head and spot Lucerys. Confused, you still give a smile and crouch to his level. “What is it Luke?” You question, “Have you seen my mother? She’s not here” At his words, you look around and he was right. Rhaenyra was nowhere to be found.

“Uh, I’m sure she is somewhere close by. Stay with me if you’d like” You kindly smile to the dark haired boy as he nods. You completely trusted Daemon. Though not the same could be said about Rhaenyra.

Your eyes take in the sight infront of you. Aemond infront of a maester as he stitched up his eye, Luke with a bloody nose and the disheveled appearance of your nieces who were in the arms of your mother Rhaenys.

You were accompanied by your three boys, Daemon was still nowhere to be found and you had been waiting in your bedchambers for him but he never returned.

The big doors suddenly open as Rhaenyra came into view. Her hair messy and her clothes untidy. What shocked you the most was Daemon who appeared behind her. He leaned against the door, his eyes looked around but they never met with yours.

You felt a string pull your heart, a pull of sadness. No, that wasn’t right. Daemon wouldn’t do that to you, or his children who he dearly loves.

You had no doubt of his loyalty. But you did remember how in the early years of your marriage that he was always cold to you. That was when you found out he was in love with his then 18 year old niece.

You were no stranger to the Targaryen’s customs in keeping their blood pure. But as the years went on and you produced heirs for Daemon and created a family, he no longer longed for Rhaenyra, but you instead.

A loud gasp escapes your lips as Alicent charges at Rhaenyra with a blade. Your eyes couldn’t help but notice how Daemon slightly moved, like he was contemplating in stepping in but stayed.

After the whole ordeal, Viserys ordered everyone back into their rooms. Your eyes tried to find Daemon but it was too crowded to see where he was. “Where’s father?” Your youngest, Baelon, questioned as you caress his cheek.

“I will find him, go with your brothers to your rooms” You say as they nod and leave. Before you could move further, you were pulled by the hand.

“Father-“ “Your brother is dead” You blink a few times, processing Corlys’ words. “I-“ You were shocked to say the least. How could this day get worse. Losing both your siblings in a span of a day. “H-how?” You stutter as you hug your father.

“We found him in the fireplace, a quarrel of some sort we believe” He says quietly. You knew he was trying his best to keep his composure. “Where’s mother?” You say looking up at him as he looks away.

“Your mother is not in great condition-“ “I will stay here,” You interrupt him, “for a few days atleast” You were both in shock and grief and wanted to stay in the comforts of your home with your parents.

Corlys gives a sad smile and nods his head, “Your mother would like that very much.” He says before a tear drops and he is once again in your embrace.

“The boys will go with you back to Dragonstone where I will meet you in a couple of days” You sadly smile, your hands locked with Daemon’s as he nods giving a quick peck on your lips.

Maegor, Rhaegar, and Baelon rush towards you engulfing you in a hug as Daemon watches. “Be good as always” You whisper to them as they nod and you watch as their boat leaves, Daemon on Caraxes as he soars in the sky.

After a few days at home in Driftmark, you had yet recieved any letters from your husband, Daemon. Usually he would write to you when you were apart but nothing had arrived.

“Princess, your sons are here” A handmaiden knocks on the door as you look towards your mother, you had not been expecting them. You hurriedly walk outside, Rhaenys close behind as your boys come running to you.

Worried and confused, you hug all three of them. “What is it? Where is your father?” You ask them as they exchange looks at one another. “Father married Rhaenyra!” Baelon lets out as your eyes widen.

“W-what?” You couldn’t believe your ears. Daemon, your loving husband marrying his niece Rhaenyra. No. “It is true mother, we watched father marry Rhaenyra” Your eldest, Maegor quietly said as tears started forming in your eyes.

You couldn’t help but feel a sense of betrayal and disgust. How dare Rhaenyra marry your husband after your brother died not long ago. “They killed my son, your brother y/n, so that they could marry” Your mother said through gritted teeth. A few tears roll down your cheeks as you hug your boys. They were your everything.

“We will be staying here from now on” You could tell your sons felt a sense of betrayal and hurt, as much as you did. They watched their own father marry their second cousin. Later that day, you decided to write a letter to Daemon. In the letter, you wrote that if he dared to come anywhere close to you or your children, you would not be afraid to feed him to your dragon, the Cannibal.

Not even a week later, the man had the nerve to show up at Driftmark. You had to ensure your dragon wasn’t anywhere close as he would have killed Daemon right there and then. You refused to go out and talk to him so your mother did.

You listened and watched from an open window, “I commend you for your bravery Daemon for showing up here. Though this will be your last time you ever set foot here at Driftmark or anywhere close to my daughter. I deeply regret letting my children marry you and Rhaenyra!” Rhaenys fumed as Daemon listened.

He continued to say nothing before nodding and turning around, making eye contact with you as you stare at him with no emotion. His eyes however, showed regret and sadness but you brushed it off.

6 years later…

You scoff at your mother’s words. “Luke is no true Velaryon and everyone knows that,” You stand up from your seat as Maegor looks at you. “My eldest, Maegor, is the rightful heir to the Driftmark throne, he is of my blood, true Velaryon blood”

As much as you liked the young boy, the matter of your son’s righteous title was on the line. You knew everyone would be on your side, apart from of course Rhaneyra. “Daemon would be an idiot to deny that his own flesh and blood is the heir to the Driftmark throne”

His name in your mouth was odd. You say his name with such disgust. “I would agree but he seems to be blinded by Rhaenyra now” Rhaenys gives a knowing look to her daughter.

You roll your eyes. Daemon had infact two sons with Rhaenyra and one still born daughter. Rumours had spread around saying that she gave birth to a half dragon.

“Viserys is dead, I hear Alicent and her father now rule before her son is crowned King. I dislike her truly, but she only has the right mind when it comes to birthrights” You smirk as your mother nods.

“We will travel to King’s Landing to take back what is rightfully yours Maegor” You place your hands on his shoulders as he nods at you.

“Prepare the dragons, we leave in the morrow.”

“My sweet girl!” You beam as you run up to your daughter, scooping her up in your arms. You had found out you were expecting a couple days after Daemon left Driftmark for good.

It saddened you at the same time as Daemon had always wished for a daughter and here she was, but he was in no position to be able to call her his daughter.

You gave your dragon, the Cannibal, pets as you had your daughter in front of you, gripping on the saddle. You take off and you smile at the sight beside you, Maegor on Vermithor, Rhaegar on Grey Ghost, and Baelon on Seasmoke, you late brothers’ dragon.

The sight was menacing and frightened everyone at Kings Landing. You smirk at the sight of all the dragon keepers scrambling around as you and your boys land your dragons.

“Touch any of them and my dragon will feed on you” You call out as Baelon snickers. “Ah, Princess, what a lovely delight to see you” Alicent acknowledges you and your children with a smile.

“Like wise, I am here to discuss my eldest Maegor’s birthright claim to Driftmark” You say as the Queen nods, “Of course, an audience is held today on that matter” “Thank you” You bow at her before you and your children walk into the Red Keep.

How dull the place was. It was cold and grey, definitely not fit for raising a family. You valued your years at Driftmark with your family. It was filled with nothing but happy memories after you completed your family. You often remembered how much Daemon disliked this place, saying that it was more of a prison than a castle.

“Who’s side are you on Daemon?” Rhaenyra shouts at him, Daemon was sat on a chair with his left hand massaging his temple. “I’m on no one’s side!” He yells frustratedly.

“But you know deep down Rhaenyra that your boy is no Velaryon, having him sit on the Driftmark throne is nothing but disrespectful and wrong. And you know that” He points at her.

Baffled at his husband’s words she spoke up, “It’s because he’s your son isn’t it?” She spat out. Daemon does nothing but groan and stand up.

His marriage with Rhaenyra was crumbling. At first it was perfect, an uncle who once longed for his niece was nothing but a memory. He was not happy as he used to be during his marriage with Rhaenyra, quite the opposite with you, he soon found out.

He remembers how he used to lust for Rhaenyra when she was all but a maiden, but now, she was a mother who birthed 5 children. She was different to what he wanted to believe.

He thought he could chase his younger days when Rhaenyra was in her late teens. But he was wrong. They were both dragons who clash all the time. He missed you. The simpler and happy days unlike the days he was going through in King’s Landing.

Constant fighting and being at each others throats. They both knew they were out of love for each other. “He is of Velaryon blood, is he not? His mother is a true blood making him heir” He retaliates, this argument going on for far too long.

“And you forget that Luke’s father is of true blood too!” Rhaenyra fires back, knowing her words were lies. This made Daemon laugh, “Lucerys is no son of Laenor, nor is Jacaerys or Joffrey. How long are you going to keep up this facade Rhaenyra?” The princess said nothing, she was infuriated with Daemon, as always.

You walk through the halls of the Red Keep with only your boys with you. The people who walked past awkwardly stare at you and your sons, some handmaidens of Rhaenyra most likely.

You wore a deep blue dress that cinched your waist and was a square neck exposing your collarbones. Your boys grew up into spitting images of Daemon, and so was your daughter.

The doors to the throne room opened infront of you as everyone turned their heads to your direction. You spot Alicent and her father infront of the Iron throne, her children to the left. Your mother had also arrived and brought along your nieces.

Your eyes then lock with Daemon’s for the first time in 6 years. You quickly look away from him and look at Rhaenyra who was throwing daggers your way. Maegor stares at Lucerys who shifts closer to his mother making him chuckle.

You stop in between the greens and blacks. Ever since you stepped into the room, Daemon’s eyes never left yours. You looked happy, and more alive than he felt. He then looks towards his three boy, all grown up and taller than you.

He adored them, they were his first children after all. “We gather today to discuss the rightful heir to the Driftmark Throne-“ Otto loudly says before interrupted Rhaenyra.

“Which is obviously Lucerys” She butted in making you look at her, “Speak when spoken to Princess,” Alicent calmly says making her look back to the front. “Princess y/n, state your case” Otto nodded to you.

All eyes were on you as you speak up, “If my son, Maegor was to cut his veins, pure Velaryon blood would spill out. If I was to cut Lucerys’, all but Velaryon blood would spill” You turn your head to Rhaenyra.

“Is that a threat Princess?” She sneered, holding her arm out infront of Luke as Daemon stood back without saying anything. “Would you like it to be? Your son is no Velaryon, everyone in this audience can agree. I will not have a fucking bastard sitting on my ancestral throne” You raise your voice, your body now facing hers.

“My brother would be ashamed of what is happening right now, he too knows that Maegor is the legitimate heir to the Driftmark throne. Not Lucerys.” You finish before turning back to the front, not before looking at Daemon who held a small smile.

“And to add to that, I have preposed a marriage between Maegor and Baela and Rhaegar and Rhaena” You smile towards your nieces as they smile back. Anger filled Rhaenyra. Ever since she saw your youthful looking face again, she couldn’t keep a scowl off her face.

Jealousy radiated off of her as she watched you walk down the stairs, you weren’t thickened in the waist unlike her even after birthing nearly the same amount of children, you didn’t have eyebags under your eyes and most of all, you seemed happy. Something she sought out from Daemon.

Rhaenyra also noticed the look Daemon gave her as she appeared, a look he hadn’t give her in a very long time. “Princess Rhaenyra, you may state your case”

And so she did, but it was filled with nothing but lies that she continued on. Everyone wore a bored expression as she defended her illegitimate son. A final ruling was put down, one that made Maegor heir to the Driftmark Throne.

After the crowds started filling out, Daemon had the urge to follow you and talk to you. He was no doubt still deeply in love with you. He thought marrying his niece would bring back the younger days he thoroughly enjoyed but no.

Instead, when he married her, only the days with you clouded his mind. Rhaenyra followed Daemon before they both stopped infront of an ajar door where their eyes widen in shock.

“Darling, come here” You crouched to meet her level as she wrapped her arms around your neck making soft giggles leave your mouth.

You were interrupted by the door opening. “Y/n…” Daemon started, his eyes on the little girl who looked too much like him. “What are you doing here” You questioned, placing your daughter back on the ground.

Before Daemon could speak up, Rhaenyra beat him to it, moving past him. “Who is she?” Rhaenyra questioned, you could have sworn you saw a glint of jealousy in her eyes as she looked at your daughter. “My daughter, Visenya” You proudly smirk.

You knew Rhaenyra had always wanted to name her daughter Visenya but the gods has other plans for her. “What a nice name” She shakily says before giving a tight lipped smile and rushing out of the room.

Your eyes then flicker towards Daemon who had an unreadable look on his face. “When did you find out” He questions calmly, closing the door.

“A couple days after you left Driftmark” You say in a monotone voice as Visenya busies herself with a toy. The two of you watch her as a small smile made itself on Daemon’s lips.

He hated himself so much. He hated how instead of being a faithful and loyal husband to the most beautiful soul, he decided to run after a childish dream.

“And you didn’t tell me? You didn’t think to inform your husband that you were pregnant with my child-“ “Don’t.” Your lips quiver as tears began to form. “You were not my husband. You were already married to Rhaenyra so why would I tell you?” You yell at him, your handmaiden quickly walking in to take Visenya.

“I know I made a stupid decision but she’s my child too! And you know how much I love our boys-“ He points to you, “You left them fucking traumatised! They had to watch their own father marry their second cousin. How fucked up is that?” Daemon stayed quiet at this.

You sigh before sitting down on the edge of your bed, “Does she even know who I am?” He quietly said, taking a seat beside you. “Of course not. She’s too young to understand and I don’t think I’ll ever be ready to tell her the truth” You look over to him.

He gulps but nods his head. “I understand” Daemon quietly says as you stand up. Smoothing out your dress, you start walking to the door. You give a final look towards Daemon, a single tear dropped before you quickly wipe it off and leave.

#daemon targaryen x reader #daemon x reader #house of the dragon #daemon targaryen #fanfiction #house targaryen #matt smith #hotd smut #daemon targaryen smut #game of thrones #laena velaryon #laenor velaryon

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lovepookie · 5 months

Text

₊˚ෆ Consequences - p.gw

♡ sypnosis: your boyfriend is park gunwook. sweet. cute. couldn’t hurt a fly. and you? a demon who wants to tick him off and see him jealous. gunwook doesn’t play when it comes to his feelings, so naturally, you’ll suffer the consequences—or maybe you won’t. you’re kinda his soft spot.

♡ genre: teeth rotting fluff, some angst, established relationship, boyfriend!gunwook

♡ 2.1k word count

♡ warnings: toxic?? a little emotional manipulation?? reader trying to get gunwook jealous, cursing, please let me know if i need to add any!

♡ nano note: idk guys i was just deep in my gunwook bag when i wrote this. he’s so 🥺…enjoy! xoxo

.♡.

You stared at your boyfriend on the couch, watching the way he maneuvered his long fingers across his phone screen, probably playing clash of clans like he always did.

The natural pout that his lips formed made your cheeks flush rosy.

He was just so cute. Just thinking about all the times that very pout had convinced you to do things for and with him had your heart racing.

Who could resist it?

This got you thinking…

You don’t think you’ve ever seen your sweet and caring boyfriend actually upset. Maybe bothered, but he’d always cover it up with a smile and/or talk out how he was feeling before those emotions escalated. It left you to believe that this healthy way of communication and emotional management had been one of the very reasons you fell for the boy.

As you watched him in his puffer jacket, pout still on display, black hair in his eyes, the devil on your shoulder started to talk to you.

How would he look angry?

You’d never seen him genuinely frustrated…

Now, now, now.

I know what you’re thinking!

This isn’t a good idea!

“You’re so in love with me huh? Just can’t stop staring…tsk tsk…” He mumbled out just for you to hear, a small boyish and teasing grin making its way onto his face before his lips pursed up like a duck.

The pink rosacea in his cheeks from the cold outside still hadn’t settled, and yet here he was, already on his bullshit.

His words made you roll your eyes as you decided to make your way to the other side of the couch.

Fuck what was right and wrong!

He teased you first, so let the games commence.

You scoff as you move, deciding to scroll through your own phone mindlessly for the award-winning act you were about to put on. “In love?…with you? Hah!” You chuckled out, intending to say it loud enough to where it wasn’t meant to be heard by him but still was.

He peaked over at you for the first time in a while and frowned a bit as you stretched your legs out to where your feet had ended at the side of his thighs.

You’d seen that frown before.

He’d do it when something was said that didn’t quite sit right with him and it would usually lead to a conversation.

This time, however, his hands found your ankles and pulled you closer by the leg, almost disregarding his phone altogether.

“What did you say?” He asks, peaking over at you as you screech from the sudden movement. You always forget about his strength, so the sudden pull forward caught you off guard.

“I didn’t say anything…” You say, never sparing a glance his way, face clearly ridden with irritatance.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see him smirk, then his hands leave your ankles, but his elbow touches your sock-covered feet mindlessly. He goes back to playing on his phone, igniting a bigger want in you to continue the game that you were playing with him.

For a few silent moments, you thought through ways to get under his skin, deciding you weren’t good at truly hurting him without doing anything detrimental. Still, you smirk for a second when an idea comes to mind.

“Gunwook, can you please stop touching me?” You say, pulling your feet away so no contact would be made between you two.

That’s it! Hit him where it hurts; physical affection.

His head snaps to you, and he immediately flinches away from you as he processes your words. You’d never asked him that before…and definitely never whilst using his government name.

“Uh, yeah…sorry.” He mumbled, and now his frown is a pout.

A sad one.

You keep yourself from laughing at the scene, your chest aching for your baby boo and how mean you were being to him.

He didn’t deserve this!

You take him in for a moment as his fingers tap lightly on his screen. Random swipe, random tap…it was almost like he was fidgeting with his game at this point. Whatever was on his mind was clearly bothering and hindering him from focusing.

Suddenly, without warning, he’s quickly turning his phone off and turning his body towards you.

“Baby…do you want to eat something?” He says in a hopeful tone, thick eyebrows raised.

You barely spare him a glance.

“Not really…” you mumble, continuing to randomly type your feelings in the messaging app so it looked like you were texting someone at the moment.

You spot Gunwook’s shoulders drop a bit, then he’s leaning back into the couch, just staring at you.

“I thought you texted me earlier that you hadn’t eaten yet…” He says as he watches you, his eyes a little serious. You continue to spare him no glance.

“I lied. I ate with a friend earlier. He left before you got here.” You lie, tone flat. At this point your pulse feels like it’s beating out of your chest. From the corner of your line of vision, you watch as he continues to stare at you, face blank and almost no emotions emitting at all.

It felt like your heart was about to jump out of your rib cage and hide under the couch with how serious he looked. This was not your pookie; it wasn’t even Gunwook at this point.

It felt like a stranger had taken over.

You can’t really blame him though; you too probably seemed like a stranger to him right now.

After a few more seconds of excruciatingly tense silence, he‘s standing and zipping up his coat, presumably getting ready to leave.

Your eyes shoot up, and when you catch a glimpse of his face, you knew you fucked up. It’s cold—unwaveringly cold.

Like a switch, you realize the game is over, and quickly stand to your feet. “Where are you going?” You ask, eyebrows raising and a scared smile rising to your face. Gunwook just looks past you and around for his belongings, sparing you not an ounce of his attention.

“I’m going to leave. You can call your friend back. Maybe you’d have more fun with him.” He says, and for a second you catch the glossiness in his eyes. Your heart drops immediately, and before you can even think, you’re launching yourself at him.

“Gunwook! No! Wookie i was just playing! It’s a joke I swear it’s a joke!” You say, arms tightening around his rigid frame whilst he goes still and stares past you.

“…”

There’s silence for a breif moment and you start to get really scared.

“Pookie you know it’s all jokes! I wanted to get you mad…It was stupid, I’m really sorry.” You say, chin on his chest as you cling onto him, manically begging him to listen.

He takes a moment before looking down at you, your faces impossibly close, a blank expression still present.

“…Say swear.” He says, looking down at you through his lashes, pout forming on his lips.

You can’t help but crack a smile, leaning on your tiptoes to peck his lips.

If it was up to you, you’d wish to kiss his pout away until it never returned.

So that’s what you do.

Peck.

And when you pull away with a “muah!” each time, his smile starts to appear and grow wider. Soon he’s fighting back the smile as he looks down at you, never once leaning down to aide the height difference as you struggle.

“Gunwook I swear! I swear on everything, it was just a joke. There was no guy here. I am really really hungry right now. I don’t want to see you upset. I’m sorry.” You ramble out, staring up at him.

He was your grey marshmallow right now, arms stuck to his sides and in his puffer jacket as you squeezed the life out of him.

And just like that, a full smile breaks out on his face, gummy and sweet. You smile too in response, but then you’re quickly squealing again when he breaks free of your squish and suddenly throws you over his shoulder.

“H-Hey! Put me down!” You yell, trying to steady yourself to be vertical again by using his back. He laughs and keeps you in the air however, arms strongly wrapped around your legs.

“No. I’m hungry and you made me wait.” He says, and you can hear the gummy smile in his tone. Soon he’s marching outside where snow is falling from the sky; reminants of a blizzard from a few days ago.

The cold air immediately hits your pajama-covered skin and you feel a shiver run up your spine. “W-we can order food! Take me back inside, I’m cold!! Put me down!” You yelp, hands on his shoulders as you look down at him, a smile never leaving your face.

He just looks up at you and laughs.

“Oh my- I’ve never seen you from this angle before.” He says, and his lips are doing that pursed thing again.

You blush, trying to visualize yourself in his position when a vivid image of your probable double-chin comes to mind.

“Sh-shut up-“ You try, but you’re cut off suddenly when his grip on you is loosening, and your body slides closer to the floor.

You’re suddenly aware of your sock-only covered feet so you screech and start to claw at his shoulders as you raise your legs.

“Gunwook! I don’t have shoes on-“

“You told me to put you down!” He’s laughing out, staring at you face to face now that you’ve shimmied your way down to eye-level.

You smack his chest, which ultimately doesn’t do much because of the layers he’s wearing.

“I’m going to get sick-“

“Good.” He says, interrupting you again, shiny stars in his eyes as he nods. You go quiet as you take him in, staring at the snow flakes littering the top of his head.

He stares back with that wide smile still on display whilst he tries to hide it. The sight nearly takes the cold feeling rising in your chest away. You felt warm.

In the middle of a blizzard—but warm.

“It’s what you get for trying to make me mad-“

“Gunwook, you’re stunning.” You say, cutting him off for the first time.

He’s shocked for a second as he looks in your eyes—it’s there where he can tell you mean what you say. He goes silent and his cheeks flush as he thinks about blaming it on the cold.

“Hey…that’s my line…” He says shyly, and without another second to spare he’s taking you back inside. Out of shyness, he opens the door quickly and places you down as soft as he can.

You smile, completely enamored by the warm giant. He shuffles into your home, shy and awkward as if he hasn’t been there twenty plus times before.

“G-go change. You’ll get sick.” He says through a stutter. You smile up at him, eyeing the snowflakes littered through his raven-locks.

So then you motion for him to come closer.

“W-what?” He asks, inching a small bit forward. You roll your eyes.

“I’m not going to do anything, come here and let me help you.” You say, giggling at his shy stubbornness. He blushes as he leans down, then your arms make their way up to pat the snow off of his head.

He’s smiling at you the whole time, eyes full of charm.

Eyes that read; she’s so into me.

Before you can pull away he’s mirroring you, moving to get the snow off of your hair but obnoxiously messing it up and tangling it in the process.

You laugh out in protest at this. “Hey! O-okay! I get it-“

But he doesn’t stop.

“We get it! Thank you-“

And without warning, his lips are on yours and cutting you off, large hands at both sides of your cheeks.

His lips are pillowy and warm and juxtapose his cold hands that are cupping your face like you’ll disappear in any second.

When he pulls away, his eyes immediately look into yours, hands never leaving your face. He leans in one more time, and naturally your eyes close on instinct.

Before he peppers another light kiss to your lips, he whispers out a few words accordingly—just like the little shit that he is;

“I’ll forgive you this time, cutie.”

2024 © lovepookie

♡ please do not plagarize, repost, copy or translate any of my works. thank you.

#. . . nanowrites #lovepookie/au.doc #park gunwook #zb1 gunwook #gunwook imagines #gunwook x reader #gunwook fluff #zerobaseone gunwook #zb1 fluff #zb1 au #zb1 x reader #zb1 imagines #zerobaseone fluff #zb1 masterlist #zerobaseone #kpop au #kpop zb1 #zb1 scenarios

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simplyreveries · 4 months

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Can I request Lilia, Malleus, and Ortho (platonic for Ortho obviously) x a reader who puts on an act of being a “perfect girl” and always happy but in reality is quite depressed (in the sense where it feels like where their feelings should be is just an empty slot.)? Not forcing you to do this of course ^^

lilia vanrouge

he would lightly jest and tease you all the time— as he can see right through you and your attitude. lilia is definitely someone who you can easily allow yourself to let loose and be more of yourself around him. he always pops up randomly and finds you, usually its surprising and he’ll be doing it some strange way hanging from a ceiling giving you some mischievous smile aha and ask “what's with the sorrowful mood, dear?” despite not showing it, he just has that sense.

you can deny it with a smile all you want but it's nearly impossible to hide anything from this guy. he only shakes his head with a smile at your persistence. thinks your attempts are silly but he wont keep on pushing, he usually prompts to doing things that will make you more comfortable to drop the whole act— he does it in a fun but loving way. he will make it his ultimate goal to make it feel like you can at least tell him anything!

and the time you finally decide to feel more okay sharing how you really feel, he’ll smile slightly even, in a more comforting and sweet way that you're opening up to him. he’ll consider himself quite special. “oh love, that wasn't so difficult was it…?” he’ll let you let out your feelings and emotions however long you want (he’ll tell you he’ll spend the whole night by your side comforting you if he has to and honestly you have to shut that down because he wasn't joking.)

malleus draconia

whenever you and him had your nightly chats outside ramshackle during the cold nights he had always caught some glimpse of you getting tired and stressed with your current situation and letting your act slip— seeing more of what the real you is. he’ll tilt his head slightly, looking down at you and listening quite intently. he does try to give his own advice to help alleviate your troubles.

he would never point out how different you seem when talking to him at night in the privacy of the two of you— in comparison to the bright and confident person you seem to portray yourself as to always be when he sees during the day when you're out and with the others like ace and deuce. he just silently watches and continues to listen and talk to you. he doesn't fully understand you at first, but he wants you to be happy.

malleus is someone you really can lean on… like literally. you could be sitting or standing next to him and feel like its hard and want to lean against him and he will always welcome you to. he loves it if anything, he’ll place a hand on the small of your back or the side of your head in a comforting manner and remind you “youre okay, dearest”

ortho shroud

may have accidentally exposed you once when he was “scanning” once and reading your mood and he asked you why you were so upset? he seemed genuinely concerned though and listed off something you can do to “improve your mood easily!” he's just trying to look out for you haha. he doesn't fully understand yet that you're trying to pretend to be someone you're not.

ortho is used to having to push his brother a little when it comes to being less of a recluse and trying to help him out— he’ll help you too, if you’ll let him. I feel like because he doesn't fully see it it'd take him actually catching you letting yourself slip when no one is around. since then, he would go out of his way to see you daily at school during the day and try to at least cheer you up.

he does feel like someone you genuinely can talk to despite not necessarily being human himself he can be as understanding as he can be with the knowledge he knows. and like i said he’s used to idia’s withdrawn and depressed behavior at times as well. you'll just always seem to have him find you somewhere and his energy makes it hard to really seem sad. he care's a lot about his friends!

#twst #disney twst #twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #disney twisted wonderland #twst headcanons #twst wonderland #twisted wonderland #twst imagines #lilia vanrouge #malleus draconia #malleus x reader #malleus draconia x reader #lilia x reader #lilia vanrouge x reader #ortho shroud

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youn9racha · 10 months

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Bathroom Escapade

pairing: bang chan x afab!reader

genre: smut; no strings attached/friends with benefit

song inspo: one of the girls — the weekend, lily rose depp and jennie

warning: public sex, heavy make-outs, unprotected sex, heavy sexual tensions, implied friends with benefits, mentions of infidelity(?), footsies/footjob, chan/chris is used interchangeably, quickie barely any foreplay, creampie, humiliation, choking, hair pull, dom!chan, sub!reader

words: 2.3k

a/n: its been a PHAT minute !!!! youn9racha's back baby hehehe the ending was lowkey rushed, but i have been meaning to write something but my brain has been blocked ofc, but finally something was up !!!! hope y'all enjoy it!!!

This is no way representative of the way Stray Kids act. They’re nothing but references of character, and in no shape or form is this how they act. And I am in no way romanticizing or glamorizing any toxic behavior exhibited, they’re just stories that is meant to be read. Readers' discretion is advised.

No one could pull them apart.

They weren't together by any means but almost have a magnetic attraction each time they're in the same room and their eyes land on each other, looking that could easily strip one another's clothing. These words echo each time they would describe the relationship between you and Chan, a guy you would often describe as a "friend," that is if you could count the time he has bent you over and made you scream out his name.

You could acknowledge him as a genuine friend, after all, he was your special friend; he was a gentleman, funny, charming, and really handsome that no one could deny. Even though you held no romantic attraction to him, there was no denying that he attracted you in some other way that could set fire to your insides. And he seems to feel the same way about you.

He always eyes up at every physical detail you could showcase to everyone. He admires the way you show yourself off, the way your voice perfectly hits his eardrum, every curve, indent, and crevice in your body got him hooked on you, regardless of whether you had someone in mind or not. He would always have his way with you to get you like a predator attempting to catch his prey for a feast, and a feast you were.

He didn't care that you showed up with a date, a man who complimented you in terms of appearance and personality, all Chan wanted was to get you back to him. The man who sat next to you was looking at you adoringly, and all you could offer back is a sweet smile that causes him to be smitten. He was staring at you with pure admiration, unlike the other pair of eyes that are piercing holes at your skull that could easily overpower your date. Whoever thought of this group dinner at a luxury restaurant must be a sadist for putting him through this, Chan would think to himself.

The time went by slowly, the wine glasses would touch lips, while the libra's eyes continued to bore his eyes at you, examining your actions with your date. Looking at your facial expression and smiles and analyzing your body language directly in front of him. His jaw would clench each time you show any interest in the guy sitting next to you. He knew that you didn't seek anyone, romantically speaking, nor does he, but he doesn't know why his sexual cravings are getting the best of him and making him feel slightly apprehensive about your interest in the man.

He later decided to distract himself by interacting with the other guests and engaging in whatever conversation they were speaking of that Chris really held no interest in, just a temporary fix in his sour mood. All the while he was interacting with the other guests, what he hasn't noticed was that you would constantly glance at him while your date blabbered about his job or whatever that is that he decided to speak of.

When you can see Chan looking away from you to talk, showing off his charming dimples at the guest next to him and having his Australian accent come out of his plump lips to add appeal to his voice, you sneakily slip your heels off your feet and extended your legs past the cloth that covered the table until your toes reached his ankles. Chan slightly jumped in his place while his eyes widened, which made the whole table look at him, including yourself, pretending to be clueless and confused.

"Is everything alright, Chan?" Changbin, his close friend sitting next to him, asked concerned, even looking down for a quick second to see what caused him to jump—you since moved your foot away after he jumped.

Chan chuckled in a feigned nervous tone and cleared his throat, "Yeah, yeah, I'm fine," he spoke once again only to feel the same sensation of your foot against his leg once again, "just bumped my leg against the table, 'sall" he nodded, which made Changbin nod in reassurance and looked back at his seat partner and carry on their conversation.

Chan looked back at you, switching his facial expression, only to see you look back at your date all the while your foot is sliding up his leg. He's already sat past the tablecloth so many would not have seen his lower half, so your mission was easy to not get caught, all the while Chris attempts to be normal with his conversations. He feels the sole of you feet has reached between his legs, causing him to spread it just slightly where you can lay your heel in the chair and begin your movement.

Your toes and top foot began to rub against his erection which causes him to inhale and exhale through his nose, trying not to cause a scene in the middle of his conversation by erotically moaning straight to the guest's face. You two never played footsies, but at that moment Chris wish you'd done it because of the way you were rubbing him off in public was doing so many things to him, let alone using your foot.

His pants were feeling tighter as you began to curl your toes against him, which makes it hard for him to mask his excitement, resulting in you smirking at the reaction you've caused. You see him try to drink his wine, and you thought it was go time by slightly kicking him, causing him to groan and spill a bit of the red drink on himself. You pulled your leg back and gasped with everyone. Chris looked down at his dirty white shirt before looking back at you with fury in his eyes, making you shrug with sinister eyes masked with innocence.

Everyone's asking about Chan's well-being, but he reassured that it's fine and he got up to go to the bathroom to clean himself up. As he rushed to the empty single bathroom—so no one would also notice his erection—he began looking at his pathetic state, a big purple stain in his chest, a bulge protruding out of his pants, and now his hair disheveled after he ran his fingers through it. He groaned to himself, tongue protruding at his cheek.

"You're gonna pay for this, (y/n),"

"Pay for what?"

He swiftly turned his head only to see you standing by the door, smirking as you closed and locked the door.

Without any hesitation, he got up against you and crashed his lips onto yours, his body pushing up against yours, blocking the door, not wanting to hear anything out of your lips, anything aside from your moans, your whines, and your screaming out his name. His tongue was invading your lips and danced along your own tongue, groaning at the faint taste of the drink you had. He pulled away, his eyes looking at you red with fury, looking at your now smudged lips then back at your eyes.

"You get off to me getting humiliated, don't you?" He groggily said, which made you sadistically laugh at the chaos you've caused. Your laugh was cut short until you gasped as you felt his hand grip your throat.

"Who's laughing now, huh? Because surely it ain't you now," He roughly spoke as his other hand went and sought your zipper and slipped it downward to get your dress to expose your chest.

"Chan... please..." you pleaded through your slightly choked-up state, your hands wrapping themselves around his wrist while he unzips his own pants.

"Shut up, you've done enough, now it's your turn to be humiliated."

You knew you drove it too far, and you knew you have angered him, but to say you weren't excited and that it wasn't your intention would be a lie. The way his energy was getting powerful after a moment of weakness was potent and you wanted to thrive off of it.

He let go of your grip, making you gasp for breath, only to have him turn you around and press your body against the cold door, making your breath hitch the sensation of the cold wood hitting against your nipples, all the while Chris was ripping your panties from behind.

He gripped a chunk of your hair and pulled your head off the wood and got you looking back at him, "you listen to me, you better scream out my name until the whole restaurant hears you. I want everyone to know who fucks you this good, including that fake date of yours."

His words stung like venom and your veins were only surging even faster than it already does over the adrenaline that was electrifying all over your body. The sheer thought of your screams echoing through the small restaurant and Chris's voice made you anticipate more of what you wanted than you initially thought.

"fuck me, Chris..."

Your words are cut off by your moans at the feeling of you getting stretched by Chan's girth inserting at your sopping hole. It was sudden yet exhilarating especially added to the rough grip that Chris had on your hips. He didn't hold back and he ultimately began thrusting up your cunt at a pace that made the two of you audibly show each other how good you two feel against each other.

"Just like that, (y/n), scream my name out like that," he smirked against your neck as he quickens himself, making you squeal out his name.

You were sure that people are looking in the direction of the men's bathroom where Chris was based on the way you were moaning out his name, but neither of you cared at the moment. The way his cock was repeatedly kissing the desired spot inside of you made you roll your eyes back at the pleasant feeling your body was getting. Chris was moaning out as well, while not as loud, but definitely loud for many to hear, but he takes pride in the reaction you were having. His shirt was unbuttoned, his pants and boxers were on the floor, swimming across his ankles, and his hair was getting messier and messier as some strands began sticking across his sweaty forehead. All the while, his smirk was painted on his face as he sees your mascara running down your face, mouth agape with pornographic noises escaping from it while your short dress was scrunched around your waist with your breasts bounced at the beat of his thrusts.

He occasionally bit your neck while your arm attempts to run your hand through his hair, only for him to pull it down and place it behind your back, making you through your head back, not resisting any more stimulation that Chris had up his sleeve. You felt your body began to bubble up as your orgasm was crashing its course, but he had no plans on slowing down.

In fact, he was continuing until he was done. So as you've reached your peak, Chris made damn sure that he's not stopping.

"You'll finish—fuck—you'll finish until I'm finished," He gruffly said as he sped up his pace making you scream and sob at the overwhelming feeling. If no one heard you then, they definitely heard now. Just a few more thrusts and you noticed how sloppy he was becoming in contrast to his sharp movements aided by his dancer hips and his panting was getting faster.

Just one last orgasm, he shuddered as he moaned out an "oh fuck!" while his slender fingers dug their nails against your skin, making you hiss at the feeling of pain from his grip and the warmth of his cum seeping itself into your hole. you two caught your breaths while he dropped his head onto your shoulder and you bumped your head against the door, panting to catch back your oxygen. He pulled his head up, feeling heavy, before he pulled his softening cock out of your hole, watching his pearly white dripping out of it, making you whine slightly at the empty feeling.

You pushed yourself off the door, while Chan pulled his pants and you fixed up your dress.

"Can you help me?" You first spoke, your voice hoarse and quiet in contrast to your loud screams. It's like a switch had been placed because Chan swiftly became a softly spoken gentle-to-the-touch man in contrast to the rugged merciless man he was a few minute ago.

"Sure," he softly accepted as you turned around to show your unzipped dress, which he zipped up for you. You turned and smiled at him with a gentle thank you, to which he replied back with a similar smile. He washed his hand, while you collected your ripped panties.

"That was expensive, y'know?" you commented, showing it to him through the mirror. He shrugged, with a smirk, "I'll buy a better one."

You shook your head with a chuckle and an eye roll before you also washed your hand. You looked at yourself, sighing and cursing yourself with the ruined makeup, "Chris, you ruined my makeup... my bag is outside and I don't want them to see me like this."

"Trust me, considering how loud you were and how long we both have been gone, I think your makeup should be the last thing you worried about." He cockily said as he adjusted his stained shirt, which caused you to smack his muscular arm, making him let out an "ow."

"Don't remind me—"

"Hey, you were the one who played footsies and came to the bathroom—"

"Shut up!" you exclaimed with an embarrassed flush in you, making Chan chuckle and wrap his arm around your shoulder.

"Look, how about this, I'll go face them, grab your bag and take you back to your place, does that sound good?" he said, nonchalantly and an eerily calming small smile was arched in his lips.

Your brows furrowed, "do you have no shame in yourself for you to face them?"

"Hey, I'm confident in my fucking skills, if they wanna get it, they're welcome to."

"You're a freak..."

"And yet you gave me a footjob in front of everyone, so who's the freak?"

"... touché," you admitted, making the two of you laugh at the admission.

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roosterforme · 6 months

Text

Adult Education Part 11 | Hangman x OC

Summary: Jessica finally tells someone what happened with Brian, and maybe Jake would be just as understanding if she told him. With the fraternity fundraiser a few days away, her nerves start getting the best of her, but Jake continues to show how effortlessly he can make her happy.

Warnings: Fluff, smut, angst, swearing, frat boys 18+

Length: 4200 words

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Female OC

This story is part of the Beer Boy and Sugar universe but can be read on its own! Adult Education masterlist

Seriously, who let Jake on my masterlist!? Banner by @mak-32

Jessica felt so much better and yet emotionally drained at the same time. She spent almost thirty minutes telling her friend what happened with Brian, and she was pleasantly surprised to find that the other woman wasn't judgmental in the least. When Jessica was finally done talking, she sank back in her chair and fixed her glasses.

"So, yeah... that's why he's holding a grudge. That's why he won't give me tenure even though I deserve it."

She was met with a stony expression. "Just say the word, and Conley is going down. Have you... mentioned this to Jake?"

"No," Jessica replied immediately, her skin itching at the thought. "No."

"You should," she replied slowly. "I think he'd be surprisingly attentive, and I say that a bit begrudgingly."

Jessica cracked a smile as she grabbed her empty tupperware container and stood. "I'll think about it, Dr. Tits." She left the office to the sound of genuine laughter, but by the time she got back to her office, she felt exhausted. It wasn't fair that Brian had taken up so much space in her brain for so long. When Jake texted her and let her know he couldn't make it to her office hours, she felt almost relieved.

The fraternity fundraiser was this Saturday, and she'd planned everything out as much as she could. Everything was checked off her list, and she was going to meet with the Kappa Pi students at their house on Wednesday evening. The only thing she hadn't done was log into the university portal and see how many tickets had sold for the event.

Alumni weekend was a huge deal, and it was well attended and advertised, but she was still dreading checking. So she finished all of her classes for the afternoon and then ducked into the lounge to make herself a cup of coffee before her office hours started.

She looked up as someone else entered, and it was Brian's teaching assistant. The one he was almost definitely sleeping with. "Hi," she said cautiously.

Jessica just nodded at her. She wanted to warn this poor girl, but it was obvious that Brian had her in a similar position to which Jessica had been in last school year. Plus, she already knew he'd make sure both women paid the price if she did.

It was with tears in her eyes that Jessica returned to her office. That hopeful feeling from lunch was gone now, and she really wished Jake was able to stop by today after all. She plopped down at her desk and decided to just log in and see how poorly her ticket sales had gone.

"Holy shit," she muttered, nearly spilling her coffee. Over one hundred tickets had sold, and the event was still days away. "Oh my god." Tears welled up in her eyes as she did the math quickly in her head. Her event would make over five thousand dollars for the school. Hopefully the fraternity house would be able to hold that capacity.

When her phone vibrated on her desk, she was startled from her thoughts.

Jake Seresin: I miss you too much. I can't stay long, but I'll be there in ten.

She didn't even bother to respond, but she was waiting by the open door for him when he rushed down the hallway. "Jake," she said with a soft laugh as he wrapped his arms around her waist and kissed her. He was still wearing his flight suit, and he was a little out of breath.

"I missed you," he whispered against her lips, and that made her a little bit out of breath as well. One big hand slid down to her butt as he said, "We had late training days sprung on us for today and tomorrow, and I volunteered to pick up dinner. I talked them into the Thai restaurant down the block from here." Then he froze as Jessica ran her fingers along his patches. "Were you crying? It looks like you were crying."

She shrugged and smiled. "Yeah, but it's not bad." She smiled more as Jake kissed along her cheeks. "A ton of tickets sold for my event on Saturday."

"How many?" he asked, looking at her with pride.

"Over one hundred."

"Damn, you're good, Baby."

Jessica was looking up at his handsome features and his sexy smirk while he cupped her cheek and ran his thumb lazily along her bottom lip. She kissed his thumb before licking him, and when his eyes went wide, she laughed. "You can't stay?"

He shook his head. "I'll come back on Thursday. We can go to Chippy's after your office hours?"

"Yeah," she replied, tracing his HANGMAN patch. She could already hear Luca's skateboard on the tiled hallway floor, so she needed to be quick. "Do you want to sleep over on Friday night at my place? We could head to the event from there on Saturday? I could... show you the lingerie in my closet?"

Jake groaned softly, and goosebumps rippled down her neck as he asked, "Will you let me pick out something pretty for you to wear?"

"Mmhmm," she hummed as she pressed her lips to his neck. "Anything you want."

"Yes," he gasped, and then you heard Luca whistle.

"Get it, Dr. Reed," he said as he kicked his skateboard up into his hand. "Want me to come back later?"

"No," Jessica said as she disentangled herself from Jake's wandering hands while she blushed. "He was just leaving," she said. Then she looked up at Jake's green eyes and wide pupils. "You were just leaving."

He looked like he wanted to argue, but he kissed her lips softly and said, "Call me later tonight. I'll see you on Thursday."

She watched him rush back toward the elevator before she closed her door behind her. "How many times do I have to remind you not to skate in the hallways?"

"Sorry, Dr. Reed."

"Get out your notebook."

-----------------------

When Jessica heard a knock on her office door on Wednesday around dinnertime, she called out, "It's open." Really, she was on her way to the Kappa Pi house, and she hadn't left herself much time to deviate from her agenda. Hopefully whoever this was would make it quick, but then she smiled when she realized who it was. "Advanced Calculus. What's up?"

"Just wondering if you were looking for someone to tag along? I speak fluent 'frat boy', and Bradley is training late with Jake."

Jessica was shocked into silence for a beat. "Yeah. I would love that. I'm actually a little nervous about meeting them."

She scoffed and rolled her eyes. "You've got boobs and a pretty face. They'll be eating out of your hand, literally doing whatever you want them to."

"I'm not so sure," she replied with apprehension. But when they walked across campus to the old Victorian fraternity house with KAPPA PI on the front of it and knocked, Jessica was pleasantly surprised.

A lanky guy with bad acne opened the door, and his eyes bugged out as he looked between the two women. "Dr. Reed?" he asked in awe.

"Yes, that's me," Jessica replied, reaching out to shake his head before introducing him to the other professor. When he made no move to do anything except stare at them, she asked, "Can we come in?"

"Y-Yes. I'm James by the way."

Jessica led the way inside, and she was pleasantly surprised again. The front foyer opened up to a rather cavernous living room and dining room. There were beautiful hardwood floors and rich paint colors and a fireplace. The house was clean, and she was sure the kegs and tables would fit inside without issue once the furniture was moved out onto the back lawn.

"Your house is so clean! Where are your fraternity brothers?" the other woman asked, and James blushed bright pink.

A few minutes later, there was a lineup of a dozen or so guys staring at the two women. Their expressions ranged from surprise to bewilderment, but there were two on the end who looked like they just won the lottery.

"Okay, hi. I'm Dr. Reed from the physics department, and I actually recognize a few of you. Calvin?" she asked, smiling at one of them. "From last semester?" He waved awkwardly back at her. "Right, well, I'm your advisor for the alumni event this weekend. I have a list of things you need to do before Saturday at six o'clock." She started passing out copies to each of them as she read off the list. "Move the furniture. Clean the kitchen. Fill the keg barrels with ice. And so on. Any questions?"

Five hands shot up, and Jessica stepped back in surprise. "Here it comes," Advanced Calculus muttered as Jessica pointed to the smirking guy at the end.

He nodded at Jessica and asked, "If I switch my major to physics, will you be teaching all the classes?"

"Um, no," she answered, shaking her head in confusion. Then she pointed at the one next to him who had his hand raised.

"Do either of you need a date for Saturday night?" he asked eagerly.

Jessica snorted and covered her mouth with her hand. She was about to answer when her friend said, "Both of our dates are in the military. And they're jacked. And they're mean."

A chorus of boos and groans filled the space, and Jessica had to try her best to answer the relevant questions without laughing. She showed the boys where to move the furniture, and she inspected the kitchen. Then she checked to see if there was enough room for the string quartet next to the stairs. She was determined to deliver on the elevated frat boy aesthetic since so many people seemed excited about it.

"I think we're done for the day," Jessica told the guys with a smile as they fought over who got to escort the two of them back to the front door. "My email address is at the bottom of the list if you need to contact me for anything." A bunch of hands shot up in the air, and she added, "Anything pertaining to the event. If you try to ask me out again, I'm just going to delete the emails."

The guys lowered their hands and mumbled goodbye as the women stepped back out onto the silent porch. "Jessica, all those boys are going to sign up for your lectures next semester. I guarantee it."

Jessica rolled her eyes. "No, they won't. If anything they'd sign up for yours!"

But she was laughing as she walked down the steps to the sidewalk, and Jessica followed behind her in her high heels. "Just wait until Jake sees the twenty one year old kids with acne trying to flirt with you. He'll get jealous and pouty, I can practically see it now."

Jessica scoffed. "No, he won't! And didn't you meet Bradley when he was twenty one years old and in a frat?"

She froze on the sidewalk as that familiar blue Bronco parked on the next block up. "I sure did. And prepare yourself. Bradley is going to be insufferable on Saturday night."

-----------------------

Jake could only really focus on Jessica. After that brief couple of minutes in her office before Luca arrived on Tuesday, he was sweating it out until he could get home and jerk off. He came all over his hands in the shower as he thought about coating up her glasses instead.

Now it was Thursday morning, and he leaned against the shower wall and thought about what kind of lingerie she might have in her closet. He hoped there was a little bit of everything. He could imagine her in something soft and white, almost ethereal. He could just as easily picture her in some leather with a riding crop. His groan filled the glass shower enclosure as he wrapped his hand around his cock again.

He realized by the time he finally started getting dressed that he was going to be late if he didn't seriously get a move on. He was just buttoning his uniform shirt when his phone lit up on his bed. Jessica had sent him an image. His fingers abandoned the buttons so quickly to grasp for his phone. And holy shit, his hot girlfriend sent him a picture of a dark purple lace bra and thong laid out on what must have been her light blue bedding.

"Fuck," he grunted as he glared down at his cock. He really didn't have time to get hard again right now. But... he was curious, so he wrote back.

You wearing that today, Jess?

She didn't respond until Jake had parked his new truck on base, but this time, she sent an up close photo of the tops of her breasts hugged by purple lace. He was practically drooling as he ran for the locker room with his bag.

Keep 'em coming, Baby.

He decided to keep his phone on him. It would be worth getting reprimanded. She sent him a handful of filthy looking photos as the day progressed, but it still wasn't enough. She must have taken a bunch of them in the morning before she left for campus, and Jake was so thankful.

He had to adjust his uniform pants several times that evening when he walked from his truck to her office. On his way into the building, he passed a delighted looking Bradshaw and his wife on their way out. She was practically hanging off of him as they walked, and Jake heard her softly ask, "Okay fuckboy, you want me to get your Beta Gamma paddle out when we get home?"

Bradley froze and met Jake's eyes as his cheeks started turning pink. "Hangman," he grunted, and his wife spun to face Jake with a coy smile.

"Hi, Jake," she sang as she reached for her husband's hand. "See you on Saturday night."

It was hard to still feel jealous of what they had when Jake knew what was waiting for him a few floors up. He took off toward the elevators, and then he walked as quickly as he physically could to Jessica's office. Two taps on her door, and she was pulling it open for him. He did the briefest glance around the room to make sure she was alone before he closed the door and backed her up against it.

"Are you trying to send me to an early grave?" he whispered, his voice sounding a little harsh as he smiled softly at her. But his smile vanished immediately when he felt her hand run slowly across his thigh before she cupped his length through his khakis.

"I just thought I'd keep you entertained while you were at work." She gave him a little squeeze, and Jake bucked against her hand. He glanced down to see that her soft sweater was the same purple color as her underwear, and she had on a little black skirt and black heels. He kissed her forehead and then her nose as he grabbed her ass with one hand and pushed her hair back behind her ear with the other.

"You kept me hard while I was at work. That's what you did, Professor Reed." Jake wrapped his hand around the back of her neck and kissed along her jaw softly. She gasped as he used his other hand to slowly bunch her skirt up until he could feel the round of her bare ass cheek in his hand.

"Jake," she whined, making it sound like three syllables instead of one as her hands slid up and around his neck. He kept his hand on her neck gentle and his kisses light as he grabbed her ass and slipped his fingers inside the back of her thong. "Jake!"

Her hands were grasping at his hair as he kissed her ear and rubbed his erection against her sweet body. "You're gorgeous. You drove me crazy all day. You know that? You did it on purpose?"

"Yes," she gasped as he sucked gently on her neck before soothing the spot with his tongue.

"Mmm," he hummed quietly as he panted. "You gonna let me see that pretty purple set?"

Her voice was an obscene whine that left him grinding against her harder as she moaned, "Yes!"

And he couldn't help himself as he pressed the softest kisses along her jaw and ear and asked, "You gonna let me fuck you hard on your desk?"

Jessica's eyes were wide, and her glasses had gone crooked on her face, but he kissed her lips after she said, "Yes." Her hand reached out to press the lock on her door, and then Jake carried her to her desk and set her on the edge. Her eyes already looked blissed out as she spread her thighs wide and hooked both of her feet around his calves, pulling him closer.

He tipped her chin up so she was looking at him, and then he took both of her soft thighs in his hands as she kept eye contact. "I'm crazy about you," he murmured as he pressed himself against her core. Then she pulled her sweater up and over her head before tossing it to the floor. Now her glasses were really crooked, and her hair was a mess as she reached for the fly of his pants. Jake was lost to the feel of her hand gripping his length as she pushed his pants down. Then she released him and leaned back on both of her palms with her lace covered tits thrust alluringly toward him.

"Fuck me," she commanded in her teaching voice. "Fuck me hard on my desk."

"Jesus Christ," he cursed, guiding his hands up her thighs, pushing the fabric up until that little skit was around her waist. When he tugged her damp thong to the side, he was treated to the sight of her wet pussy all ready to go. She ran her high heels up and down his thighs until he grabbed her behind the knees and thrust himself deep.

Jessica's jaw dropped open as Jake held her legs in his hands and fucked her hard, his thrusts relentless as she started to whine. He gritted his teeth, the obscene slapping sounds of his body meeting hers filling the room as he watched her pussy take him. Her tits were bouncing beautifully each time he filled her, and she just kept getting louder.

"Someone's gonna hear you," he warned, his voice a growl as he braced his feet a little wider apart on the floor. "Someone's gonna come knocking if you're not quieter, Jess."

She pressed her lips together and whimpered loudly in response as he continued to fuck her, rocking his hips into her body, his balls slapping her ass. Maybe he just didn't give a fuck if someone heard. Maybe Jake didn't care who knew that he was getting Jessica off on her desk right now. This was his girl, and she was a professional teaser. Even the way she was gripping him so tight with each stroke was too much. Her body was made for him, the way she responded to him like this.

"Jake," she keened, extending the syllables once more as he ran his hand down her calf and lifted her leg so he could kiss her ankle. The shift in position had her squeezing around him while she eased herself onto her back. Jake watched her lace covered tits bounce as her hands grappled for something to grab onto. She held the edge of her desk as she came undone for him. A few more sharp thrusts, and Jake pushed himself deep, filling her up with his cum. And once again, when he withdrew himself, he got to watch the mess he made drip down her ass only to collect on her thong before dripping to the desk.

When Jake looked up along her body, Jessica had herself propped up on her elbows with a serene smile and crooked glasses. He leaned down over her and kissed her. "I got a little carried away," he whispered as he ran his fingers through her hair and squeezed her thigh.

She looked impossibly sweet as he fixed her glasses, and she said, "I plan on getting carried away with you tomorrow night when you sleepover."

He devoured her mouth, but the kisses turned lazy and unhurried. Eventually Jake helped her sit up again on the edge of her desk, and he took in the sight of her rucked up skirt, purple bra and his cum between her thighs. "Let's get you cleaned up, and I'll take you to Chippy's."

"Sex on my desk and Chippy's? Today just keeps getting better," she said with a laugh as Jake grabbed some tissues from her shelf and wiped up her desk and picked up her sweater. Once she was in his arms, he pulled her shirt over her head and helped her wiggle her skirt back down.

When he zipped up his pants, he told her, "Why don't you grab a journal or two to take with us? We can read it together over some Sam Adams and peanuts."

Jessica's eyes lit up, and she actually clapped her hands. It was the cutest fucking thing he had ever seen in his life, and he watched as she clicked across her floor on her heels to the shelf. "I love that," she murmured. "Great idea, Jake."

He loved it, too. He loved everything about her. She was so smart and beautiful, but she was funny, too. She wasn't clingy, and she had a fascinating career. She didn't need him around, but she seemed to light up when he was, and that's what left Jake a little breathless as she turned and looked at him with two journals in her hand. "You ready?"

Jake kissed the slight bruise he left on her neck on the ride down the elevator. When the doors opened, Brian Conley was there arguing with a young woman, and he felt Jessica tense up in his arms. "It's okay," Jake murmured against her hair. Even though her posture remained a little rigid, she let him take her by the hand and walk out into the lobby, and Jake absorbed the glare that Brian shot their way so Jessica didn't have to.

He'd had just about enough of that asshole, and the next time he witnessed Brian being a dick or if he heard his girlfriend complain about him again, Jake was probably going to lose it. But as soon as they were inside the dive bar, Jake noticed that her shoulders seemed less tense, and she smiled as soon as Chippy waved to her.

"Hey, Reedy."

"Hi, Chippy."

He started pouring two pints as he shot Jake the look of warning that he'd become accustomed to; it was almost a part of the experience now. But the bar was absolutely packed tonight, and Jessica held his hand a little tighter as she stepped around peanut shells on the sticky floor. There was only one high top table free with only one stool at it.

Jake kissed Jessica's cheek and nudged her in that direction. "Grab the table while I get the beer and peanuts?" She took off in that direction, and Jake headed for the bar.

"So. You're here to stay then?" a disgruntled Chippy asked as he shoved a bowl of peanuts next to the pint glasses.

Jake tried to reel in his surprised laugh. "Yes, sir. I'm not going anywhere."

Chippy grunted as he took the twenty dollar bill from Jake and made change for him. He slid the bills across the bar but kept his hand on them. "If I so much as see you with another woman or see tears in that girl's eyes," he said, nodding toward Jessica, "you'll never see the inside of this bar again."

Jake waited for him to pick up his hand, and then he took all of the bills except for a few singles. "Understood." Then he could tell he'd been dismissed when Chippy started waiting on the group next to him, so he took everything back to the table where Jessica was perched on the stool.

"Literally all of the seats are being used," she told him, but Jake set everything down and then pulled her into his arms.

"Just means I get to hold you, then." He sat and then helped her onto his lap, and she settled on his thigh while he kissed her cheek and the side of her neck. "This is perfect."

Her cheeks were a little flushed, and Jake could smell himself on her as he wrapped his arm around her, letting his hand settle on her hip. This gorgeous woman was wearing panties soaked with his cum and calmly opening one of the physics journals to share an article with him. "Oh, you'll like this one," she told him, smiling over her shoulder before pointing out the title on the page. She thought he was smart, and she seemed to like having him around outside of bedroom activities, too.

"I'm sure I will," he replied, kissing her shoulder as he listened to her tell him about jet propulsion in a newly designed aircraft.

------------------------

Intelligent, self aware Jake is ruining me a little bit. Brian is a dank ass little bitch. Please send asks if you'd like to see a certain type of lingerie in her closet. Frat fundraiser is up next. Thanks @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 12

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409 notes · View notes

lixiepixiedust · 5 months

Text

friends

pairing — badboy!felix x fem!reader; highschool au; friends w/ benefits

word count — 3.1k words

warnings — she/her reader, they argue way too much in this, jealousy (both ways), felix is kinda aggressive, uses of korean names, suggestive, small make out, almost sex

summary — you and felix have been friends with benefits for far too many months and everyone knows you secretly like each other. when mutual jealousy arises, you too get into an argument that makes your feelings way too obvious its silly.

"Y/n!" A boy in your year approached you with an eager expression. His name was Juwon, and you two have talked a few times in Chemistry class. He was nice, super weird, but nice. You still tried to avoid him when could since being around him was often draining.

You chuckled awkwardly, "Hey, what's up?" you asked.

"Can I ask you something?" he inquired, lowering his voice.

"Sure," you replied with a forced smile.

"You know, Felix?" he blurted out quickly. "Are you dating him?"

Your smile faded as your eyebrows furrowed, "Why do you want to know?"

"I don't know, I've just noticed you two walking home together and chatting in the hallways," he explained defensively.

"Are you stalking us?" you asked skeptically.

"No! I'm not stalking you," he clarified.

"Ok, this is kinda weirding me out," you chuckled, clearly uncomfortable.

"Sorry, I just see you two so often," he said.

You raised an eyebrow, still puzzled by Juwon's sudden interest in your relationship with Felix. "Okay, but why do you care if Felix and I are dating or not?"

Juwon scratched the back of his head nervously. "Well, um, the thing is, I sorta have a crush on you."

You blinked in surprise, not expecting that confession. "Oh," you said, not sure how to respond. You took a moment to process this information. It explained his odd behavior and sudden interest in your personal life. "Look, Juwon, I have to be honest too—I'm not looking to date anyone right now. I've got a lot going on."

Juwon nodded, disappointment evident on his face. "Oh, I see. Well, I guess I just wanted to know for sure. Sorry if I made it weird."

"It's okay, Juwon. I appreciate you being upfront about it," you said, trying to ease the awkward tension.

"Well, you know, cause you're not with anyone, I was wondering if, I could get your number, though?" he asked tentatively.

You thought about it for a moment. Despite his quirks, Juwon seemed like a genuinely nice person. "If you want it, you have to promise me it's just as friends," you said with a small smile. "I hope you understand that's all I'm looking for right now."

"Nevermind, then," he replied, a bit crestfallen. "Bye, Y/n."

After Juwon left, you sighed, feeling a mix of relief and sympathy for him. You gathered your things and decided to take a break in the hallway. As you walked towards your locker, you couldn't help but mull over the recent encounter. The hallway was relatively quiet, and you leaned against your locker, staring absentmindedly at the passing students.

As you were lost in thought, contemplating the conversation with Juwon, you suddenly heard familiar laughter approaching. Turning your head, you saw your boy best friend, Felix, walking down the hallway, engaged in a lively conversation with a girl who's name you completely forgot. They seemed to be getting along well, laughing and sharing jokes as they walked.

A strange sensation gripped your stomach, a mix of surprise and discomfort. You didn't expect Felix to be chatting so animatedly with another girl, and for some reason, it made you feel a twinge of jealousy. You shook your head, trying to dismiss the irrational feeling. After all, you and Felix were not dating yet, and you had no right to be possessive or jealous.

Felix looked up, and his gaze met yours. That familiar smirk played on his lips as his flirty eyes eyed you up and down, assessing you. You couldn't help but clutch your bag. You gave him a small wave, matching his energy, but he then continued his conversation with the girl beside him.

As you turned away from Felix, trying to shake off the strange feeling in your stomach, you unlocked your locker and gathered your homework and textbooks. With a deep breath, you tried to compose yourself before making your way to find, your bestfriend, Chaewon.

Spotting her not too far away, you weaved through the crowd and approached her. Chaewon's eyes lit up when she saw you, and she enveloped you in a tight hug. "Y/n! How's it going?" she exclaimed.

You returned the hug, grateful for the comfort of a friend. "Hey, Chaewon. It's been a bit of a day, to be honest. How are you?"

"I'm great! I'm ahead on all my work. Come to my locker, tell me everything."

You nodded, and you both made your way to her locker away from the bustling students. You stood beside her as you shared a bit about the encounter with Juwon and the unexpected interaction with Felix and the girl.

Chaewon listened attentively, concern evident on her face as she closed her locker. "Sounds like a lot's happening. You know, guys can be so confusing sometimes. Maybe Felix was just being friendly with that girl, you know, like how he is with everyone? You two have been fucking for like months, there's nothing getting in your way."

You chuckled nudging her playfully. "I'm not worried about that." you lied.

As you continued chatting, Chaewon suddenly looked past your shoulder, her eyes widening slightly. "Hey, speaking of the elephant in the room," she said, pointing discreetly behind you.

You turned around, and indeed, Felix was leaning against a nearby wall, observing the two of you with a playful smirk on his face. Your heart skipped a beat as you caught his gaze. "Hey, Y/n." he called, strolling over with a confident stride.

Chaewon shot you a knowing look before excusing herself, purposely leaving you alone with Felix. "What's up, Felix?" you asked, trying to sound casual.

He leaned against the locker beside you. "Just wanted to see you. How was today? We didn't have time to talk at all."

"Yeah, um, nothing else besides Lee Juwon asking if we were dating," you admitted, avoiding eye contact with Felix.

Felix raised an eyebrow, a hint of curiosity in his eyes. "And what did you tell him?"

You sighed, "I don't even think I gave him an answer after all. Then he told me he liked me."

Felix remained silent for a moment, his jaw tensing. "Juwon has a crush on you?" he repeated, his tone more serious than before.

"Yeah," you continued, "he asked for my number, but I made it clear that I'm not looking to date anyone right now. I just wanted to be honest with him, cause I would've told him we weren't dating."

Felix's expression shifted, a subtle disappointment flickering across his face. "Oh," he said, his usual playful demeanor momentarily subdued.

"Yeah, sorry if that's not what you were expecting," you added, feeling a bit uneasy about the whole situation.

Felix leaned back against the lockers, running a hand through his hair. "No, it's cool."

You nodded, appreciating his nonchalant response. "I mean, we're just hanging out, right?"

"Right," he said, though there was a hint of something in his eyes that you couldn't quite place.

After a moment of silence, you mustered the courage to bring up the topic that had been bothering you. "By the way, who was that girl you were talking to earlier?"

Felix's expression brightened a bit as he remembered the interaction. "Oh, her? Just someone from my last period class. We started talking recently. She's cool." Felix nudged you with a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Don't worry, though."

You tilted your head, trying to maintain your composure. "Oh, I'm not worried. Why would I have any reason to be worried?"

Felix chuckled, a sly smile playing on his lips. "Right, right. We're just hanging out, after all."

The mocking tone in Felix's words didn't go unnoticed by you. You felt a surge of frustration, but you tried to brush it off. "Exactly, just friends," you replied with a forced smile.

Felix's smirk widened, and he looked down at you, a subtle condescension in his gaze. "Glad we're on the same page, then."

Your irritation grew, but you bit your lip, choosing not to escalate the situation. "Yeah."

The tension between you and Felix lingered as the conversation continued. The casual banter that usually flowed between you two felt strained, and there was an unspoken frustration in the air.

As the final bell rang, signaling the end of the school day, you found yourself heading towards the exit with a mix of apprehension and determination. You reached the school gates and you noticed Felix a few steps ahead of you, also making his way out. The distance between you felt like a vast chasm, filled with unspoken words and unresolved tension. Despite the silence, Felix glanced back and caught your eye, a momentary flicker of uncertainty crossing his face.

When you stepped out into the fresh air, Felix slowed down, allowing you to catch up. He reached over and effortlessly took your bag off your shoulders to carry it for you, a gesture he had made a habit of since the beginning of your friendship. It was a small comfort, a silent acknowledgment of a bond that seemed strained at the moment.

The two of you walked side by side, the silence becoming almost suffocating. However, Felix's act of taking your bag spoke volumes. Even in the midst of frustration and unspoken words, he didn't want you to bear the weight alone.

"So, Felix, anything interesting happen with you today?" you asked, attempting to steer the conversation away from the awkwardness.

Felix shrugged, his eyes still holding a hint of irritation. "Not really, just the usual. Classes, hanging out, you know." He snapped sarcastically.

"Mhm," you replied.

The silence that followed was filled with an uncomfortable energy. You could sense Felix's annoyance, and you were growing increasingly frustrated yourself. It was as if the unspoken tension was bubbling just beneath the surface.

Finally, Felix broke the silence with a sarcastic chuckle. "So, you and Juwon, huh? Quite the love triangle developing here."

You rolled your eyes, irritation rising. "Don't be ridiculous, Felix. It's not like that. I told you I rejected him."

He raised an eyebrow, a smug expression on his face. "Sure, sure. After all, we're just friends, right?"

You clenched your jaw, annoyed by his insinuations. "Yes, Felix, just friends. Is that so hard to believe?"

He leaned in closer, a challenging glint in his eyes. "Well, if we're just friends, then why do we-"

"Felix, stop." You interrupted him before he could finish his sentence.

Felix sighed. "I was about to say: Why did it bother you so much to see me talking to another girl?" That was clearly not what he was about to say.

Your cheeks flushed with a mix of embarrassment and frustration. "It didn't bother me. I was just curious. That's all."

Felix's smirk only widened. "Curious, huh? Seems like someone's a little more invested than they're letting on."

You took a deep breath, trying to keep your composure. "You know what, Felix? This whole thing is ridiculous. If you're going to act like this, maybe we should just stick to being actual friends and nothing more."

"Wait, I thought we were friends to begin with." Felix laughed which pushed your buttons even more.

The irritation between you and Felix continued to escalate as you walked towards the intersection where you two normally split up to go to your own houses after school.

Finally reaching the familiar crossroad, you stopped and turned to face Felix. "Give me my bag."

Felix crossed his arms, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Oh, come on, Y/n. No need to be so uptight about it."

You gritted your teeth, frustration bubbling to the surface. "Felix, I mean it. I just want to go home."

He chuckled, seemingly enjoying your discomfort. "You know, you're being quite stubborn about this. What's the harm in hanging out a bit more? We're just friends, right? "

You sighed, feeling a mix of annoyance and fatigue. "Felix, we're not in the mood for this right now. Can we please just go our separate ways?"

But instead of acquiescing, Felix shook his head with a playful smirk. "Nah, I've got a better idea. How about you come over to my place?'"

The irritation reached its peak as you reluctantly allowed him to guide you in the direction of his house. "Fine, but only for a little while. I've got things to do."

Felix grinned triumphantly, his playful demeanor seemingly unaffected by the tension. "Deal."

As you and Felix approached his house, a familiar sense of comfort washed over you. You had been there countless times before, and despite the current tension between you two, a small part of you couldn't help but feel a fleeting sense of happiness at the prospect of spending time in a familiar environment.

Felix swung open the door with his usual flair, ushering you inside. The air inside his house was filled with a mix of warmth and familiarity.

You had been to Felix's house many times before, and despite the current tension between you two, a small part of you couldn't help but feel a sense of comfort at the prospect of spending time there.

Reaching Felix's front door, he swung it open with a flourish, gesturing for you to enter. "After you, my friend,"

You stepped inside, the familiar surroundings evoking a strange mix of emotions. It was a place filled with memories of laughter, shared secrets, and casual hangouts. The familiarity momentarily lifted your spirits, and you found yourself slipping into a momentary sense of contentment.

Felix closed the door behind you, and you both made your way to the living room. "So, what do you feel like doing? Homework?" Felix asked, attempting to break the awkward silence.

You hesitated for a moment, still grappling with the unresolved tension between you two. "Honestly, Felix, I don't know why you insisted on dragging me here."

Felix plopped down on the couch, looking at you with a casual grin, ignoring your question. "Or..." he took your hand and pulled you onto the couch with him, "My parents aren't home, but that doesn't matter cause we're just friends hanging out, right"

"Why can't you let it go, Felix?" you retorted, your frustration reaching a boiling point. "I don't understand why you're so pressed about this whole thing."

Felix's anger suddenly bursted out of nowhere. "Because we're not just friends, and you damn well know it!"

His words hung in the air, the weight of the unspoken tension finally surfacing. Before you could respond, Felix closed the distance between you two in an instant. The sudden intensity caught you off guard as he slightly pushed your shoulders against the side of the couch, pulling you into a hot, angry kiss.

The kiss was a collision of conflicting emotions—frustration, desire, and a hint of desperation. Felix's lips pressed against yours with a fiery intensity, as if trying to convey everything he couldn't put into words. The anger that had simmered between you two transformed into a raw, passionate exchange.

For a moment, you were suspended in a whirlwind of conflicting feelings. The familiarity of Felix's touch, coupled with the undeniable chemistry, ignited a spark that had been smoldering beneath the surface. It was a heated kiss that spoke volumes, a silent admission of the unspoken connection that neither of you could deny.

The air crackled with the intensity of the moment, and for that brief instant, it felt like the world outside ceased to exist. The kiss lingered for what felt like an eternity, and as Felix finally pulled away, hovering over you.

Felix's eyes bore into yours, looking down on you. "Do friends make out every week, or is that just us?"

You took a moment to collect your thoughts, the conflicting desire within you. "Just us," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

"So, we're not just friends, are we?"

Felix, sensing the subtle shift, leaned in closer, his eyes locking onto yours. There was a quiet intensity in his gaze that spoke volumes. Without saying a word, he traced a gentle path with his fingers along your jawline, sending shivers down your spine.

Your breath caught as Felix's lips latched onto the sensitive skin of your neck. A soft gasp escaped your lips, and your heart raced in response to the unexpected touch. His kiss was rough, mirroring the unspoken desire between you.

Felix sucked on your neck, leaving a mark. It sent a wave of tingles through your body, and you couldn't deny the magnetic pull that drew you closer. The room seemed to fade away, leaving only the sensation of his lips against your skin.

As Felix continued to explore the delicate curve of your neck, a mix of emotions flooded your senses—desire, uncertainty, and the undeniable chemistry that had always simmered beneath the surface. It was a moment suspended in time, where the boundaries between friendship and something more became increasingly blurred.

Finally, Felix pulled back, his eyes locking onto yours with a mixture of playfulness and sincerity. "Friends don't usually do that, do they?"

You took a deep breath, attempting to process the whirlwind of emotions that had just unfolded. Felix's eyes searched yours for a reaction, and a vulnerable tension lingered in the air.

"No," you replied, your voice dripped with lust.

Felix grinned, his playful demeanor returning. "Well, I guess that means we've crossed the line ages ago."

He gently brushed a strand of hair away from your face and leaned in for another kiss, the intensity of the moment still lingering. You reciprocated the kiss, but as Felix's hands began to wander up your skirt, you felt a surge of hesitation. Even though you two have had sex a few times already, you first needed to talk this whole thing out. Pulling back slightly, you met his gaze with a hint of caution. "Felix," you breathed out, "Stop, slow down."

Felix's hands halted immediately as you pulled away, and he looked at you with an understanding expression. The room, once charged with a heated atmosphere, seemed to cool down as Felix maintained a respectful distance.

"Sorry," he said softly, catching his breath. "I got carried away."

"It's okay," you replied, your voice a bit shaky.

As the tension eased, Felix reached out to gently fix your hair, his touch tender and considerate.

Felix, with his usual playful demeanor, leaned back with a smirk, the glint of mischief in his eyes undiminished. "Well, that was unexpected of friends, right?"

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