#even for me this is ridiculous there’s a whole other post down here
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TIME TO LOVE STEPHANIE BROWN aka SPOILER
She deserves JUSTICE!
Greek Goddesses! Another character that earned a love post from me, she needs the love, she DESERVES to be loved 💜💜💜 (spoiler alert, this post will be a loooooooooong 😅 )
I found out about her and other characters thanks to the wholesome slice of life comic Batman: family Wayne adventures months ago (I've been a DC Batman fan since I was a kid but I mostly watched shows that didn't include said characters before starting with the comics) and I fell in love with her, I mean she is all purple and her hero name is SPOILER 💘 so she could jump on criminals and say things like: SPOILER ALERT YOU'RE ABOUT TO GET BUSTED 👊😂 HELLO? INSTANT LOVE 💘and then I searched for her, read a lot of comics... and learned SOOO many outrageous things!🤬 Welcome to Hypocrisyland 🤦♀️🤦♀️🤦♀️. Here comes the RANT:
So she was an independent girl who made herself the Spoiler persona to "spoil" her wannabe Riddle father's evil deeds and she was a bit morally gray and cynical and wasn't particularly trying to be a hero or a vigilante and then after meeting Robin she started to change her mind inspired by HIM so all her thing started completely separated from Batman and technically it was by associating herself with Tim/Robin that at some point she started to want Batman's approval too and started the whole "fight to prove that I deserve a place here" thing but I think the amount of disrespect this girl faced is ridiculous! Treated like she was hopeless, useless, stupid etc... is she a punching bag? Treated like shit by so many characters for no good reason 😡 and I didn't see any satisfying consequence on them because of it, it was as if the way they treated her was justified because... I don't know, she was compared to Jason, to Dick, to Tim and to Barbara but when is only about her own person she wasn't good enough so they were hysterical about her hurting herself or dying faster than any of them 🙄, so everything is justified because they were worried?
Sorry but NO, I don't care if she isn't as skillful as characters like Cassandra or Damian that were raised to be living killing weapons by assassins or that she isn't intelligent genius detective level with a rich live background that could afford special ttraining like Tim or Batman himself, that she isn't some erudite engineer to build herself taser weapons like Harper Row or a suit flying armor like Luke Fox, that she doesn't have military training like Kate Kane, that she doesn't have hacker skills or a cop dad as Barbara Gordon, or she doesn't have powers like Duke or wasn't trained by ninjas like Selina Kyle or that she started only having good grades at gymnastics instead of having been raised in a circus by acrobats like Dick Grayson... I DON'T CARE, because she had a lot of qualities to start from Zero to Hero that are probably a lot more relatable than the other characters, most people don't have third rate criminal fathers but still she is a lot closer to the normal people than other characters and that makes her great, she is so resourceful even thought that unlike Batman and Tim she comes from poverty and can't get high tech stuff, yet she made herself a costume and helped take down her criminal father in a low budget! How come her resourceness in her situation wasn't impressive to them? How come that she had to endure being dismissed and underestimated constantly over and over until her death? It was exhausting to see! The fact that she started being resentful towards her father and wanted more revenge than justice is enough to ditch her as a hero? (Maybe the Avengers would have welcomed her better in that case 🙄) How much she had to train until the writers stopped making her look unfit and unworthy despite everything?
I don't get why they decided to make everyone around her be an asshole, a jerk, a hypocrite... Specially Tim and Batman (the AUDACITY of these two! Batman "fired" Her from being Spoiler like she being Spoiler had anything to do with him in the first place, entitlement much? Robin mantle I get it but The Spoiler mantle was hers from the beginning he can't fire her from it and then Tim went to comfort her, ironic since he kept telling her to hang the suit all the time, he also said being a Teen Titan was out her league when she was offered a place and told her she can't speak for herself, seriously you fucking jerk? Does he think he is Dick Grayson or what? 😒 the entitlement is spreading! and later when he became Red Robin he DEMANDED her to never be Spoiler again... Oh FUCK YOU 🖕🤬, mister "I discovered your secret so now you have to hire me as Robin" Worse part of that is that he said that after finding out things she was doing on Batman's orders wtf? So is bad always no matter if she disobeys or obeys Batman she can't win) They even made my dear Alfred be cold with at first because "she hurt Tim" but it was actually Batman's fault because he told her his secret 😤 well at least that treatment didn't last, bless Alfred for crying after her death when Dick asked about her and being so happy to see her alive he lose his British.
Why they hated her so much to the point they just doomed her to a horrible death that wasn't even heroic? She was tortured for days after provoking a gang war following one of Batman's plans trying to gain his trust back after he fired her from being his Robin for only 2 months! 🤬 2 miserable months!! because she disobeyed him (sure, sure, no other Robin BEFORE and AFTER her has ever disobeyed Bats orders right? 🙄) and the last person she sees before dying is him who was always comparing her to her male predecessors because he didn't like she was more questioning than them and then lied to her dying face about considering her a real Robin (by the way it felt so wrong that she became Robin out of spite because she saw a girl kissing Tim and she assumed he was cheating... I mean I can't blame her he did CHEAT on his first girlfriend with her, boy I hate this kind of teen drama) . They said it was "unclear" If he was telling the truth, HA! PLEASE. 🙄Of course he is not going to tell the ugly truth to a dying girl (he even "insulted" Her once saying she fights like a girl, wtf? She should have tell on him to Dinah lance) The ones who should have been there were Cassandra and Tim they actually did considered her a Robin, yep even Tim (he even mentioned a few positive things about her time being Robin) after he retook the mantle, they at least loved her! Even if they wronged her at least there was no doubt that they loved her... (Even if Tim's grief for her was short and too dry! 😡, They wanted people to forget about her so hard he was already having new love interests when not even a year passed, he suffered a lot more with his father and Superboy's death than with Stephanie 🤬, at least Cass cried and dreamed about her and thankfully Alfred and Barbara cried for her too even when they weren't that close to her at that time) Because seriously, this was a pitiful sad death, not bothering in making it a sacrifice or falling on combat saving someone noooo, she died after making a huge mistake trying to impress someone who never actually seemed to like her at all! In a gruesome and kinda sexualized way, nobody came to rescue her... Batman only showed up to pick her up after she escaped alone and tell her pretty lies before dying.
What a fucking Joke 🤦♀️ how humiliating for a character with a hell lot of potential WASTED! She didn't even get a memorial in the Batcave like Jason! Both their deaths were meant to be permanent but the comics only wanted you to remember Jason but not about Stephanie! Like he never existed! (And later the lame excuse for it🙄, like Batman suspected she wasn't really dead but he didn't tell Tim or Cass about that suspicion? None of them confronted him about the lack of memorial of her? Wouldn't they demand a memorial of a girl that meant a lot to them? He suspected she was alive but he never care to find her?🙄😑 Talk about crappy, tacky writing) it's like the character was thrown like garbage... Indeed that's what they intended to, her death was supposed to be permanent but fortunately for us fans rioted to demand her return very rightfully! 😤 and... Her return was still rushed, lame and lazy 😒 and they forgot to add a LOT of characters reactions seeing her alive 🤦♀️, like not even Cass??? I searched and never found a comic with her reaction after finding out she was alive! All out of camera, I hate that, is just so TACKY! Not an epic death and not proper comeback 😬😬
But then we had her run as the third Batgirl! Her solo as Batgirl did a lot of good for her character, with the exception of a few things I disliked like: her interaction with Catwoman that didn't make sense with how they met in the gangs war or that once again Batman has to have all the credit 🙄 because at the end he comes back from a not actual death and it turns out the whole make her a Batgirl was his doing and not Cassandra's doing😑 that would have been better because later they could rub it on his face but they couldn't because it was his idea 😬 but hey at least she got to SLAP him 🤣👏👏 that was epic BRAVO! Ahh that solo lasted too little! She got to put Tim in his place, she became friends with Supergirl and bonded with Damian as a big sister, I swear she should have spent more time with them, she demonstrated her bravery and willpower when she kicked the Scarecrow ass, finally earning Barbara's respect and admiration after she was so bitchy with her, its always so satisfying seeing characters standing up for her after so much mistreatment (i guess she had mixed feelings with the fact that Stephanie is a Batgirl that resembles more to her, Dick also mentioned that and thankfully he stopped being a jerk hypocrite with her too) and did I a mention that she FUCKING SLAPPED BATMAN? Because that is extremely important 😂 and Alfred defended her calling Bruce out in his bullshit test. Then for some stupid out of the blue reason she retired for a year... AFTER ALL SHE WENT THROUGH TO EARN THAT MANTLE? 🤬🤬🤬. Anyway she had to take the mantle back because she was chosen for some tournament where she had to fight Catman and there was Tim again looking down on her 🙄 "why weren't we chosen Cass we are better fighters she is a year out of shape" (Yeah who the fuck decided to make her hang the cape after everything? 🤡) at least Cass defended her saying that she is unpredictable, not like when they were training (Steph was still death) and out of the blue she unnecessarily tells him "you learn fast not like my last student" Really? I recall you enjoying training her 🙄 Sure Cassandra cried and dreamed of her but she used to look down on her a lot, the way she knocked her out in after being fired from being Robin was something we never see her apologize for, it was swept under the rug like never happened, Steph never confronted her about it even though she left her feeling betrayed 🤦♀️ and then besties again like nothing 😒. But at least she punched Tim for being an imbecile and then they got together again, so lovely, so happy, she was finally getting respect... BOOM: the new 52 reboot happened. 😃😃
The only thing I liked was that she got triple nunchakus as a personal weapon and that way she doesn't copy Robin's stick and the fact that she went through teen pregnancy and had to give up the baby because I hated that lazy plot that was only meant to make her and Tim have a closer relationship is not canon anymore(they really couldn't think of anything else to deepen their relationship than making her go through that pain so he could support her?😒🤦♀️ besides, she had a traumatic sexual assault experience as a child so I find hard to believe she would let herself get pregnant with the scumbag she dated before Tim, I hard to believe she didn't dumped him until he abandoned her in the earthquake) but her origin and relationship with Tim was erased along her time as Robin and as Batgirl(even thought that somehow thankfully now is canon again)and other character named Harper basically took a bit of Steph and Cassandra stories, mixed them and made them her own... pretty lame because Harper's concept was actually cool but she taking their place wasn't cool she also was the one to befriend Cassandra and had a conection with her first instead of Steph and the one who had to fight to be allowed to be a vigilante by Batman instead of her and she was the one that convinced Steph to join the fight instead of Steph wanting to do it by herself but the thing that infuriates me the most in this reboot was that she was accepted into the batfamily without much problem but altmost inmidiatly they made her go against them and againts Batman that this time wasn't being an asshole to her due to the apparent death of Tim Drake, Batman was even being affectionate with her, that hug he gave her to comfort her was precious 🥺 and so satisfying to see but then they had to ruin everything by making her be unreasonable and insufferable to create cheap drama 🤦♀️, now that she got the only thing she wanted pre reboot they make her want to walk away?🤡🤡🤡 not to mention I was already pissed of that in her solo as Batgirl they forgot what kind of interaction she had with Catwoman, basically Selina was the last person who was sweet and kind to her before she was killed, it would have been nice to see a proper reaction to her come back but the reboot made things worse! Selina was bitchy and mean to Steph even if she gave her some acknowledgement to her talent but she refused to grant my wish of training her and instead she was trained by the second Catwoman that honesty was disappointed but not that bad because I will like any character that would want to help Steph and Eiko (2° Catwoman) took her in for a while and bothered to teach her something so KUDOS 👍 for her! And Cassandra, Dinah and Barbara too.
And well I'm going to stop the rant here because aside of Tim dumping her and treating her shitty for no reason when they were finally happy so he could be with a random background NPC boy nobody cared about or even remembered so he could prove his bisexuality 😑😑😑, in general things are finally getting good for her: she is finally fully recognized as a Robin and she got another solo with Cassandra and Barbara as Batgirls that wasn't as good as the first one but it was nice and apparently she is now going to have her own team of young superheroes in a new comic.
I wanted to make an statement about things I like about her, the need to make her interact with other characters I think she would get along and my new Ship with her and Jason but all that will have their owns individual posts because I already wrote too much here, if you read it all thank you so much 🙏🙏🙏❤❤ if you felt offended or disagreed with something I said I apologize but remember that this is just the random opinion of a random Tumblr user so... See you in my next posts 😘💋💋
STEPHANIE BROWN DESERVES LOVE AND JUSTICE 💪💜
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When Complete BS Becomes "Common Knowledge."
Someone told me they stopped paying attention to someone who reviews movies after one too many mean-spirited jokes about trans people, and it was one of those cases where the reviewer in question definitely had the vibe of someone who'd go around doing that, but I couldn't think of any real flagrant examples. Cut to me watching a movie the other day, remembering that oh yeah, I skipped that one guy's review of it because I wanted to go in blind, and sure enough, that review has this big long crappy 5 minute aside of an out of left field "DID YOU JUST ASSUME MY GENDER!?" routine. So that's a shame.
Now this particular guy rather famously Does Not Get Out Much. Pretty sure he hasn't really have any exposure to a single trans person, or to any real die hard transphobes, and most likely what happened here is he saw I dunno, an episode of South Park or a facebook post from some bigoted aunt, or some Tiktok video, something like that, and just blithely assimilated it into his world view.
But you know, the reality is... to the best of my knowledge no trans person has ever actually said this, or anything similar to this, and we sure as hell don't live in a world where anyone would have the back of someone who did? But you know, here we are.
Now I want to be clear, this isn't some kinda thing where trans people can't take a joke or anything. Literally while I was typing this, some cis guy just tossed this out, and this is a real tired old hokey one, but I cracked a smile, because oh yeah, the whole "programmer socks" bit really is a weirdly accurate stereotype.
And there's plenty of other trans jokes I'll laugh at. Ones directly at my expense. Some real dark ones even. You wanna go off on trans women all having the same like 10 names and them all sounding like we were born in the 1800s, go for it. Other stuff about how we all dress? Coping mechanisms? Low standards? Being too into pickles and sriracha? There's plenty.
But "DID YOU JUST ASSUME MY GENDER!?" and while we're at it, "I identify as..." don't even have the vague shape of something you're ever going to encounter in reality. Like if I didn't know the context of where these came from and hadn't had them posted a thousand times or so by people with swastikas for avatars and such, these probably would get a laugh from me the first time I heard them, because they sound like weird surrealist humor. Like, "don't you hate how every time you go to the laundromat, you have to play chess with the dragon before they let you in?"
But, again, I know the context. And the context is a bunch of fascists want people like me dead, and they're both too scared to pick up a gun to do it themselves and too incompetent to know who to point it at or where to find them. So they sit around with each other and go "hey, what sort of person does everyone hate? Let's all say trans people talk like them!" And because they haven't spoken to a single human being besides each other and the rich parents they're sponging off since getting banned from the Something Awful forums in the 90s/punk bar in the 80s/whatever, they settled on "rich white person calling the cops on somebody for walking down the street" and "didn't I first get into being a hatemonger because I was stupid enough to think that time I saw someone roleplaying he really thought he was a big scary dragon?" Which has honestly worked out weirdly well for them when you stop for half a second to appreciate just how absolutely ridiculous it is to ever imagine cops coming to the aid of trans people.
Like... here's a situation that actually plays out in reality. I have a bad tooth. Dentist says I need a root canal, and she doesn't do them. Refers me to another dentist like an hour and a half away. I walk in, write my Victorian sounding name on some paperwork, fill in all my various medications, wait a bit, hop into the big dentist's chair, so far so good. This dentist busts out the pick and the mirror about to have a look, and goes "hey, so I noticed on your medications you're taking a ton of something called divigel? What is that?" I say "oh, yeah, I'm trans, so I'm on supplemental estradiol." She almost drops the mirror, stares at me like she just realized I'm Venom and if she bent down to look at my teeth I was about to swallow her whole head. She stands bolt upright, says, "your teeth are fine, get out." I'm a bit confused, but I can read a room, so I say "well that's weird, but OK..." and start to leave. I get a "have a nice day SIR!" shouted at me. And then I go out, call the cab company to say my appointment ended early, and get told too bad, it's coming when it's scheduled, and someone snickers. See, at some point in having to take cabs to all my appointments, a driver worked out that this woman he'd been picking up from this address for the past year has a similar voice to and maybe vague family resemblance to who he'd been picking up from that same address the year prior, and after getting the courage to ask me, guess who's constantly having cabs show up late, or not at all, or on time with a driver staring angrily into the rear view mirror while blaring AM radio with someone shouting about all "the gays" needing to be rounded up so they can burn in hell. And I just need to suck it up and live with it. I'm sure as hell not going to pick a fight over it. I'm just gonna stand out in the cold (fortunately with nice warm knee-high socks) waiting for this cab for an hour because I sure as hell can't stay in this lobby.
But again, the whole weird myth here posits a world where trans people are all-powerful and control the government and stuff. And the basis for that is like... sometimes people refuse to pass ridiculous laws to stop trans people from doing things we only do in bigots' imaginations at great taxpayer expense, and SOMETIMES someone is responsible enough to double check what's up before they allocate the funds. Like... hell, you know what's exactly as completely divorced from reality and honestly the same people doing to same crap? That wild BS about "schools keeping litter boxes in classrooms because all this acceptance of trans people means we also have to accept kids who think they're cats!" Like... how the hell can anyone actually be stupid enough to believe that anyone else could be stupid enough to believe that they're actually stupid enough to believe such an OBVIOUSLY made-up narrative? Like... lawmakers bring that one up and try to get bills passed on it. Everyone else in the room is socially obligated not to laugh and ask whether they also want to pass legislation against Bat Boy and UFO abductions. This is Ralph Wiggum tier absurdity.
But like... what do you do about this sort of thing, really? As the person ultimately has to deal with the dentists who think I'll bite their heads off, ask to speak to their manager, and drop trou over a sandbox the state mandates they keep in the middle of the room, I'm... not in the room when this BS gets concocted, or discussed, or shared in Minions meme some film critic sees and imitates to try and be relatable and relevant. Can someone else start grabbing all these people by the lapels and shake them and shout questions about how they can be this stupid, maybe invite them back to reality for me?
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some tragic love stories be like: if i could bottle the galaxy, i would pour it into a cup so it would be easier for you to drink. do you want them? do you want the stars? or do they suit you better as adornments for your eyes than glitter on your lips?
but they don’t want the stars. they don’t want the galaxy. but how can they not? is that not enough? (it’s too much, that’s the problem. it’s too much.)
#ney's idle chatter (random textposts)#me trying and failing to capture why hadestown has embodied Love in a way i don’t think i’m really capable of comprehending fr#but also this can be about whatever blorbo you want#when i think about that one line in chant#when hades says ‘brighter than the light of day’#‘look. look at what i can make for you—see?’#meanwhile the last thing persephone wants is to be reminded of this hollow echo of what their love is in her memories#when i think about that scene when eurydice tells orpheus they need to get food#but he’s working on his song and she makes the choice to trust him and go#to work harder and longer and search for things to feed them and trust he’ll bring spring back#THE WAY PERSEPHONE TRIES TO KISS HADES GOODBYE AT THE START WHEN SHE COMES BACK FOR SUMMER#AND HOW IT PARALLELS EURYDICE KISSING ORPHEUS GOODBYE WHEN SHE GOES TO LOOK FOR FOOD#and hades pulls away. because she’s leaving him and he’s terrified. he’s terrified and turns it into anger because otherwise he’s helpless.#and orpheus doesn’t respond when eurydice leaves because he’s working—he’s working and he’s going to give her what he promised.#but she needs his help. she needs his help now—she needs his support and he isn’t there.#thinking about the moment she takes the ticket from hades and#it almost implies she starves. that she dies. that she starves to death trying to find food for them both#i promise you however unhinged i seem about this musical i am being purposefully restrained so i don’t spam you all too much orz#holy SHIT these tags are LONG#even for me this is ridiculous there’s a whole other post down here#high five to you for reading it ig damn#hadestown
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y'all i have created a Monster 😮😳😳
#sriracha.txt#long post#i found a grey hair mod and. well.#i always knew she'd be at her most powerful when she was graying but i didn't expect to be so RIGHT#i was going to give up the sims 4 but now i must go cc hunting to attempt to make her outfit in 5 proper#i like to imagine she has this stupidly big square leather duster.. nero's got the short coat in 5 so Somebody has to hold down the front o#ridiculously long coats! anyways it's not even her coat - thus explaining the size - but like one of the staff's communal freezer coats#in my head it's this really nice like.. daark eggplant that almost looks brown but It's Ourple Ur Honor#and ofc she has the vermilion/orange/?? skirt 😤 which is funny because now that i'm thinking about it#her color scheme is saur spardalike. make of this what you will but i will be pretending it's on purpose :3c#anyways her outfits during 5 are really fun to think about because they're just a mishmash. her design is on the downwards slope from being#Ultra Polished to whatever is in arms reach... there's no time to think about what to wear when you've got a whole island to defend from#demons solo! (but. because her outfits were so polished before. there is still the swag throughout her fits because she's cycling through#her old clothes yk 🍻 nero's design undergoes a pretty big shift between 4 and 5 that communicates a Lot about fortuna to me so I want her#design to reflect that culture shift while bridging the Then and the Now#my one thing w the design here is that. i think the coat might be a little too v-esque which. on one hand is funny. on the other hand she#and v do the venn diagram chacha a little too often + idk if i want to invoke that here. so while i will die fighting for the freezer coat#design i'm also entertaining the thought that this mf is just fighting for her life in her house robe because she woke up and the neighbor'#roof was on fire and there was no time to really get ready.. this is like 5's version of a frying pan being one of her weapons in 4 simply#because she had it on hand when the shit hit the fan.. she is always in situations with no prep time </3#oh! another thing while i'm spitballing design stuff for her.. i decided she'd have a forearm tattoo#to cover up the scar from the brand.. i wanted it to have a lot of meaning to her so i've yet to sit down and figure out#What it is but. that's going on now 🍻 this is as important to her design as The Earrings so. despite being another part of the v-gioia venn#diagram chacha i Cannot take it back lol <3 unless i decide on something else with the ritual but 🕴it is unlikely#anyways i Have To Go to Bed bc i'm practicing driving later so!! farewell comrades lol!#nero prime
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❛ UNPROFESSIONALISM ! ❜
⟡ content warnings. explicit content. foul language. ceo!satoru. secretary!reader. mentioned past flings. fondlīng. fīngerīng. afab!reader. p in v. unprotected. brēēding. squīrtīng. gojo satoru is his own damn warning. 4.9k.
⟡ serena's note. oh if y’all knew the lengths i went thru just to post this damn fic. . .
“ugh, this is such a painnn!”
“the sooner you finish your paperwork, the sooner you’re off, sir.” you sigh, arms crossed over your chest. you’re used to your boss’ childish antics by now, having worked side by side with him for nearly a year. you check the time on your watch, “work ended about half an hour ago— you might want to hurry up.”
“but y/n!” he drags out your name, voice all whiny and pitched in a telltale manner. he pushes himself off away from his desk, chair rolling back from the impact as he lolls his head back. “this shit is sooo lame. didn’t i hire nanamin to take care of the boring stuff? how come he isn’t here handling this god forsaken load of terrorizing agony?!”
you click your tongue, clutching tighter at the clipboard in your hold. you wonder if he’d been dropped on the head as a child, his lack of self-awareness so painful it makes you reconsider if the check at the end of the week is ever worth it. “he’s scheduled the week off to keep his wife and newborn in check. he signed off about a month ago.”
he snaps his head up so quickly, you’re positive he’s gotten whiplash. gojo blinks at you through big blue eyes and snowy lashes, a dumbfounded look on his face. he lifts his index to scratch at the corner of his lips, and cocks his head to the side, “ahh. . . ‘s that right? wait— nanamin’s a dad?!”
you feel the vein in your head inevitably tick.
“sir,” you let out an exhausted sigh, completely baffled by his ineptitude. he must purposely choose to do this to you, there’s simply no other explanation. “we attended his wife’s baby shower a few months ago—the one you mistook for a bachelor party and had me escorting the escorts back home.” you lift your pointer finger, brows cinched as the memory burns into your mind. he tilts his head to the side, affirming the idea of his cluelessness even more.
you raised a second finger, “we showed up to the hospital to congratulate them on their baby— and you got them that ridiculous cutout board of yourself that sings when you press on the—”
“the button on my dick, yeah!” gojo cackles as if it’s the funniest story ever, as if you hadn’t need to dump a bucket of water on the cutout figure to get it to shut up before he could get his company sued for emotional distress.
you huff, the stressful reminder of that unfortunate day having you anxiously tugging at the hem of your skirt, “yep. that’s the one.” between the baby’s obnoxious cries and exaggerated mecha-gojo moans, you’d rather not think about that encounter.
“and this whole time i figured she was his sister,” gojo snorts, wiping a faux tear from the corner of his eye. he sighs when his laughter dies down, and pulls him chair back into his desk. “man, his wife’s a babe. guess that explains why she looked at me all crazy when i called her fine the other day.”
“you sure that’s the only reason?” you mutter under your breath, the insult flowing off your tongue so naturally that you couldn’t help stopping it, even if you wanted to. that man was all kinds of deranged, his ego and head much bigger than it needed to be.
“ouch, that’s mean, doll.” gojo pouts, clutching at the material of his blazer above his heart. the back of his free hand lands on his forehead as he dramatically leans back into his seat. his eyelids shut tightly, “you’re wounding me. ‘m too young to die. i can’t go on like this— tell my mother i loved her. sign off my will for me, wouldya? make sure to terrorize nanamin some more. oh, and empty out all my search histories. wouldn’t wanna ruin my reputation. and get rid of my porn magazines beneath my bed. ‘ve got some pretty nasty stuff there. and check up on my kid every now and then. and—”
“alright, alright. i apologize.” you cut his rambling off before it spiralled into something far worse. there’s a full headache throbbing at your temple, your feet ache from your heels, and your stomach rumbles in hunger. you’re ready to go home now, but that won’t be possible unless your big man baby of a boss finishes up his task. “i’m sure you’ve a very suitable man. many would be grateful to have you. my apologies, sir.”
he peeks through an eye, a smug smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. his beaten-puppy look is quickly replaced by one you know far too well now— the look he gets after beating his rival company in terms of stock. the look he gets after successfully shitting on his higher ups. the look he gets after getting you to cum on his fingers after a long day— you’ve stroked his ego. “i’ve trained you well, princess. always flattering me, ohh, however did i get so lucky?”
whatever have you done to get so unlucky? “time’s ticking, sir. you can’t afford to pick up megumi late from practice again.”
“nanamin’s wife might be a babe, but you’re a gem, y’know?” your boss entirely ignores you, leaning his elbow onto the pile of work he’s now completely erased from his existence. he leans his cheek into his palm, fingertips tapping at the side of his head. “one helluva girl. i mean it— i really lucked out with ya.”
you cross your leg over the other, shifting your hips over the suede material of his couch. you recognize the sultry undertone to his voice, and your clear your throat, “is that so?”
gojo chuckles, flashing you all thirty two teeth, “i mean it’s not everyday you find a woman with your patience. god, you must be in love with me or something.”
you roll your eyes, despite the small smile that creeps up on your lips, “that’s certainly not why i stayed,” which wasn’t entirely true, but it’s not as if you haven’t inflated his ego enough today. “you may be a handful but your pockets sure are generous.”
“wouldn’t kill you to make a guy feel good about himself from time to time, ya know?” he fiddled the black pen between his fingers, twirling the object from knuckle to knuckle. he pauses when you don’t answer, noticing you noticing his finger movements. and so he proceeds with a smirk, “you’re always so tense all the time. . . tell me, when’s the last time you’ve been properly fucked?”
you nearly lose the grip on your clipboard at his audacity, the question throwing you off guard. though, you quickly keep composure— a fierce facade that’s always labelled you as the calm and collected kind. though, you’re doubtful it worked against your own boss.
“that’s an unprofessional question, sir.” you grit through teeth, nails scratching at the wooden back of your board. highly hypocritical of yourself, as you’re absolutely no better than he is— having already opened a window of no return that fateful night you accepted his invite to come inside his home.
“pretty sure we’re past unprofessionalism.” he pushes himself off of his desk, rising to his feet. your eyes trail his movements, from the index finger that hooks at his tie to loosen the knot, to the cock of his head to the side that has his hair bouncing, to the sound of expensive shoes clicking with every stride closer to you.
his presence can be oddly intimidating at times— you’ve noticed while working with him for a while. there’re moments like whenever he steps up on a podium in front of thousands of people, or when the elevator doors slide open and presents him to the building. despite his childish antics, he exudes an aura so enchanting that serves as reminder of that at the end of the day, he’s the boss.
you swallow, eyes following his lean figure until he stops right before you. it’s hard to read him in moments like these, when he’s so unlike himself (or maybe finally truly himself). his hands sit in the pockets of his slacks, legs parted enough to entrap your own legs between his, as he tilts his head forward. his irises darken behind tinted shades, bangs curtaining the raise of an eyebrow.
“unprofessional?” he repeats, and your eyes narrow at him, subconsciously gripping at your board tighter. it’s the only thing that you seem to have control over, since it clearly wouldn’t be this conversation. “you mean like that time i had you creamin’ all over my fingers in the back of my car? or unprofessional like that time you bent over my desk and came all over my face? or was it that night when i had to tie your hands together to keep you from runnin’ away?”
your gaze flickers away from his, the heat of embarrassment creeping from your neck all the way to your face. he wasn’t wrong— your relationship with him had passed morally ethical the moment you pulled him in closer to kiss you instead of pushing him away.
“we’re still at work.” you quip, the last bit of resolve tattering away the longer you feel his eyes on you. your roll your ankle nervously, thighs tightening against another.
“work ended half an hour ago sweetheart, remember?” he reminds you, voice as taunting as ever, and you sure as hell don’t need to see him to know he’s smirking. right side of his lips pulled with a moon crescent dimple on the side— he’s making fun of you. “forgettin’ already? can’t have my adorable secretary so overwhelmed that it’s meltin’ her brain. that should be my dick’s doing only, of course.”
you click your tongue, eyes casting back up to stare him dead in the eye. naturally, he’s already meeting your own, with the same damn smirk you’d predicted, “you have paperwork to finish, sir. better get on that quickly.”
“oh?” he laughs at your command, pulling his hands out of his pockets to rest at his hips. he runs his tongue against the top row of his teeth, and you hate the way your mind instantly travels back to days prior when you’d once had that same tongue working in and out of you.
he hums in faux thought, tapping his index against his chin. his lips fall into a pout before instantly stretching back to its default state, his infamous smile, “i suppose you’re right. come help me finish then, hmm? teamwork makes the dream work.”
you’re skeptical— you know him too well, but you’d rather divert the focus of attention from you to those papers. anything to prevent your mind from wandering off further into endless unprofessional possibilities. “lead the way, boss.”
he curtsies dramatically as you rise to your feet, stomping over to his desk. you notice he’s got shit done, and you’ll most likely be here for a minute. and so, you stand next to the chair he’d abandoned and pick up the pen, waiting for him to sit so you both could get started.
only you should’ve known you’d fallen right into his trap the minute you agreed to his ridiculous offer. you feel him pressed up behind you, lurking over your shoulder to study whatever you had going on. he’s unreasonably tall, frame so large it has you feeling frail in his presence, and his cologne so strong you feel it already clouding your judgement.
damn it all.
clicking your tongue, you tilt your head to the side to narrow your eyes, “well? are you not going to sit?”
gojo blinks at you, “how come? i enjoy the view here much better anyway.”
you roll your eyes, before turning back to his desk. he was a complete idiot if he thought you hadn’t already anticipated his next moves. the more your wrist flexes, mumbling the words you read on your sheets as you write them down, the more you felt him. you could feel the back of your thighs meeting the from of his, you could feel his bulge rubbing at your ass, you could feel his warm breath fanning at the slope of your neck.
damn it all.
“sales have risen to a—ahhn!” your pen falters in your grip, scribbling on the white sheet as it hits the desk. your eyelids shut close, teeth clamping down on your bottom lip as a warm mouth kisses at that sensitive spot behind your ear. your palm lays flat against the surface of the table, side by side with gojo’s, body tensing as his mouth trails down lower.
“oh you bastard,” you mutter, shaky hand attempting to grab the pen in an unsteady hold. his chuckle rumbles deep from his chest, and you feel the vibrations against your back. you’re determined to stand your ground, despite the urge to push your hips back into him. he may have soft lips and an annoyingly hot voice, but you would not falter— no matter the moisture of his breath sending shivers down your spine.
you think you have it set in stone, the pen in your hold— albeit unsteady— despite his large hand creeping up your thigh. every trail of his touch leaves an electrifying feeling, and you’re sure he’s noticed your trembling knees if the way he subtly slid his leg in between yours to keep you steady said anything.
it’s when you’re ready to scribble out your mistake to replace it that he decides to plunge his canines to your jugular. the moan that erupts from you is squeaky, your hand clutching tightly at the pen as your back arches into his chest from the painful pleasure.
gojo nibbles and sucks at your skin, running his tongue over the throbbing area to soothe the pain, fingers trailing closer to your now aching core. you’re positive your skirt has now hiked up with how much your hips are pushing back into his, head lolled forward.
“aweee, what’s the matter sweetheart? ‘s too much for you already?” gojo coos, sultry voice sending chills from the shell of your ear down to your core, finally slipping his hand inside of your skirt. his fingertips brush at your clothed clit, the material of your thong shamefully damp in arousal. you huff, nails scratching at his desktop when his index and middle finger rub painfully slow circles at your clit. “but we’ve barely done anything? tsk, can’t afford slowing the company down because you’re too distracted to focus.”
your thighs and arms threaten to give out, body heating with lust and desire. you want to say you hate this, that this is against your typical work ethics, to tell him to fuck off and do the work himself. but the focus on your pussy really has you melting puddle, bottom lip tugged on to suppress any louder sounds to escape.
“y-you’re the worst.” you complain, though it fades into another moan when he pushes his thigh up in between your legs. you’re internally thankful, because had this gone any further, you’re certain you would’ve sunken to the floor.
“love you too, pretty girl.” he presses a kiss at your jaw, fingers pushing past your panties. fuck any resolve you’d held onto— you chuck the pen far away, planting both palms down as you allowed him to take control. every rub of his fingers at your clit had you dripping down his thigh, to where your hips shifted and rolled down his leg, dragging out that blissful heat in your gut.
“givin’ up already? y’didn’t put much of a fight this time, can’t say i’m a disappointed.” his free hand grips at your thigh and trails up to your hips, resting at your flesh to guide you down his leg. he’s all too enthralled by your sensitivity, gaze zeroed in on your expressions— from the slackness at your jaw to the way your brows furrow.
“just h-hurry up already,” you grit, eyelashes fluttering as your eyelids lift. your gaze meets his instantly, and gulp at the hungry look in his eyes. his skin is already flushed pink, lips parted as he pants heavily. “you’re no—ngh, better than i am, dickhead.”
“well aren’t ya damn mouthy,” gojo acknowledged, though clearly unbothered, as his fingers pinch at that bundle of nerve. you gasp, cunt clenching as it leaks more of your essence down on him. your head drops back against his shoulder, the slope of your back curving as you grip onto the closest thing in your vicinity— the hem of his blazer. “hm, whatever happened to my obedient secretary? always so polite and respectful, don’t tell me i haven’t trained you enough?”
“m-maybe you haven’t,” you pant, chest heaving as you feel his fingertips teasing the entrance of your folds. they’re slow movements, applying just enough pressure to ignite the spark in your guts but not enough to leave you wanting more. “can’t even do your damn j-job right and you call yourself boss? hah, wonder if mister geto would have this issue— fuuuck!”
“low fuckin’ blow, sweets.” gojo chuckles darkly, now two fingers knuckle deep in your cunt. he wastes no time to plunge himself inside, knuckles rubbing at your velvety walls. you clamp down on his digits, desperate to keep him in for the sake of that orgasm you craved. “and here i was ready to put this pretty pussy in my mouth. you’re dickless for a few days and catch an attitude wimme? that’s cold, baby.”
“dickless?” you cock a brow, teeth gritting as you focus all your energy left on delivering your next line. he always got so cocky whenever he had a slight advantage. “a-according to who—ooh, god, shit!”
“ooh god, shit!” gojo mocks you, a third finger now joining the others. he scissors your cunt open, the slick of your arousal simplifying the slide in. you’re dripping down to his palm, so wet despite the front you’re putting up. he knows you love it whenever he angles his fingers at this angle, the one that has you knees weak and ready to fold. “face it sweets, i’m the only one who treats this pussy the way it deserves. see how well she responds to me?”
and you wish you could negate or deny him, but unfortunately, you both know he’s correct. he’s only got his fingers inside of you and you’re already at your limit. your hips eagerly chase his fingers whenever he pulls out just to thrust them back in, the pad of his thumb drawing infinity signs at your clit. your tongue feels heavy in your mouth, knot in your tummy tightening from the stimulation.
“nghhh, ‘m gonna cum,” your hand slides down the slope of his forearm till where his wrist begins. you claw at the bone, clutching and grabbing at him eagerly. damn him and his damned fingers— driving you to mush with all six inches. “more, hah, need more— gimme more!”
“manners, pretty baby.” gojo coos at your ear, despite upping his pace. his hands reach all the right spots, pussy desperate to hold out to his fingers as they fuck your cunt open, soaking the digits in your slick. “c’mon girl, what’s the magic word? i know you’ve got it in you.”
“p-please! pleasepleaseplease—” you’re cut off by your own gasp as the dam in your stomach finally breaks. you leak on his fingers, squirting your juices as your muscles convulse, walls entrapping him in. your back arches away from him and you grasp at anything in your reach, your mouth gaped. you’re cussing like a sailor, vision blacked out beneath your eye lids as your hips twitch and stutter against gojo’s ruthless pace.
your high washes down, as you lose feeling in your limbs, falling face down to the desk. your skin is moist with heat, mouth parted as drool coats the abandoned paperwork beneath you. your body twitches with oversensitivity, thighs quaking as your last few spurts spray all over gojo’s thigh.
“don’t tell me you’re all worn out from a little foreplay?” your boss teases, his free hand delivering a blow onto your ass cheek. it recoils as you jolt, snivelling like a baby. you hear the sound of his belt unbuckling, slacks falling next and pooling at his ankles. the next few moments happen in a blur, but sooner than you’d realized, you’d been turned onto your back with your legs propped over his shoulders and your folds were being played with again, the overstimulation having your toes curling in your heels.
“anddd there we go,” gojo strokes at his bricked cock, your essence serving as lube to coat his dick. he drags his fist from the base of his shaft to the tip, both your fluids and his pre cum mixture softening the jerk. “you fuckin’ water park. jeez, maybe i should plug this tiny cunt to prevent any further leakage, yeah?”
“fucking hurry already!” you don’t whine, or so you hope, though the grip of your legs at the back of his neck does tighten. with your skirt hiked up and your panties pushed to the side, gojo has a clear view of your twitching pussy, a hole designated intentionally just for him. he can already feel the cum in his balls ready to burst and fill your womb.
“and back to mouthy she goes,” he chuckles, using the leverage of his hand at his cock to slap his dick at your folds. the impact causes you to whimper, your hands clutching at the border of the desk. you wish you could wipe that smirk off his face, but fuck if the way he didn’t rub himself against you arouse you in ways that would surely haunt you after the orgasmic high faded away.
“take a deep breath for me baby, kay?” gojo instructs, thumb brushing over the skin above your hip bone, and before you’re able to retaliate, he slides in his dick.
his length is nothing to scoff at, and although you’ve already dealt with it in the past, all that prepping he’d done earlier seemed in vain. he bottoms out quickly, balls deep into you cunt. both your moans blend in harmony, overlapping one another as you settle with the aching stretch. your pussy clenches around his cock uncontrollably, both eager to push and pull him away.
“shittttt,” he whines throatily despite the huge grin on his lips. the flush pampering his skin has gotten significantly deeper, pale brows furrowed to the centre of his forehead. his hands grip at your plush thighs, fingers digging deep into your skin, surely enough to leave bruises. the bastard— he knew you’d be forced to wear your own slacks tomorrow to avoid suspicions.
“no fuckin’ way ‘m already set to bust— hah, fuck, what in the magical pussy is this?” gojo groans, snowy hair bouncing with his head thrown back. the tighter you grip at his cock, the tighter he grips at your thighs and the deeper his breaths are.
you push yourself up to your elbows, giggling at the irony of the situation. “already huh? so it wasn’t the liquor’s fault last time.” surely you were no better, entirely stimulated and body excreting all kinds of fluids from all over, but the ball was now in your court, and you planned on taking advantage. “s-should’ve known.”
naturally, he doesn’t rise to your bait, instead moving his hips away from yours, slowly dragging his cock out until the only part left in your cunt is his pink tip. “don’t make me make you eat your words, sweets.”
you raise your hand and rest it right above his pelvis, eyes set straight on his. you’re both clearly eager and ready to go, but you still had your dignity to uphold. you drag your palm upwards his torso, nails trailing up his button-up top teasingly before clutching at his tie. with the strength left in you, you yank him down and closer to you.
the shift in position stirs his dick in your cunt, knees now pressed closer to your chest. he hovers over you, a newfound look in his eyes you aren’t ready to divulge into—he was a very expressive man after all. both your lips ghosts one over another, breaths hot and mingling. you feel fuzzy, all senses fucked but collectively drawing at a same conclusion: wanting him to fuck your brains out on this desk.
“fuckin’ hell that was sexy.” it almost comes off a whisper, his tone breathless as his eyes bare deep into your. you feel the warmth of his hands fading away in favour to cup at your waist.
you tilt your head to the side, nose grazing against his. your fingers fiddle with the hem of his tie, despite never breaking the eye contact. “you gonna rock my world now?”
nothing more has to be said as he engulfs your mouth into his, knocking the wind out of you. his tongue explores the warm cave of your mouth, no inch left untouched. you moan and kiss him back just as eagerly, sliding the hand from his neck tie to his nape. your fingers thread through his soft locks, nails scratching his scalp and tugging at the roots.
he whimpers pathetically, the pain sending courses of arousal straight to his dick as his hips slam right back against yours. his thrust is rough and deep— leaving you gasping, as he takes the opportunity to kiss you even deeper while simultaneously working on his strokes.
the curve of his cock reaches even deeper than his fingers could manage, rubbing at your gummy walls and stretching them even wider. the sounds of your bodies connecting, your skins slapping, both your fluids mixing— everything felt so wanton, so filthy. he was everywhere, so far in your stomach you swear you could feel him in your throat.
the stretch of his cock at your pussy sent a fiery feeling spreading towards all of your limbs. the squelching of your pussy tightening and clenching at his dick filling the room. he soon picked up his pace, railing into you with every fibre in his body, loving the way your body bounced up in reaction to his thrusts.
“s-shit, oh fuck— don’t stop, ngh, right there!” you begged, throwing your head back against the hard surface. you’d given up on trying to keep your eyes open, the intensity of his dick ramming into your guts so fierce, you’d never felt anything like it.
he takes a sharp inhale of breath, followed by a whiny exhale. you were driving him insane, your sloppy cunt greedily clamping on his dick as if it were its lifeline. “suckin’ me in so tight, shitttt baby, ‘s like you want me to fill this perfect pussy full of my nut.” he dives his tongue deeper into your mouth for extra measure. you’re in a turmoil of multiple emotions at once but you kiss him back— until your lips feel tender and your mouth tastes of his breath.
he was annoyingly intoxicating, whether you wanted to admit it or not. your body spoke every word you were ashamed to say, responding with his own almost too perfectly.
when he slips his thumb to toy at your clit, your toes curl in your shoes and you’re accustomed to the oncoming feeling all too well, nails clawing at his skin. your words come out all fumbled mixed with tongue and drool, “s-satoru, i— ‘m gonna, don’t you stop— fuck ‘s too much— hnng!” you pull away just slightly, eyes all dazed as they roll to the back of your skull.
“shit, oh shit, me too,” he swipes at the drool dribbling past your mouth. from there, he plants more kisses at your skin, nibbling at every inch of you. he’s rutting like a madman, pace unforgiving as he focuses on that same spot that has you mindless. he finds you prettiest when you’re this way— all obedient for him. “my pretty girl— where do i— fuck, where—”
“inside.” as if you’d wanted to kill him, just as quick the word left your lips, he emptied his balls in your cunt. he sobs, his orgasm wracking over his entire body as he slams and fills your pussy full of him. the mixture of sounds is downright sinful, and whether it’d been the focus on your clit or his inhumane stamina, you soon met your similar end.
you cream on his dick once more, legs trembling as your second orgasm washes over you. your mind gone dumb, you do nothing but lay as you take the pounding inflicted on your worn out pussy. with each stroke you see stars, breasts juggling at the match of his pace. it’s damn near painful, but in the best enjoyable way. you feel yourself getting fuller by the second as you spray more of your arousal onto him.
the high eventually comes down for you both, the room reeking of sex. you’re both panting heavily, muscles twitching from overexertion. you couldn’t recall the last time you’d been fucked to the point of a momentary blackout— but you’d be damned if you’d ever let him know. he was too busy crying over your cunt anyways.
after a moment of silence, “. . .shit.”
“what?” you hum tiredly, rubbing the back of your hand to your tired hands. god, you could barely muster enough energy to do just that. what did this man eat?
he skips a few beats, before sheepishly chuckling, the hand that’d once been tracing patterns at the skin of your thighs now moving to your side. your gaze follows his movements, and it’s only when he retracts his hand does your heart sink to your chest.
“we definitely fucked these papers up.”
. . . shit.
io baby.. if you ever end up reading this i did it :c
#stargirl★rena.#jujutsu kaisen smut#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jjk smut#jjk x reader#jjk x you#jjk x y/n#gojo satoru smut#gojo satoru x reader#gojo smut#gojo x reader#gojo x y/n
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𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃 ‘𝐄𝐌 𝐔𝐏!
🎀 ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ wondered what boothill has that lasso for . . ♡
·˚ ◌༘͙[featuring] ! ˊ 𝐁𝐎𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐗 𝐌𝐀𝐋𝐄! 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑
cw — ftm!reader. mean dom!boothill. crossdressing. bondage. fingering. (reluctant) praising. dumbification. squirting.
◛⑅·˚ ༘ ♡ author’s note! : boothill brainrot has me going hogwild for him hmmphmmammm. my last post abt him has been popping off lately, i hear your cries boothill nation and i'm here to serve! enjoy ~♡
“quit whinin’ boy, will ya?”
he rasped, swallowing another bullet. the taste of lead spread in his mouth, crunching noises from the ground up ammo made you flinch a bit.
your wispy gown was bunched up to your thighs, held in place with the rope he uses as a lasso outside of the bedroom. every curve was shown in it’s full glory, soft flesh suffocated from the harsh material. you sat on your knees with your wrists tied tightly behind your back, rendering you helpless as you couldn’t even close your legs. you could only watch helplessly as the ranger pumped his metal fingers in and out of your soaked cunny. his cold palm pressed up against your clit, overwhelming you with an electrifying friction no other man could give you.
“mm..b-boothi–”
smack!
you flinched as your thighs instinctively tried to press themselves shut, much to the amusement of your robotic boyfriend. a shit eating grin spread across his lips, flashing his shark-like teeth.
“what did i say baby..? too cute to understand now?”
the bullet between his teeth moved up and down, his speech slightly glitched at the very term ‘cute’. if only he could spit out what he really ment, but then again, his sarcastic tone dripping with faux sympathy spoke volumes. boothill was a sweetheart at his metal core, but if you asked so nicely, he might flick his own switch just to see you fall apart at his touch. you were too adorable to turn down.
you shook your head, syrupy eyes stared back into his bloodshot ones. a silent beg for release, added on by your impatient grinding. two teasing fingers were no longer enough for you, no, you needed him to do his absolute worst. fucking you while bound like the good little minx you were for the hunk of steel. to hear his annoyed tone forced to say sweet nothing while his body said otherwise. maybe, he might get the gun involved. none of it mattered.
through mindless babbles and high pitched whines, you pleaded for more. the ranger’s eyes flicked up towards your fucked out face as he swallowed the last bullet. you were pulled forwards by the rope, forced to face boothill’s mean grin.
“use your words doll.”
you tried, you really did, but whatever you wanted couldn’t come out right. almost like you short circuited, spitting out all of your desires. from him fingerblasting you ‘till you soaked his whole forearm to being stuffed to the brim by his synthetic cock, his ridiculous girth stretching your cunny till you cry. as you begged, his fingers quicked until the noises were too loud to even hear him praise you in your ear. you cracked your eyes open and almost orgasmed at what was being done to you. three fingers pumping themselves in and out of you, with boothill using the strength from his forearm to dig himself deeper until he touched your cervix. your thighs shook violently, shifting the rope to reveal the marks it’s already left on your soft flesh. you were close, and he could tell so easily. the way you clenched around his fingers to how quickly your moans subsided into lewd silence was made so stupidly obvious.
“nasty one aren’t ya? y’gonna cum already?”
he chuckled, nipping your earlobe as the final knots in your stomach finally snapped. tugging onto his leather vest, you came and came hard. your vision blurred and your legs went numb while you sobbed out in both shock and pleasure. boothill drank up the view in front of him, his pretty baby fucked out and dumber then a lost trotter. your once flawless sundress now ruined at the bottom with the top slipping off of your shoulders. of course, the rope that’s definitely gonna leave some lasting marks, which is exactly what he wanted.
after all, you’ll come running back with it in hand the moment they fade. ♡
© porcalinecunt 💌 ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ do not steal, translate, or use my work and claim as your own.
#𓆩♱𓆪 — porcelaincunt !#boothill x reader#hsr boothill#boothill hsr#boothill#boothill x you#hsr x you#hsr x reader#hsr smut#hsr x male reader#boothill smut#honkai star rail smut#honkai star rail x reader#honkai star rail#ftm reader#x ftm reader
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Nanami as a girl dad
Nanami is a girl dad, I will not argue or fight on this but if you think he's not... i got news for you
ANYWAYS these are my Nanami headcanons as the best husband and dad and what he would do as a girl dad during pregnancy, birth, and actually raising the baby
takes a personal day off work to take you to your doctor's appointments then takes you to brunch and a movie. will hold your hand the whole time
fought HR/managers/supervisors/ANYONE for as much paternity leave as he could get
asked if he could work from home bc he doesn't want to miss a single moment of your pregnancy or newborn baby
sits on the floor to talk to his baby girl and holds your tummy saying that he's holding her hand
made 20 copies of the sonogram picture and kept them all. there's a copy in his wallet, behind his phone case, in the glove compartment, and in every suit jacket pocket close to his heart. he likes to brag about his girls (you and baby)
comes back from the store with more diapers and wipes bc "we need to be prepared"
bookmarks blog posts talking about how to bond with your baby
reads every book he can and asks the doctor more questions than any other dad who comes into the office
will ask anyone he trusts for advice, but gets defensive when someone tells him to do something differently
takes naps with his head on your lap and his lips touching your belly
has two hospital bags ready in the closet but has an emergency one in the trunk... just in case
does not sleep the whole time you're in labor even when the nurses tell him to "rest before the baby gets here"... that gets him more excited and doesn't let him sleep
tells you to dig your nails into his arm if you need to when you start pushing. kisses your entire face when the baby starts to cry and rushes to the nurse holding her to ask if they could stamp the baby's feet on his shirt/gown before cleaning her (a/n: my dad did this with me and it is the cutest thing ever. we still have the gown with the tiny feet stamped on there)
carefully takes off the shirt/gown and immediately wants to do skin-to-skin contact after you hold the baby first
follows baby to the hospital nursery and takes pictures of sleeping baby to change his wallpaper
changes wallpaper every two days bc "she did something cute" or "sticking her tongue out" or "giving me the stink eye"
loves waking up with her at night bc besides letting you rest... it's daddy-daughter time so don't interrupt
demonstrates what tummy time is while she lays on her baby bouncer (you laugh bc it's ridiculous and she's only a couple weeks old)
buys scrapbook and disposable cameras to start an album (the first of a hundred probably)
buys special clips for crib blankets to be tight and immovable around mattress bc he kept reading about possible suffocation
either way, does not like for her to sleep in her own room so he buys an extra baby moses to put in your room
has an extra diaper bag in his car bc he likes impromptu trips to let mommy rest
sulking when he has to go back to work
finds remote job within the next month
sits baby down on his lap while be works and she plays with her toy
throws an intimate 1st bday party first then a second one the next weekend to invite anyone he's ever talked to and brag about his family
literally kicks his feet and giggles with his daughter then stands up to be the most intimidating man to anyone else
tears of joy when you're pregnant again and sobs when they say it's a girl
carries his girls with him everywhere he goes
is proud that he's raising strong women who will learn how to fight for themselves. keeps reminding himself that he's raising the next generation and that fuels a fire deep inside him
let's the girls play with his hair and put all the clips they can find around the house on his head
lets his fingers and toes be horribly painted while he reads the newspaper and leaves the house with those nails
gets teary eyed on the first day of school and waits outside the school the whole day for a week (paid time off used)
can only do simple pony tails and braids but loves waking the girls up, sitting them on his lap and doing their hair while you get them dressed
making cute lunches for the girls with you is one of his favorite parts of the day
likes dressing the girls alike or the same and has a strange obsession with buying them overalls
loves playing barbie with them and lowkey has a favorite barbie
goes toy shopping behind mommy's back and tells the girls that this is the only secret that they can ever ever keep
randomly brings back flowers for every single one of his girls
takes his girls (you and daughters) on group and individual dates
makes the girls sign a contract written in crayon stating they "will love daddy forever"... frames it and puts it in his office
cries tears of joy AGAIN when you're pregnant with another girl... and looks for a bigger house
rips off door side where he was marking the girl's height and puts it in the new house. he did not believe in marking/tracing it on another thin piece of wood and said he wanted the original
takes everyone out for dessert every Friday and checks in on each kid to see how they're feeling and if they're ok
never misses a single game, recital, rehearsal, practice, ANYTHING
takes his daughters to their first self-defense class
does not believe in violence and does not condone it... but will first ask the girls if they won the fight (strongly insinuates that he will be disappointed if someone kicks their ass)
corrects the girls when needed and has a special look to tell them to stop messing around
later goes to apologize if he ever uses the look
will ask the girls for a sleepover and will throw every blanket on the floor to make one huge bed
tells the girls to follow him as he does repairs around the house or on the car bc they "need to know how it all works and how to deal with it"
is shocked when you're pregnant again (even though he likes to do a certain something that leads to babies) but is REALLY SHOCKED when it's a boy this time
reminds the girls that they have to be nice and helpful with their brother
starts all the reading and bookmarking all over again, but his time on how to raise a gentleman
raises the best little dude and let's the girls show him everything he has shown them so far
okaaaay okay i know i said he's a girl dad and a girl dad only buuuuut Nanami would raise the best little gentleman ever. AND IMAGINE A MINI NANAMI?!! ... but he's still a girl dad first and foremost
extras:
would absolutely praise his wife and randomly thank her for giving him a family
will wear a disguise and follow daughters to first date
refuses to parentify any of his kids and wants to let them be kids
constantly reminds them that they only get to be kids for a short amount of time then they have to be adults for the rest of their lives. so be silly
is always down for a quiet drive if anyone needs to clear their head
dreads the day when he will no longer he able to carry his kids on his shoulders
has already made mental plans for every possible situation the kids may create, even the absolutely crazy ones his brain has imagined
is very open w the girls and talks about safety in intimacy
leaves cute notes during bad or iffy days and writes motivational quotes on their mirrors with dry-erase markers
loves when you say he's a dilf
tries to talk to them about the stock market
passes his budgeting king crown to the kids
feels super cool when his kids brag to their friends about him, even puffs his chest a little bit
#nanami kento#jjk nanami#jjk nanami kento#nanami#nanami x reader#jjk#jujutsu kaisen nanami#jujutsu kaisen nanami kento#jujutsu nanami#kento nanami#jjk nanami x reader#jjk nanami kento x reader#nanami kento x reader#nanami kento x fem!reader#jujutsu kaisen#jjk fluff#jjk x you#jujutsu kaisen fluff#nanami kento fluff#nanami fluff#nanami jjk#nanamin#jjk nanami kento x fem!reader#nanami x fem!reader#nanami x you#nanami x y/n#jjk x reader#nanamin fluff#nanami kento headcanons#nanami headcanons
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The meaning of "I forgive you"
Alright, hello again, I involuntarily dipped for a bit because real life outside of this lovely Tumblr Good Omens bubble got a little bit stressful, but! I'm back for a quick little post to say that I'm currently reading the script book for Season 1 and seeing this line again, spelled out on paper, just shone some more light on the whole „I forgive you“-scene of Season 2 for me again.
Because really, this first time Az says it to Crowley in front of the bookshop tells us exactly what the second time during the Final Fifteen means.
Aziraphale is not forgiving Crowley for kissing him. Or for using this moment to confess and make things explicit between them.
No, Aziraphale is forgiving Crowley for not trusting and believing (in) him.
Let's shove the Final Fifteen to the side for a second and look at this scene from Season 1 under the cut.
The situation at hand: The World is ending, with utmost certainty. In addition, Crowley is absolutely f*cked and Hell is out to get him. He tries to apologise for their Bandstand fallout and explain the other two things to Az (poorly, but he tries). Because to Crowley, Armageddon is a done deal already. Wherever the actual Antichrist is, he's gonna come into his power and the World will be wiped out for Heaven and Hell to wage their war on. Also, Hastur is coming to kick his demon ass. Time to dip!
And yet, Aziraphale doesn't want to come with him. He is adamant that he will be able to reach the Almighty, talk to Her and turn this around. Because if Aziraphale, Guardian of the Eastern Gate, thinks there's even the slightest, tiniest morsel of a chance that he can turn things around the right way, he will do it. Even if it sounds ridiculous. Even if it's a lost cause to everyone else. Even if all the other angels gang up on him and (literally) beat him up.
Even if Crowley calls him stupid.
Aziraphale decides not to be offended by this.
Because this is what he does. This is what a Guardian does. He stays and protects to ward off the intrusion, until the very last second.
Now listen, I'm the last person to blame Crowley for intrinsically wanting to choose Flight over Fight in this very situation, because Lord knows (literally) what happened to him back when he chose Fight and lost.
But at the same time we have to keep in mind that despite his last name, Aziraphale never Fell. He never made the horrible experience of being chucked away by the one who made you to love Her because you chose to question her ways. And yes, in so many ways this choice of his, to still believe that he can change something by questioning and suggesting (both here and in S2), is utterly maddening and hurtful to Crowley. Because it's a mirror of what Crowley himself did and a reminder of just how big the price he had to pay was. Aziraphale seemingly not realizing or understanding this stings. It does.
And yet.
Yet Aziraphale's choice to not take no for an answer, to not let a punch to the gut derail him from his plan, to not let even the most definitive thing such as Armageddon keep him from fighting back, is the one thing that ends up saving the World.
Because even when it all seems impossible and completely hopeless and bloody Satan himself is erupting from the pits of Hell, ...
... Aziraphale picks up his sword and fights back.
And he wins.
Not without help, of course. But might I remind you of what got Crowley to cooperate and not simply surrender like he'd almost done that second?
You might not see it at first, but tucked in between all the posh hedonism, hidden away underneath that tightly buttoned waistcoat of his, Aziraphale is a fighter. And a good one at that. I mean, for Someone's sake, he got discorporated, beamed himself down back to Earth, found Crowley somehow, possessed a psychic prostitute (love you, Madame Tracy), rode a scooter all the way to Taddfield and fought off Lucifer with sheer willpower (and a bit of emotional coercion).
Aziraphale can fight. Smart and hard. And not only that: He can win, too. And he knows it. Because he believes, truly, firmly and wholly, that he can make things right. It's the only thing he will settle for. This, ladies and gents, this is how he ends up saving the World, together with Crowley, Adam and the rest.
Because he didn't accept no as an answer. He didn't look at the impossible and accept it as such. Even when Crowley thought him to be an idiot for trying and even after his initial attempt at talking to God had failed, Aziraphale still found a way to stop The Big Bad Thing from happening.
Which is exactly what his plan is when he ends up being forced to come back to Heaven by the Metatron. (If you still believe this was a voluntary choice, read here). And which is exactly why he is so hurt and still ends up forgiving Crowley for the fact that Crowley doesn't end up coming with him. Doesn't end up understanding, trusting and believing (in) him, just like all the way back at the end of the World in Season 1.
Aziraphale decides not to be offended by this.
#good omens#good omens season 2#crowley#aziraphale#ineffable husbands#good omens meta#gos2#good omens 2#i forgive you#*saunters onto your feed* i'm BACK#the final fifteen#aziraphale is a fighter#and he will always win#my own meta
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I love all your posts. In your dazai nsfw head canons, there was the thing with chuuya and I was wondering if you could write a fic on that? It's oki if not!! :)
tag-team
Inspired by letters I and W from my Dazai NSFW alphabet in which Dazai wants to fuck his girlfriend in Chuuya's office, and Chuuya gets to join in.
5.1k, jealous!dazai, afab!reader, cumming inside, cunnilingus, blowjob, fingering, soukoku bickering while fucking, etc. not soukoku but they do sexually interact, etc. not proofread bc i'm tired [click to read on ao3]
You urge Dazai to lock the door behind you, but he chuckles and shakes his head. “No baby,” he mumbles, sliding his hands past your hips and down to grab two handfuls of your ass. “He'll know something's up if the door's locked. If Chuuya catches us, we should be riiiight in the middle of things so he can't stop us.”
“Remind me why I let you talk me into this again?” you ask as he leans forward, chasing your lips even as you lean back and wait for an answer.
“Because fuck Chuuya. If I want to fuck my girl in his office, I will.”
“That's a terrible reason,” you gasp as Dazai slides one hand up your body and into the hair at the back of your head to pull you in for a kiss. His open mouth meets yours, tongues immediately gliding together with the same force as your lips.
“But we're here, aren't we?” he asks after pulling back just for a second. “And I want you so bad.”
You whimper and let him reel you in once again. Your nerves will get the best of you if you have time to take in your surroundings; as it is your nose can't stop sniffing out the unfamiliar smells of luxuriois leather and some kind of smoke. If Dazai keeps leading you so confidently you'll be able to let go of yourself entirely and go along with this absolute ridiculous plan of his.
He kisses you faster and with more urgency than he does at home, making both of you breathless as you gasp into each other's mouths and lap at each other's tongues.
His large hands glide over your body, up and down your back, hiking your top up and trying to dip into your pants. You follow his lead, reaching for the buttons on his vest and his shirt. He keeps kissing you through both of you martially undressing, his tops hitting the floor, yours following shortly after.
When he gets your bra off he makes you sit on Chuuya’s desk, and he leans down to suck on your tit. You lean back, tossing your hair over your shoulder, closing your eyes so you can focus on the feeling of Dazai's tongue circling your nipple as it perks and hardens at his touch. You make small noises, still shy in an unfamiliar place, but Dazai keeps working over you, suckling, kneading, teasing his teeth over your skin, until you're softly moaning his name and laying back, making him bend at the waist and lean forward to follow you down onto Chuuya's desk, ignoring whatever papers you land on.
Dazai kisses lower eventually, and his deft fingers unbutton your jeans and start sneaking under the fabric.
“You're so pretty spread out for me on stupid Chuuya’s desk,” he says cupping your dampening panties in his palm. “I'm gonna make you feel so good the whole Mafia hears you screaming.”
Your eyes widen in panic briefly and you stutter out a no, but Dazai laughs softly and kisses right above where your panties cover.
“You're safe, baby, I promise. Not a single person here would be stupid enough to hurt a hair on your head.” He drags your jeans down your legs finally, and you kick a little as he pulls them over your feet. He grabs one ankle, kisses the inside of it, then holds your leg up and kisses slowly down, closer and closer to your crotch.
“These walls are soundproof anyways,” he says once he's near your inner thigh. “No one will hear you scream.”
You giggle softly and push his forehead away from you.
“Don't be creepy, weirdo.”
He smiles and lays his cheek against your thigh, his face so close to your clothed cunt. You watch him, desperate for his next move.
“There's my sweet girl. You really don't need to be worried, I promise.” You jump slightly when his finger presses just above your clit and pushes in as he drags it down, making your panties slightly stick between your folds. “I'd never put you in danger.” His voice lowers as his finger goes up again, still pushing in, now really emphasizing your cleavage. “You know that, right?”
You nod, giving a quiet “mhm.”
“Speak up,” he says, now tracing his fingers around the outside of your panties.
“I know,” you say, still keeping your eyes locked on his. “You'd never put me in danger.”
“Good. And do you know why?” His finger slips under by just a single knuckle, and he lifts your panties high, making the crotch pull taut and squish between your labia. You whine and try to push down to get some friction on your clit but it's barely there, he's holding your panties at just the wrong angle.
“Tell me.”
“Because you love me?” You guess, and he smiles widely.
“Exactly!” he says in his playful, excited voice. Then he rolls his head toward your crotch and licks a fat, wet stripe up one half of your exposed cunt. You make a startled little moan and he chuckles before licking the other side too.
“Now, do you want my tongue or my fingers?” he asks so close that you can feel his breath tickling your wet skin.
“Both,” you answer immediately.
“Both?” He sits up and tsks, slowly shaking his head. He stands upright and you whine, reaching for him, saying soft no’s.
“Greedy girl.” He looks down and spreads your pussy with his fingers, then readjusts your panties so they're right against your clit. “You must be so horny you could die. Being so greedy like that… Why don't you get yourself off then, baby? Show me how you play with yourself with no hands.”
He tugs your panties up slightly a couple of times, giving little pricks of pleasure to your clit. You get the hint and move your hips up slowly, getting another prick of sensation. You readjust, getting one foot up on the desk beside you so you have leverage to move. Then you start a slow rhythm, bucking upward against your panties so they grind on your clit and work you up.
“That's it, baby,” Dazai coos lowly, petting your thigh with his free hand. After a while when your speed increases and you start whining his name, he unbuckles his belt, works open his button and fly, and pulls his dick out, giving it strokes that match the time of your grinding.
“Fuck, this is hot,” he sighs. “I could watch you get yourself off all day.”
“But I want you,” you whine. You start kneading and pawing at your boobs as well, staring right up at Dazai. “Fuck me,” you beg softly.
Dazai bites his lip but says nothing, watching you with his greedy, hungry eyes.
“Please,” you breathily beg, searching for more pressure that just doesn’t exist in your current predicament. “Please, Dazai, please. Please.”
“God, it’s so hot when you beg,” he finally says, letting go of his dick. He grabs your panties with both hands and pulls them down your legs before haphazardly throwing them over his shoulder to land somewhere else.
“I want you so bad, Dazai. Please. Please.”
“Shhh,” he coos softly, leaning down over you. His lips brush yours and he intersperses tiny kisses with tiny shushes as his fingers collect your wetness. You desperately chase his lips, but he keeps pulling away. He even has the audacity to chuckle in your face.
“Don’t worry, needy girl.” He hisses softly, and you vaguely get the impression that his arm is moving-- he must be stroking himself with your wetness. “I’m gonna make you feel so good.”
You nod frantically, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. He asks if you’re ready, and you keep nodding and nodding and finally he slips the tip inside and you moan into his face.
“Oh, fuck,” he moans, sinking further and further into you. “Love this pussy. It’s so fucking good to me.”
“I love you,” you whine and he chuckles again as he bottoms out.
“I love you,” he mutters against your lips and kisses you properly, not teasing or withholding anymore.
And that’s when the door opens.
“What the fuck?! Dazai!” Chuuya yells, scrambling for what to say next. Dazai sighs dramatically, letting the noise turn into a groan. He stands up without pulling out of you and turns his upper body toward Chuuya.
“What do you want?” he snaps. “I’m kind of busy here.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?!” There’s a scuffle and some noise from the hallway, but to your surprise Chuuya calmly calls over his shoulder “Don’t worry about it-- I’ve got it under control,” and then closes and locks the door behind him. He takes his hat off and hangs it on the back of the door then turns back to you two.
“I thought you were fucking joking, you dumbass.”
“I never joke about my lady’s pleasure,” Dazai says, and you narrow your eyes at him.
“What is he talking about?” Your whole body is flushed with embarrassment and fear and now confusion. Your heart is thrumming in your chest, afraid of being yelled at or in trouble with the fucking Port Mafia, but Dazai is acting so nonchalant, and all Chuuya does is tsk.
“You didn’t even tell her? How the fuck did you get her here if you didn’t tell her?”
“Tell me what? Dazai?”
Dazai groans and turns back fully to you, grinding against you, making you gasp. “I told you that you weren’t in any danger. Chuuya knew we were coming.”
“I didn’t know. You said it like a fucking joke.”
“Dazai, tell me what--”
“I asked Chuuya if he’d let us fuck in his office if he got to join in if he caught us, and he said yes.”
“I thought you were joking!”
“Join in…?”
Dazai’s eyes lock on yours but he doesn’t say anything. Your eyes are softer than he expected and now he’s starting to realize maybe he didn’t make the right call here. Now he’ll actually have to put his money where his mouth is and let his ex-partner fuck his girlfriend.
Dazai easily regains his composure and turns to look at Chuuya again.
“Well?” he asks. “Why are you still standing there? You caught us, so come here.”
Chuuya hesitates.
“She okay with this?” he asks. “Man, I don’t even know her name.”
“That’s because you haven’t introduced yourself yet, slug. Now come here.”
“Don’t boss me around,” he grumbles as he crosses the room. Finally he’s standing over you and his eyes lock purely on yours, not straying in the slightest to any of your exposed skin.
“Sorry we weren’t properly introduced because your boyfriend’s a fucking moron. I’m Nakahara Chuuya. Are you okay with this?”
“Hi, Chuuya,” you say softly. Your face is so warm as you blush; his formality makes the situation really sink in--you’re spread out naked with your boyfriend balls deep, and Chuuya’s hardly acknowledging it. “He is kind of dumb, but I like him anyway--”
“--Heeey--”
“I’m [Y/N], and yeah, you can join us. I mean, really it’s the least we could do…”
A smirk slowly overcomes Chuuya’s face.
“Oh, yeah? Gonna pay me back for the time it’s gonna take to clean my office by letting me use your pretty little body?”
Dazai grinds against you again, and you groan softly, biting your lip.
“Mhm,” you hum, nodding at Chuuya. “We’ll make it worth your time.” You reach out for his hand, and he allows you to take it. You guide it to your tit, and he chuckles.
“Right into it, huh?” he asks, massaging it gently. Dazai finally pulls partially out of you and thrusts back in, making you gasp again. Chuuya glances down at where your cunt sucks your boyfriend’s cock in, and he clicks his tongue.
“Damn, that’s kinda hot.” He pinches your nipple between his fingers, rolling it and squeezing, drawing extra whines from you.
“Isn’t she?” Dazai asks rhetorically, rubbing one of his hands across your belly and up your side. He pulls you by your hips until your ass is partially hanging off the desk. You wrap your legs around his hips and he starts his usual starting pace, fucking into you nice and deep because of the angle he has you at.
“Chuuya,” you say softly, but the way Dazai is fucking you makes everything you say sound like a breathy moan. Both of them turn slightly red from hearing you more or less moan to Chuuya. “Chuuya, take your pants off,” you add, trying to make it clear that you were trying to say this from the beginning. Dazai’s thrusts speed up and hit harder, and he starts grunting from the effort.
“Oh, fuck,” you moan, grabbing the edge of the desk for dear life. “Oh, Dazai, fuck!”
You hear the clinking of metal and turn your head to see Chuuya doing as you asked. He drops his pants, kicking them to the side after kicking his shoes off too. He unbuttons his vest and his shirt and strips until he’s only in his underwear and socks. You watch as he palms himself through his underwear, watching from a few feet away as Dazai fucks you relentlessly. Your tits jiggle, your breath shakes, your legs are trembling, and Dazai is huffing and moaning and panting above you. His head is down, his long hair hanging over his face as he watches where your cunt meets his cock--he told you once it’s one of his favorite sights, and when he gets so drunk on it like today, you believe it.
“Let me touch you,” you stumble out to Chuuya, reaching out to him again. He shuffles closer until your hand can paw at his crotch, feeling for the shape of him through cloth. He locks his hands behind his head and stands with his hips toward you, watching as you stroke him and feel him up as best you can.
“Take it off,” you huff, grabbing the elastic of his waistband. “I wanna see.”
Meanwhile, Dazai’s pace doesn’t let up. One of his hands gropes at your breasts, squeezing and almost using it as leverage to balance himself as he fucks you.
“Go on then,” Chuuya says without moving. You struggle to reach both arms over to him, but you manage to squirm away from Dazai just enough-- which he does not like-- to get your hands on Chuuya’s underwear. You pull it down a few inches and push it as much as you can until finally they drop.
His cock is a nice size-- it’s thick and when you wrap your hand around it, an inch or two and the tip are still sticking out. His pubes are thick but cleanly trimmed and with his toned, muscular body you have to admit you’re finding him really, extremely hot.
“Your hands are much softer than mine,” he grunts as you jerk him off. “Feels good.”
“She’s got an amazing mouth,” Dazai pants, finally lifting his head to watch you interact with Chuuya, though his pace never ceases. “Put on a condom and let her show you what she can do.”
“You use condoms?” Chuuya asks, glancing down at Dazai’s dick.
“No, but you will if you’re gonna put your dick anywhere near her,” he mumbles. “I don’t even like her hand on you bare.” He grimaces. “You still keep some in your desk, don’t you?”
“Old habits die hard,” Chuuya mumbles, gently touching your hand to make you let go of him. As he rounds his desk to rifle through his drawers, Dazai leans down and licks one nipple, then the other.
“I’m gonna cum in you,” he mumbles against your skin. “You’re mine. Don’t you forget that.”
“Yeah,” you moan as you agree. His fingers find his way down to your pussy, and you feel one partially slip in beside his cock, working a louder moan from you as it stretches you nicely. He pulls it out, presses in, gently stretching and filling you to the brim.
There’s a thud next to your head, and you turn to see Chuuya kneeling on the desk beside you, rolling a condom over his shaft. “Will you open that pretty mouth for me?”
You don’t even answer, you just whine and open your mouth, sticking your tongue out.
“She loves it,” Dazai says, and it comes out awfully near to a moan. “Love sucking cock, don’t you, [Y/N]?”
“Mhm,” you hum around Chuuya’s tip as he settles it on your tongue. You close your mouth around him and let him decide the pace. He goes relatively easy on you given how Dazai is still jackhammering away at your cunt, grunting and huffing though he’s far less talkative than normal.
“Yeah, look at you,” Dazai sighs blissfully. “Bet you like having two cocks, huh? Greedy girl.” His eyes are on your mouth, watching Chuuya tamely slide in and out of your mouth. He privately seethes at the way your shiny eyes stare up at Chuuya, but he’s determined to get your attention back by making you cum.
His finger, now sufficiently wet from fingering you while fucking you, slides up from your pussy to your clit. He rubs fast, wide circles over your clit. He relishes in the way your eyes widen and flicker over to him. You must have sucked in a breath and sucked harder on Chuuya, because he moans too and his hips stutter forward.
Dazai knows that you’re about to cum based on your frequent moans. He wishes he could hear them more clearly, but he also is starting to find a sick sort of pleasure in the muffled sound you make combined with the typical noises of having a cock in your mouth. Chuuya’s not too bad looking, either.
Finally it happens. You’re loud, even muffled as you are. You moan and whine, your breathing is heavy and struggles to escape through your nose, but Chuuya doesn’t retract himself to make it any easier on you. Your legs tremble, and Dazai feels proud because of it. The way your walls clench and flutter as your orgasm tears through you milks Dazai’s dick so good.
“Fuck, mm, fuck!” Dazai whimpers and drops his head, once again watching his favorite sight. He’s been fucking you so deeply, and you’ve been so exceptionally wet today, that there’s a sticky, white ring around his shaft and it only gets messier as he cums inside of you. He shoots thick ropes of white deep inside, continuing to thrust increasingly lazily as he empties his load.
“Stop, stop,” Dazai says softly, touching Chuuya’s hips. Chuuya gives him a look but nods and backs up, finally freeing your mouth. Dazai slips out of you while leaning down to kiss you. You lick and pant into each other’s mouths, and when Dazai pulls away he slides two messy, cum-covered fingers onto your tongue.
“Taste us.”
You clean his fingers off with your mouth and try to sit up once he’s pulled his hand away and stood up himself.
Maybe it’s because of how calm and blissed out Dazai is because of his orgasm, but he lolls his head to the side and smiles lazily at Chuuya. “She’s the wettest she’s ever been,” he sighs happily. “You better get your dick wet before I change my mind. Take that stupid thing off,” he says, waving his hand at Chuuya’s condom-covered dick.
“You sure?” Chuuya asks, raising an eyebrow. He holds himself by the base, languidly stroking when his cock gives an interested twitch at what Dazai offers. Meanwhile, Dazai is helping you to your feet and peppering kisses across your face.
“Yes,” Dazai says, rolling his eyes at Chuuya, then he turns back to you. “Why don’t you take it off him, baby?”
You nod slightly and turn to Chuuya, holding your hands out toward him. He crawls to the edge of the desk beside you, observing the way your legs tremble after the pounding Dazai just gave you. You wrap your hands around him and roll the condom off, handing it to Dazai after which makes him laugh.
“Throw it away,” you mumble, then predicting what he’ll do, you quickly add on “in the trash not on the floor.”
“Yes, darling,” he coos, though it’s unmistakable how disgusted he is to be holding Chuuya’s used condom. He barely grips it with two fingers, holding it away from himself. “In the meantime, I think Chuuya should lay on the floor-- you’ll both like my idea, so just do it.”
You and Chuuya share a look as Dazai goes behind Chuuya’s desk to find a trash can, but Chuuya shrugs and gets down on the floor on his back, one arm behind his head, the other lazily stroking his cock as he looks up at you. His eyes trail down your body, from the hickeys and lovebites all over your neck and chest to your red, sore nipples all the way down to your visibly sticky wet cunt which has been slowly dribbling Dazai’s cum down your thigh.
“Fuck, that’s hot,” Chuuya hisses, fisting his cock harder when he notices the cum trail.
“Isn’t she?” Dazai asks, coming back to you. He gives you a few sweet kisses, keeping his eyes cracked open to make sure Chuuya is watching. Then he takes your hands and guides you the few steps over to his former partner on the floor.
“Lay down on top of him, your back on his chest.”
“But I’m gonna--”
“You’re not gonna squish him, he’ll be fine.” Dazai holds your hands as you kneel down, straddling Chuuya’s hips backwards.
“But if you touch him you’ll nullify--”
“He’s tougher than he looks, and he already looks pretty tough-- that’s the only compliment you’re getting from me, Slug.”
Chuuya’s hands grab your waist and help you sit on his hips and then lay back so you’re against his chest.
“Not even using my ability and you’re fine, babe. Don’t worry about your weight, I don’t care.”
“‘Babe,’” Dazai quotes with an edge of bitterness in his voice. You knew he’d get a little jealous letting his former partner in the mix, but it was his idea and you’re intent on seeing it through now. You’ll never tell Dazai, but you do find Chuuya incredibly attractive and once you saw his dick today you knew you weren’t gonna be satisfied until you got your chance to cum on it.
“Babe,” Chuuya says again, helping you readjust until your head is at his shoulder and you’d be able to look at each other or even kiss if you wanted-- not that Dazai would let you.
“Don’t get too comfortable, Sluggy dearest,” Dazai says, swiping some of his cum off of your thigh and spreading it over Chuuya’s tip. “You’ll never see her again after today, so don’t go falling in love with my girl or I really will have to kill you.”
“Like you could ever do that,” Chuuya snaps back. “I’d beat you to a pulp, even without gravity manipulation.”
“Bold talk for a man with my cum on his dick,” Dazai says in an overly playful tone with a shit-eating grin on his face.
“Dude, what?! You’re a freak, why did you do that?!”
“It’s gonna get on you anyway, dumbass,” Dazai says. He slides two fingers into you easily, your pussy still being open and wet and so needy for more. He collects some of his cum and your arousal, completely mixed together and unable to discern one from the other. You give a little whine at his fingers in you, and especially at them leaving you, and then Chuuya’s breath hitches and even though you can’t see, you’re pretty sure Dazai is rubbing your slick over his dick.
“Fuck,” Chuuya sighs, and you look over at his face. At first it seems like his eyes are closed, but then you realize he’s just looking at Dazai, and you look down and see Dazai smirking and giving absolute bedroom eyes at Chuuya. Your pussy clenches around nothing, another surge of arousal making you squirm.
Chuuya’s hands grip your hips, and Dazai’s eyes shift to you and he chuckles.
“What is it, baby? Use your words.”
“You’re so hot… both of you.”
“Oh, thank you,” Chuuya purrs in your ear, his hot breath tickling your skin.
“You think so?” Dazai asks, and you feel something tap against your pussy. You look down and manage to catch that Dazai’s hand is still around Chuuya’s cock, moving it now, making it touch you.
“Yeah,” you moan softly, biting your lip.
“You want Chuuya to fuck you?”
“Mhm…” you hum, nodding. Chuuya chuckles softly and lets one hand roam upward over your skin until he’s palming and kneading your breast.
“He'll do a good job, too. Won't you Chuuya?” Dazai asks, rubbing Chuuya's dick between the folds of your cunt.
“I'm gonna fuck you so good.” He sighs at the stimulation, his hips bucking up slightly. “Better than that shitty mackerel does, I bet.”
“No chance in hell,” Dazai sneers.
“Let me show her. I'll prove it.” Chuuya bucks his hips up again, trying to get his dick to slip inside.
“No chance--”
“--Please,” you moan, cutting Dazai off. His face changes from glaring to surprise.
“Oh? You want to find out if he’s better than me?” he asks bitterly, smacking Chuuya’s dick against your pussy.
“No, I want him to fuck me,” you whine.
“That’s not what it sounded like to me.” Dazai frowns, gloom overcoming him.
“Make her cum before I do then, jackass,” Chuuya says, largely ignoring Dazai as he plays with your tits. “Prove you’re better than me.”
“Make me cum, Dazai. Let me use Chuuya like a fuck toy.”
“God damn,” Chuuya says, bucking his hips up again. “I know that’s all I am, but fuck.”
“Yeah…” Dazai’s frown slowly turns to a smirk. “He is just a fuck toy. A big fuck toy that’s gonna fill you up with cum just how you like.” As you and Chuuya give Dazai identical confused looks, Dazai points Chuuya’s cock at your hole and guides him in. The tip drags against your inner walls so well and has you moaning and grinding down on him.
“Go, Slug. Fuck my girl.”
Chuuya’s hips immediately start thrusting up into you. He braces his feet on the floor to get a better angle and he loses himself fucking you.
“Holy fuck you’re wet,” he huffs. “So fucking good.”
“Oh, yeah,” you moan, reaching up and around to hold the side of his head. “Oh, fuck. Chuuya.”
Dazai tries not to react to the way you moan Chuuya’s name and caress him. It’ll be over soon and he’s not about to let his jealousy take away from the incredibles view he has of your pussy being rammed by a nice, thick cock-- not that he’d ever say those words out loud for Slug to hear.
He kneels between yours and Chuuya’s legs and runs his hands across your abdomen and belly and near your cunt, calculating how long he think the two of you are gonna last. He knows you’re already sensitive from cumming with him before, and Chuuya hasn’t cum yet at all, so maybe if Dazai gets your pussy clenching around him it’ll be over within five minutes tops.
Dazai leans down with that plan in mind and without impeding Chuuya’s thrusting, he gets his face right up to your cunt and uses the tip of his tongue to circle your clit. You whimper and buck your hips up, then push them back down to meet Chuuya. Dazai doesn’t even need to spit on you-- you’re plenty wet enough-- but he does it anyway, landing a glob right on your swollen clit. He uses the excess wetness to have his tongue gliding effortlessly in circles around your nub. Finally he gets your attention again, and you moan his name. The hand that isn’t in Chuuya’s hair slides down into Dazai’s, and he relaxes a bit now that you’re touching him.
The combination of Chuuya fucking you from behind and Dazai’s tongue now flicking relentlessly back and forth over your clit-- all the wet sounds, the smell of Chuuya’s cologne, his moaning in your ear, his hands still tweaking and playing with your incredibly over-sensitive nipples-- it’s too much. You can’t even talk; you can’t tell either one how you feel, how good they are. You can hardly moan, most of what comes out of you being only broken, stuttery noises thanks to the way Chuuya’s movements wrack your whole body and control the way even your breathing works right now.
I’m not gonna last. I’m not gonna last. I’m not gonna make it. you think, but you’re unable to warn either one of them. Chuuya must know it’s coming from the way your cunt clenches around him. He hisses and turns his head so his lips hover over your nose, moaning your name right at you.
Finally it happens when Dazai sucks on your clit and pushes a finger into your tight cunt alongside Chuuya’s cock. It’s overwhelming. There’s too much happening, too much going on from the both of them. You’re completely dumb on Chuuya’s cock, complete putty in Dazai’s hands.
You cum hard, arching your back up to let Chuuya fuck you deeper if possible. You squirt profusely, drenching Dazai’s mouth and getting a surprised chuckle from him.
“Good girl,” he praises, but you barely hear it over the way Chuuya shouts a string of swears next to your face. His hands finally leave your tits and grip your hips hard. He only thrusts a few more times before he’s cumming too, painting the inside of your cunt white for the second time.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” Chuuya chants as he comes down, his movements slowing until he’s finally completely still. Dazai sits up and smiles a shit-eating grin at you.
“We made her squirt, Slug. Did you feel it?”
“Fuck, that’s hot,” he groans, dropping his head back and turning it away from you. “I’m not cleaning that shit up, though.”
“Did you cum inside…?” you ask quietly as Dazai starts maneuvering Chuuya’s softening dick out of you.
“He said to,” Chuuya says flippantly.
“Think about it, baby,” Dazai says. “There’s no way his shitty little swimmers will beat mine. If you get pregnant, that's gonna be my baby in there.”
“It’s only ‘cause you’re a shitty mackerel. Fish swim.”
#ask answered#dazai smut#chuuya smut#dazai x reader#chuuya x reader#dazai headcanons#chuuya headcanons#soukoku smut#bsd skk#bsd dazai#bsd chuuya
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no one asked but this is the post that inspired this! thank u immensely for the luv <3 number 1 comment was wondering what steve’s bids were & from his pov, so without further ado...enjoy — part one here!
—
Begrudgingly, Eddie has to admit that Robin might be right.
It’s impossible not to be looking for the bids since he brought them up to her. Even though Eddie was fully expecting to tell Robin to suck it, maybe even wager what little money he had against this working out, Eddie can’t help but watch for them in every interaction. And fuck, she’s right.
They’re little, but they’re there.
The first one Eddie would’ve missed if he wasn’t looking for it. Actually, that’s a lie; Eddie does miss it, until Robin points it out, the nosy bitch. It’s minuscule and honestly, it just seems like Steve asking his opinion — which friends do all the time! It’s why Eddie brushes right over it.
“Okay, be honest,“ Steve had said, walking and talking as he entered the living room where Robin and Eddie were sprawled across the couches. They were both waiting on him, the three of them set on heading out to the drive-in to catch a film.
Eddie can’t fathom why Steve felt the need to change his outfit for it, but when he returns, he gets it. It’s not quite the usual polo Eddie had grown to like on Steve, this one hanging a little looser, the colour a bit darker than Steve’s usual choice, the sleeves a little shorter — almost midway to a muscle tee.
Steve’s fingers fiddle with the distressed collar of the shirt, smoothing invisible wrinkles and fussing over nothing. He swishes back his floppy hair with a flick of his head. “It’s a new shirt, I know it’s a little different - but what do we think?”
He says we but he’s looking at Eddie.
Eddie, who has taken to trying to reel in his gawp because what the fuck Steve? It’s like he’s well aware of what drives Eddie insane and has specifically leaned into it. Some evil goblin in Eddie’s brain whispers think how good he’d look in your shirt and he squashes it, giving a visible twitch to shut down that train of thought.
From the other couch, Robin clears her throat loudly and smiles sweetly at her best friend. “It looks great, Steve.”
It’s sincere and Steve’s mouth tugs up, nearly a smile but his gaze fast-tracks back to Eddie. Eddie nods in agreement, a bit sluggish from his distracting thoughts and god dammit, the extra exposed skin of Steve’s arms are so not helping. “Yeah, looks... looks good, man.”
Steve smiles, lips pressed together but his shoulders curl in just a bit, deflating just a tad. From where Steve can’t see her, Robin waves her hands wildly and catches Eddie’s attention. He watches as she gestures wildly and it takes a moment to realise what’s she mouthing — ‘A bid! That’s a bid, you idiot!’
Oh fuck, Eddie thinks. Cos it totally was; the question, the focus on Eddie. He doesn’t even think about the logistics of it, of the fact Robin was right, just jumps right into picking up the bid.
“You trying a new style?” Eddie asks and then thanks whatever god invented the whole fake-it-to-you-make-it schtick because he’s feeling so far from casual or confident. “Going metal on me, big boy?”
Eddie just manages to catch the grin that breaks across Steve’s face as he turns away, giving a scoff — it comes out too soft though, giving away his complete lack of annoyance. He pulls that usual Steve Harrington pose, hands sliding onto his hips, and screws his face into some melted smiley-grimace. “Shut up, Munson.”
Eddie grins and goads on the blush that’s beginning on Steve’s neck, a glorious tinged pink colour. “If this shirt is any indication, you’d pull it off just fine.”
Eddie watches the blush climb higher as Steve ignores the comment, his smile still giving him away. He grabs his coat and pats down his jeans — ridiculous tight acid wash jeans that Eddie hates he’s somehow become attracted to — ensuring he has his keys and wallet. Once assured, he looks up at his two friends again, brows raised, and says, “Ready to rock and roll?”
That comment alone has Eddie seriously reconsidering his type in men.
There’s only a brief moment to talk about it when Eddie and Robin cajole Steve into going and getting them both popcorn to get a moment alone. Steve had scoffed, face twitching in the way it did whenever he tried to hold back a bitchy comment, but he still stomped off in the direction of the snack stand.
The moment he’s out of earshot, both voices explode in the back of Eddie’s van.
“What did I say—”
“Jesus H Christ, you were right—”
“Literally how many times do I have—”
“Oh my god, you were right—”
“ —before you realise I’m always—”
“Robin.” He cuts her off, hands landing on her shoulders. Robin eyes them warily, lips still parted from how her rant had been cut off. “Robin, I’m gonna kill you.”
“What?” Robin’s nose scrunches up. “What the hell are you—”
“Oh Christ, I can’t believe- how long have you noticed those bids?” Eddie’s aware he sounds a bit estranged, eyes probably wide and it doesn’t help when he softly shakes Robin back and forth. She lets herself be shaken, hair flying back in forth. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me! You are such a bad gay friend!”
Robin smacks his hands off her shoulders with a frown, her freckly face perturbed at Eddie’s outburst. “Dude, it’s not my fault! May I remind you that until very very recently you were seeing someone else? What difference would it have made?”
Eddie waves his hand, disregarding the point with a shake of his head. His unkempt curls cover his face and Eddie sweeps them back in one motion, “What difference would it have made? Oh my, Jesus—“
Whatever long-winded sentence Eddie was about to spit out is lost by the sound of Steve’s approaching footsteps, effectively shutting both of them up.
Eddie flings himself to the other side of the van, putting an unusual amount of distance between Robin and him like they were being caught doing something they shouldn’t.
Robin frowns at him and gestures wildly with her hands in a way that means what the fuck man? Eddie gestures back, though he’s not entirely sure what his fast hand motions are supposed to mean when Steve rounds the door.
He’s got two buckets of popcorn tucked under each arm and Eddie quickly crosses his arms, tucking his hands into his armpits like his stupid hand motions will somehow give him away.
Steve looks up, stopping just a way from the edge of the van, and looks at the pair of them. His eyes track from Robin still sitting on one of the old cushions and looking two seconds from burying her face in her hands, across to Eddie. He huffs a laugh and kneels on the edge of the van.
“I know he’s gross Robin,” He begins, tone light, as he holds out one of the buckets for Robin to take. “But c’mon, is the distance really necessary?”
Robin snickers as Eddie makes an appalled noise, both of which make Steve smirk. He holds out the other for Eddie to take and Eddie snatches it, glaring at him over the buttery rim for his comment. Then takes a handful and shovels it in because he can’t think of a witty comment to retaliate. Steve crawls into the van and plops himself between them with a content sigh.
“See? Gross.” He teases, shoving his hand into Eddie’s popcorn bucket to grab a handful. Eddie scowls and chews a little faster when the flavour on his tongue seems to register in his brain.
His eyes stare at the popcorn bucket as he chews, then swallows — up the front of the van, the radio that’s tuned into the correct frequency begins playing the opening credits song as the screen changes. Silence sweeps across the drive-in but despite the sudden hush, Eddie has no qualms about breaking it.
“Sweet n’ salty flavour?” He asks Steve, only half attempting a whisper. Robin shushes him instantly, her focus already on the movie that’s beginning. Steve smiles, looking a bit sheepish beneath the glow of the drive-in screen, but he nods.
“I know you like it.” He whispers with a small shrug of his shoulders. Like it wasn’t a big deal. Fuck, Eddie thinks again and hastily feeds himself another handful of popcorn before he says anything majorly stupid in response to that, like: Oh, amazing- have you noticed the big fat crush I have on you as well?
He doesn’t even need to look at Robin to know she’s smiling, smug as ever.
—
Steve, God bless his oblivious little heart, doesn’t even realise he’s doing it.
Steve likes Eddie. Eddie is— god, Eddie is different but he’s good.
He’s this strange amalgamation of traits that Steve can’t comprehend how they fit together in one body or how Eddie manages to pull it all off completely charmingly.
He’s loud, he says rude things, he’s fucking dorky, and far too sweet on the kids — he likes to tease Steve, and yet somehow, when Eddie calls him ‘pretty boy’, Steve knows he’s not actually making fun of him.
Steve likes Eddie, likes his boyishly endearing charm, likes his touchiness towards Steve that no other boy his age is like, likes his messy curls and his ‘holier than thou’ attitude about metal music even though Steve doesn’t get it, like at all. And fuck, Steve really wants Eddie to like him.
It reminds him faintly of when he first started working alongside Robin at Scoops. That thought tickles in the back of his mind, something along the lines of how he had wanted Robin to like him for other reasons, but he doesn’t delve into it.
To Steve, it’s simple: he just wants Eddie to like him.
After the night at the drive-in, between Eddie acting strangely skittish and Robin giving more amused snorts than usual, Steve knows something is up.
He knows they must have discussed something when they sent him on popcorn duty, the bastards. He tries his best to not feel left out; god knows Robin and he have more than a dozen secrets they’ve sworn not to tell anyone but each other.
Besides, Steve trusts Robin to come and tell him if he really needs to know, even if it does worry him a bit. He bites down his anxious thoughts, even trying for a moment to see if there’s a pattern he’s been missing.
That train of thought gets derailed when Steve recalls instead Eddie’s delightful reaction to his new shirt — that Steve definitely hadn’t bought for that specific reason.
Even though Robin had given him that look when he’d first shown it to her — her bright eyes had narrowed, her smile turning a little more coy, and Steve had felt his ears get a little hotter. She hadn’t said anything though, just suggested that he should wear it tomorrow night when they were going out with Eddie.
God, he was glad she suggested it.
Rewinding over Eddie’s parted lips, the way his brown eyes had drank in the details as they trailed up his body and lingered on his arms— Steve had the sudden thought to flex the muscle, just to elicit some reaction, but it had gone out the window at Eddie’s original dismal reaction.
‘Yeah, looks... looks good, man’. Said all aloof, like he hadn’t really thought it. It was like bursting a balloon hidden behind Steve’s ribs, one he wasn’t even aware was there until it was deflating pathetically, making his shoulders sag.
Then— ‘You trying a new style? Going metal on me, big boy?’ And dammit, it’s like Eddie had clocked exactly what calling him ‘big boy’ had done the first time in the Winnebago.
Eddie had then grinned, done another once over of the new shirt, even as Steve pretended to search for his keys and wallet while saying something snarky to try to cover up the heat crawling up his neck. Yet, Steve found himself smiling too because, fuck yes, Eddie liked it too.
But, apparently, whatever Eddie and Robin had discussed wasn’t considered important enough because Robin never brought it up.
The thought and worry about it melt away in Steve’s mind until the memory of that night is about Eddie’s compliment, about his cat-like grin over the popcorn bucket, and how he had leaned over to whisper every bad joke into Steve’s ear all through the movie.
Some of them had been down-right filthy jokes which Eddie only seemed to enjoy more when Steve screwed his face up and nudged Eddie in the ribs, yet unable to hide his smile.
After the third vulgar joke and subsequent nudge, Steve had chided ‘dude’ with a poorly hidden grin. Eddie, smile all cheeky, had nudged him back with a ‘dude’ of his own.
Which, of course, ensued a nudge competition til Robin had given a shush that librarians all over the world would be jealous of. But Steve didn’t even care because he and Eddie were arm to arm, pressed close together and Eddie…didn’t move. Stayed close, like he wanted the closeness the same way Steve did.
Steve only remembers the strange drive-in moment when Robin brings it up finally, on one interesting Saturday night.
It’s not the usual routine; it’s not very often that the whole group gets together to share drinks and get rowdy.
But it was for Robin’s birthday and she’d been persuasive enough to get even the introverts, like Jonathan, to come along. Though, she was aware he’d probably spend the night on a pool lounger, stoned to high heaven. Whatever floats your boat, she’d said, happy for the company in any form.
There’s enough of them there that it almost resembles some sort of party— and makes Steve try not to think about the last small party he threw here. He can tell Nancy notices it too, eyeing the pool a bit too long in a way he’s very familiar with, then taking a swig of beer.
So, Steve heckles them inside — doing a fantastic mothering impression as he waves the group indoors with a promise of pizza, and that has both Jonathan and Argyle perking up and beginning a fast discussion on the best pizza toppings.
Eddie makes a fuss, because of course he does, and moans terribly when Steve tries to roll him off the pool lounger he’s on. He’s had a bit of a joint and some beer, and Steve’s learned that he gets adorably stubborn after some substances.
“Stevie, this is mean,” he had pouted, gripping the edges of the lounger and staring up at Steve with those big brown eyes. “You telling me I did all that bonding with you for nothing? Can’t even lounge by the pool! I’ve got a couch at homeeeee.”
Steve had sent him an amused look of disbelief, hands on his hips after his first round of flicks against Eddie’s arm were apparently fruitless to get him to move. “Really? Didn’t peg you for a gold-digger, Eds.”
Eddie had snorted at that, one hand coming to slap over his mouth. Steve couldn’t quite hear what he had said but the words pegging and anytime slipped through and Steve thinks he could get the gist of that.
“Oh for Christ’s sake,” Steve muttered, feeling the tips of his ears turn warm. He didn’t know how Eddie could be such a menace— or why he enjoyed it so much when he was. Steve waved a hand in the direction of the doors, ignoring Eddie’s delighted snickering. “If you go inside now, you can be on music, alright?”
And that had finally got them all indoors, Eddie whooping and skedaddling through the doors in an instant, with a call of ‘no take backsies!’ echoing behind him.
Inside was much cozier, the whole group a little more connected when squished up on the couches together. Eddie had taken Steve’s word and was jamming a cassette into one of the speakers when Steve made it back inside after scouting around the pool for leftover cans and butts to throw out.
He’s just been thinking about what playful jab he could make at Eddie’s music, like Eddie always did to him when Robin hollered at him from the kitchen.
“Steve!” She’d yelled excitedly and he come to find her quick, brows raised as he entered the kitchen. She was grinning, already a bit jumpy as she got when she had a bit of liquor — but apparently not enough because when Steve saw what she’d called him in for, she’d announced, “Tequila shots!”
Which lead to now. A hazy combination of beer, tequila, and a bit of weed, and Steve is feeling good. Robin had managed to hijack the music not too long ago, with a hiccup of ‘it’s my birthday’ that had Eddie surrendering with a pout.
She’d since put on a bit of everything: some Blondie for Nance, Talking Heads for Jonathan, and some Bowie, just so she and Steve could dance along to ‘Magic Dance’ and she could do all the silly little goblin voices that made them both cackle.
Steve realised at some point that Robin was playing their mixtape, the one she’d made for driving in the morning, and nearly tripped stumbling over to her in his excitement. He grabbed her shoulders, not too hard, and squeezed.
“Is it- is this our mixtape?” Steve asked, words slurring only a bit. Robin gleamed, hair bouncing with her excited nod.
“Yes!” She was already dancing, even though the tape was between songs — because she knew what song was coming. “It’s Springsteen time, Steve!”
Right as the drums to Born to Run filtered out the speaker.
And oh, Steve loves Robin so much. He loves having a best friend that knows his favourite song and gets jittery and excited because she knows it’s about to play— that she put it on this mix for him.
“You’re my best friend!” Steve says, the words bursting out like he can’t control them. He doesn’t even feel embarrassed, just happy, just drunk, and overwhelming happy to be able to have this.
And even though Robin knows this, she still beams, feet dancing along and just begins to sing along with the song, “In the days, we sweat it out on the streets of a runaway American dream…”
It’s a brazen drunken performance from the both of them. Steve’s chest is heaving after just one chorus that he’s pretty sure he put his whole soul into and he’s so fucking happy —and it feels like pure instinct to seek out Eddie, his eyes scouring the room for him.
Eddie’s leaned up against the wall, hiding his smile behind a can and Steve doesn’t think twice about it— doesn’t think about why he’s so drawn to Eddie, why he wants to include him in this happiness — just extends his hand out and grins.
Eddie sees the bid coming this time.
Part Three.
—
yes i saw all ur lovely tags and MAYBE cried about it. but thats none of ur business.
@orangeandthefairroadkill @swimmingbirdrunningrock @sadcanadianwinter @phantypurple @omg-elledubs-things @henderdads @farfaras @mixsethaddams @prismandblue @kerlypride @bushbees @legitcookie @temporalcoffin @callmesirkay @beautifully-useless @millyditty @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @ninjapirateunicorns @darkwitchoferie @vi-the-best-you-can @psychosnowfox @desert-fern @scarletzgo @cr0w-culture @softpink-candlelight @livingforfictionalcharacters @makewavesandwar @kozuuji @rhapsodyinalto @eddiethesexy @cassaloopa @lightwoodbanethings @qu33rcommunist @moonlitkilljoy @starkdusk @theysherobinbuckley @sanguineterrain @loganwright @sillysparrow @hotcocoaharrington @eddie-munson-is-my-wife @she-is-tim @steddiehearts @sideblogofthcentury @sidebarre @corrodedcoughin @stevieclaus
#OBLIVIOUS STEVE IS MY FAVOURITE!!!!#idiots in love#they're so important to me ur honour#on god am i gonna make them KISS#but steve's gotta figure it out first lol#ruby writes steddie#steddie#steddie ficlet#i think i can call it a fic now lol each part is 3k+ i think#steddie fic#IF U WANTED TO BE TAGGED AND I DIDNT IM SORRY#lest i come off terribly egotistical i need direct instructions to tag lmao#even then i tagged sum people that just said 'can't wait for part 2!' which? isn't?#I DUNNO#i went off vibes someone said they were vibrating so i was like get over here the next part is here#one of these tags is just a steddie blog i love.... and they reblogged part 1#corrodedcoughin <3 i love u hehe#the stobin bestie love SHINES in this#i love them so much they are BEST FRIENDS!!!#if u have any ideas... i do love reading the tags and seeing what people want to see next ! im fuckin making it up as i go lol
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hii! could i request something w spence where he asks uni reader to move in with him and r is kinda nervous about it please🙏🙏 love all of ur fics, and thanksss 🫶🫶🫶
yass this is super cute!!!! thank you for the request, hope i did it justice
warnings/tags: fluff!! a teensy bit suggestive at the end if u squint... i cant help myself. i'm an animal
requests are open! sfw and nsfw welcome
(a/n: this is probably an awkward spot to put this but I didn't wanna make a whole other post: THANK YOU GUYS FOR ALL THE LOVE AND SUPPORT!!! i have gained over 100 followers since i last posted and have over 1k notes on both of my recent works thats literally bonkers insane crazy town ACTUALLY. i love hearing your thoughts and reactions to my work even if its just a silly little comment. so yeah. thanks and so much love to u ALL)
“So basically, I’m not allowed in the dorm except to sleep because she always has her boyfriend over, and I told her that’s literally insane—I’m paying thousands of dollars to be there just like her. If she wanted privacy she should have gotten a single. She can’t just lock me out of our shared bedroom all the time! I live there!”
You’re stabbing violently at your food by the time you finish your verbal tirade.
“Okay, maybe put the knife down before you hurt yourself,” Spencer suggests, readying a hand to take the implement away from you if necessary. The knife clatters against your plate as you drop it.
“She’s driving me fucking crazy,” you mumble, rubbing your eyes until you see fireworks. “And the housing department said I don’t have grounds to transfer rooms, so I’m stuck with her for the rest of the year.”
There’s no reply from your boyfriend, and a pang of guilt in your chest makes you look up at him again. His expression, as so often is the case, is inscrutable.
“I’m sorry for ranting. I’m really happy to see you and I don’t mean to ruin dinner, I just—”
“You could stay with me,” he interrupts.
You blink.
“Like... when she locks me out?”
Spencer laughs self-consciously.
“No, like... permanently.”
For a moment you just gape at him like an idiot, trying to comprehend his offer.
He wants you to move in... with him. Permanently. He wants to live with you.
You realize you’ve been staring at him for far too long, and you lean back, inhaling deeply as the world launches into motion again.
“That’s... a big step, Spence,” you breathe. His eyes scan you head to toe, and you realize he’s most definitely analyzing your body language.
“You don’t have to say yes. It was just an offer,” he shrugs, standing up and clearing the plates from the table.
“Wait,” you call, following him to the kitchen. “Are you upset now because I leaned away from you when you asked?”
He turns from the counter, looking at you blankly.
“Of course not. That would be ridiculous.”
Oh, he totally is.
You tentatively step forward, gently lacing your fingers through his—but unable to meet his eyes.
“It’s not that I don’t want to,” you begin gingerly, “but I’m... I’m not done with school. We always said I would move in once I graduated.”
“That’s an arbitrary limitation we set for ourselves. There are plenty of ways to get you from here to campus every day.”
“But you’re not even here sometimes. I would just be alone.”
“You would have the whole apartment to yourself. You would have my bed. You wouldn’t have to share a shower with an entire floor of college students anymore. And ultimately, we would get to spend a lot more time together.”
You try to speak but find your throat is tight. Spending more time together is exactly what you’re afraid of.
“What’s your real objection here?” he asks quietly, running his thumb back and forth over the underside of your wrist. You swallow, watching the motion of his hand.
“I’m afraid, that if we move in together... you’ll stop liking me.” The words come out paper thin, barely audible.
And he laughs. Your teary eyes dart up, surprised by the reaction—slightly hurt, even.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart, I’m not laughing at you,” Spencer says, sobering up when he sees your baleful expression. “I just can’t believe you think I’d stop liking you.” He wipes away the tears beading on your eyelashes delicately. “I’m in love with you. Neurologically that is pretty hard to undo.”
You study his face, looking for any sign of hesitation or dishonesty. All you find is pure fondness in the curve of his lips; utter devotion in the soft set of his eyes.
“You promise you won’t start hating me as soon as I move in?”
“I promise.”
You lean against his chest, craning your neck to look up at him.
“I can be pretty annoying.”
“I think I can handle it.”
“I take really long showers.”
He kisses you softly. “Me too. I’m sure we can figure out a way to conserve water.”
Despite your reservations you smile against his lips.
“Okay?” he asks.
“Okay.”
#criminal minds#spencer reid#spencer reid fanfic#spencer reid fic#spencer reid imagine#spencer reid x fem!reader#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid x self insert#spencer reid x y/n#spencer reid x you
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see it through ✴︎ cl16
genre: friends to lovers, fake dating au, fluff!, humor, slight angst, slow burn-ish, yearning
word count: 9k
“It’s a proposition for the fans.” She smiles. “It’s a fake relationship.” Or: you go from social media manager to girlfriend in under a day. Keeping up appearances for Charles’ family isn’t easy, until it is – and until they’re not really appearances anymore.
notes... internet translated italian ahaha
auds here... this fic is quite long! i hope you all like it. title from this bee gees song which reappears in the fic later. few music references here so if you like to listen to music, just look for the titles, they’re famous!
You’d gotten the phone call on a Saturday morning.
Barely morning, you realized when you were digging for your phone in the sheets, half-asleep—it’d been five minutes past noon. You’d swiped, pressed the phone to your ear, and waited for the other end to speak, eyes shut.
“Good morning,” a vague voice had said on the other said, distinctly American. “This is Jenna Griffin, newly appointed PR specialist for Ferrari. Your boss told me you were free for lunch on Monday, so can I pencil you in for a one-thirty meeting?”
You click your tongue. “Um, yeah.”
“Wonderful. Monday, one-thirty. Apologies for the weekend call, it’s for Mr. Leclerc.” The line buzzes dead after, and you flop backwards onto your bed, confused out of your mind.
Your job for Ferrari was simple—create social media content, do the occasional damage control, have a pre-interview discussion with journalists, and generally stay out of everyone’s hair. It’s not a high-maintenance job, but it pays well, and you get to travel; plus, you’re young, and you figure this is just a stepping stone for a more legitimate post. Your point is, you’ve never gotten into trouble before, and are only at meetings to take minutes or get assignments.
Which is why a Monday lunch meeting—on your vacation, nonetheless—seems so out of the ordinary. And arranged by a PR agent from Ferrari? Last you’d heard, cars were objects and didn’t need publicity. The whole affair gives off a vibe of semi-mystery, almost, like you’re in the MI6 and taking lucrative calls in alleyways.
You feel through your bag for your hotel key card, wallet, and phone, and finding them all there, you leave and make your way to the restaurant. You’re not too nervous; you’ve had to have your own sit-down talks with higher-ups and even Charles or Carlos before, but none of the “you’re fired” variety.
The restaurant isn’t far from where you’re staying, so you shove sunnies on and trek there, managing to make it inside unscathed.
Table 17, the text reads, and you’re quickly ushered into a private section of the place. It’s empty, save for a couple and a far-off table seating one guy, whose back is to you. You realize it’s Charles when you squint your eyes harder. The waitress doesn’t give you much of a choice and seats you across him, promising to return with noontime champagne.
You slide your sunglasses onto your hair and look up. “Hi,” you say politely.
“Hey,” Charles says back casually. He wears a Richard Mille and a few other bracelets, a linen blue polo, and jeans.
“New PR thing?”
Charles smiles, shrugging. “Man, I’ve no idea. Wake up on Saturday and I’m due for a meeting. Is this for social media?”
Huh, so he doesn’t know either. “I don’t know. It was a super random call for me, too.”
He shrugs. “Both clueless.”
“Right. So, to be clear, we’re waiting for—”
“I am so sorry I’m late,” a woman says sheepishly, her heels clicking along the tiled floor. She definitely looks the part for a PR officer: pantsuit, heels, a blond bob, ridiculously expensive handbag, eccentric sunglasses. “Scusami, really.” Her Italian apology has an American twang.
“All okay,” says Charles with a small smile. “We were barely waiting, no?”
You nod, offering a tight-lipped smile of your own. “Yeah, don’t worry about it.”
She slides into the seat beside him and waves a waiter over, ordering in quickfire English; clearly, she’s been here before. Absently, you wonder if her previous affairs in this restaurant were also to have clandestine meetings. Your reverie doesn’t last long, though, because immediately Jenna’s starting her agenda. “So, are introductions in order?”
“I, um,” you say, “I’d say so, yes.”
“Alright, spectacular. I’m Jenna Griffin, just moved to Monte Carlo after living and working in SoCal. I’ve been appointed as a PR manager for Charles here, but don’t worry. You’re in good hands. I’ve handled three Kardashians, two NBA players, two One Direction members, and a lot of nepo babies.”
“Wow,” you say, nodding.
“Cool.” Charles says, clearly impressed.
Jenna’s gaze flits between the two of you, both smiling at each other. “Right,” she says. “Let’s get down to business.” She clears her throat and pulls out her phone from her handbag, scrolling for a few moments. While the silence settles, you steal another glance at Charles, and hide a chuckle when you find his eyes already glancing back at you.
“Aren’t we waiting for Carlos?” He asks, taking a sip of water.
His PR agent looks up briefly, then answers. “Actually, it’s just you two today.”
You nod slowly, burrowing even further into the confusion you’d been feeling since Saturday. It wasn’t like you were expecting Carlos, per se, but a meeting with just you and him—now, that’s a bit strange.
“So, I know this is all very confusing. But it’s happening for a reason,” says Jenna. “Charles—and I really only feel qualified to say this because I’ve done my research—has been on a streak of…erm, well, lady-related scandals lately.”
“Oh, God,” Charles groans across you, and you chew your lip. You’ve seen the headlines, but you’re still clueless as to how this concerns you.
“As a PR agent, I think it won’t do good for his public image to be seen as somebody who sleeps around.”
“It was two headlines,” Charles cuts in with a laugh. “And they were both fake. Please don’t misunderstand.”
Jenna clicks her tongue. “Yeah, the public definitely has some thoughts.” She turns to her phone and reads off of it. “‘Charles is a playboy and not a driver’, ‘Leclerc is too busy pulling girls’… times ten thousand. So, yeah, it’s a bit of a smear.”
“Right, okay. Listen, I’m not sure I understand,” you say with a stuffy laugh. “What has all this got to do with me?”
“Everything,” she answers with a smile. You raise a brow. “Well, you see, we PR managers always have a network. We keep tabs on who’s who, and who needs what. As a new manager, I need to implement some of my strategies around here. Go digging, you know? Find something good. And when I found your pretty little face in the background of many of Charles’ paddock photos, I realized you could help create something newsworthy.”
“Are you talking about a PR stunt?” You ask, your frown deepening.
“Well—virtually, essentially, yes.” She opens her mouth to explain but is interrupted by the serving of champagne and appetizers. “Okay. Don’t think this is a haphazard decision. Naturally, we had to find out if this would even be a good idea…”
“Which it’s not,” you say, taking a swig of champagne.
She nods. “The thing is, your bosses and I really did go over several scenarios, and this one seems the most likely to keep your fans engaged. This way, the appearances won’t look so staged.”
“—Jenna,” Charles says, clearly having detected your hesitance, “I don’t think she’s interested.”
“It’s fine,” you say, but you still sound off-put. It’s not fine, not really. “I don’t see how this is going to help Charles, though. I’d think the idea of him being committed to somebody would just further alienate his fangirls.”
Jenna chuckles. “While that is, to some extent, true, the number of fans who would go gaga over the two of you far, far outweighs the opposing population. This is a special case. A girl next door social media manager with a social media presence—and a wildly popular, totally charming Formula One driver? I mean, talk about Harry and Meghan! Everybody loves love. And, might I add, Charles’ male fans might actually like seeing you two together.”
You sigh, a quick huff of frustrated air. “So, what is this then?”
“It’s a proposition for the fans.” She smiles. “It’s a fake relationship.”
You reach for champagne, but find you’ve totally drained your glass. The room falls into muted silence, and you can’t bring yourself to look at Charles. You didn’t expect this on a Monday afternoon. You thought maybe it was a job termination. Or a leaked text message. Somehow, this is the strangest of all possibilities.
“So, good?” She chirps. “I’ll send you the primer.”
You both stare at each other. “We’re not actually going to. Right?”
“Right. We are not dating.”
—
“We’re dating!” You chirp, practicing your appearances in front of Carlos and Lando, who had visited the former.
“You two look like two people dating pretending to be friends,” Lando observes.
You grumble. Many of your shots had been staged pap photos outside his apartment, or fans happening to catch you two together; no official statement had been released, according to Jenna’s “masterplan.” For the most part, it was a good dynamic of putting up a façade for the public and settling back into a platonic relationship within minutes.
Nothing really goes wrong at first—and then Charles ruins it.
It happens after a Ferrari event in spring. You’re in Monza again, weather humid when you re-shoot the fifth TikTok for the day with Carlos. There are celebrities to and fro, even more journalists and a shitload of fans crowding the perimeter of the area. You’ve successfully pulled off the fake dating stunt, keeping a lowkey profile and doing your job.
There’s a green room for the drivers and close managers to wait and rest, where you stow yourself away to avoid the crowds. You review the reels and stories for the day, and cap it off with a “goodbye, Tifosi!” post with Carlos that’s enough to quell the many notifications.
Granted, many of the said notifications are of the speculative nature. Some are wondering if it’s you posting or if a new hire was underway to make room for the new couple. You ignore them anyway and take a seat on the couch across Carlos, sighing with exhaustion.
“Where’s your boyfriend?” He teases.
“Ha-ha,” you say, unimpressed. You gesture to the TV behind him, showing a live feed of Charles’ last interview of the day with Natalie Pinkham. Once this is over, you’re free for the week: free of social media manager and fake girlfriend responsibilities. The thought alone makes you well up with relief.
You and Carlos both watch intently as Charles answers several event-related questions that, to your horror, simmer into personal ones. Natalie sounds excited when she goes, “Any plans for the week with a special someone?”
Charles has no thought behind his eyes, a muted wave of panic coming over him as he fumbles for a response. “My family’s staying up in Tuscany, in a farmhouse we own, stay in for spring and summer. We are actually visiting them for the week.”
We are actually visiting them for the week. Your look of pure, unadulterated shock doesn’t go unnoticed by Carlos, who’s quick to snap pictures of you on his phone. What the hell is Charles talking about? Tuscany? No, family?
“I take it you didn’t know about this,” Carlos says with a laugh.
“You think?!” You holler, still appalled. Charles has a lot of gall to spin this without your permission, or Jenna’s for that matter. You know she’ll love it, though; it’s really, mainly, you who has a problem with it. Anxious, you get up and watch the broadcast end; not a minute later, Charles enters and offers a can of sparkling water to you.
“Thirsty?” He asks casually.
“Very,” you pipe, taking a gulp.
“You’re welcome,” he says teasingly.
“Oh, thanks! I think I’ve been busy thinking about the fact that I’m meeting your family!”
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” He yells, trying to match your agitated volume. “I didn’t know you were watchi—I was nervous! I didn’t know what to say anymore! And—you kno—well—and Natalie kept asking a ton of questions!”
Your face of disbelief matches his of sheepish apology, facing each other frozen. Across you, Carlos lets out an incredulous laugh, mumbles something about wanting popcorn. You honestly can’t blame him. Had you been an outsider, you would’ve relished in Charles’ slip-up, too. Instead, you’re the one who’s apparently going to Tuscany on Friday to meet the extended Leclerc clan.
“It’s fine. It’s gonna be”—you attempt to find an appropriate adjective—“bearable. At least we don’t need to keep up appearances there.”
You’re met with disagreeable silence. When Charles doesn’t chime in with an agreement, you turn slowly back to him. “No.”
“It’s only for a week—”
“No!”
“A week!”
You’re both standing up, pacing around the other frantically. Pretending to suddenly be bumped up from social media manager to Charles’ girlfriend was a daunting enough proposition. Getting hate mail and death threats was enough incentive to let you want to leave. Timing exits and entrances was difficult. And now, pretending to be together in front of his family? His family.
“Why can’t you just tell them we’re not actually dating?!”
“It’s just—it’s complicated having to explain why.” You remember his assortment of man-whore scandals and realization sinks into you. You sit on the arm of the couch, deflated and contemplative. Despite your own knowledge of the scandals being totally baseless and false, you understand it’s difficult to explain the lengths of tabloids and online rumors to older family members.
You might have to grin and bear it.
“Fine.” You digress. He cheers silently. “One week. Once our quickie breakup is finalized, you’re telling them it ended well. I don’t want to be in anybody’s bad graces.”
“Yeah, yeah, okay.”
Tuscany won’t be so bad, you think. What’s the worst that could happen?
—
Charles’ extended family greets you at their farmhouse when you arrive heaving two pieces of luggage. It’s populated by two aunts, three uncles, and two younger cousins, and their hospitality is contagious. They all somehow remind you of Charles, their faces, their laughs, their easy attitudes.
His aunts, Mia and Giulia, are the first to pull you in for a hug and inspect your face. Good eyebrows! Good lips! Healthy attractive child for you both!
You have to pry yourself off of them with giggles and smiles and pretend the kid comment was never uttered for your own sake. They’re kind, ushering you inside and serving dinner immediately, inquiring about the drive and if it was bad, if Charles had spotted any dead sheep or cattle on the way (none.)
His cousins are both little boys, eleven and six, shy and with thick accents. Charles’ smile is huge when he speaks to them in Italian, eyes comical and animated. His three uncles all eat fairly quietly, talking about politics, or racing, only when they feel like it.
They ask many questions, and tell so many stories, over limoncello and rigatoni that leave you stuffed after two platefuls. You didn’t think you’d be satisfied so soon after the drive, but you’re grateful for it. His uncle Giorgio leads the tour of the house, his voice slow and constantly sliding into Italian, but Charles is quick to supply a translation into your ear. Lit by terrace lights, you get a night view of the house, surrounded by the hills, the lemon trees, and a swimming pool in the back. Further back, there are two horses for riding, and bicycles for easier transportation.
A vineyard borders the other side of the hill, owned by a different family. You can’t digest the beauty of this place, even without the sun to provide a better view. You’re back inside, being shown the rest of the wide dining room and kitchen that lead out onto a balcony-terrace area, and then clambering the stairs to be shown your room—a beautiful one on the second floor that overlooks the hills.
“This is so beautiful,” you say honestly. “Thank you so much. And Charles will be staying…?”
“In my childhood bedroom!” He quips excitedly, already halfway out the door to review his living situation.
Giulia and Mia share a look and then the former goes, “Wait, Charles!”
He slows to a halt and turns, awaiting their words. “Ay. Bambino, because you have been in Monaco so long these days, and we have gotten a lot of stuff, your childhood bedroom is now more of a… storage room.”
“A storage room?!” He sounds scandalized.
“Bambino, mi dispiace,” she continues. “But—let’s not be conservative! You two have been dating now for a year, correct? Surely, you’ve slept in one bed.”
Your face grows warm. “Um, actu—”
“Shh,” Mia says kindly. “No need to make excuses. Charles, stay with your girlfriend. And we will wake you both for breakfast. Ciao!”
You barely voice your assent, managing to wedge in a thank you! before the door closes and leaves you and Charles alone.
In a room without a single couch. The only non-bed “resting” space is a single chair, and as much as you want to, you don’t want Charles to break his spine trying to sleep on it. The situation is clear. You need to configure the bed.
“We cannot sleep on the same bed.”
“I’ll take the floor.”
“No! I mean—ugh. I don’t want to risk you pulling a muscle. Also, more importantly, if any of your family walks in and sees you sleeping on the floor, they’re going to think we’re freaks.”
“The bed is big enough for us both,” he says, gesticulating. You narrow your eyes. If you’re going to be avoiding physical contact, it definitely isn’t. It’s like the gods had decided to bless the room with a bed perfect for two people snuggling.
You place your hands on your hips, analyzing the best way to tackle the situation. You won’t lie, you’d thought about the possibility of sharing a room—but a bed was completely different. You’d expected a couch, a loveseat of some kind, both of which are woefully missing. Thinking fast, you take the three decorative, cylindrical pillows and place them vertically on the centre of the bed.
You step back. “Okay. That’s our boundary.”
Each side is a bit small, but it’s the price to pay, you think, taking a long look at your handiwork. Beside you, Charles snorts. “That is not going to work.”
“I’ll bet you it will,” you say matter-of-factly, retreating to the bathroom to get ready for bed. When you emerge, Charles is fast asleep, half his body on your side of the boundary. You have to pour water on his face to shoo him away, and that’s when you’re positive your creation will work.
You place yourself gingerly on your side of the border, remaining perfectly still as you drift off to sleep. You wake up the next day on Charles’ chest, pushing him away before admitting you’d been in that position in the first place.
You slide him five euros over breakfast.
—
Charles is a good driver, skier, and biker—you can attest to this from being by his side, reviewing pictures and videos of him for a living.
But there’s one thing he absolutely sucks at, and it’s teaching. You thought you’d never have to attest to this, but here you are, with scraped knees and a smudge of soil on the hem of your shorts, on your sixth attempt to learn how to ride a bike.
It’d been his idea, like many of the odd things you’d gotten yourself into. “Let me make up for dragging you along,” he’d said, and then proceeded to commit attempted murder every time he sent you away on the bicycle. Five tries did you no good; Charles’ directions contradicted each other and came much too fast, causing you to crash into the grass or skid yourself to a halt, your sneakers coated in a light layer of dust.
“Why are we still trying?” You ask woefully, examining the scratches on your calf. And to think you would’ve gotten to go truffle hunting with his uncle had Charles not swept you away to bike.
“It is an important life skill. Just—don’t look at the ground. Okay. Andiamo!” He sends you off again, watches as you twist and careen into a bush. Again. Your groan of pain matches the ooof he lets out, jogging to help you up. You turn away from the ground and toward his face. His laughing face.
“Ow. What?” You ask, raising a brow. You flex your fingers, waiting for him to pull you upwards.
“You smashed into a bush and a berry’s all over your cheek.” He says, still laughing when he helps you up. You hold the tip of your pinky to your face, press down, and sure enough, when you inspect it again, it’s stained a dark berry color.
“Is this toxic?!” You ask, agitated.
“Che? Toxic? No, no. It’s a juniper berry.” He reaches over and swipes his thumb across your face, sending you into a frozen state. Your hands remain at your sides while he focuses on wiping the rest of the fruit off of your cheek, showing you his stained finger afterwards with a proud smile. “All gone.”
You turn and pick up the bicycle. “One more for good luck,” you say, shaking off the nerves and gut churning feeling deep in your stomach. You situate yourself atop the bike, trying to remember and re-remember all the tips Charles had given you.
“Don’t look down, just breathe, keep your eyes trained straight. If you crash, on the grass always. Better than this path.”
“Got it,” you say breathlessly, determined. You take off, eyes trained on the landscape in front of you, leaving the house behind and gliding quickly downhill. It takes you a beat to realize, however, that you’re not falling. You’re doing it—properly. You turn to voice your pride, but that’s what gets you caught in your thoughts.
Charles is cheering behind you, but once he detects you’re stumbling, he runs the few metres over. Still, he can’t catch you fast enough; you do manage to turn right and land on the grass. In his own rush, Charles trips on the horizontal bike, and lands right beside you, atop your arm.
Eventually you’re both doubled over laughing, your fingers finding purchase on the blunt grass. You both only quiet down when you hear his aunt’s car, old and rickety, grow louder. You look up to find Giulia peeking out of the driver’s window, her face as amused as it is confused.
Beside her, Mia yells. “Buon lavoro, Charles!”
“What’d she say?” You ask, still half-laughing.
“Good job,” he replies, entertained. “She said good job.”
—
Charles takes Giorgio’s Vespa and rides you both to town two days later, even with the offer of a car. He claims the motor ride is the best way to experience Tuscany at its finest. Nothing about the two-seater bike on the pebbly road feels fine, though, and you’re seriously contemplating broken ribs when he makes a sharp turn. It’s only a ten, fifteen-minute ride, but the downhill slope makes it seem faster—and more dangerous.
Your grip on his waist had gone from loose and hesitant to tight and anxious, your voice a mantra of possible death in his ear. He can’t help but laugh, revving harder and chiming in with a biting remark of his own.
“You know who this is named after?” He shouts over the wind whipping both of you.
“Mmm?” You ask.
“Apollonia, from the Godfather.”
“Oh, Christ. The girl who died?”
“Hey, she was beautiful! My uncle loved the movies so much, his Vespa had to be named after her.” You lean onto his back for purchase, still unused to the speed at which he zips through the countryside. Eventually, after a few turns, the terrain turns from rough to smoother, and he parks at the busy-looking town square, populated by locals and tourists alike, but not with the traffic of more popular cities. Alleyways lead to smaller corner stores and cafés; a chapel overlooks the area, and a market populates the centre.
“What would you name your bike, if you had to?” You ask as a follow-up, removing your helmet and shaking your hair out. You pull at your dress to straighten it out.
“Well…” He takes both your helmets and stores them in the bike, leading the way toward the bustle. “My uncles, and my father—they always say we name our most precious things after beautiful women. Apollonia. My other uncle, Leo, he named his sailboat after his mother, Bianca. Even my dad would name few objects after my mother. It’s a way of honoring them, you know?”
You nod, stopping at a produce stall and examining a bunch of tomatoes. “I think that’s sweet.”
“Yes, so I guess… well, I don’t know, really. My mother’s name, maybe?”
“She’s got a beautiful one,” you comment offhandedly.
“Yeah. Or, if we go by appearances, I suppose your name.”
You ignore the flush of nerves that well up in you and turn back to face him, confused and amused. “My name? Why’s that?”
“I mean,” he coughs, crossing his arms and smiling, “people think we are together, so if I get a bike, and they ask for her name, I must say yours, no?”
“Only if you want to,” you chirp back, amused. What had possessed him to suddenly bring you into the discussion? Neither of you are pretending for all these strangers. Here in town, you’re friends again, browsing the market, walking around stalls, eating free samples of pesto and cheese.
“I do want to,” he says. It’s a joke, you’re sure. Half-sure. It’s a joke.
The town square’s noise begins to die when the sun sets. City-dwellers leave to take trips back to main hubs of Italy, and with no nightlife in the area, many in the square are families or couples sitting down for dinner. The ride back, while short, might be dangerous in the dark; you tug on Charles’ sleeve to relay your thoughts.
“Don’t worry,” he says dismissively. “I’ve biked here past midnight.”
“What were you even doing in town at midnight, hmm?” You tease lightly, following him around. There’s not much to do except eat at this point, judging by the way you’d both exhausted the stalls in the afternoon. He rolls his eyes, mumbling excuses.
“You womanizer,” you whisper in an exaggerated scandalous tone. You poke his bicep. “Bedding the locals.”
“I was not, ay!” He defends. You’ve noticed his accent is so much thicker here, where he has to speak Italian all the time, except with you. It sounds nice. “I would come to smoke weed.”
That’s even funnier, you think, throwing your head back to laugh. Thoughts of teenaged Charles, tinged pink and tan from summer, on a momentary break from a junior racing career, biking fast back and forth—for a joint no less—are both funny and endearing. “That is so cute, Charles. Drug virgin.”
“Don’t speak of those when we’re in front of the house of the Lord,” he says sarcastically, gesturing to where your cyclical walking had landed you: back in front of the town’s chapel. There’s a pot of holy water by the front doors and a rack of candles for lighting and offering. Besides that, there’s a coin drop box being manned by a priest.
In silent agreement, you walk in sync to the candles, lighting one each and whispering brief intentions. You’re not religious, you’ve never been; a church seemed foreign to you, always. But you figure there’s no harm in a candle and an offer to the big guy, if he’s there.
There’s a mural painted by the doors, which you observe silently while Charles goes to drop donations into the box. You catch bits of their conversation. Good evening. Are you a tourist. No, we live up the hill, visiting for spring, yes.
The rest you don’t catch, turning to Charles and watching him talk, animated as he is solemn. The priest smiles at you politely, turns to Charles, goes, “Siete qui insieme?” You rack your brain for the Italian you’d picked up recently but can’t match it to anything.
Charles nods. “Qui per cenare, ed esplorare.” Esplorare, explore? You fail again, but continue listening anyway, occupying your eyes with the mural.
“È la tua ragazza?” The priest asks with a soft chuckle.
“Oh, sì, sì.” Charles looks very sure of himself when he says so.
The priest nods once. “Se ti sposi, allora dovrebbe essere qui, no?”
Charles turns slowly, looks at you, then smiles. “Okay,” he says, still looking at you. “Farò in modo che accada.” Then they’re exchanging quick Italian goodbyes and he’s walking back to you, guiding you to a nearby restaurant for dinner.
“What was that about?” You ask, the curiosity getting the best of you. You don’t remember what they said, so you can’t plug it into Google Translate; your last hope is getting Charles to translate it for you. You figure it’s no problem. He’s always translated for you during your stay here so far, word-for-word recounts that have you feeling fluent in the language after decoding them. Whether it be a family anecdote or a market transaction, the language has never become an issue for you.
You walk beside him, awaiting the translation that never comes. Instead, he smiles, shakes his head, and says, “That was nothing.”
—
Your first, last, and only close call happens during a wine and poker night with Charles’ uncles and aunts. You’d spent the morning semi-cuddling (to beat the early a.m. cold, you both insisted), and then a majority of the afternoon in the nearby vineyard volunteering to help pick grapes, and they’d offered to let you wind down for the night inside.
It starts off well enough—you and Giorgio best the first two rounds, much to everyone else’s chagrin, and you rest on the sofa, reading Giulia’s cookbook with a glass of wine. At quarter to midnight, Charles’ six-year-old cousin, Marco, comes inside and slots himself beside Charles, eyes sleepy.
“Cugino,” he says. Cousin. His voice is squeaky and childish.
“Yes, Marco?” Charles asks, preoccupied with his cards.
“Put me to sleep,” he says in accented English.
“Later. You should wait.”
“Can she do it?” A chubby hand rises and points toward you. You offer a small wink, sipping wine.
“Only if she wants to,” Charles says, turning to face you. You chuckle.
“I’d be happy to, Marco.” You smile.
“Cugino.” Marco tugs on Charles’ sleeve to regain his attention. “What’s her favorite color?”
Oh, shit. Neither of you had really thought this would come up, so you hope Charles can fake it well. While you know everything about him, he knows not much about you, especially little niche facts like this one. Charles clears his throat and goes, “Blue.”
“Favorite song?”
“Uh. Marco, aspettare. OK?”
“Why should he wait?” Giorgio asks, gruff. “Your aunts and I are curious, too.”
Charles meets your eyes, and you try to signal for him to lie, which he ends up doing. “It’s Take a Chance on Me. ABBA, zio.”
You do know that song, but it’s definitely not your favorite. You close the cookbook and get up, pacing onto the seat beside Marco and leaning against it, smiling and nodding. Beside Giorgio, Mia asks sweetly, “Do you have any tattoos, dear?”
Just you, or are Italian aunts ridiculously straightforward? You open your mouth at the same time Charles does, and that’s what leads to your downfall. Yes, one, you say. No, none, Charles says at the same time. You both look at each other, eyes wide.
His uncle grunts. “Bambino, do you know nothing of this lovely girl?”
“You misunderstand,” Charles says. “I thought she wouldn’t want to share that yet, zio. I tried to cover for her, but, er—she seems okay with sharing it.”
It’s a flimsy excuse but it seems to work, and the poker game resumes without any more questions about you.
Still, you grow nervous, frustrated a bit, and, once you spot Marco asleep, you take him into your arms and mumble a polite goodnight, carrying him upstairs. The call was just too close. Why did Charles feel the need to interject like that? Had you been caught in such a lie, you’d need to reveal everything.
Something else tugs at your chest, but you refuse to admit it incites an unhappy feeling out of you. Charles’ lack of knowledge about you did nothing but remind you that in the end, he did know nothing about you, and this was just contractual and obligatory and for the press-turned-for the family. You pat Marco’s forehead, sighing. You shouldn’t be so upset, but you are.
You know a lot about Charles, but it’s a cold fact that he can’t say the same about you; at least, not to the extent that you know him. The doors and staircase creak, signifying the game’s end and everyone’s retreat to bed; you await Charles’ entrance, which comes after you hear him opening your room, finding it empty, and then—
“Sorry. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” you say, hushed. You get up and walk past him, crossing the corridor and opening the door halfway into your room.
He says, then: “You really never tell me anything about yourself.”
You freeze, turn, suddenly frustrated all over again. Suddenly sad. “Yeah. You really know nothing about me.” It’s exaggerated, so it cuts deeper.
He’s upset, you realize. “Do I have to beg for these sorts of basic facts? I wa—I…” He pauses. “I want to know you more. I’ve always wanted to.”
“You didn’t even think to—to ask me the most basic questions before we got here.” You’re aware he didn’t owe you this, but your irritance doesn’t quell. “My favorite song, my favorite movie, color, anything. I could name all that on your behalf.”
“Every time I ask, you deflect. You never told me, either,” he says defiantly.
You scoff and ponder for a minute before shaking your head and clambering down the steps. You need some fresh air, having gotten mad so quickly. You know it makes no sense—he never needed to ask about you. Prior to last week, you worked with him. Still, everything’s changed now, and it feels hurtful knowing he can’t name these things about you.
You take a seat on the terrace chair, pretend not to notice when he sits beside you, separated by a table.
You hug your arms closer to yourself, sigh. “It’s, a koi fish on my hipbone. Hurt like a bitch.”
He looks at you, curious. You continue.
“My high school superlative was ‘most likely to be elected president’—embarrassing, I know. I won the local spelling bee. Thrice in a row. I love the color green, and the movie Fantastic Mr. Fox.”
You pretend you’re not feeling anxious from the sudden sharing, clearing your throat and keeping your gaze trained on the landscape of houses and hills around you.
“I love crosswords to a worrying degree, I’m a dog person but have never owned one, and my favorite song is Don’t Go Breaking My Heart. I kill it on karaoke.” Finally, your eyes slide slowly over to look at Charles. He’s already looking at you, smile soft on his flushed, pink face.
“I didn’t think of you as much of a singer,” he says, eyes crinkling from the size of his smile.
Huffing and stifling a laugh, you cross your arms defiantly over your torso. Your lips melt into a pout, and you flip him off in an attempt to stave him off. He just laughs harder, gulping the rest of his wine with ease.
“To be fair, I think I dance better,” you respond proudly. “It’s still bad, but it’s better. Better than you, anyway.”
“Is that a challenge?” He asks, mouth half-open, still caught in a laugh. “Wow. Okay, d’accord. It’s on.”
“It is most certainly not a challenge, Charles!” You object frustratedly.
“Challenge accepted!”
Against your vocal protests, he gets up from his chair and reenters the house, exiting with his phone in one hand and the rest of the wine in the other. He browses his selection of songs, humming until he seems satisfied with one of them. He pours you both a glass of preparatory red, a grin lighting up his face.
You burrow into the chair, unrelenting when he stretches out a hand to invite you to dance. You only end up giving in when you’ve successfully finished your wine, getting up and straightening out the wrinkles in your dress.
Your hand is still loosely clutched around his when he plays the Bee Gees song he’d queued up, and then both of you start dancing.
It’s a bit fast-paced, but you catch up well, letting yourself move fluidly to the song. All the while, your hand remains looped around his, like an anchor, a saving point. You shut your eyes to immerse yourself in the song, a smile on your face. When you crack them open, you watch Charles dance goofily, with moves you’d be totally embarrassed by otherwise. This time, you’re strangely endeared.
Where you expected yourself—the both of you, really—to be stiff and awkward, you’re both loose and easygoing, chuckling and laughing as the song progresses. Your dress swishes by your knees softly when you move, letting go of his hand momentarily. It flexes with the feeling of his absence. Charles dances like he has no care in the world, with movements that would rival a fifty-year-old’s. You find that you don’t have a care in the world either, watching him with a stupid grin on your features.
Your heart swells and seizes, and you swallow, not wanting to realize why yet. He reaches for your hand again, seeks it in the evening light. You give it to him easily, cut his search short. You’re what he looks for.
He lifts your linked hands right as the song starts its ending, and you realize you’re supposed to twirl around them. With a laugh, you follow, letting your arms stretch out when you’re done. He pulls you back, with strength that sends you barreling into his chest. “Dude,” you mumble, giggling. “Charles, you ruined my flow.”
You both part, but barely; your hands are still clasped, your distance barely increased. You stare up at him when the next song clicks on.
It’s slower this time, a song you recognize from films and novels. You remember this specific rendition from two years ago in Silverstone, when Charles had shared over a meeting that he’d been busy teaching himself the piano—specifically, The Way You Look Tonight.
The song continues, your hands still together, your eyes boring into his. The moon makes his light eyes a different shade, all green and soft edges rivaling the intensity of his stare. “Come on,” he says. “Why stop, no?”
He raises your hands, guides his vacant one to wrap around your waist. It’s warm there, secure, belonging. With all the hesitance in the world, you wrap a hand around his upper arm. Your gaze is unbreaking.
“Thank you,” he says, steering you both into a slow, easy rhythm. The nerves melt away slowly when you continue to sway. You cock a head to the side in a silent request for elaboration.
“For sharing.”
“Oh. It was only right,” you reply. “Considering you know nothing niche about me.”
“Tell me…” He starts, but the words tangle in his throat, lodge themselves there in a fit of nerves. He breathes, breaks the gaze. “I mean, I wouldn’t mind… if you told me more.”
A brief shine of surprise passes through your eyes, and you nod. “Alright.”
“Alright.” He smiles.
“Do you think, ” you say, swallowing the sorrow, “we’ll need to keep doing this when the week is ov—?”
“Let’s not dwell on that,” he says quickly. He sounds—sad, almost, at the thought of this being fake. In the days spent here, picking grapes, drinking wine, going on bike rides and practicing Italian, it was easy to let the lines blur. Perhaps he’d forgotten.
You realize, when he leans forward and slots his chin atop your head: you’d forgotten, too.
—
Despite the tension, the next day goes fairly normal, and Charles takes you to town on Apollonia late at night. The Tuscan air is crisp and clean when he parks by a pub, loud not with techno music or hip-hop, but Italians singing. Inside, it’s not so crowded, populated by regulars, few tourists, and several older people.
Charles orders himself a beer, and a cocktail for you after you request something sweet. The bartender gives you an extra one on the house, and you and Charles seat yourself in front, watching people sing on the stage.
“Vi piace cantare?” Someone asks, and Charles quickly supplies: he’s asking if we like to sing.
You wave your palm back and forth. So-so, you signal. Charles, of course, ever the social butterfly, slides into a natural conversation with him, about Italy, pubs, beer, and singing. The guy introduces himself as Antonio, owner of said pub and a man who is apparently more than happy to clear the queue of singers for you two.
“Wait, seriously?” You ask. Antonio nods, clapping Charles on the back. You’d have thought they’d been friends for years or something.
You immediately turn down the request, but Charles scrambles onstage, having downed two bottles of beer. You’re overcome with horror as you watch him walk across the small stage to the side of it to request a song, encouraging whoops from the crowd.
“Ohhhhh. Oh, no. This is not a good idea,” you say, gulping. “Plus, I’ve had a lot to drink. Your aperol spritzes have so much alcohol in them.”
Beside you, Antonio laughs. “Non si preoccupi—do not worry. He seems to be a confident guy. You’re in good hands.”
“Am I? He didn’t even ask if I wanted to sing. I don’t even know what to sing.” You watch him whisper a song to the guy in charge of the pub’s ancient karaoke system, half-sure that the song archive stops after 1990. The stage creaks when Charles reaches for another mic and then stretches his arm out to offer it to you.
You muster your best angry face, but he just laughs. “Come on. You will like it.”
Gulping the rest of your cocktail, you accept the mic, and then his hand, strong in yours as he helps you climb onstage. The crowd of locals and few tourists cheer for the both of you, and you don’t do much to hide your stage fright; even the buzz of alcohol can’t help you. You hope (and know, deep down) that Charles will.
“Buona sera a tutti,” Charles says, met with more raucous cheering. “Io e il mio amico cateremo per te stasera.” He bows, and you follow a bit stiffly, not knowing what he’s saying.
“Amico?” Someone jeers from the audience. “O fidanzata?!”
Charles laughs, and you know he’s truly entertained because his eyes crinkle the way they do. You fiddle with your dress, your hair, anything to channel the nerves. He waves the crowd off with a shush motion and then turns, gestures for the song to start. He catches your eye, anxious, quells your nerves by taking your hand and squeezing it. Don’t worry, he mouths. I’m here.
You identify the song before two seconds of it even play, and the realization is breathtaking: your favorite. You shut your eyes and let a huge smile come onto your face, laughing. You almost can’t believe him for this.
He starts off the song, taking your hand and leading you into a dance. Don’t go breaking my heart.
You twirl around him, exaggerating your movements and smiling. I couldn’t if I tried.
Somehow, you find dexterity, flow in the movements, the words. Maybe because you love the song so much. Charles matches your enthusiasm, singing loudly and exaggerating his accent to incite laughs from the onlookers. When he speeds up, so do you, allowing both of you to join in an upbeat rhythm that leaves you panting.
Ooh-hoo, nobody knows it, you both sing, laughing and shimmying toward each other. You both point and laugh, joining hands again when the chorus ends to sing your lines all over again. Charles always leads you well, alert as he is excited, letting you melt into him, adapt to the dance. You feel like you’re floating.
Don’t go breaking my heart, he sings.
I won’t go breaking your heart, you sing back, ducking underneath your hands, laughing.
The tension, warmth, spark between you grow as the song begins to close, your words breathless, faces flushed with alcohol and semi-exhaustion. Even if your face seems to show it, though, you find you’re not tired at all, smiling as your heart beats faster. You pull away, dancing to the last bits of the song, having let go of all your worries, nerves. Why were you ever nervous? You always trusted him.
The song fades to an end when you pull together, faces as close as they’d ever been. You’re both breathing heavy with the intensity of your dance, smiling. You shut your eyes, laugh, with the ecstasy of this moment. From the crowd, the bartender yells: “Ora bacia! Kiss!”
Both you and Charles turn to the crowd, who quickly cheer him on, and laugh. But they’re not kidding, you realize—they’re all yelling kiss in unison, intermittent whoops and cheers joining the chant. It’s like a rural Italian version of an MLB kiss cam.
You turn back to Charles, who’s looking at you already. His eyes dart to your lips. You’d never done it before—appearances never went that far—but the crowd is unrelenting, and you nod back when he cocks his head to the side in silent question. Like always, you’re nervous. And again, like always, he helps you through it.
Warmth blossoms through your chest when he leans in and presses your lips together.
That would’ve been enough to satisfy the crowd, you think, but neither of you pull away. Sparks ignite your stomach, your hands looping around his neck, his around your waist. You kiss him back effortlessly, like you’d done this a million times before. You feel him smile against your own smile, laugh when you laugh.
The kiss is nothing if not dizzying, the perfect kind, the kind of the fairytale variety. His lips are soft, a bit chapped, against yours; when your tongues meet, they taste like aperol spritz and beer. Your hands tighten around his neck, like you need him still against you, when you both pull away for air. The crowd cheers.
You barely even hear them, staring into his eyes.
—
The night becomes cloudy, raining softly over the hills when everybody’s done singing; Charles boards Apollonia and like always, you wrap your hands around him, leaning against his back. You’re a bit tipsy, but above all, you’re utterly conflicted with how everything’s seemed to turn in on itself within the last few days.
The rain only grows as Charles revs harder, and the Vespa skids to a screeching, horrible stop. Thankfully, you’re not far from the farmhouse, so you don’t walk much; still, both of you are drenched, Charles’ arms stained with motor oil that drips off with the force of the rain. He stows away the bike, turns back to you. You’re looking at him expectantly.
“What is this?” You demand, raising your voice.
“Rain,” he replies blankly.
“This.” You wag a finger in between you both. “We kissed in Antonio’s pub, Charles. And we might—we might tell ourselves it was because of the crowd’s pressure, but we know. We both know that kiss was for nobody but us.”
He wipes a hand over his face. “What do you want it to be?”
“I don’t know,” you say honestly, sighing. Your hair is dripping with rain. “I really don’t.”
“I’ll tell you what I want,” he says. And he pauses, like he always does when he’s unsure, nervous, bumbling, and then blurts it out. “You—I want you. I was a fool to realize it late. But years of being with you, around you… I should’ve known earlier, I—”
“Charles,” you cut in, not expecting the sudden rawness. “No, no.”
“You’ve got to realize,” he says desperately. “I do. I constantly think of you, feel for you, look for you, look at you. I’ve known you for so long, I always end up liking you all over again. Everything comes back to you. Seeing you here, a place I love—seeing you love it here—listening to you sing, dancing with you—don’t you—haven’t you gotten it yet—?”
You stare at him.
You’re faraway, on the clouds, dry from the rain, when he says it. I love you.
—
The morning after is quiet, muted. You drown in your own overbearing thoughts.
“Got a lot on your mind?” You emerge from them quick, eyes darting over to Charles’ two aunts leaning by the doorframe of the dining room. You offer a polite smile, hoping it hides the conflict in the recesses of your mind.
“A bit,” you reply.
“Come join us,” Mia offers. “We will pick lemons outside. For lunch.”
You take a basket from the entryway and follow them through the front door and onto the yard, matching their slow pace, relishing in the morning sun that hasn’t yet grown too hot.
Tuscany is beautiful. Despite your best efforts, you’d grown to love it here over the course of the week. The hilly terrain, the fruit, the constant goat sightings, the bike rides to town where you clutch Charles’ shirt out of fear you might fall off.
They seem to spot good lemons within milliseconds, balding the branches in minutes. Perhaps because of your own cloudy thoughts, or maybe their breakneck speed, you fail to catch up, and they notice.
Mia again brings you out of your thoughts, guiding you three to the next tree. “Are you upset, bambina? Is Charles being a pest?”
“Oh, God, no,” you say with a laugh. “We—he’s a great tour guide. I never explored Italy before, and it’s beautiful here. He bikes me to town, because I can’t, uh, ride, unfortunately. He transacts for me, because my Italian is hopeless. He buys wine and cheese and lets me pet sheep when we bike past them on the hills.”
“Bambini innamorati.” Mia sighs fondly. “What is it you like about Charles?”
You hum, thinking. There are lots of things you like about Charles, but surely his family share the same sentiments. What’s unique? What about him is just yours? “His humor, I suppose,” you say. “He finds the fun in everything, even in competition, in boredom. Everywhere else, his good traits—everyone knows them. A stellar driver, charming, kind. Good-looking. But his humor, I think… I think he reserves his weirdest jokes, his best laughs, for the best people in his life. I’m just glad I’m there.”
Giulia is the next to speak, slow and encouraging, prompting you with a question you’d once dreaded but now feel excitement to hear: “Tell me again, how you and Charles met?”
It’s a rehearsed story, with bits of lies that you and Charles had to insert to make it appear more romantic and less coworker-esque. But you’d only told the short version before. To some journalists, to his cousin. You figure you’ll lie less and tell a more unabridged version. “Oh, okay,” you say, nervous and collecting your thoughts.
“I work with Charles. I was spending time with him a lot, so naturally, we became somewhat friends. Not very close, but comfortable enough. I had to take pictures and videos for him and his teammate, so we really were together a lot. I suppose that’s how we met. How we became… something more, is a totally different story. I think the best thing about it was that neither of us were looking for it.”
You breathe, pausing. “It simply happened—despite both of us not expecting, not needing a relationship, it happened anyway. Almost funny, how young people like myself look for the moment of love at first sight. The staggering moment of eye contact and realizing you’ve met your soulmate. But—it wasn’t like that for me. It happened slowly, like I had to dissect what I felt. Like my heart had always known, so I had to catch up with myself and realize I…”
You pause. You really aren’t lying. “…I’m in love with him.”
Giulia and Mia exchange a knowing look over the branches.
—
“So, are you dating?” Natalie asks. It’s the first race of the season, and everyone’s excited—but this interview moves slowly, Charles dictating the flow of it himself. He smiles.
“Yes, we are.”
“Well, there’d been rumors a few months ago that this was a PR stunt, calculated by your new officer, Jenna Griffin. So, tell me again, are you dating? For real?”
Charles seeks you in the crowd of the meet-and-greet fans, finds you in the front row. You roll your eyes when he smiles fondly at you. A Tuscany trip and several months later, he thinks, has changed everything.
For the better. “For real.”
#f1#charles leclerc#charles leclerc x reader#charles leclerc imagines#charles leclerc drabble#charles leclerc smut#charles leclerc imagine#f1 x reader
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you don't even know my name
chris sturniolo x f!reader
warnings : SMUT hm hm hm hmmm 😈🙏
I cringed so hard writing this but here is your fic also it's not proofread ☝🔥
•As the sun slowly sank below the horizon, you and your best friend Ava found yourselves nestled comfortably in the cozy confines of your car, as you had been for the past few hours. The scent of freshly popped popcorn filled the air. You had been discussing everything from your favorite TV shows to the latest celebrity gossip, all while capturing it all on camera for your loyal YouTube followers.
"I just can't get over how hot he is" Ava gushed as she scrolled through a picture of a popular actor on her phone. "I kid you not y/n if this man asked me to get on my knees and bark" she paused looking up at you with seriousness in her eyes "I'd do it!" You couldn't help but laugh at her dramatic tone. "Oh please" you chuckled.
"I mean he's hot and all but imagine moaning his name"you added, taking a sip of your root beer. Ava paused for a moment, her face scrunching in concentration. "yeah you're right" she finally said, "It's so unmoanable, like you can't even do it right!" You couldn't help but snicker at her poor attempt. "Okay, enough of that," Ava said, rolling her eyes.
"no, but like let's talk about unmoanable names," You said, sitting up straight. "Like, imagine moaning something like 'Bradley' or 'Austin' or something, it's just not it!" You both giggled at the ridiculousness of it.
"how about 'Christopher'" Ava asked, making you both laugh. "oh Christopher, yes! Just like that" you whined sarcastically. The two of you were in hysterics now, tears streaming down your faces as you tried to catch your breath.
"Wait wait, you could use the short version too like Chris or Topher, and then it'd be like 'Oh-Topher!' That would be so much worse!" You both collapsed into fresh fits of giggles, unable to contain your amusement any longer. "Oh my god, I can't believe we're laughing so hard at this" Ava managed to choke out between laughs. "But like seriously, imagine trying to moan out 'Oh Christopher' while you're bouncing on it..." you trailed off, unable to finish the thought without losing it again.
"WOAH" Ava's eyes widened as she processed what you had just said. She covered her mouth, trying to muffle her laughter. "Oh my god, oh my god!"
Your sides hurt from laughing so hard, tears streaming down your face. "okay I guess we should probably-" you started, but Ava cut you off with a loud laugh. "end this video here" You snorted, trying to catch your breath. 'Oh, Christopher'..." Your voice trailed off, before ending the video, and the two of you dissolved into another fit of giggles, clutching each other for support.
After regaining your composure, you both decided to go home and edit the video before posting it online. you couldn't help but giggle to yourself as you watched back the footage, "I can't believe we were laughing so hard at something so stupid," Ava chuckled, shaking her head. "But hey, at least it made a good video," you replied, your eyes still glued to your laptop. Once you were satisfied with your editing, you quickly uploaded the video to your YouTube channel.
The next few days, the video went so viral unexpectedly that you and Ava couldn't believe your eyes. Thousands of comments flooded your YouTube page. The likes and subscribers to your channel were duplicated, and everyone was sharing clips from the video on TikTok and Instagram. You even got invited to a huge influencer party this weekend. You and Ava were both completely overwhelmed by the sudden attention, but you couldn't help but laugh at how ridiculous the whole thing was. You even found yourselves scrolling through the comments, reading all the different interpretations of the 'Oh Christopher' joke. Some people thought it was the funniest thing they'd ever heard, while others were confused as to why it was so funny at all.
-
The dimly lit room was filled with the familiar sounds of typing as Nick, was sat on the sofa across from Chris scrolling through his phone. The two brothers were in their usual setting, the living room of their apartment. It was just another normal evening for them until a video that popped up on Nick's screen caught his eye and sent him into fits of laughter.
"Dude, you gotta see this" Nick exclaimed, barely able to contain his laughter as he threw his phone at Chris.
Chris, confused by his brother's sudden outburst , took the phone and began to watch the video. It was a clip of two girls, sitting in a car.
"But like seriously, imagine trying to moan out 'Oh Christopher' while you're bouncing on it..." One of the girls in the video trailed off,
"WOAH!" The other one looked at her in shock, before they both burst into laughter.
Chris stared at Nick's phone in disbelief, his eyes widening as he continued to watch the video. He couldn't help but let out a chuckle, and soon enough they were both doubled over with laughter. "Oh my god," Chris gasped between laughs, "this is too much." He handed the phone back to Nick, still chuckling.
Their laughter died down as they both sat there, breathing heavily. Chris grabbed his phone, opening TikTok."Nick send me that video" Nick raised his eyebrows but decided to comply.
As Chris watched the video, again, he clicked on the hashtag that had one of the girls' names in it and found hundreds of similar videos, and some edits. He clicked on the first video that popped up. It was a different clip from the same video.
"how about 'Christopher'" the girl asked
"oh Christopher, yes! Just like that" the other one whined, sarcastically. But something about the way she said it made Chris' heart race a little too fast. it turned him on.
He couldn't believe it, but there was something about hearing his name come out of her lips like that, in that suggestive tone, that did it for him.
He couldn't help but feel a strange tingle in his pants. He quickly looked away from the screen, trying to pretend it wasn't affecting him. he felt stupid for getting turned on by some random girl on TikTok. But the more he thought about it, the more aroused he became. He shifted uncomfortably on the couch, wishing he could just focus on something else. He felt guilty, ashamed even.
-
"I hate traffic," you complained as your best friend Ava pulled up to the curb in front of the mansion. The address was an unlisted number in the most exclusive part of town, and you'd been circling the block for over twenty minutes. "Why couldn't they just have this party somewhere normal?"
"This is normal for them," Ava shrugged, throwing her car into the park. She grabbed her small, designer purse and hopped out of the car, glancing around at the other luxury vehicles surrounding you.
You both walked up to the huge, gold-plated doors and were immediately greeted by a bouncer who checked your names off a list. The inside of the mansion was even more luxurious than you'd expected, with marble floors, crystal chandeliers, and expensive artwork adorning the walls. The party itself was in full swing, with people dancing to the loud music and laughing as they sipped on their drinks.
"Hey, check out that guy over there," Ava pointed at a tall, dark-haired man standing by himself near the grand piano. He looked like he was lost in thought, not paying attention to anyone else around him. "He's totally cute. Let's go say hi!"
"girl, no," you said shaking your head, "you don't even know him" you whispered to your best friend. Ava rolled her eyes" When did YOU start caring if we know people or not? Come on, he's cute and looks lonely" she insisted.
You sighed"Fine, but let me get a drink first" Ava nodded, and You made your way through the crowded room, carefully navigating between people as you made your way to the bar. The bartender smiled warmly at you as you approached. "What can I get you tonight?"
"Surprise me," you said with a small smile. The bartender reached for a bottle behind him and began pouring liquids into a shiny martini glass. "On the house," he said, sliding the drink across the polished wood. "My name's Damon, by the way." You took a sip of the drink, savoring the smooth, fruity flavor. "Thanks, Damon," you said, setting the glass down on the counter.
While you were chatting with Damon, you kept an eye on Ava and the mysterious man she'd been so interested in. You decided to let her have her fun, but you weren't quite ready to join them yet. As you took another sip of your drink, you found yourself lost in thought.
You were just about to set your glass down when you felt a hand on your waist, gently guiding you off to the side, before letting go. You turned to see who it was and was met with the most beautiful pair of blue eyes you had ever seen.
"Sorry," a gentle voice said, before disappearing. You turned back to the party, taking in the scene, Ava was now dancing with the tall, dark-haired guy. They seemed to be enjoying themselves, and Ava looked like she was having the time of her life.
You took one last sip from your drink, before placing it down with a 'clack' on the counter. With a smile, you slowly made your way through the crowd, the rhythm of the music guiding your steps. The dance floor was packed, but somehow you managed to find a spot where you could lose yourself in the music.
Kiss It Better by Rihanna started playing and you smiled, the beat was perfect for your mood. You raised your arm in the air and began to sway to the music, feeling the rhythm in your bones. You closed your eyes, letting the music take control as you moved your hips and spun around, singing along to the words.
unbeknownst to you, the same blue-eyed stranger from before had been watching you as you danced, to the music, and seemed to enjoy it as much as you did.
His eyes locked on you as you swayed, a small smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. You span around, your eyes catch his and hold them, you smile tilting your head slightly in confusion as you continue to dance, and you gesture to him with your index finger to come closer. He nods slightly, walking over to you, his hands in his pockets. He took a step forward before swiftly moving around you, guiding your body with his hands as he spins you around the dance floor.
You gasped, your heart pounding in excitement. The music seemed to fade away, leaving only the sound of your breath and the beat of your heart. He held you close, his big hands resting on the fabric of your skirt, his chest pressed against your back. You could feel his hardening length pressed against your ass, and it made you want to moan with pleasure.
As if sensing your arousal, he slowed down the dance, moving you in a lazy circle on the dance floor. His hands traveled up your back, cupping your shoulders, before sliding down to your hips. He pulled you closer, grinding his hips against yours, his erection pressing harder against your ass. You arched your back, pressing yourself against him, wanting more of his touch.
You were aware of the fact that he was just a stranger, but like Ava said, when did you care if you knew people or not? You let yourself enjoy the moment, and enjoy him. His hands traveled down to your hips, lifting you higher against his body. He pressed his lips against your ear, whispering, "You feel so good, so warm in my arms."
You shivered, feeling a wave of pleasure wash over you. The alcohol was beginning to make you feel light-headed but in a good way. You pressed your back harder against him, wanting more of his touch "Careful, princess, we're in a public place" he whispered, loosening his grip on you slightly. You felt the cool air brush against your skin as he pulled you away from his body, but you reached back, grabbing his hand and dragging him behind you, as you hurried out of the dance floor.
You led him to a bathroom, grabbing the knob and twisting, just to realize that it was locked, he watched in amusement as you give the door an aggressive kick, sighing in frustration when it still doesn't open. "Hey, I got it," he says, crouching down and wrapping his arm around the space between the back of your knees and the small of your back, lifting you up in the air effortlessly. "Gotcha." He carries you to the end of the hallway where there's a small, unused office, its door slightly ajar. He kicks it open, revealing an empty room with a small desk and a few chairs. He carries you inside, setting you down next to the desk with a gentle thump.
You turn to face him, your hands grabbing the edge of the desk, and leaning back on it. "That's better," you pant, your breath hot. His eyes meet yours, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. "And what do you want to do now?" he asks, his voice low and husky.
You swallow hard, feeling a wave of desire wash over you. "I don't know... show me something I've never seen before," you whisper, your voice barely audible over the muffled music. His eyes flash with amusement and he leans in closer.
"you don't even know my name," he whispers back, his lips brushing against your ear. "hmm?" he asks, his warm breath tickling your skin. You inhale, feeling a shiver run down your spine. You tilt your head to the side, offering him better access to your neck.
"I don't care" You muttered as you closed your eyes, giving into the sensation of his breath on your skin. "Just show me something I've never seen before..." Your voice trailed off as you felt his fingers gently brush against your cheek, pushing a stray hair back behind your ear.
"that's crazy coming from someone who thinks Chris is an unmoanable name" Your eyes snapped open and met his. You quickly looked away feeling ashamed as you realized he had definitely seen the video.
"way to ruin the moment," you said, trying to sound annoyed but failing. He let out a chuckle, seeming to enjoy teasing you. "It's okay, sweetheart. I don't care about that either. You looked like you were having fun in your video, and that's all that matters." His hand traveled down your cheek, cupping your jaw, and turning your head so that you were looking at him again. "let's see how much will it take you to take back your opinion about my name..." He leaned in closer, his lips just millimeters from yours. "If you do, then I'll stop teasing you."
Your heart raced as you stared into his eyes. A part of you wanted to take back your words, to kiss him just to prove yourself wrong, but another part of you wanted to keep him teasing you, wanting more of his attention. You hesitated for a moment, feeling the anticipation build up inside you, before finally leaning in and pressing your lips against his. His hand moved to the back of your head, gently pulling you closer, deepening the kiss.
You felt a thrill run through you as you explored his mouth, tasting the beer on his tongue and the hint of mint from his breath. He tasted so good, better than any of your past hookups. You moaned into the kiss, feeling your body start to respond to his touch, wanting more of it. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him even closer.
He broke the kiss, pulling back just enough to look you in the eyes. His pupils were dilated, his cheeks flushed. "Well, I guess that answers that question," he said with a smirk. "You're so stubborn" He leaned in again, his lips pressing against yours, and you felt your body melt into his touch.
His hand slipped down your back, over the curve of your ass, and gripped your hip. You moaned into his kiss, feeling the heat between your legs spread throughout your entire body. He pulled you closer, grinding his hips against yours, and you could feel the growing bulge in his pants pressing against your leg. His other hand found its way under your shirt, tracing lazy circles on your bare skin, making you shiver.
As he walked you backward, your back hit the wall with a soft thud. He didn't break the kiss, instead, he deepened it, his tongue sliding against yours in a rhythm that sent shockwaves through your core.
One of his hands slid up your body, and grabbed your neck, pulling your head back. He pressed his knee on your clothed center, grinding against it roughly. His lips left yours, trailing down your jaw to your neck. He sucked gently on your skin, leaving a mark that stung pleasantly. "You're so fucking wet" he chuckled, his voice rough with desire. You moaned, arching your back against him. "Do you want me to stop?" he asked, his voice laced with entertainment. You shook your head frantically, feeling the heat between your legs growing more intense by the second.
He released your neck but didn't let go of your hip. His other hand found its way under your shirt, teasing your nipple through your bra. You gasped as he pinched it hard, rolling it between his fingers. "Fuck," you whined, squirming against him. He chuckled darkly and bit down on your neck. "Maybe I should just take you right here," he whispered, his words hot against your skin.
Before you could reply, he reached down and quickly slid down your panties, baring you to him. You gasped as his fingers brushed against your slick folds, feeling the cool air of the room against your exposed cunt. He placed his knee back between your legs, rubbing roughly against your swollen clit. His hands were now gripping your waist tightly as you rode his thigh, your hips moving in a desperate rhythm.
You arch your back, as he continues to tease you. His thigh is hot against your clit. You feel your muscles tense, your breath coming in short gasps as you edge closer and closer to your release. You close your eyes, lost in the sensation of his hands on your hips, guiding you on his thigh, and the way he looks at you like he can see every thought and feeling inside you.
You feel him kiss your neck, his lips trailing down your shoulder as he sucks gently on the skin. "Fuck, I want to feel you around me," he whispers, and with one swift motion, he stands, lifting you up with him. You wrap your legs around his waist, feeling his hardness pressing against you, and the wetness between your legs spreading on his thigh. He carries you back over to the desk, setting you down gently on the surface with a thud. Your legs spread wide as he kneels between them, his hands on the desktop for support as he leans in, his lips just above your center.
You watch him as he looks down at you, his eyes dark with desire. He parts your folds with his thumbs, revealing your swollen clit to him. His tongue flicks out, circling your sensitive nub before pressing against it in a long, slow lick. You arch your back, moaning loudly as he sucks on your clit, teasing it with his teeth before soothing it with his tongue. Your hips rise off the desk, seeking more contact with his mouth.
As you feel yourself getting closer, he stops, pulling his lips away from your center. You look up at him in confusion, breathless from the pleasure he's been giving you. "Please," you whisper, your voice shaky. He smirks, reaching down and rubbing your clit roughly with his thumb. "Please what?" he teases, his voice low and seductive. "Please make you come?"You nod frantically, your hips bucking against his hand.
"use your words" He demands, his gaze locked on yours as you struggle to form a sentence. You can't speak, your words tangled up in the pleasure flowing through your body. He watches you with dark, intense eyes, his thumb still rubbing your sensitive clit in small, slow circles.
You felt the pressure building inside you, your body tense and ready to release. You dig your nails into his shoulders, urging him to keep going, to help you get there. He chuckles, leaning in closer, his lips brushing against your ear. "Tell me what you want," he whispers, his breath sending shivers down your spine. "Tell me how you want it."
You gasp, your eyes flashing up to meet his as you try to catch your breath. "I want you to make me cum," you manage to choke out, the words barely audible even to your ears. "I want it so bad," you whine, your hips grinding against his hand. You're so close, that you can feel the heat rising up from your core. You arch your back, pressing your swollen clit harder against his thumb, desperate for release.
"What did we agree on though ?" He asked, teasingly slowing down his hand movement as he watched your face twist in frustration. You grit your teeth, his thumb still circling your clit. "I take..." you breathed out, your voice strained as you tried to focus. "...I take it back."
He smiled, his lips curling up into a wicked grin as he continued to tease you. "take what back, sweetheart ?" he whispered huskily, his thumb still moving in small circles. You gasped, as you tried to focus. "Your name," you managed to choke out between breaths. "it's moanable."
"oh yeah ?" he asked, a smirk curling his lips as he glanced up at you from where he knelt between your spread legs. "prove it" he challenged, his thumb still working on your clit in small, relentless circles. He leaned in closer, his breath fanning across your wet center as his lips parted, revealing his teeth. "Prove to me that it's moanable."
You inhaled, feeling your body tensing. His finger pressed harder against your clit, his thumb, and forefinger forming a perfect circle as he circled and pressed. You arched your back, your hips lifting off the desk as you moaned his name, your voice low and throaty. "Chris!." you panted, your words coming out in gasps.
"Now that wasn't so hard, was it?" He asked, his voice low and amused.
You moaned again, your hips moving faster against his hand as you felt the familiar tension building inside you. "That's it," he whispered, leaning in closer, his lips brushing against your thigh. "Let it out for me"
You cried out, your body arching as you came. Your muscles clench and release in rapid succession, your breath coming out in ragged gasps as pleasure washes over you in waves. His thumb continues to circle your clit, milking every last drop of pleasure from your body.
"Fuck, it feels so good," you pant, your head falling back against the desk. You feel a shiver run down your spine as he leans in closer, his lips brushing against your inner thigh. "Don't... don't stop," you whimper, your hips still moving helplessly against his hand.
He chuckles, his thumb continuing to circle your clit, his other hand moving to cup your hip, holding you in place. You whimper, arching your back as you feel the last tendrils of pleasure wash over you.
"I can't believe how submissive you are," he giggled, his breath hot against your sensitive skin. "I feel like I could make you cum just by thinking about it." He leans in closer, pressing a gentle kiss against your thigh.
You moan, your body still trembling from the intense orgasm. His hand moves to gently stroke your clit, teasing the sensitive skin as he asks, "Want more?"
You were about to answer, but a loud ring interrupted you. "Shit," Chris muttered as he reached for his phone, glancing at the screen. "It's my mom." He rolled his eyes and put the phone to his ear, shooting you a sheepish smile. "Hey mom, what's up?"
As he spoke to his mother, you took the opportunity to collect yourself, pushing the desk back and sitting up straight. Your heart was still racing, and your body felt warm and tingling all over. Chris glanced at you from time to time, a small smile playing on his lips.
When he finally hung up the phone, he let out a sigh. "Sorry about that," he said, shaking his head. "So, um... I have to go" he added, glancing at you with a sheepish grin. "But I had a really good time. You were great, and I can't wait to see you again."
You were a little disappointed, but you still smiled at him. "I had a great time too, Chris." He leans down, his face close to yours, and brushes a stray hair from your cheek. "Maybe next time, I'll make you cum even harder," he giggled, and before you can react, he's gone.
-
Chris walked into his room, The air in the room was thick with the scent of his cologne, and the bed was unmade, sheets twisted around the pillows. He quickly took off his clothes and walked over to his shower, turning on the water to warm it up. As he stepped in, he couldn't help but think about what had just happened with you. The memory of your body beneath him, your moans in his ear, the feel of your hands on his skin... it was all still fresh in his mind.
"Fuck" He groaned, as he reached between his legs, his hand finding his already hard cock. He began to stroke it slowly, imagining it was you who was touching him. He pictured your soft, warm lips wrapped around him, your tongue swirling around the head, your hands gripping his hips as you took him deeper.
He closed his eyes, letting out a moan, trying to focus on the feel of his skin under his fingertips, and the hot spray of the shower against his body. But it was impossible to ignore the images of you that flashed through his mind, making him even harder.
He remembered how you had looked earlier, sitting on that desk, your legs spread wide, your eyes meeting his as he approached. He could feel the heat between your legs even from across the room. it was driving him wild.
Chris gripped his cock tightly, his hips moving in time with his strokes as The memory of your moans filled the shower stall, echoing in his ears. His breath came in ragged gasps, his body tense with need.
He imagined sliding his cock between your legs, hearing the wetness as he penetrated you, feeling the tightness as he thrust deep inside.
His strokes grew faster, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he neared the brink. He pictured your hands gripping the desk, your head thrown back in euphoria, your loud moans filling the room. His hips bucked wildly, his body tensing as he felt the first, powerful wave of release wash over him.
Chris cried out, his voice muffled by the sound of running water, as he came hard, his cock throbbing in his hand. The hot spray of water pelted his skin, but he barely noticed as he rode out the waves of pleasure. When he finally regained his senses, he quickly cleaned himself up and stepped out of the shower.
He dressed in comfortable sweatpants and a t-shirt, his movements still a little unsteady. He layed down on his bed, staring up at the ceiling as he tried to calm his racing heart. He couldn't help but wonder when he would see you again.
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"this whole thing is a mess"
♡ tooru oikawa x reader - 1.3k
♡ warnings - none other than oikawa himself (and some ugly baby shenanigans)
♡ notes - hi! i'm purple and this is my first post, enjoy! (prompt credit from @creativepromptsforwriting)
It was a mess.
A big, tremendous, nearly-unfixable mess.
The day started off normal enough, you in your comfy gray sweat, loose shirt (that may or may not belong to Oikawa), a book you’ve been overdue to read in your hands. As your eyes scanned the pages, your attention was drawn away as you began to the thump thump thump of someone running up the stairs. And unless someone had broken into your house, you already knew who was currently making their way towards your bedroom.
As if on cue, a familiar ruffle of brunette hair came into view as said person came barreling through your door. For an athlete, it always bemuses you how Oikawa always got so winded running up your stairs.
You patiently wait for him to catch his breath. Finally, after he had decided that enough air had entered his lungs, he looked up and if you knew any better from the look in his eyes, you could already tell he was about to tell the most ridiculous thing ever. Because your boyfriend wouldn���t be doing the world justice if he were one for the dramatics.
“You would not believe what I just found out.”
Staring at him for a few seconds, you roll your eyes, close your books and turn your whole body to face him. This was gonna take a while. “Okay I’ll bite. Tell me what you found out.”
If you squint hard enough, you could almost see the joy gleaming in his eye from the fact that he caused you to turn your whole attention to him. But it quickly disappeared as he crossed the room and plopped down face first onto your bed, arms wide, and began whining.
You should convince him to take up theater.
“Come on Tooru, tell me what you came all the way up here for or I’m going back to my book,” Turning his face, Oikawa looked at you and gave his signature pout. If you called him out for it, he would vigilantly deny it.
“Did you remember when you went over to my mom's house a week ago?”
“When we visited for new years? Yeah I remember, remind me later to ask her for her mochi recipe.”
“Yeah, yeah. So you remember when the two of you decided to torture me by looking at my baby photos?” Honestly, he was the one torturing you with the way he was loudly complaining with each flip of the photo album.
If it wasn’t already obvious by the media attention, countless photo-shoot bookings, and (to his dismay) amount of fanfic being written about him, Oikawa Tooru was a very handsome man. Some might even argue (you) that the word pretty comes to mind when talking about the Argentina National Volleyball Team’s setter.
But a little secret that he had and would rather take to the grave is that he was a very, very ugly baby. At least by his standards. You have a running theory that he only thinks that way because Iwaizumi liked to taunt him about it, especially when they were younger.
“Yes Tooru, although I’ve told you pointless times that you were a very normal looking baby, I do recall looking at photos with your mom.” Reaching a hand out from under the warm blanket, you grab his hand that is closest to you and intertwine your fingers. You swear his pout lessens a little before he continued telling you about his current dilemma.
“Well I was scrolling online and you will not believe what I saw” Sitting up without disconnecting your hands, he sits on the bed, brown eyes now directly across from you.
“Well she. Posted. The. Photos.”
A beat of silence passed as he just stared at you, straight faced and serious.
And then you break eye contact by letting out a short laugh, which apparently broke a dam inside you because your free hand came up to cover your mouth as you tried to suppress the fit of giggles you couldn’t hold back anymore.
Oikawa just continues to stare at you, but now he had a dumbfounded expression on his face, as if he hadn’t just told you the worst possible thing to ever happen to him. Realizing you weren’t gonna stop, Oikawa lets out a long drawn whine, closing the gap in between the two of you and throwing his arms around your body, pressing his face into your neck.
The position caused you to uncover your mouth and now the only sound filling the room was your unfiltered laughs. As much as Oikawa loved listening to the noise, he hugged you tighter hoping you would eventually stop being entertained by his misfortune.
“Why do you hate me, babe. What have I done to deserve this mistreatment?”
As your laughter finally dies down, you reach your arms around and hug him back, rubbing one palm up and down his back as the other hand carded his brown moppy hair through your fingers. Your bedroom was now engulfed by a (rare) moment of peaceful silence as you felt him breathing into your neck.
“Has anyone ever told you that you’d have a knack for always being the most dramatic person in a room” A pause before his response.
“...no” An obvious lie, but you let it slide.
“Alright, what are people saying about your photos though? Can’t be that bad”
Sitting up straight again, his arms were still wrapped around your body so he had to crane his neck to look down at you and you find yourself doing a similar motion to look up at him. If anyone else saw the two of you like this, they might find the positioning comedic.
“It’s terrible. Absolutely horrible. This whole thing is a mess. The entire world is making fun of me as we speak.”
Rolling your eyes, you reach for your phone on the nightstand and begin searching for his mother’s post which wasn’t hard considering you closely followed her actively due to her weekly recipe post. And just as you presumed, Oikawa’s mom’s most recent post was a picture of some photos from the album the two of you looked at a few days ago.
You could tell they were pictures of Oikawa during his infant years, but only because you were able to see it in person but…. When you closely examined the post, you were astonished that anyone could even tell what the photo was off. Even though mama Oikawa had skills in the kitchen and taking pictures of the foods she makes, the woman wasn’t as skilled when photographing other things.
“Babe, literally no one can tell what this is a picture of. If I didn’t know any better, it just looks like she took a picture of a photograph of a loaf of bread and posted it.” A gasp falls from his lips, causing you to look back up at him.
“Are you saying I look like a loaf of bread? How dare you!” You are practically rendered speechless.
“No! I’m saying that unless people have seen the real thing, there is no way anyone would guess that it’s a photo of you as a baby. And I’m looking at the comment section right now, no one is saying anything about you, most people are asking what it even is.”
“What? I swear people were saying stuff” Snatching your phone, he also begins to scroll before he comes across a comment that read:
that’s the stupidest looking baby I’ve ever seen
Turning the phone to show you, he pointed at the words on the screen, giving you a wide eyed I-told-you-so look.
“See??” Looking at him, you gave Oikawa a blank stare.
“Tooru, Hajime is that one who commented that” Flipping the screen back around, his eyes quickly scan for the person who typed out the atrocious words and staring right back at him is Iwa-chan’s username, and profile pic of the gym he worked at.
“Oh”
Pondering his existence, Oikawa almost misses the snort you let out if it wasn’t for the explosion of laughter you let out.
Again
♡ hello! thank you for finishing my first work, i hope you enjoyed it. i would love any type of constructive criticism, either in regard of my writing, theme, or anything else
♡ i took a lot of my inspiration from @adoringhaikyuu, especially when creating my theme so i wanted to give them credit, and i completely recommend their work so go check them out
♡ thank you (again) and warmest regards, ms. purple
#oikawa tooru#oikawa x reader#haikyuu!!#haiykuu#haikyuu oikawa#oikawa fluff#tooru oikawa#haikyuu x reader#oikawa toru x reader#haikyuu x gender neutral reader#haikyuu x f!reader#oikawa tooru fluff#ms.purple♡writes
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the scars, the wound
summary: heizou has two important skills: his intuition and his martial arts. he prefers not to use the latter when working on cases, but what happens when the first fails him?
word count: ~2k
-> warnings: mention/implication of violence near the end.. minor spoilers for heizou lore?
-> gn reader (you/yours)
-> if this looks familiar, it’s a rewrite of this. i didn’t think i posted that draft because it was in need of so much improvement when i recently re-found it, and didn’t realize until after already posting this… whoops.
taglist: @samarill || @thenyxsky || @valeriele3 || @shizunxie || @boba-is-a-soup || @yuus3n || @esthelily || @turningfrogsgay || @cupandtea24 || @genshin-impacts-me || @chaoticfivesworld || @raaawwwr
< masterlist >
heizou’s intuition is wrong, for once. it’s impossibly unlikely, something he can’t remember happening before, but it’s the only logical explanation.
he’s walking through ritou, taking a minor detour along the beach. why, he’s not certain, but some string in his stomach insisted he went. and so, following his intuition, he did.
at first, it’s sand. as all beaches are. he finds himself scanning the shore for anything strange, kicking at a few odd looking rocks. he even checks a few times with elemental sight, but all he gets are the faint wisps of hydro lingering on the sand. not that that meant much—his elemental affinity was never the highest, kazuha was far more reliable for this sort of thing—but normally he could at least gather a general idea of what his mind was trying to tell him… but not this time.
no, when he saw you sitting in the sand, it was the last thing he could have expected.
he stops, squinting a bit. the sky is darkening, approaching dusk, and he was meant to be going to a meeting with thoma. to bother a random civilian and make himself late wasn’t ideal, but to scare you off if you were a criminal could possibly be worse. so, he approaches quietly, noting the way you turned as he did.
and then he recognizes you, all at once. your face was reflected in the posters plastered all over the city, in word-of-mouth descriptions from other officers—you’re the one the whole world’s been looking for. your skin is dirty and your clothes could certainly use a few hours with a needle and thread, and paper doesn’t quite capture the blank look in your eyes as well.
still, he crouches down with a wave, crossing his arms on his knees. “hey there! detective heizou of the tenry-“
“i know you.”
your voice sends a chill down his spine. it pulls at something deep in his core, his soul screaming that you are friend, not foe. briefly, he wonders why he stopped here at all, and then shock hits him like a punch to the gut.
for the first time in a long time, his instincts were wrong.
wrong, because you’re a fugitive.
his smile turns strained, unable to shake the feeling that he’s doing something wrong despite knowing he’s within full legal right. his skin prickles, and he digs his nails into his arm guards to keep steady. “do you? gotta say, i can’t blame you. my name is flung around quite a lot.”
you’re tense but not running. you know him, you know who he is, so…
blank eyes peer at him from under the overgrown shags of your hair, half-lidded and tired. his mind constructs a metaphor without his asking, as if attempting to make sense of something far more complex than you; jewelry, rusted and ancient, luster long lost across the years.
he almost feels sympathetic, but he’s not sure why. he should hate you. you fly in the face of everything he stood for—truth, justice, his creator—but he can’t find the will to do anything to arrest you. he knows he could apprehend you in an instant, between his skill and your exhaustion, but he doesn’t. and he doesn’t know why.
it bothers him.
“so, what’re you doing on ritou? need any help getting a permit to the rest of the island?”
he tells himself he’s asking because doing that would force your hand, not because he wants to help. that’s ridiculous. when did he start thinking this way? has he caught a cold, by chance?
“no.”
“then surely there’s a more comfortable place to be than the beach?” what’s he doing? why does he care? who cared if sand plastered your skin, if you got sick from being outside? “tides get pretty high around here, it would do you good to find a place to rest.”
you look out to the sea, some of the tension leaving your body. it’s not relaxation, more like surrender. “i don’t have anywhere to go.”
his chest is beginning to feel oddly tight.
it’s like he’s seeing the stars themselves in your eyes despite the darkness and the fact that that’s not possible. there’s a small shimmer to them, the sun itself contained inside, a glow that shows when they flicker over him like you’re pulling out all of his secrets. he’s not sure why he wants to give them to you. “i’m sure you know that, though.”
he does, he knows, he was at the meeting with kujou sara and the rest of the police force. he was the one she pulled aside to personally ask he put his full attention on it—as if he hadn’t already the second she mentioned his god—and he’s heard of the stories from the mainland. he knows everything, he’s read over every single report he could get imported, and yet every word you say feels brand new. when you say ‘you’ it feels like you’re the first person to ever lay on him, and it’s scary that he doesn’t find that frightening. his mouth is dry, all of his normal quick retorts and easy replies falling out of his reach. he settles for a nod, and you look back to the sea.
you look dull, his mind says, pulling on all of his vocabulary to try and connect a sentence together that properly describes it. your entire form feels… fleeting? no, not that. impermanent, maybe, like fog. so dense from afar, yet vanishing once he gets close. you’re… everywhere, a mist lingering in the air, waiting for him to look away so you can take a solid form again.
are you a youkai looking for a bit of fun? perhaps he’s mistaken. maybe he’d guessed wrong, maybe you’d just stolen another’s face for a prank.
…that’s stupid. since when has that been one of his first explanations for something? no, something’s wrong- he has to get this- this spell off of him. now he remembers, the paper from the alchemist from mondstat, he remembers, he remembers-
he-
he remembers the soft smile on his father’s face, wiping the dirt from his knees. “you must be careful,” he says, careful not to irritate the scrapes with the cloth. “you have been blessed with this mind of yours, but you must be wise enough to use it properly.”
“i’m wise!” he insists, and his father laughs, reaching for the bandages at his side.
“you’re intuitive,” he corrects. “and every day i pray to our god that you to learn the difference.”
heizou tears his eyes away from you, pretending that the sand isn’t blurry.
you’re a fraud. he has to arrest you. you’re tricking the people, you’re impersonating the highest deity, the literal god of gods, youve fooled even his own mind, you have to be stopped. for the good of the world. for the good of the earth. for the hood of his god.
…so…
“why aren’t you trying to kill me yet?”
his heart both flares and breaks, hands twitching for both his cuffs and to hold you close. your voice is so rough, so cracked and tattered and filled with something similar enough to betrayal that it’s paralyzing.
he needs to arrest you.
(he needs to get you water.)
he has to bring you in so the shogun can kill you.
(he has to get you a room somewhere so you can rest. you look so tired.)
his mind is as blurred as his sight, confusion instead of tears muddling his thoughts.
what’s happening? why does his mind like (adore, want, need, worship) you so much, when he knows he has to take you in? he’s been given direct orders, he knows what he has to do, so why can’t he do it? when did he fall for such easy tricks? he’s shikanoin heizou, the most trusted detective of the tenryou commission, and he cannot be swayed by your words. he can’t afford to be.
(it’s not just your words. the air around you is so soft, so welcoming, inviting him to sit in the sand with you until it’s dawn again. he’s at ease in a way he hasn’t been in a long while, even despite the stress of the situation. he should, in reasonable circumstances, be stressed, but you’ve cleared his mind to a simple volley between two ideas: his loyalty to his god, and his newfound loyalty to you.)
he wants to tell you that he’d never want to hurt you. “i try to leave that to the higher-ups” is what he says instead.
you sign, running a shaking hand over your hair. it’s full of sand and salt and needs to be cut, badly. you take an equally unsteady breath, and when you speak you sound like you’re about to cry. “i don’t want to fight you, heizou.”
the way you say his name fills his chest with something hotter than fire and sweeter than honey, a supernova made into sugar and placed into the gap left by his heart.
the last of the sun shines off the water and outlines you in its glow, the only thought in his mind that of your beauty.
he licks his lips—they taste of salt—and forces words to come up. “i don’t want to fight you either.”
it’s the truth, and he hates that it is.
instead of saying anything else, you stand, and heizou scrambles to follow. he tells himself it’s because he needs to be ready to run after you. that’s it. that’s all. you take a step away and he is quick to match it, transfixed as you pick up a long wooden staff, akin to a walking stick. it’s taller than you are, and he’s not sure how he missed it laying beside you.
“you’ll lose your job if you don’t, detective.”
he might.
heizou blinks.
…he won’t.
no… he won’t.
facing you head on, the acceptance in your eyes is clearer, like you knew it would come to this. his hand drifts to his baton hesitantly, and sees your grip on the wood. it’s splintered, he notices, likely a piece of driftwood you found along the beach.
why is he waiting? why is he stalling?
he’s let this go on for too long already. he’s being ridiculous. this is wrong. it’s his job to take in criminals and he’s staring at one of the worst, so what is he hesitating for?
against his better judgement, he tightens his hands to fists. he’ll be gentle, he promises himself, but it doesn’t soothe the storm in his head. he‘ll be careful, but it doesn’t change the fact that he’s still likely to hurt you. maybe by the end of it, if he’s clever with the use of his vision, you’d barely have a bruise. did you even know how to fight properly? you don’t seem all that confident in your weapon. at least that’ll make his job easier, right?
he’s stalling again.
heizou takes a breath. against his intuition, he takes the first swing.
#genshin#genshin impact#genshin sagau#sagau#self aware genshin#genshin self aware au#imposter sagau#sagau impostor au#heizou#sagau heizou#heizou angst#genshin angst#sagau angst#found this in my drafts and tidied it up a bit!#don’t expect this regularly my summer has been remarkably tiring#UPDATE: I MAY BE STUPID#FUCK HOW DID I NOT RRALIZE ID ALREADY POSTED THIS#in my defense the original was Shit#i didn’t think i’d have posted that because it was so rough#GOD#shout out to the comments i am a useless man#FUCK#whatever whatever whatever we ball we ball we ball we-#anyway. enjoy the revamp. i do like this one much better#was gonna delete the other one but it had over 500 notes so#shrug emoji. time to Die™️
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Top Ten Hawks Moments of 2023
For Keigo's Birthday and for the end of this year, I have decided to make my top ten Hawks moments for all the chapters published this year.
10. "Hawks" gets torn into shreds by AFO
we had a lot of near-deaths for Hawks this year, but I think this was the most memorable as it happened, giving a very needed burst of humor to the AFO vs Hawks and the Heroes fight. Tokoyami's reaction was particularity heartbreaking.
9. Whatever Level of Gay was Achieved Here
This entire chapter was framed in a way that constantly put Hawks and AFO contrasting and melding and there are panels where their thoughts connect. I thought it was a very good way for Hori to make their dynamic fighting each other stand out. Also, the fight was ridiculously homoerotic.
8. Hawks Reminds Us It's About Connections, Stupid.
A theme for the post-Jaku part of this manga has always been heroes needing to bridge that gap and see if they can connect with the villains. It's interesting that Hawks has been the canon mouthpiece among the adults for that view when he so utterly failed his own narrative-assigned connection. I know there was so much pushback in this moment because Keigo again thought of Endeavor, but it stood out to me in repeating this allegory of OFA linking everyone as the solution to the conflict in the first place.
7. Realizing They All Have the Power to Make Their Own Narrative
Against a villain like One For All who wants to believe he's in his own light-novel, Keigo's own issues distinguishing reality and fantasies managed to settle down. He's always resigned himself to being a caged bird and a martyr, so being pitted against a villain so into life being a foregone conclusion helped Keigo remember they all have more agency than they give them credit for.
6. I think all of Keigo's Rizz was in Fierce Wings
Seriously, this is his normal fake hero persona on STEROIDS? It's fascinating how naturally this stuff comes to him. Like damn, he even has his tongue out, mocking All For One as he gets hoisted by his own petard, and has an arm around a vestige lady who looks suspiciously like All For One's mom, which I am accepting as canon until told otherwise. Say what you want about Hawks, for all his failures and paradoxes, the dude has serious BDE. I'd rate this higher but he had a lot of good moments.
5. Nothing beside remains, round the decay
Probably one of the most striking panels this year, seeing a defeated, quirkless Keigo struggle to get up and meet the horde of encroaching Toga-Twice clones, holding the last remaining feather in a landscape of complete destruction made me think heavily of the Ozymandias poem. Keigo, who has always represented the hero system with his whole diamond-insignia carrying chest, seeing all the consequences of his actions and the futility of his actions in stopping the very future he'd allowed himself to commit murder to prevent. I wonder if it struck him how little it all meant as he faced his "presumed" doom.
4. Farewell, Fierce Wings!
we bid goodbye to the quirk that continued to fight even as it was stolen into the eldritchian amalgamation that is All For One! The look in the vestige's face is so resigned and bitter-sweet as he decays away. Keigo isn't his quirk, but it's remarkable how willing to face death both of them are.
3. What he really wants
The interesting thing is the narration implies that either Keigo was telling Naomasa that the aging made AFO stronger as the battle happened, or still had enough control over his emotional state after being left in the dirt to tell him what he observed. The latter is, well, not that surprising when it comes to Keigo, who won't let being quirkless or maimed or delimbed get in the way of being at his job, but that's not what Hori shows us.
No, Hori doesn't show us Keigo standing up or sitting up, no he shows us a Keigo clinging to Tokoyami, a complete break in the many masks he wears to show actual devastation and need for comfort.
There's no Keigo pretending he's okay. There's just one panel showing us a young man embracing his unconscious student after probably one of the most horrific experiences in his life. Keigo, who has been mentioned to be a person who puts so much distance himself and other people, is the one the one clinging to Fumikage.
2. He really was, wasn't he?
As the Twice clones disappear, we see a melting Toga-Twice on the brink of killing Keigo, who makes no move to stop her as she slices him open. No, he seems almost penitent as he accepts death, only pausing to tell her he knows why she's killing him.
Make no mistake, the moment he saw Twice back, he knew what this was all about; killing Jin. In this moment, he doesn't hold himself back with saying killing Jin was necessary - the future Jin's murder was meant to prevent came about anyway, no, this is just Keigo being honest that he really liked Jin, anyway. This panel might show the first real regret we've gotten from him, which is likely why he was so open about not fighting back. Because Keigo knows that he does "deserve" this.
1. Haven’t you already done your best, Hawks?
Chapter 185, this panel introduces us to Hawks.
Two hundred chapters later and we finally see Hawks, for all intents and purposes, resoundingly defeated. His quirk is gone. The army he had as back up, defeated. His student lying defenseless beside him. His hero-partner having left to fight his own battles.
And yet, despite it all, despite losing his quirk, despite every sign of failure around him, especially as he now has to reckon with his own moral event horizon, Keigo's capable of saying one thing:
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