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euphemiaamillais · 3 months

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trash magic - coriolanus snow

coriolanus snow has taken an interest in you, a pretty district 12 girl. however, when you get a little bit too mouthy with the peacekeeper, he reminds you of your place… which is on your knees

cw: 18+//dub-con//peacekeeper!coryo x district 12!reader//blowjobs//piv sex//semi-public sex//creampie//rough sex

the hob is bursting with the colourful music of the covey as miners and girls alike dance to their tunes. you are swaying a little, hand fisting the gingham material of your dress, standing far too close to the peacekeepers who are brooding over the benches at the back.

one of them has his eyes on you, icy gaze boring into your form as you move your hips ever so slightly. he wonders if you’re doing it on purpose, if you’ve seen how the last two weekends, he’s watched you, and only you, instead of lucy gray. he’s looking for a new songbird, one that’s perhaps a little more tame than the one onstage.

you seem to be the perfect candidate.

pretty, with a sweet-face and plump lips. the very picture of innocence. except for the fact that right now, billy taupe has pulled you into a dance. coriolanus sees you laugh, a halcyon tone escaping those pretty lips of yours, and how you bat your eyelashes a little. it’s disgusting. that criminal, touching you, when you are his.

when the song ends, you and billy taupe speak a little more, and he watches as you brush your hand innocently against his arm. coriolanus feels his face burn red with rage, and his hands clench into fists.

billy taupe leaves you alone, and as the next song begins, you feel a pair of hands on your hips. you cry out, slapping them away, but you find he’s too strong; whoever’s groping at you.

‘hey! get your hands off of me before i take my knee and put it up you—’ you stop speaking as you come face to face with the blonde peacekeeper, the one who’s eyes have been following you for weeks now. your heart starts, but you attempt to swallow your fear.

‘careful, doll,’ he grins, perfect teeth drawn into a wolffish smile. ‘i don’t think you want to end up with the charge of threatening a peacekeeper.’

it takes everything in you not to scowl, and instead you force a nod, and attempt to slip away, an apologetic look upon your brow. but something deters you—your wrist is being clutched by his strong hands.

‘i’ve seen you, always hanging round billy taupe. he’s no good,’ he states, as if it’s an order you are obliged to follow. you don’t know why he cares, he doesn’t even know your name.

‘are you telling me off, mr peacekeeper, or are you jealous? ‘cus it sounds like the latter to me,’ you tease, deciding you can’t wear the mask of unaffected ness. the way he is practically commanding you makes you seethe with ire.

‘i could have you strung up for daring to speak to me like that,’ he clamps down on your wrist tighter, drawing you flush against his form. you can feel the outline of his holster pressing into your thigh; the steel cold to your skin. his hands are cold too; frigid, in spite of the heat swallowing the hob whole.

‘oh really? i’d like to see you try. can’t fool me with that face, pretty boy,’ you murmur, and coriolanus feels his free hand veer out as if he’s about to slap you, but he restrains himself, and remembers it will be more trouble if he hit you—peacekeepers had to maintain some sort of decorum, particularly with the ladies.

‘you really should know better than to talk back to a peacekeeper,’ he seethes, eyes burning with anger.

‘maybe i don’t know any better…’ you purse your lips, lashes fluttering like they did at billy taupe. coriolanus rolls his eyes, the way you’re so blatantly teasing him, egging him on. it’s almost as if you are looking for trouble.

‘what is it with you district girls, can’t seem to follow a damn order?’ he mutters, shaking his head.

‘oh, i can follow orders, but only if you tell me real nice,’ you smirk, corners of your lips curling up mischievously.

‘stop teasing, it makes you seem like a whore,’ he spat.

‘well, what if i was one? would you punish me for that? try me out yourself to determine if i was good enough?’ you brush a hand against his chest, causing him to flinch. he can’t deny how much he wants you, but to admit that here would be embarrassing, shameful even. that a boy from the capitol would want a district girl like you.

‘you…’ his voice trails off, mouth going dry at your abrupt comment.

‘what, cat got your tongue? not so tough now mr peacekeeper.’ you laugh in that pretty lilt of yours.

that infuriates him, and his hand balls up into a fist. god, if you weren’t so pretty he wouldn’t have hesitated to drive his fist into your skull. instead, he pulls you by the arm, out of the hob, ignoring the pretty brown eyes of lucy gray that followed him, a sad smile stretching upon her lips as sees saw him haul another girl away.

when you are outside, the balmy air kisses your cheeks. your thighs burn as he gropes your arm, and you can see lust brimming in his eyes, along with the ire only a peacekeeper held.

‘you really need to learn your lesson,’ he scolds, shoving you up against the wall outside the hob. your head spins a little, stars dancing across your eyes.

‘what, don’t talk back to a peacekeeper? i know that already. besides, wouldn’t have done it if i didn’t think you were so cute. now, when you search me, do you want to check under my clothes, just to be thorough?’

he slaps your cheek, watching as you flinch, but surprisingly blink away the tears before they can spill. you take it well, but don’t retaliate. the impact, and the show of his impressive prowess, makes you want him all the more.

coriolanus’ hands are roaming over your breasts, and he drives a knee between your thighs, keeping you pliant for him. he moves his hands down to your waist, feeling the flimsy fabric of your dress under his fingers. he wonders what you’d look like underneath, whether you’re as pretty as you look. he can see that your nipples were receptive to his touch; peeking through your dress. you are a slut, he reasons, because you’re not even wearing a bra.

‘you really shouldn’t have spoken to me like that,’ he tuts, grasping at your hips, pressing hard enough that you can feel bruises blooming in the skin.

‘why? you going to tell on me to your commander?’ you snicker, enjoying the way he’s growing more enraged.

your thighs burn a little as his touch softens again, one hand travelling to the hem of your skirt. he’s cold against your skin, and leans in to whisper your ear. his breath tickles, and you find a heavy breath escapes your lips.

‘no, but i do think you need to be taught a lesson,’ he murmurs, hand sliding up against your thigh.

if he hadn’t done it himself, you would’ve spread your legs for him. you can’t deny it, he’s so hot, and the way he’s so determined to maintain his authority—perhaps fuck you into obedience—only makes you want him all the more.

‘mhm,’ you sigh as his palm finds the apex of your thigh, teasingly rubbing the smooth expanse of skin.

‘you’re going to be a good girl, and take my cock,’ he says, pulling away from your ear to see your reaction.

your brows quirk up, as if you are surprised, but your lips reveal that you’re enjoying this as much as he is. as if you had been doing it all on purpose, riling him up so he’ll bury his cock in you.

he unzips his pants, grunting as your eyes settle on his bulge. even in his boxers, you can see how big he is, the outline making your mouth begin to fill with saliva and your palms tingle slightly.

‘you know how to suck cock?’ he asks, palming himself.

‘mhm,’ you nod, letting him use his other hand to shove you to the ground.

you frown, reealising there’s coal dust on the asphalt, but when it coats everything in twelve, you can’t really complain too much. coryo pulls down his boxers, and your cock meets his face. he must be eight inches, bigger than you’ve ever seen before (well, you’ve only ever been with one other man), the tip is red and leaking a little.

‘you’re gonna take me until i come, and you’re gonna swallow it all… then, maybe if you’ve learned your lesson, i’ll fuck you,’ he dictates, and you nod, a little drool dribbling from the corner of your mouth.

you give his head an exploratory lick, earning a groan from his lips, and use the flat of your tongue to swirl around and lick up the little droplets of precum on his tip.

‘so good,’ he moans, rooting his fingers in your curls.

being more inclined to meanness, he pushes himself past your lips, watching as you struggle to take all of him in. when his cock hits the back of your throat, you gag, and he chuckles, gaze fixed on your watering eyes.

‘can’t—’ you mutter, unable to speak because he continues to push his cock against your throat.

fat tears roll down your face, and your cheeks burn red, partially with anger, and also because you’re so turned on. you want nothing more than to rub at your clit; it’s throbbing so hard that you have to clench your thighs together.

‘come on, you can take it, can’t you, bunny?’ he inquires, bucking his hips against your mouth.

you attempt to nod, quite bleary, but to you’re determined to please him. you lave your tongue up and down his veiny cock, attempting to fight your gag reflex, clenching your hands into fists because you’ve heard that helps.

‘i think i like you better like this, not so mouthy now… can’t talk back to me,’ he pushes your head down, groaning with delight as your saliva coats his shaft. ‘so fucking obedient now.’

you hum, enjoying the praise, albeit that it’s laced with insults too. you’re nothing to him, really. just another pretty district girl to take his cock, another whore to punish. he revels in the newfound power he can exert over the district citizens, that he can coax the girls into anything all because he’s the highest order and he must be obeyed.

he begins to rut against your throat, feeling himself close already. he doesn’t want to admit that you had gotten him so riled up, and tries to pretend that your tongue is just that good that he is about to come.

the way you gag around him is so pretty, his balls slap against your chin as you clench at his thighs. drool spills from your lips now, like you’re salivating over his cock. he don’t know how much more he can take. he slides himself out for a second, and coaxes you to go back to licking the tip.

you run your hands up and down one half of his shaft, while you swirl your tongue around the head of his cock, admiring how good it feels. you can already begin to taste the beginnings of his load; it’s slightly salty but you’re eager to swallow it down. eager to do what the peacekeeper says, because really, you’d been teasing him so much on purpose.

‘fuck, gonna cum,’ coriolanus groans, pushing his cock back down your throat, pumping it back and forth a three times before he feels his balls tense up.

he spills a hot load down your throat, pressing his cock right against the back of your mouth to ensure that you swallow all of it down. when he slides out of your mouth, you take your time to diligently lick up all the cum that dropped down his shaft, and then gaze up at him, with wide, dumb eyes and stick your tongue out. you’ve licked all of his load up, and he groans in delight.

‘good girl,’ he muses, patting your head.

for a moment, he almost seems sweet. that’s until he’s forcing your mouth open again, and he leans down and spits right into it. you gag, eyes squeezing shut as you attempt to force it down, the wet stuff not pleasant. you can taste the white liquor he’s downed, and you shudder slightly.

when he sees this indifference, he takes it as defiance, and uses this an excuse to slap you again. this time it stings, and you can’t force the tears away. he sneers, tired of the waterworks. you’re so pathetic, on your knees like this, pleading with him to not hurt you again because oh look, he’s drawn blood. a tiny sliver of it trickles down from your cheekbone. you’re whining over nothing.

‘stop fucking complaining!’ he yells, forcing you back up against the wall.

when you attempt to glance down, terrified of meeting his gaze, he yanks a fistful of your hair and makes sure you can see his icy eyes burning into yours. his lip is curled up in anger, and he tugs at your hair again; scalp prickling.

‘don’t think you’ve earned your right to cum, stupid slut,’ he spits, feeling his cock harden again. your whining, the way you’re so desperate for him even though he’s hurting you, is making him so hard. he just has to do something about it.

he uses his free hand to stroke his cock until it’s fully hardened, and then slides his fingers up your bare thighs until he meets the waistband of your panties. they’re pink lace, and so tiny he’s certain you wore them just for him. what a whore.

‘now, you’re going to take my cock, and if i hear so much as a complaint i won’t hesitate to take my gun out,’ you can see it shining in its holster, so you give a terrified nod, legs trembling as his knee holds you up against the wall.

he slides your panties down, just enough that he can get his cock inside of you, and he presses the tip against your folds. you’re soaking wet; so much so that it’s embarrassing, the slick is coating his head.

‘look at that, can’t even help how fuckin’ wet you are for me, huh?’ he shakes his head in disbelief.

you let out a soft whine as he slaps your pussy, your clit throbbing with the need to be touched. you’re so desperate to just use your hand, but you’re afraid of what he’ll do to you, afraid that he’ll press the cold, hard barrel of the gun into your temple and pull the trigger. you didn’t have anybody to miss you.

coriolanus slides his cock inside of you, groaning as your tight walls stretch around him. he’s big, and for a moment you feel tears brimming in your waterline as you attempt to take him. you have practically soaked his cock now, and he’s not even been inside for five seconds.

‘fuck,’ he mutters, beginning to rut against you.

you toss your head back against the wall, and keep your eyes shut as he pounds into you, pace fastening with every thrust. you can tell he’s only there to chase his release, and to teach you a lesson; make you obey him. you cry out in pleasure as his tip presses against your cervix, but you’re only vocal for fear of what he’ll do to you.

‘so fucking tight, and all for me,’ he grunts, gripping your thighs. his touch causes a painful ache across the skin, and red finger marks where he’s groped you are visible.

‘so good,’ you manage to muster up, head knocking slightly against the brick wall.

coriolanus tugs at your hair again, forcing your eyes open and meet his gaze for a brief moment. he presses a hot kiss against your lips, and then trails them down across your jaw, peppering kisses until he reaches your collarbones. they’re visible from years of malnourishment, and he scrapes his teeth against the outline of the bones as his mouth grazes the delicate skin.

you let out an exasperated sigh. and run your hand across his buzzed hair. he makes a sound between a mewl and a groan, burying his cock so deep inside of you that you can feel his balls slap against your perineum. if anyone is in the alley, the sound of your wet pussy taking his cock can be heard; stretching around him as he presses himself deeper and deeper.

‘oh, fuck!’ you gasp; not nearing your own pleasure, because you don’t dare, not when he’s told you you can’t. but it’s a pleasant warmth that continues to pool inside of you as his tip pokes at your g-spot, almost coaxing you to let yourself unfurl. but you don’t.

coriolanus feels himself nearing his release again. you’re so fucking pliant now, and it’s doing his head in. perhaps if he does this enough times, you’ll be completely docile. do whatever he wants, be his pretty doll to fuck whenever he pleases, to fill her up everytime without complaint.

‘gonna fill you up,’ he groans, bucking with tenacity into you.

it aches a little, how hard he’s going, how big he is. your tightness is becoming unbearable for him, and he feels his vision go white for a moment as he yields to his conclusion. with a final thrust, he buries his cum deep inside of you, tight cunt taking every last drop of his pearly cum.

‘look at that, taking my cum like a little whore,’ he muses, continuing to push his cock into you, ensuring that your cunt is taking it all in, a reminder that you now belong to him.

you purse your lips as he pulls out, and you feel his cum leaking down your thighs. before you can do anything about it, he pulls your panties up and laughs, pearly white teeth showing again. they’re almost too perfect, you think. there’s something terrifying about his face, so noble and dignified, and yet he deigns to fuck you so primally.

‘there you go, bunny,’ he says. ‘gotta make sure you remember who you belong to, hm?’

you want to shake your head, to force out a furious ‘no’ because you don’t belong to anyone but yourself, but you find yourself unable to do anything except nod dumbly. look at that, completely submissive and dumb from his cock. exactly how he wants you. stupid and babbling. not mouthy. no, that’s not allowed.

‘did you learn from your punishment, bunny?’ he strokes your cheek with an eerie gentleness, thumb smoothing the now-dried blood on your cheek.

‘yes, thank you, private,’ you remark, lips twisting prettily into a smile. your mouth is like a rosebud; how fitting.

‘next time, i won’t be so kind.’ he murmurs.

you can't deny that heat pools between your thighs as he mentions next time—as if it's a certainty and not something ambiguous like an unkept promise.

'i'll make sure of that, mr peacekeeper.'

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extraordinari1y-ordinary-writer · 5 months

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Baby

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!reader

Summary: Bucky sees how you are around kids. 👀👀

Content Warning: NSFW; sexy themes; marking/biting/hickeys; mentions of unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it); mentions of masturbation; breeding kink; established relationship; fantasies; language; bad ending!!; whatever else I failed to mention.

Word Count: ~540

Note: Was this requested? No! Sorry if it's not that good. The brain rot was real, though. I'll come back here and there to make some edits where it's necessary. Any gifs or pictures I use are not mine.

This is my first time writing smut in any capacity, so please be kind! 😅

Gentle reminder that I am always open for feedback! 💕

MNDI (18+)!!

You were terrific with babies and kids; Bucky realized that early in the relationship. The first time he noticed it was when the two of you first started dating. Your sister had recently given birth, and you practically dragged Bucky to visit her. Bucky saw you coo and 'awe' over the newborn, but when you agreed to hold the baby, Bucky nearly short-circuited. He had to quickly excuse himself to a bathroom, a desperate attempt to relieve the growing problem between his legs. You were quick to brush it off, though a trace of confusion lingered within you.

After that day, Bucky couldn't help but notice how you acted around babies and children. You'd smile and wave if a baby was looking at you. You looked distressed and heartbroken if you heard a baby or child crying. You didn't even seem a little annoyed! Seeing that always did something for Bucky. Most of the time, he'd take care of it himself once they got home. He'd lock himself in the bathroom and fist himself to the thought of you pregnant with his child. Other times, he'd fuck you so hard into the mattress he swore the bed frame would break.

This became a common occurrence. After a while, he stopped fucking himself and started solely fucking you. Your moans and cries, feeling you cum, and you'd cum hard—it only turned him on more. He was insatiable.

"What's gotten into you recently?" you asked. You were breathing heavily, your body coated in a layer of sweat. Bucky lay on top of you, his head nestled in your neck as you felt him soften inside you. He did that a lot, keep that connection with you long after you'd both finish. You felt his release trickling out of you.

Bucky grunted. You felt him huff against your collarbone.

You chuckled. "I didn't think it was possible to fuck this much," you remarked offhandedly. One of your hands started running through his hair. He melted.

After a moment, your boyfriend lifted his head and looked you over. Your cheeks were bright red. He saw the marks he left across your collarbone and chest. Your eyes still had that post-sex haze. You looked glowing. Bucky felt a wave of satisfaction wash over him.

"You don't make it easy," he mumbled.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Bucky nuzzled his head back into your neck. He grunted when you playfully tugged at his hair.

"What does that mean?" you asked again.

"Babies," he muttered.

Your brows pinched together in confusion. "What about babies?"

"You're good with them."

It took you a moment to understand what he meant. You always had a soft spot for children. That was just how you were. You giggled at that.

"Do you want kids?" you asked.

Bucky didn't answer right away. He had never considered it before. But seeing you with kids was such a turn on. So he must want them deep down, right?

"I think so," he said. "As long as it's with you."

You felt him harden a bit and you clenched around him. Bucky let out a soft groan. "Well," you started, a mischievous smirk on your face, "I'm sure we could get some more practice in."

Masterlist

Taglist: @staria9100 @radcollectivesoul @cuddlefishextrodinaire @ramielll @lelialynn @whiminiferous @gracescor3 @identity2212 @winterslove1917 @hailycheyenne @dp-marvel94 @queerponcho @mystrawberrynigt

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #marvel x reader #marvel #avengers x reader #avengers #marvel cinematic universe x reader #marvel cinematic universe #marvel fanfiction #avengers fanfiction #marvel cinematic universe fanfiction #sebastian stan #smut #18+ mdni #fanfiction

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gabseyoo · 1 year

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WASTE OF LIPSTICK — SAKUSA KIYOOMI

content: female reader, established relationship, fluff. word count: 0,7k.

note: soft sakusa is my religion.

Sakusa Kiyoomi had a reputation for being serious, collected, competitive, honest and even a little intimidating— well, too intimidating.

Many say he’s even scary.

You couldn’t agree more, indeed, he was all that. Your boyfriend’s reputation doesn’t come from nowhere, right?

But that’s the Kiyoomi that the public knew. The Kiyoomi you knew was nothing like what they thought he was, in fact, he was someone completely different.

Your Kiyoomi was someone kind, funny and even somewhat corny. He was someone who planned the most memorable dates, was always spoiling you, had a picture of you as his wallpaper, wore his promise ring every day, gave you lots of cute petnames and—believe it or not—sent kisses at the end of every phone call when he’s away.

It’s not like he hid how he acted with his girlfriend, which is why so many of his acquaintances were surprised by how much he softened when it came to you, and honestly, that’s one of the many things you loved about him.

You didn’t know why those kinds of thoughts about your boyfriend’s not-so-hidden sweet side were going through your head right now, maybe it was because if someone when you first met the intimidating Sakusa Kiyoomi had told you that someday he’d be your boyfriend and you’d be here, straddling his lap with him lying in the comfort of your bed and he would have a face full of red lipstick stains that you had spread on his smooth skin, you wouldn’t have believed them.

“This is a waste of lipstick.”

You chuckled at your boyfriend’s sudden words that broke the comfortable silence.

“I know.” You pushed aside a strand of hair on his forehead to leave a kiss there and smiled before leaving another on his temple, decorating his skin with new red marks. “But it’s worth it, you look pretty.”

Kiyoomi smiled.

“Do I?” He placed his hand behind your head, stroking your skin in a soothing manner as he looked lovingly into your eyes, and you swore that at that moment it was as if you fell in love with him all over again for the thousandth time.

A sincere smile appeared on your lips and you responded with a small mhm as you brought your face close to his until your noses brushed.

“I think you look pretty too.” Kiyoomi whispered before joining your lips in a kiss.

With his hand on the back of your neck he put a little more pressure to deepen the kiss and the other did the same on your lower back, you buried yours in his dark curls. It was romantically slow, you both just enjoyed the feel of each other’s lips.

It wasn’t until you needed a breath of air that you broke away, but not before giving him a little peck.

You supported yourself on your hands on either side of his head and looked down at your boyfriend, letting out a giggle when you saw that his mouth was completely smeared with red. You thought about commenting on it, but he beat you to it.

“Your mouth is all messy now.” He gently took you by the chin and his thumb wiped under your lips, you knew that this action had surely smeared the lipstick more instead of cleaning it, but you didn’t mind in the least. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay.” You kissed his finger in reassurance before asking, “Ready for round two, Omi?”

“I’m all yours, baby.” He stated, putting his hands behind his head to make himself comfortable on your pillow.

“I like that.” You sat up straight again on his lap and picked up the red lipstick you had left on your nightstand.

Kiyoomi watched with a smitten smile how you applied more lipstick on your lips, getting ready for another round of kisses that he was more than willing to receive.

“You still think this is a waste of lipstick?” You questioned as you leaned in to leave a kiss on his jaw

“Maybe.”

You gasped dramatically and Kiyoomi let out a chuckle.

“But I always can buy you more, you know.” He added and took your hand in his to leave a kiss on your knuckles. “As long as you waste it on me.”

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keyotos · 1 year

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eyes on you

summary: when do the hsr men have their eyes on you?

includes ⎯ dan heng, gepard, blade, sampo & jing yuan

tana's words ⎯ i am OBSESSED w the sound "all these girls look good but i got my eyes on you." so that's what inspired me to write this. this is sickenly sweet btw.

dan heng

⎯ let’s be real this man always has his eyes on you. he is probably watching you to look out for you. but that’s just in a romantic sense.

⎯ dan heng is the observer type. he watches and he learns.

⎯ he watches you quite a lot. he always tries to brush it off as trying to make sure you don't break anything, but march & stelle know better. even you aren't that klutzy.

⎯ dan heng watches what you eat to find out what you enjoy. he watches how you react to certain things to see if you dislike them or not. in short, he observes (watches) you to find out how to be better for you. he wants to be the best version of himself, and that includes knowing what all your favorite things are.

⎯ he definitely logs all the information he knows about you in his little data base. it's like his notes app, but a notes app for nerds.

⎯ march & stelle insist he just ask you, but nooooooo, because that would seem like he doesn't know anything about you. in reality, he knows plenty.

⎯ you would think that, judging on how much he stares at you, he would know how to not get caught. WRONG. you've caught him on multiple occasions.

one time, when the world around you was surprisingly peaceful, you and dan heng went to go get food for march & stelle. after you ordered their food you guys sat down at a table (bc you all were meeting up) with their food. you eyed the food carefully before stealing a sip of stelle's drink.

⎯ "she won't mind!" she did. but that's okay.

when you took a sip out of stelle's drink, dan heng was watching you closely to see if you would enjoy it. if you enjoyed it, he'd get one for you the next time you guys come. while he's staring, he loses track of his original goal and begins noting other things. the crinkle of your eyes when you smile at the taste of the drink. the way your whole face lights up.

⎯ "take a picture, it'll last longer," you caught him and smiled. dan heng leaves his trance and begins to blush.

⎯ "that is such a ridiculous line," he shakes his head, trying to deflect the fact that he's been caught. he has his eyes on you one more time to see you smirking at him.

⎯ he now takes candid photos of you because of that line.

gepard

⎯ due to his captain position, you guys never got to see each other often. any free time you had was treated with utmost importance and no time could be spared. gepard barely had any time to set any eyes on you.

⎯ when bronya became the supreme guardian and when the fragmentum dispelled, everything changed. gepard now had more free time, which meant he had more time with you. time that could be spent doing nothing but just admiring the way you look.

gepard hasn't seen you in weeks. with the final clearance of the fragmentum monsters, he was gifted a few weeks of clarity with you. when he got home, he immediately showered and tried his best to look good for you.

when he saw you for the first time, you literally took his breath away. it was as if you glowed; you were nearly as radiant as the bright sun that was shining down on your face. gepard's eyes and his attention were only on you.

⎯ you and the guy that was standing next to you.

⎯ WHO IS THIS MAN????? did you finally get tired of endless waiting? did you feel lonely? does he treat you well? is he nice? does he listen to all your rants? is he there to kiss you goodnight?

⎯ gepard's thoughts are interrupted when he hears your voice. he sees you running over to him and then you're pulling him.

you grab his arm, pulling him towards the new guy. gepard was initially worried about what was going to happen next, but all was forgotten when he felt your arm tangled around his once again; he immediately leaned into your warm touch. instead of looking at the new guy, his eyes follow you at all times. gepard's fond expression is seen by all except himself.

his absence from your grace allowed him to forget every small detail about you. the way your smile grew as you spoke about your relationship (gepard blushed). the way you got all excited when you were introducing people. the way your voice goes up an octave when you get excited.

every time you pull yourself closer to his body, gepard is on the verge of combustion. he’s been touch starved for so long, he couldn’t wait for until you guys went home. he just wanted to be in bed or on the couch with you, simply relaxing in sweet nothing.

for now though, gepard waited for the conversation to end.

⎯ when the conversation is over, you and gepard have a small conversation.

"sooo, were you listening to me or staring at me during that whole thing?" you smirked. when gepard's face blushed, you couldn't help but smile. "i wasn't cheating on you if that's what you were worried about," you pulled him closer using the collar of his shirt, "i missed you too, by the way," and pulled him in for a kiss.

blade

⎯ blade doesn't consider himself to be the staring type. he's more, less talking (staring), more action (i'll let you guys interpret).

⎯ but how could he not stare at you when you look so peaceful. you're sleeping in his bed, wrapping in his blankets, and snoring without a care in the world.

⎯ had the snoring not been so loud, blade wouldn't have woken up to find such an endearing moment.

⎯ now, blade has been staring at your sleeping figure for longer than he would like to admit. he's been watching the rise and fall of your chest. listening to the snores getting quieter and then louder once more. he cannot tear his eyes off of your peaceful state.

blade brushes pieces of stray hair away from your face. he puts his hand over your sleeping figure, as if he was trying to protect you from the evils in the night. at this moment, however, there were no evils. just you and him in the moonlight. maybe it was the domesticity of the whole situation that made him continue his one-sided staring contest. with all the fighting and destruction going on in the universe right now, you are still next to him. you are here, and he is listening to you snore.

⎯ it's when you shuffle around the best, blade gets scared. he's scared he woke you up and ruined this domestic moment. his hand recoils away from your body.

⎯ when you turn, you are still asleep. it seems you were just readjusting yourself. readjusting yourself closer to him, that is. you went from back facing him to your front facing him.

⎯ blade watched your face as you slept. you looked so beautiful with the pale moonlight shining down on your face. normally, you complained that you couldn't sleep with the moon shining on your face, so that's why you slept with your back facing towards blade.

⎯ but tonight, blade has never gotten a chance to admire how the moonlight reflects on the shapes of your faces. your eyes, your lips, your nose.

⎯ it's when you put a hand on his knee, blade nearly jumps back. not out of fear (slightly out of fear), but because he thought he woke you up by breathing. he was confused.

you put your hand on his knee, in a sleeping daze. usually, at night, you are always physically touching your boyfriend somehow. but tonight, he is awake, watching you. your small act of physical touch was a beckoning for him to go to sleep and be with you.

⎯ blade grabbed your hand and slipped back under the covers with you. this time, after admiring one last glimpse of your sleeping face, he tugged you closer to him and you both fell asleep.

sampo

⎯ there are many formidable fighters in boulder city. that's a fact. fighting is the way of many in the underworld. sampo has seen it first hand.

⎯ sampo had not, however, seen a fighter as formidable as you.

⎯ he stumbled upon one of dig's matches at the right time. there was a crowd leading out to the door; it peaked sampo's curiosity. he had intentions of selling items at first, which is why he was shuffling through the crowd to get into the center. but when he saw you in the ring, beating everyone in your path, his beginning intentions were forgotten.

⎯ his eyes were glued to you: he was obsessed with the way you moved, the way you glided across the ring, the way you confidently destroyed all your enemies. he found you entrancing, and he had to see you after the match.

⎯ you’re no underground idiot. you’re aware of sampo koski and his costly scams. when he comes up to you after your match, you were about to run away. still, something about his presence made you want to stay.

when you turned around, you were faced with sampo koski hovering over you. “can i help you?” you asked in a raised tone.

“yes,” sampo smiled. you were interested in where this conversation was going, and you were curious on why sampo chose you to be his next victim. “mind teaching me some moves?”

⎯ you expected a lot of things in this situation. scamming, coy flirtation, winks, etc. you did not expect this.

⎯ you almost stumble back in shock. why does he want to know self-defense tips?? who are the people he’s scamming??????

you’re silent for several beats before sampo begins again, “you’re the best fighter in the underground, honest. and,” he dragged on the word to drag out the conversation, “that means you can help me!”

⎯ if sampo was really being honest with himself, he could’ve asked any other person in the ring. anyone else would’ve shown him self-defense; they liked him. you probably did not (judging by your expression).

⎯ instead, he wanted you. he told himself it was because you were the best fighter in the ring and you were talented. but deep down, it’s because he couldn’t keep his eyes off your performance the entire time; he was encapsulated by you.

“flattery will get you nowhere,” you patted his shoulder and started to walk away; however, sampo’s hand lightly grabs onto your arm, urging you to stay. and for some reason, you don’t let go.

“cmon,” he smirked, and it was weirdly attractive, “what if i need a bodyguard?”

⎯ maybe it was the tone of his voice. maybe it was the way he looked at you. maybe it was the way he held onto you, but he didn’t hold on too tight. whatever it was that night, it convinced you to stay by his side for a long time.

jing yuan

⎯ he can’t take his eyes off of you when he sees you in the courtyard playing chess with yanqing.

⎯ it's a sight for sore eyes, seeing you and yanqing together. the way you two got along so well made jing yuan's heart swell. seeing you two was like feeling the warm sun after a chilly day.

⎯ jing yuan has never expected you to stay for so long. his life has been full of troubles: intense training at a young age, the death of his master, taking on yanqing as his apprentice, and probably more to come. and yet, you've stayed by his side.

⎯ you are here. and you are alive and you are well. with a life full of loss, jing yuan is happy you are still here. he’s happy that you are smiling and laughing and you are doing mundane things such as playing chess.

⎯ it’s a simple activity. it’s calm and it’s peaceful and there’s no harm coming your way. life seems good for once, and jing yuan thinks he can get used to this as long as you were around him. he finds that peace comes along when you are around anyway.

“darn it! how did you see that?!” yanqing exclaimed, shocked by your recent move in chess. you simply smiled in retaliation, “dunno. face it kid, i am just that good.”

“hey! i was close to getting you though,” the boy reminded you. jing yuan was getting closer now to eavesdrop on your conversation. “key word being close,” you snickered.

⎯ who knew the way into jing yuan’s heart was banter and chess? the more he listened to your conversation, the more his heart swelled. the way you got along so easily with yanqing made him all warm and happy inside; it was such a domestic sight to see.

jing yuan approached your battle with yanqing and sat down next to you. like a moth to a light, you immediately leaned into his body, and jing yuan had to fight off the urge to pull you closer to him.

⎯ yanqing didn’t notice anything, as he was too focused on the chess game. he moved one of his pieces that were then followed by one of your chess pieces.

“you know i was the one who taught your master how to play chess?” you blurted out to yanqing as you followed his pieces around the board. jing yuan looked at you fondly, eyes never leaving your face.

“that’s why i’m so good,” you smirked, “and that’s also why i’m smart enough to do this,” you somehow managed to trap all of yanqing’s pieces, and one by one you started to take them all.

⎯ jing yuan had to hold in his laughter as he watched yanqing’s jaw drop to the floor as you give a low chuckle. jing yuan’s eyes went back to your face, and he thinks that this is nice. he could get used to this.

um yk idk if this is good or not but hopefully u guys enjoy this lol

#tana writes (∗´ ᨔ `∗)#honkai star rail #hsr #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #dan heng x reader #dan heng x you #gepard x you #gepard x reader #blade x reader #blade x you #gepard landau x reader #sampo x reader #jing yuan x reader #jing yuan x you #i am on a grind #will definitely be using fighter!reader for other hcs/fics/drabbles

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awearywritersworld · 5 months

Text

i have for the first time found what i can truly love—i have found you

sukuna x reader summary: you and sukuna go out for a late night meal. gojo finds out about your... relationship. sukuna is forced to take care of you when you come home drunk. w/c: 2.85k tags/warnings: enemies to lovers. fluff. lots of banter. cursing. jealous/protective!sukuna. gojo being a flirt. aged up!yuuji. features a teeny bit of yuuji x reader. drinking and drunk!reader. not canon compliant. fem!reader. no use of y/n. no manga spoilers. a/n: i think i like how this turned out! also, the first two sections could def be read as a fluffy lil stand alone. idc whats happening in the canonverse, sukunas just a tsundere who adores us very much<3 series masterlist // masterlist

"maybe if you stare long enough, food will magically appear," sukuna calls to you from the kitchen table.

"this is no joking matter," you scold from your place in front of the fridge. "i'm starving."

"well, here's an absurd idea— let's go eat."

you turn toward him, finally closing the fridge, and tilt your head to the side. "you eat?"

"of course." he leans back in his chair, folding his arms over his chest. "i typically prefer babies, but hell, i'd even go for an old man right now. i'm famished."

your eyes widen and your mouth falls open. he lets the panic simmer on your face for a few more cruel moments. "i'm kidding, idiot. i eat food, same as you."

"i knew that," you assert. the way your shoulders sag in relief tells him otherwise.

"right," he smirks. after standing up, he grabs your purse and tosses it in your direction. "where to? you're buying."

with only so many places open at midnight, you begin your journey to a 24 hour ramen shop.

you've hardly interacted with sukuna outside of your apartment, so this is certainly an experience you didn't anticipate. and in fact, you're shocked at how normal it feels— almost as if it's a date.

as you walk down the street, people eye him suspiciously because of the dark lines they assume are tattoos. it doesn't bother you though, nor does the lateness of the hour. you know that you're safe because you're with him.

your hands keep brushing against one another's, and you're hoping that he'll eventually take a hint and reach for yours. he doesn't (i mean come on, do you even know who you're dealing with?).

he does at least pick up on your pouty expression with impressive ease. "what now?"

"nothing," you huff.

"don't be a brat."

you sigh dramatically. "you're supposed to hold my hand."

"sure princess," he says condescendingly, lacing his fingers through yours. "maybe use your words next time like a big girl."

he doesn't fail to notice the ensuing skip in your step, and he kicks himself for regarding it as cute.

when you arrive at the ramen shop, sukuna orders no less than three bowls, which earns him a glare once the waitress walks away.

"when i agreed to pay, i didn't know what a glutton you are."

"oh yeah? cause i'm just the picture of temperance any other time?"

you scoff. "well you've got me there."

a sly smirk settles onto his face before he speaks again. "maybe one day you'll learn how greedy i am when it comes to the things i've deemed pleasurable."

you choke on the water you'd just brought to your lips, your face heating up as if it'd been bathed by fire.

wiping at your mouth, you try your best to recover quickly. "whatever, you hellion. as long as that doesn't involve a fourth bowl of ramen."

you're no more than 10 steps away from the shop when you hold out your hand to him. "ahem."

he grabs it roughly and not without rolling his eyes.

"what?" you ask innocently. "that was a word."

"hardly," he jeers. "for as much as you read, i'd expect you to be more fluent than a child."

"and at 1000 years old, i'd expect you to be more charming than a teenage boy, but i guess we're both making concessions."

"see, this is the part that puzzles me. you never seem to have trouble with your words when you're being insolent."

"maybe it's a sign," you begin whimsically. "the universe decided you need to be taken down a peg."

"ah, yes. you as the executor of the universe's will. i don't know why i couldn't see it before."

you giggle, rather delighted that he's elected to play along with your quips. there's something that feels so warm and pleasant about it.

as you wonder if he feels it too, your hand tightens around his.

you're not quite ready to head back to your apartment just yet, because you're scared you'll lose the atmosphere surrounding the two of you. in truth, it's a bit intoxicating.

the perfect opportunity arises when you spot a small park up ahead. lights are strung around the trees, all of which are situated around a small fountain.

"we should stop at that park!" you hardly finish speaking before you take off in that direction, tugging him along behind you.

after you plop down on the fountain's ledge, sukuna takes his place beside you.

"let's sit here for a little while."

he doesn't respond and you take his silence as agreement. he's not really one to stifle his grievances.

as the minutes pass, the rush of the fountain is the only noise that fills the air, while you gaze at the trees with a serene expression.

sukuna, however, is looking at you. the only care he has for the trees is the way their lights reflect in your eyes. otherwise, he's fully occupied by the curve of your nose and the fullness of your lips.

"isn't this pretty?" you finally ask.

"it's pretty," he agrees, even when such a soft word feels foreign on his tongue.

his eyes still haven't left you, and you seem to be oblivious to this fact until he reaches up to stroke your cheek with the back of fingers.

when your gaze lands on him, the fondness written all over his face catches you off guard and you realize how close the both of you are. without really thinking about it, you lean into his touch.

"very pretty," he repeats lowly, as if he's talking to himself.

your heart lurches once in your chest, then hammers away at your ribcage without respite. he leans toward you a fraction of an inch, his eyes flicking down to your lips for a brief second.

truthfully, sukuna has never felt the way he does in this moment. it's a sincere sort of desire. he doesn't want the mindless devotion he once thirsted for from his followers. and he doesn't want the sex he used to crave from his concubines.

no. he just wants you— in whatever capacity you're willing to have him.

the way he's looking at you is just too much. there's a dull thudding in your ears and you swear your thoughts are moving at a million miles a minute.

so naturally, you blurt out the first thing you can manage. "we should take a selfie!"

his face shifts from whatever that expression was to one of confusion. "take a selfie?"

some twisted mix of relief and disappointment crashes through you.

"yeah, a selfie. a picture together. ya know, since the park is so pretty," you ramble.

he pulls away from you. not all the way, but enough that it gives you space to finally breath. he chuckles and it doesn't sound lofty like it so often does. in fact, he seems genuinely amused by you.

"a selfie," he deliberates. "that sounds great, but to the best of my knowledge, hell hasn't frozen over."

and just like that, your dynamic feels like it did during your walk from the ramen shop to the park— comfortable and fun.

"well i guess you would be one of the first to know."

ignoring his protests, you take out your phone and hold it far enough away that the camera captures both of your faces. you can see on the screen that he's put on an expression of complete boredom.

"c'mon," you nudge him with your elbow. "you look like you hate me."

the corner of his mouth curves upward. "that's because i do."

you think back on the way he was gazing at you just moments ago and laugh. "you're so full of shit."

then, without warning, you press a kiss to his cheek and click the button.

you decide that his vague look of contented surprise will just have to do.

when you and yuuji walk into the bar, you immediately spot one of the people you're there to meet. he's sitting at a hightop by himself, his snow white hair pretty hard to miss.

you tap his shoulder and his face breaks out into a grin. he slides out of the barstool. "if it isn't my favorite civilian!"

as he pulls you into a hug, you wonder if he's ever going to get tired of that joke. "if it isn't my favorite old man."

"35 is not old," he argues, moving to greet yuuji. "i'm still in the summer of my life, thank you very much!"

"gojo you're 36," the pink haired man remarks.

"gah! such betrayal, yuuji!" he presses his hand to his forehead and takes a deep breath. "now i'm going to need another round."

"i'll go and get drinks for all of us," you offer. "you two stay here so no one takes the table."

before either of them can respond, you turn and begin making your way through the crowd. you don't hear gojo when he calls out, "but darling! i should go with you!"

he takes a step in your direction, but stops when sukuna's mouth appears on yuuji's cheek. "you certainly should not, you insufferable half wit."

"relax, dude. he flirts with literally everyone," yuuji informs him.

gojo scoffs. "i am right here—"

"as if that makes it better?" sukuna barks. "she isn't some toy to be played with."

"of course she isn't! you can't honestly think i'd believe otherwise."

gojo is left forgotten for a moment as the other two bicker, so he interjects once there's a lull in the conversation. "do either of you care to explain what the hell is going on?"

yuuji turns toward him, trying and failing to hide the embarrassment on his face once he realizes that gojo is, in fact, still standing there.

his eyebrows are raised above his sunglasses and it's clear he is inappropriately amused by the situation (what else is new?). he moves to sit across from the younger man, looking at him expectantly.

having no way to talk himself out of this, yuuji relays the recent events regarding you and sukuna, sparing some of the finer details. gojo's face doesn't really betray much emotion throughout the story, though he does look thoughtful by the end of it.

leaning forward, he crosses his arms on top of the table. "maybe your feelings for her are influencing his own, forcing a sort of bond between them?"

"i don't think so," yuuji contends honestly. "other than her, you're the person i admire and respect the most, but he thinks—"

"that you are perhaps the most imbecilic rampallion i've ever had the displeasure of coming across."

gojo jerks back, as if the insult had hit him squarely in the jaw. the look of giddiness from yuuji's compliment, followed by the shift to indignation at sukuna's insult is almost comical.

he stretches his neck forward, cupping his hand around one side of his mouth as if it'd keep sukuna from hearing. "what'd he just call me?"

yuuji shrugs. "beats me, but i don't think he was singing your praises."

"i see your point." gojo pauses, glancing over his shoulder. you're approaching the table, so he turns back to yuuji and quickly adds, "we'll talk more about this another time, but for now, keep this between us."

a few moments later, you appear in front of them and exclaim, "look who i found!"

megumi and inumaki situate themselves around the table too, offering their greetings. you slide yuuji and gojo their drinks, both of which are filled to the brim of the glass. "now then gentlemen, shall we?"

when gojo teleports you and yuuji back to your apartment that night, it takes everything in you to keep from yakking all over your carpet.

"ta ta, hooligans!"

you turn to request that he never do that again, but he's already gone. taking one step forward, you promptly fall on your ass in the entryway with an unforgiving thud. yuuji staggers toward the couch, making it there just in time to face plant into the cushions.

looking down toward your shoes, you're dismayed to find that each one appears to have two sets of laces. you're fumbling with them determinedly when someone crouches down in front of you, their elbows resting on their thighs.

he doesn't say a word. brushing your hands away, he unties your shoes and carefully pulls them off your feet. you're lifted from the floor before you can register the arm that's looped under your knees or the other that's securely around your back.

"careful," you hiccup, your head falling into the crook of his neck. "'m gunna p-puke."

"i'd rather you didn't."

you groan. "s'not like i 'ave a choice in the matter."

he hums. "how much did you drink?"

"dunno. sss'much. nobara—" you hiccup again. "nobara n' maki made me."

he chuckles, placing you down on what you figure is your bed. "right, i'm sure you had no choice in the matter."

"tha's correct, yes."

unbuttoning your jeans, he tugs upward on your belt loops. "lift."

you do as he says, lifting your hips from the bed so he can slide your jeans off your legs. he knows you won't remember this— hell, your eyes are already closed— but he looks away as he does it anyway.

pulling your phone from your pocket and putting it on the charger, your pants are discarded off to the side. he only turns his head back in your direction once he's pulled the blankets up over your body.

"tuck me in?" you request.

sitting down on the bed beside you, he does so without protest.

he stares at you for a little while, worried about how poorly you're probably going to feel in the morning. he presses a kiss to your forehead, intending to get up and grab a water bottle for your nightstand.

instead, his body freezes when he hears you mumble, "i love you s'much."

his heart clenches so painfully, he honestly considers ripping it from his chest— it would probably be less agonizing.

but a thought that makes him feel like a fool occurs to him. of course it's not him that you love. "i'm not yuuji."

"well, duuuhhh. you're s'kuna." you're peering up at him through tired, hazy eyes. it's the first time you've ever seen him look bewildered, so a small giggle erupts from your throat. "s'okay. you don't 'ave t'say it back."

your eyes flutter shut and your breathing evens out before he even thinks to respond. all at once, it's as if his head is empty and as if it's about to explode.

love?

what does he know about love? it's a sentiment he's cursed for so long, but sitting here beside you, he can't quite seem to remember why. one thing he is sure of, however, is that there's never been a thing in the world he's loved.

suddenly, he's struck with remembrance of a quote from jane eyre you had emphasized with messy underlines:

"after a youth and manhood passed half in unutterable misery and half in dreary solitude, i have for the first time found what i can truly love—i have found you. you are my sympathy—my better self—my good angel. i am bound to you with a strong attachment. i think you good, gifted, lovely: a fervent, a solemn passion is conceived in my heart; it leans to you, draws you to my centre and spring of life, wraps my existence about you, and, kindling in pure, powerful flame, fuses you and me in one."

rochester says it as he begs jane to stay at thornfield with him, an act sukuna had previously regarded as ridiculous, but is that still the case?

were you to ever scorn him, would he fall to his knees and plead with you to change your mind? or if you were in danger of dying, would he drag himself to a shrine and pray to the gods he doesn't believe in?

is that what love is?

could he stand to be apart from you? are you special to him? does anything else in the world compare to you? does he seek out your company? is he consumed by you? can he know himself without knowing you?

does the definition of love lie in those questions?

sukuna hopes not, because he's terrified of the answers. being in love is not his way, nor is it in his nature.

he buries his face in his hands as realization settles into his bones. it feels as if they're splintering beneath the pressure, trying resentfully to stave it off.

he transcends any imaginable scale of power. he's bled entire villages dry, he's commandeered death, he's the king of curses.

so why now? and why you? is it divine retribution? a sick sort of joke that even he couldn't have dreamed up?

gods, you were right. the universe has sent you to carry out its will and he's completely powerless to stop it.

the worst part of it all? he doesn't want to.

taglist: @96jnie @ay0nha @sad-darksoul @bbysatoruuu @luciiferian @thepup356 @risuola *users in bold could not be tagged

#m!writes #sukuna #sukuna x reader #sukuna imagines #sukuna fluff #ryomen sukuna #ryomen sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna imagines #ryomen sukuna fluff #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen imagines #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jjk #jjk x reader #jjk imagines #jjk fluff

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sexlapis · 2 months

Text

[◉°] …TOJI & Y/N BEING A COUPLE FOR 10 MINUTES STRAIGHT PART 4 … 764k views

—̳͟͞͞♡

ᰋ actor!toji x actor/actress!reader

synopsis: your fans truths delusions about the nature of you & toji’s relationship continues.

a/n: actor!toji is still here guys! ૮ ˙Ⱉ˙ ა

sfw, fluff, crack, ooc toji, mentions of smoking

masterlists

actor!toji masterlist

part one, two, three

ᰋ first clip

“hi guys! welcome to ‘baking with y/n, episode two’!” you yell at the camera, grinning, “and today i will be cooking with…” waving your hands out to the side, you announce your guest, “toji fushiguro! come on toji!”

toji’s big stature strolls into view with his hands in his pockets. he makes the entire kitchen area shrink around him due to his domineering size and overall presence.

“alright, alright..” toji chimes, “not too much now.”

“toji. don’t big yourself up too much. this is still my show,” you smile at his dumb, flabbergasted face and turn your attention back to the viewers, “today, we’ll be making cinnamon rolls! mmhmm!”

meanwhile, toji is tying a too-small apron around his torso, tightening it around is cinched waist. his seemingly intimidating demeanour is nullified by the pink, frilly gingham fabric that graces his body.

“‘don’t happen to have any other aprons, do ya?”

“no, why-” you choked on your own spit when you look at the state of toji - wearing a tiny, delicate apron on his large frame.

“toji, wow…you look so nice…”

“you be quiet.”

ᰋ second clip

as a fashion show attendee, and a significant one at that, you were given some of the best seats in the venue. coincidentally, you are placed right next to your friend, toji fushiguro.

when a member of staff leads you to your seat, you seem surprised and happy to find toji there, smiling broadly. toji’s face cannot be seen in the video, but from the way he stood up to greet and hug you, it appears that he reciprocated your feelings!

you both settle in your seats and before long, the show begins. the models walk by. and more models. and even more models.

before you know it, your eyes grow heavy, your head occasionally dipping and shooting back up again. you seemed so tired…

toji looks at you and rubs your knee, speaking a few words to you. in response, you yawn and nod gently. toji leans in a little, whispering words unheard to onlookers and you in turn. you then rest your head on his big, pillowy shoulder, holding onto his elbow as you try not to fall asleep. he rubs his hand over your smaller ones.

you do end up falling asleep. at the fashion event that you were specially invited to by the designer themselves.

luckily for you, the sweet moment between you and toji overshadowed your sleepy behaviour!

ᰋ third clip

when walking on the red carpet of the season two premier of ‘jujutsu kaisen’, you are dragged around for pictures and interviews and speaking with other actors. but one interview with you and toji has everybody talking.

as you answer the question you have received from the interviewer, toji stands beside and he is…not paying attention to your words per say.

his eyes wander from the top of your perfectly styled hair and down to your sharp tailored clothes that fit on your body so nicely.

toji is not at all subtle as he full on checks you out.

“look at their outfit…” he mumbles, shamelessly interrupting the interviewer who was speaking, just to talk about how good you look.

“yea-yeah! they look great!” the interviewer compliments you, a little thrown off by toji’s interruption.

“so, so beautiful…”

you laugh shyly at toji’s words, brushing down your clothes and looking down at yourself, “toji, are you even listening to the questions?”

“what questions?”

ᰋ fourth clip

you are a famous and respected actor. of course you must do a ‘what’s in my bag’ video with vogue.

after going through a couple of your obscure items, you come across some of the more treasured ones that you carry around with you.

“and this-,” you giggle, holding up a small, soft brown stuffed deer toy in the palm of your hand, “this is the little toy that toji got me! i liked the brand that makes these, so we got a toy that reminded us of one another…and he got me a deer.”

you are asked what toy you got for toji.

“i got toji an angry looking white bear. it suits him.”

later on through the video, you pull out a silver, vintage lighter.

“right. so…toji gave me this lighter too,” you flick it on and off a few times, “i told him i don’t smoke and he just say “you say that now but you’ll feel differently after doing this job for five years”” you cackle loudly at the memory, “…yeah, he’s not exactly wrong about that…”

ᰋ fifth clip

blurry footage emerges of you and toji at the after party of an awards show.

the dance area is filled with people dancing and commotion everywhere, but somehow, a fan noticed you and toji in the corner of the room.

a sensual r&b song plays in the background as you dance imperfectly, in between toji’s spread legs, looking at him and promoting him to join you.

he stares at you and takes a swig of his drink. the tie he wears is loose and his hair ruffled.

as you dance along with the song, toji stands and tames your hand in his, spinning you around and pulling you right against his chest and sways the both of you. toji rests his face on the side of your head and closes his eyes as you laugh at his antics.

that one video confirmed every single suspicion that your fans ever had about you and toji.

a/n: an actor!toji fic after 2 months. he lives!

#actor!toji #toji x reader #toji x you #toji x y/n #toji x self insert #toji fanfic #toji fluff #toji fushigro x reader #toji fushiguro x reader #toji fushiguro x you #toji fushiguro x y/n #toji fushiguro x self insert #toji fushiguro fluff #toji x gn!reader #toji zenin x reader #toji zenin x you

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writingsbychlo · 6 months

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HIDE AND SEEK | mattheo riddle

summary; you and mattheo play a little game on hallowe’en.

word count; 9058

notes; don’t forget to check out the sister fic to this one by @azrielscrown, we did a lil joint thing, and you can see me making some cameos if you wanna hang out 😉 we’ve been keeping this lil secret for WEEKS and I’m so happy we can finally share it with you all <3

“Sit still, will you?” Your giggle echoed off of the stone walls in Mattheo’s bathroom. He scoffed, shuffling between his feet once again.

“S’not my fault it tickles! I don’t know how you girls do this every day, don’t the brushes make you want to sneeze?” His nose scrunched up as he spoke, but he let you continue to set the wet paint around his face with powder. His eyes focused on you, you could feel the stare as you observed the photograph he was holding up, a cut-out piece of a magazine. “You’re pretty when you’re focused.”

“And you’re distracting me,” You switched brushes, slapping at his hand as his fingers began to tease at your thigh. Returning it to its place on the counter beside your thigh, he shuffled between your legs impatiently once again, and pouted. “I can’t do your makeup like that. Smooth your face out.”

“Kiss.”

“Mattheo—”

“Kiss!” He repeated, and the smile you wore was against your control as you leaned in, pecking his lips softly, doing your best not to smudge the makeup you’d already applied around the centre of his face. It was too short and chaste for his liking, that much was clear when you pulled away as he licked at your lower lip, a whine coming from him as he chased you forward, only to be foiled by a chuckle, and a hand on his chest.

��I’m not redoing this for you if you make a mess of it! I don’t have time, I still have to get ready myself. Party starts in less than an hour, you know.”

“I know.” Mattheo grouched, smoothing his features out as you ran a thumb over his lips, refocusing on painting the skeletal features onto his face. “Y’know, you still haven’t told me what your costume is going to be.”

“You’d know if you’d gone for a couples costume with me. Stop moving your mouth.”

“That’s not fair!” He cringed and the brush slipped right into his mouth, leaving a streak of wet paint across his tongue, and you raised your brows. “I had to go with the boys, I couldn't be the only one who didn’t join in!”

“I’m messing with you, honey. Now, stop talking.” He merely grumbled behind closed lips, but his eyes were sparkling. He remained still and quiet, letting you paint the final pieces of his makeup around his mouth, stretching the creepy, toothy grin across his cheeks. Plucking the picture from his fingers and holding it up, you glanced a few times between it and your boyfriend, shrugging with a sigh. “That’s as good as it’s gonna’ get.”

Standing straight and moving to the mirror, his jaw dropped a little, hand rising but fingers never quite touching his face, tipping his head side to side to observe it. “Damn, baby, this is better than just ‘good’, it’s great!”

“Yeah? Good enough for your little boy’s night scare fest?”

“Don’t call it that, but yes.” Reaching for his hand, you tugged him back toward you, standing him before you and shaking the bottle in your hand. “What’s that?”

“Special setting spray. Close your eyes.” He did as told, eyes closing as you unpopped the lid. “I warn you, it may take some serious scrubbing after this to get the paint off, might leave some stains.”

“Wait, what—” You sprayed it across his face, and a choked sound between a gag and a cough left him as you covered his skin in a thick layer of the spray. Flapping your hand over his face to help his glistening skin dry, his frown deepened, hands reaching for you blindly, and gripping your hips. “I feel like my eyelids just got glued shut.”

“You’re so dramatic.” He cracked his eyes back open, several blinks and a few funny faces to adjust the stiffness, before he was tapping lightly at his skin, fingers pulling away clean. “You should still be careful with it, but it should hold. Just don’t… rub your face, or get any drinks thrown at it by scared party-goers.”

“Always ruining my fun.” Mattheo’s wistful sigh had you laughing once again, slipping down from the counter and slipping your hands under the edge of his baggy shirt. Lifting it up carefully and guarding his face, he raised his arms up, helping to slip off the shirt without disturbing the makeup on his face, leaving it heaped next to the paints and brushes on the counter. “Always helping me out.”

“Yes, well, someone’s got to keep your hopeless arse out of bother.” You leaned in, placing a kiss on his chest. “What does the rest of this group costume consist of?”

“Suits. Not sure whose choice that was, probably Dray’s one condition on joining in.” Pretty brown eyes rolled at his friend, even if his lips were raised in a wide smile. “I’ll get ready, and then we can go to your dorm and get you all ready before meeting the rest?”

“I’ll go start getting ready now, while you do. Save some time.” He only hummed, your heart skipping a single beat as the first deception of the night passed seamlessly through your lips.

“Alright, I’ll pick you up in fifteen minutes.”

You only nodded, pecking his lips delicately one more time, before slipping from his arms, out of his dorm and into the corridors. Your feet were moving fast, like a sprint through the halls towards your own dorm. Fifteen minutes was barely enough time to grab the things you need and escape from the Slytherin dorms without your boyfriend seeing you. You dragged out the bag you’d already packed from under your bed, and the pre-written note you’d hidden in your bedside drawer.

His name was written neatly across the front, and you flipped it open, double-checking the message inside. In perfect, neat cursive;

‘Find me before midnight xo’

Folding it back up and propping it on the bed where you knew he’d see it, you eyed it for a second. Putting down your bag and rooting through, you gave your lips a half-hearted swipe of red lipstick, blotting them for a second before pressing a kiss to the note over his name, a single clue to start the game, before returning it to its spot.

With that, you were off, leaving your dorm unlocked and enchanted, for his entry and his entry alone.

The common room was packed with groups gathered, ready to leave for the Weasley twins’ party, making it easy for you to blend in and disappear. The halls were just as busy, decorated and overflowing with chatter, the castle ghosts crowding and gathering happily to add to the atmosphere.

Everyone else seemed to be heading down and out, leaving you as one of the few people heading up, to the prefect’s bathroom on the fifth floor. It was empty as you arrived, the sound of your bag hitting the floor creating an echo to bounce off of the walls.

Tugging on your costume only took minutes, stashing your clothes back in the bag and leaving it open as you fished through for your makeup kit. It was as you were leaning across the sink, one eye closed as you swept eyeliner into a sharp point in one corner that the door crashed open once again. Jess stumbled through it, arms full of whatever costume the Weasley boys had forced upon her, and you stood straight up, trying not to blink and smear the wet liner before it dried.

“Pushing it late, huh? Party starts in fifteen minutes!”

“Don't remind me…” Jess shucked off her robes, dumping the cloak on top of your empty bag, and beginning to undo the buttons of her shirt as you turned back to the mirror once again.

When you were satisfied with your makeup, two sharp wings on either side and red lips to match your dress, you gave a happy nod to your reflection. With a few minutes to spare and a bottle of nail polish waiting to be used, you hopped up onto the sink. Costume now donned, Jess was lacing up heeled boots that reached all the way to her thighs.

“Are you trying to scare the masses, or seduce them?” With only a sly smirk of her own in return, Jess made her way to the mirror beside yours, plucking the red lipstick from your makeup bag.

“I’m supposed to be a bloodthirsty sorceress,” Popping the cap, she applied a coat. “Know any men who wouldn't mind having their hearts ripped out?”

“A few. The boys will be in skull makeup tonight, so aim for them first.” Your legs swung as you chuckled at her statement, focused on the brush moving across your nails. You wondered just how many of the boys were ready, and what Mattheo was doing right now. Surely, he’d already be on the hunt. “Save the curly one for me, though.”

Jess only beamed in response. “You’ve sent Riddle out on that wild goose chase yours, then?”

You shrugged, ever the picture of easiness as you blew on your wet nails to dry them. “He’s got until midnight to find me.”

Excited knots twisted at your stomach with the mere thought, the thrill of the cat-and-mouse chase. It would likely drive Mattheo insane, knowing you were toying with him as he searched. “What happens when the clock strikes twelve?”

“Let's just say, that I’m fully prepared to live up to my house name, and let him slither in.”

Zipping your makeup bag up with the nail polish inside, you packed all of the clothes into your bag, stashing it behind one of the sinks. “At least one of us is having fun tonight.”

Oh, that was no doubt. You weren’t sure ‘fun’ was even a fair word to use, knowing that the way you were riling your boyfriend up was more like a first-class ticket to seeing Heaven. “Who says you can’t? You may owe Fred a favour, but that doesn’t mean you can’t cause a little trouble.”

Jess shared a devious smile, sliding a gold mask into place as you slipped your own red one on to match, “I like the way you think.”

Placing the final part of your costume onto your head, the small horns on the headband complete your ‘devil’ look, and you hopped down to join her.

With your arm linked through your friend’s, the two of you set off. At the pathway marked as the beginning of the no-doubt terrifying journey ahead, Jess split off, a wink in your direction as you blew a kiss in hers, wishing her luck on the night of haunting ahead, mind set on your own task.

Mattheo had told you where the boys all planned to meet, leaving you plenty of time to slip into the throng of people and disappear into the masses. Your plan: to remain hidden in plain sight.

Weaving through the crowds, eyes scanning over every person there, it wasn’t long until you spotted your boyfriend. Leaning against the trunk of a tree, flanked by only Enzo and Draco so far, he was already searching for you amongst the hordes. You followed closely behind a group, slipping into their ranks seamlessly, as Mattheo’s focus moved across you, flickering over the group and dismissing them quickly as strangers. A spark of excitement shot along your spine.

Just like that, you were walking straight past him. Your cover merely being that of standing among people you didn’t even know meant letting him look right through you like fog in the early morning.

Slipping inside one of the hidden walkways, darkness encased you, hiding you from view as all the horrors and thrills Fred and George had managed to create took place.

Actors in costumes, enchantments to create realistic scenes, and laughter poured from your lips as much as screams did, your heart was pounding as you cleared the tunnel minutes later.

Surrounding the clearing on all sides were various attractions. How they’d managed to pull all this together, you had no idea, but the twins never failed to impress you. Several hexed bonfires filled the clearing, a hazy setting washing over your skin from that very first sniff of woody smoke pulled into your lungs.

A haunted hayride, pulled along no doubt by the thestrals that Luna seemed so fond of took off on your right, a speakeasy-style building to the left, a haunted house with screams filling the chill night air right before you. Bobbing for apples, a spooky corn maze with moving scarecrows, everything that would send chills down your spine.

Mattheo and the boys would likely catch up any moment, more visitors pouring in around where you’d paused at the end of the tunnel to admire, so you spurred yourself into action. The night couldn't end just yet, you still had hours of fun ahead of you.

Angling yourself towards the speakeasy first, you stepped through the door, the subtle smell of gin and perfumed musk washing over your senses as you stepped up to the twisted staircase, flickering lights disappearing into darkness before your very eyes.

Down, down, down, you moved. Swallowed whole by the shadows, your shaky laughter would doubtless have clouded your breath with the sudden chill that took you over, so dark for a moment you couldn't even see your hand before your face. Then, just as your hand skimmed towards your wand for a Lumos spell, a curtain swept aside, a couple stumbling out between fits of tipsy giggles, guiding you with flashes of coloured lights and the beat of unconfined music.

The moment you were inside, all silencing spells wore off, blinding lights flashed across the dance floor, with the music that was pounding through the room so deep the base travelled up your legs. The floor was packed, everybody dancing to their heart’s content, and those who weren’t were gathered around small tables for card games, or crowding the bar.

It wasn’t long until you located a group of your friends, some with their dates, some solo, and you were quickly immersed under the cover of the group. The beat had your eyes slipping closed, rhythm flowing through you as your body swayed. A drink was pressed into your hand by a friend, the fruity taste coating your tongue and leaving your body in a numb haze.

You had to say, you were impressed by the effort the twins had gone to. Despite the student-body having only found out about this party a few weeks ago, you knew for them to have pulled this off, they’d have to have been planning since Valentine’s Day. Songs passed by in a blur of dancing and more drinks, a shot came soon, so spicy your eyes watered and throat stung, only soothed by the lime you were handed to follow.

Wiping a stray droplet of juice from under your lip as you pulled the slice away, you almost missed the flash of skull makeup and blond hair in your peripheral. Draco was on the dance floor, making his way across, a smirk on his lips as a hand with manicured nails reached out to clasp his tie, trying to tug him into a dance.

You didn’t have to search for long to find the face you knew so well, the one you’d painted yourself only a couple of hours prior, also on the dance floor. Hands reached for him too, trying to pull him this way and that, but he wasn’t stopped. No, he was searching. Looking at every face with your hair colour, checking under masks and turning dancers around despite their protests, just to rule them out from the game.

And he was heading right for you.

Spinning away from him, you ducked across towards a friend, her arms looping around your body as you neared, none the wiser to the game you were playing, and the distraction she provided. Swaying your body with her own, you pushed your lips close to her ear, watching Mattheo over her shoulder. “I need another drink, you want one?”

She only shook her head, released you near the back of the group and let herself get swept back up, as you were hidden away behind the crowd, sneaking towards the bar.

Padma and her sister were serving quickly, wands in hand as they floated several cups through the air all at once. Slices of fruit and cubes of ice drop, tinkling into plastic cups ready for them to fill.

Flagging down one of the twins, a shaky breath of pure excitement leaves you, as you turn your focus back to your boyfriend. He looks like he’d been having fun. A little dishevelled, the top buttons of his shirt undone and his tie loosened, smudges of dirt and glitter on his clothes from wherever he and his boys had been playing, scaring unsuspecting patrons and gathering screams.

His hair was no longer the neat style he’d doubtless have gelled it into, the stands messy from running his fingers through it, and curls beginning to form in the heat of the bar. A single curl fell across his forehead, brushing through the paint, and your fingers itched to brush it out of his eyes, like always.

He’d reached the group now, searching idly in the area you’d been occupying, not finding you where you’d once been, chasing only steps behind and having no idea.

The visible frustration he wore gave you a cocky smile, a rush of pride filing you up, watching as he made to move on, to more fruitless endeavours.

Then, a hand shot out.

A hand in a black lace glove, attached to a girl in a full-body leather jumpsuit, hugging every inch of her body, the little cat ears you knew well. A member of your former dance group, poking up into the air. Pulling him to a stop, he bowed his head, lips moving and a conversation you couldn't hear taking place, and his head snapped up in your direction.

For a second, your breath caught, swearing he almost looked right at you as he scanned his gaze over the bar. Someone had told him you’d been there, that you’d headed for the bar, and he filled with renewed vigour, eyes twinkling with mischief even from this distance.

Motioning to Draco— who now had the rest of the owner of that manicured hand wrapped around him— to head to the bar, he moved like a man whom wild horses wouldn't be able to stop. The crowd parted around him as he moved, leaving nobody in his wake, not until he was right up to the bar at the other end. He motioned for one of the twins to take his order.

Padma finally arrives to take your drink request, your order only adding to the floating display over their heads, and the display is utterly mesmerising. Much like the floating candles in the Grand Hall, light shimmers and reflects through every drink and piece of glass, light bursting out across the room.

Following one trail of light, you spot Jess entering the bar, followed quickly in tow by someone in matching skull makeup, this one with shaggy blonde hair, his eyes locked on her like she’s the only girl in the room. You quirk a brow, sealing that little piece of information away for later.

You’re so caught up with your people-watching that you almost forget the game afoot, that Mattheo is so close, until the rough grate of his voice only a few seats down breaks you from your reverie. Snapping your eyes to him, he’s leaning on one arm, back to you as his focus scans out across the crowd. Somewhere on the dance floor is Enzo, you’re sure, and Draco has his lips on the neck of his mystery girl, completely ignoring Mattheo’s summons to the bar. You know where Theo’s interests lay, and you’re not sure where Pansy and Blaise will have snuck off too, likely some dark corner where they won’t be seen.

Your boyfriend was the only one in the group not dancing tonight, something that had you smirking. Swiping up your drink and bringing the straw to your lips, you admired his jawline as he stretched his head, once again searching. That was until a girl in a tight black dress and black feathered angel wings made her way over to him, clearing her throat lightly to bring back his attention as he continued the hunt.

“Hi, Mattheo. Over here all alone, why aren’t you out there—”

“I have a girlfriend.” His curt response was flat and bored, and you almost snorted some of your drink trying not to laugh. Her expression wavered, a pout forming on her lips as she tried again, undeterred, reaching out to take the end of his tie between two fingers.

“I don’t see her.”

Smoothing his hand down his front to remove his tie from her hold, he scoffed, shaking his head; “Neither do I, that’s the damn problem.”

This time, you were too slow in holding back your laughter, the sound bursting from you against your control. You hoped the music would cover it, but Mattheo heard it, whipping his head around in your direction, as he began to analyse every person at your end of the bar.

Taking your drink and quickly ducking behind a man dressed as the Phantom at the Opera, you ducked and dove between people, daring a look back at the bar to see Mattheo stood where you had once been, looking amongst the people, but thankfully, not in your current direction.

Glancing around for some quick cover, you spotted Jess, making your way over to her and watching as the boy she was with parted with a lingering kiss to her cheek. She clocked your approach, a wide smile bursting free on her lips, and her hands reached for you, tugging you into a dance with her as soon as you were near enough.

“I take it Riddle hasn’t found you yet?”

“No, but he’s close.” You have to shout over the music, tipping your head in the direction you last saw him. She glances over your shoulder toward the bar, where her dance partner seems to have found himself too, along with the others.

“Gettin’ colder, he and Draco are heading toward the exit.” Spinning you around smoothly, a smirk pulled on your lips. A determined-looking Mattheo began to chase a cold lead, the unsuspecting girl who did look rather like you from behind leading him off-course.

Twisting back to face her, your brow hitched up as the mystery man began to make his return, two new drinks in hand. “Is that Theodore Nott you’re flirting with?”

“Maybe, maybe not.” It was her turn to smirk, shrugging and brushing her hair from her shoulders. “He doesn't know it’s me, though, so if he asks you, you have no idea who I am tonight.”

“My lips are sealed.”

With a final wink, you slipped away, knowing she’d only be alone for a second before your boyfriend’s best friend was all over her once again. Following in the direction Mattheo had just left, you reentered the dark halls. The glow of his and Draco’s wands ahead, that and their murmured chatter bouncing from the walls, was your pin-point to follow through the new maze of tunnels.

Too busy looking ahead, he had no idea you were right behind him.

Hands reached out, faces flashing before your eyes as actors and other fear-mongers stalked the dark tunnels, and if it wasn’t for your boyfriend’s light ahead, you’d have screamed and given yourself away a long time ago. When you reached the central clearing once again, it was even busier than it had been before, you emerged not long after the boys, from a hidden alcove between the cornfield maze and a stand selling hot cider.

Mattheo and Draco were gone, disappearing faster into the masses than you could comprehend, likely to find more of their little group, and you grabbed a cider, digging a galleon out of your pocket and tossing it into the collection jar, before taking a stroll around the maze. It was in there that you found Pansy and Blaise, hidden away in a darkened corner, just as you suspected.

Both had swollen lips and glossy eyes when you cleared your throat at them, grinning at the blush spreading across your friend’s pale cheeks, as Blaise only smirked.

“Ah, well, look who it is.” He mused, covering Pansy as she attempted to adjust her costume once again, and your laughter wasn’t lost on her, only getting flipped off as she tried to pull the corset top back up over her bra. “By your absence of lover boy, I take it Mattheo hasn’t found you yet?”

“So, he’s told you about the little game I’ve laid out, has he?”

“Oh, absolutely. We have a little bet going. By all means, keep this up, you have me winning. I bet he wouldn't find you at all.” Your head tipped to the side, a little sip of your hot cider as you considered his words, before Pansy was snatching it from your hand, sniffling it, and taking a gulp.

“You bet against him?”

“Of course, look at you. Over halfway through the night and he still hasn’t found you. Pansy, on the other hand…” He teased, and she smacked at his arm. You gasped.

“Pans, you bet against me? And to think, I was sharing my drink with you.” Snatching it back, she pouted, but shrugged.

“Hey, nothing against you. He just had better odds, he’s recruited everyone to help him find you!”

“And a marvellous job you’re all doing of that. Tell me, did you find me hiding behind Blaise’s tonsils?” Her cheeks went red again, along with a burst of deep laughter from the other culprit that had him clutching his stomach. She shushed him quickly, despite the silencing spells cast over the maze for an added air of creepiness.

“Well, here you are, are you not?”

“Sure.” You rolled your eyes fondly, stepping away from the pair. “I’ll let you get back to your intense searching. Don’t tell Matty you saw me!”

And with that, you slipped back into the darkness, the bushes around you rustling and creaking as they changed with every step you took. It wasn’t until you’d successfully given up, growing bored as the chill of mist rose goosebumps on your skin that the hexed forestry finally freed you, a pathway clearing and opening up ahead of you to release you back to the party.

Seeking the moon in the sky, you found it not long until midnight, Blaise had told no lie, your game coming closer and closer to the end, where you would be crowned the winner. Taking a seat before the fireplace, you settle in to watch the flames, and peer around to spot your hunter.

There. It only took a second to find him but there he was, a little clearing across the way, leaning against some haybales with a blunt balanced between two fingers. Bringing it back to his lips, he took a drag, smoke filtering out into the cold air and obscuring his face, before passing the roll to Draco.

When the smoke cleared, his eyes locked on your own.

Just a second. A moment across the field, so far away, but he knew. Your breath hitched, his back straightened. Then he was moving, without even warning the rest of the group, he was taking long strides across the field, closing the distance between you both, and adrenaline surged through your system as you shot to your feet.

Your closest building was the haunted house, his eyes narrowing, a silent warning when a smile curved on your lips, already knowing your next move.

You bolted, a giggle breaking free as the true chase began, and he called your name, the sound lost amongst the chatter and amusement of everyone else gathered around. Slipping through the hoards of people, you stumbled through the front door, watching as Mattheo rounded the porch, trying to snake his way through to catch up.

A kaleidoscope of colours, screams and shouts and music, different rooms with every theme as you were ushered through in a rush, the whole attraction feeling like a fever dream as you searched for the exit. The game was reaching its peak, midnight neared, the moon called it into the sky, and being so close to the last moments, you were determined to win.

Stumbling out into the cold night air once again, you headed for the tree-line, secluded enough that you could lean on the thick trunk of an old oak. You watched the entrance to the haunted house, a red-painted lip caught between your teeth, eager for him to emerge in your wake.

You waited.

Waited.

Seconds ticking by, and the thunderous race of your heart in the moment finally began to slow. Gasping breaths became softer pants, calling to you the silence of the world around you when blood was no longer pumping in your ears.

A twig snapped behind you, and before you could turn to acknowledge the sound, a hand was sealing over your mouth, an arm banded around your waist, dragging you back into the darkness.

Spun around in their arms, your panic lasted barely a second, before soft lips were pressing firmly to your own, the familiar smell of cigarette smoke and woodsy cologne filling your senses. Your arms came up, gripping him just as tightly as he walked you backwards, pressing you to a tree as he left a dozen kisses on your lips, longing and loving after hours apart.

“You’re a little minx, do you know that?”

“Actually, I’m a little devil.” You snickered, hands on his chest to push him back enough to look down at your outfit, motioning to the horns still on your head. “See?”

“I see it, baby. I have to say, I love this costume.” His hand fell to your thigh, callouses scraping across soft skin until he found the short hem, tugging and twisting the flowing skirt around his fingers. “I’ve been searching every girl for red lipstick all night, thanks to your little clue. Should have known you’d be decked out in all red, too. Standing out, right there, the whole time.”

His mouth descended upon your own once again, a happy sound rumbling in the back of his throat as you kissed back just as eagerly, one hand sliding up into his hair. His hand squeezed at your thigh, slipping back down as far as your knee, only to hike your leg up around his hip, shocking you into a gasp.

“I’ve been running around all night trying to find you, and you were right under my nose the whole time, weren’t you?”

His kisses descended to your neck, a shaky sound slipping free as his teeth teased a spot on your jaw that made you tremble, gripping tighter to his suit for stability. Your breath was shaky as you spoke, desperate to reclaim some power, despite the way he was undoing you already, “What, you didn’t like my little game?”

“Oh, I loved your little game, baby. But, I think I just won. It’s a few minutes to midnight.” Licking a stripe across the underside of your jaw, you mewled, head tipping back against the tree, hips bucking up to meet his own, and he grunted. “What’s my prize?”

His gaze came back up, dark and challenging and sultry as he stared down at you, smirking. Licking across one red lip, his attention focused there, his own lips parting, getting closer, needy for another taste. “The second part of the costume, of course.”

Gripping his wrist and sliding it up and under your skirt, his fingertips smoothed over the lace of your panties. He didn’t hold back his groan, gripping your ass tightly in his hand and tugging you forward to rub against him once again. “Red, I assume?”

“Smart boy.”

“My dorm?” He whispered, forehead falling to your own, a needy sound your only form of reply as your hips rolled together, friction dragging and sparking heat across your body.

“What, you want to leave the party already?”

Your teasing words weren’t appreciated if the squeeze to your rear was any indication. “Game is over, don’t play with me anymore, my love. I need you, now.”

“Then let's go.”

The two of you stumbled along, barely keeping your hand to yourself as you hurried back through the woods, avoiding the crowds and teasing whistles of your friends by taking a more covert route instead. You certainly weren’t the only ones with the same thoughts, various couples were dotted through the woods, wandering hands and desperate kisses exchanged behind the trees and throughout the branches.

His hand was tight around yours, tugging you along with his pace, but when he stopped short, you almost crashed straight into his back. Following his line of sight, you huffed, pushing him with a hand on his back to get his feet moving again.

“Is that Theo over there, zipping his pants back up? Who’s he out here with?”

“You want gossip, or you want sex, Matt?” His body jolted at the insinuation, feet stumbling over one another as he picked the pace again. Guiding the two of you through one of the tunnels he had likely discovered during his night of scaring, the two of you paced back through the speakeasy.

Up the haunted stairs.

Through the woods.

Along the halls.

Past the common room.

And then, he was backing you up against his dorm door, fingers fumbling with the lock, pressing frenzied kisses to your lips as he slid the mask off of your face and threw it to the floor.

"You taste like cinnamon and wine." Mattheo moaned, practically sucking the taste of mulled cider from your tongue as you ground against his clothes cock.

"You taste like cigarettes and whiskey." Your words are bitten off as he nips on your lower lip, a whine spilling from you as his hand snakes back up your skirt, toying with the lace of your panties again. Hooking his fingers into the waistband, he snapped them against your hip. The sting of the elastic on your flesh made you gasp, and he only chuckled into your mouth in response.

“Godric knows, you’ve been driving me crazy tonight, baby, thinking about these red lips, lookin’ for them everywhere. Now I want to see what that red looks like around the base of my cock.”

Your fingers trailed across the front of his body, shaky fingers undoing the buttons of his shirt, tugging it more and more until it hung open, only his tie in the way as you peppered his chest with open-mouthed kisses. A moan spilled from his throat, his head tipping back, and he yanked at the tie, throwing it to the floor, quickly joined by his shirt and blazer until his torso was bare and exposed to your ministrations.

Your hands gripped his hips, spinning his body with your own until his back was to the wood instead. Mattheo only smirked, eyes half-lidded as he watched you, your red lipstick already smeared across his mouth, printed on his chest, his own makeup smudged to match.

One heavy hand found your shoulder, pressing you down, until you were on your knees before him, tugging at his belt as he lifted his hips from the door. His arrogance only grew, lifting one hand to comb through your tangled hair as you struggled with his trousers, pulling at them until they were halfway down his thighs. His cock sprung free, a hiss on his lips as the cold air of the dorm met his flushed skin.

Gathering your hair up and out of your face, he gripped it in a bunch behind your head, not pushing or pulling, just waiting as you peered up at him, licking over one kiss-bitten lip. His other hand fell to your cheek, smudging streaks of black and white facepaint as he went, tracing his thumb across your lower lip.

“You’re so beautiful, my love,”

Your smile made his thumb fall to your chin, a single squeeze, before he was retracting his hand, and manoeuvring your head towards his cock. Slipping the tip past your lips, a shudder passed over his body, his thighs clenching under your hands as your nails dug into his flesh, and his head ‘thumped’ on the wood of the door as it fell back.

“Salazar fuckin’ save me,” He panted, slipping further and further, his grip in your hair tightening with every inch, until he was tapping the back of your throat, your gag buzzing along his flesh in a way that made his hips buck. “Love your pretty little mouth. Make it so good for me, baby.”

Smiling as best you could with every inch of his cock slipping into your mouth, his hand tightening in your hair, pulling back just enough to let you take a breath before his hips were bucking again. This time, as he sank back into your mouth, your lips tightened around him, sucking suddenly, and his broken moan bounced off the walls of his dorm.

Again, and again, he was pushing you further, until you were comfortably taking him deep into your throat, tears lining your eyes, threatening to spill over your cheeks in a way you knew he loved to see. “Fuck, you’re so good down for me,”

Tracing your tongue around the head of his cock, you took control, sinking down against him and dragging your tongue along his cock, feeling the throb of that prominent vein. You moaned against him, and his body tensed at the feeling, making you pull back, just enough to have him gasping as the pleasure was ripped away.

You kissed at his hip, nipping his hip bones where they pressed to his skin, and a babbling mess of your name was all you got as he panted, flushed skin rising and falling.

Your hand took over, pumping his spit-slick shaft slowly, dragging up until his hips were following your hand with a pathetic groan. He finally had enough, enough of your teasing as you caught your breath, his head tipping back forward against his shoulders and blissed-out eyes narrowing on you.

“Tongue out for me, pretty girl.”

Your stomach flipped at his words, at the gravel in his tone, the way he yanked your hair back to control you as you opened your mouth, tongue falling out as he’d asked.

His cocky smile grew as you grinned back at him. Guiding his cock back to your mouth, he let the weight of it sit on your tongue, rubbing softly, pre-cum leaking and the taste of him made your thighs clench together.

He didn’t miss the action, not at all, his hips thrusting lazily in and out of your mouth as he gave you a nod. Sealing your lips back around him, you moved enthusiastically once again, bobbing up and down along his cock, wringing every bit of pleasure from him that you possibly could.

“So fucking good, baby, just like that. You like sucking my cock, huh? Always so eager for my cum in your mouth.” Pulling back, his cock fell free of your lips, spit tainted with red lipstick and pre-cum connected his tip to your lips, and he gathered it on his fingers. That same hand cupped your cheek, smearing it across your skin, “Not today though. Today, all my cum is going in that pretty pussy of yours.”

Kissing across his abs as you rose to your feet, his mouth was slamming onto your own. Tongue plunging in, your moan was lost to his lips as he worked at your clothes too, tugging at your dress, horned headband falling to the floor as he yanked the garment over your head.

Kicking off his trousers and stripping himself the rest of the way, he panted, eyes wide, admiring the lace set you’d donned for his eyes only tonight. “You’ve been wearing this all night, and you let me chase you ‘round for hours?”

His hands skimmed over your body, almost reverent with the lightness of his touch, tracing the corset top that hugged your chest, pushing your tits up to the perfect fullness. The panties with their tiny straps, sitting perfectly on your hips, across your cheeks to make your arse look round and shapely, the strings and ribbons that had his mouth watering as he stared in awe. “You like it?”

He only growled, a flash of cold travelling across his eyes as you fuelled the carnal desire boiling within him. He was moving in a flash, sitting on the edge of the bed and bending you sideways across his lap, his wet cock prodding your stomach as you gasped at his manhandling. His hand smoothed over your flesh, across the seam of your panties, chuckling at the wetness he found on the material, and swirling at your clit. “How many times, huh? How many times did I almost get to you, but you escaped me?”

“Th-Three.” Your mind was foggy, hazy as pleasure began to take over. Your eyes fluttered shut as you hung limply across his thighs, core clenching around nothing. He hadn't even touched you properly yet, and you were already falling apart for him. Your gut was tightening, hips rocking and pressing back onto his fingers as you neared that peak, the excitement and electricity of the night had had you worked up for hours now, all moving toward this.

“Three times. Three times you ruined my victory, so I think three times, I’ll ruin yours.”

His words had barely even registered in your mind when his touch left you, a cry of protest being cut shut by a sharp slap across your ass, your body jerking forward at the force, and pleasure zipped through you, despite your denied orgasm. “Damn it, Matty…”

“That’s what you get, baby.”

You pushed yourself up, shaky hands, putting on your best pout as you turned to face him. He only mimicked the expression, mocking you. Tugging you in instead, he licked his way into your mouth, filthy, panting kisses taking over as he made sure to ruin whatever was left of your makeup. You adjusted yourself across his body, settling down to sit against one thigh, nipping on his bottom lip and rocking your hips.

Slow, so slow, you moved over him, feeling the muscle of his thigh tense up underneath you, his hands roaming your body, distracted and oblivious of the pleasure you were taking for yourself as that fiery pleasure rekindled once again. He reached for the back of the corset, tugging at the hoops, undoing them roughly until it was falling to the floor and he was catching one nipple between his lips.

“Oh, fuck, Mattheo…” You whispered, arching closer to him, pushing your chest further into his face as he teased his teeth across the taut bud. A sob left your lips, fingers carding through his hair, tugging at the roots to convey words that were melting to nothing on the top of your tongue.

His arm caught around your waist, tugging you closer into his body, making it harder for you to move as you tried to squirm in his lap. His breathy laugh spread over the skin of your chest as he littered it with hickies, switching to the other side and leaving one wet, perky nipple cool in the air of the room.

“Matt, please!”

“Please, what? What do you want, my love?” When he was satisfied with the havoc he was wreaking on your body, his attention moved to your neck. Your arms around his shoulders, head tossed back, panting and whining as you ground against his thigh. “You wanna’ come, baby?”

“Y-Yeah.” The feeling was burning through your veins, taking you over, your eyes rolling back as your pussy throbbed.

He pulled you in, a finger and thumb on your chin to guide your face back to his own, lips brushing. “Too bad.”

He gripped you once again, both arms holding you steady, unable to chase any kind of pleasure, as he kissed your neck, his smirk on your skin showing he knew just what he was doing.

“Thought you’d get away with that, didn’t you? I’m not even going to count that one.” Tugging your panties to the side, two fingers sank into you, and your back arched into his body as he touched you at last. “You can’t win at my game. My little loser, huh? What a shame.”

You were shaking atop him, the feeling of his fingers, the curl and the pump he knew so well. Mattheo could read your body like a map, he knew just what you needed, just how to touch you, and he was using that to his advantage. Two fingers became three, stretching you out deliciously and yet it still wasn’t enough. You collapsed against his body, desperate to come, moaning like a whore and forever on the edge as he toyed with you.

Your forehead was pressed to his, crying his name, begging against his mouth as he licked at your lip, tipping his head up to catch you for a kiss. When he pulled away this time, you could feel the tears in your eyes, nails digging into his skin, pleading with sounds that no longer resembled words.

You could feel his frustration; every time he’d almost found you, every dead-end, every narrow escape.

A sick, twisted part of you was loving every second of this delicious torture, and you found yourself face down in the sheets, panties around your thighs and his cock slamming into you, so hard that a scream ripped through you.

“Shh, you can take it, my little demon. I know you can.”

“I can, Matty. I can take it. I can take more.” You wanted it, you wanted it bad, spurring him on. Your hands scratched in the covers, legs spreading even further, body rocking with every deep thrust he gave you. His kisses travelled over your spine as your tears smeared mascara and eyeliner into the sheets. His body smothered you, one hand coming around to clasp your own, love shining through in his actions even as he ruined you, took you apart until your mind was shattered.

You’d be wrecked in the morning, you’d surely be unable to walk, sore legs and trembling limbs, you’d have to spend half the morning just recovering from the way he was fucking you now. Brutal, fast, slamming in and out and making you sure your eyes would never come back from how far they were rolled into your head.

Nerves were lighting up, electricity shooting along every cell of your body as his slick skin slid against yours, one hand in your hair, tugging your head back as his lips brushed your ears.

“Wish you could see yourself, pretty girl. Wish you could see what I see. Shaking, dripping, my cock sliding in and out of this pussy like you were made for me.” He slowed his pace, for just a second, and you keened back into him, chasing the pleasure that was already building once again, even if you knew it would be fruitless.

You may have lost the ability for sentient thought, but his count was ringing in your head, only two of three failed orgasms served. Your body tensed with a shudder, the anticipation lingering in the air like a sword over your head.

“You really do belong in the pits of hell, don’t you? Look what you do to me.” His teeth grazed over your shoulder, biting down on your skin enough to make you cry out his name, bucking against his touch as he soothed the bite with gentle licks. “There’s nothin’ angelic about you, you’re nothin’ but a sinner.”

His name spilled from your lips, again and again, like you were begging for redemption.

“You’re on your knees, but you’re praying to me.”

His hand snaked around your body, finding your swollen clit and brushing his fingertips across it, pitching the bud harshly between his fingers. “Matt—”

“You want to come?”

“Yes!”

“What a shame.” He slipped himself out of your cunt, spewed curses in anger leaving your wobbling lips, more tears spilling over as he took away the last part of your dignity.

Twisting your entangled bodies, he guided you until your back met the bed sheets, pushing you up as he crawled over you. Hooking his fingers into the edges of those panties and pulling them away, he spread himself over you.

He barely gave you time to recover, the stimulation all too much, as he lifted your legs to hook them over his shoulders plunge his cock back into the sopping heat of your cunt.

This may have been his game, but when his forehead came to rest on your own, hands frantically bunching in the sheets beside your body, you knew the last round had begun. The ball was in your court, his own need displayed clearly on his face as he rutted into you desperately. His rhythm was lost, sloppy and out of control, and you squeezed yourself around his cock.

You pressed sweet kisses to his lips, tempting him over the edge with a drag of your teeth across his lip, a lap of your tongue, and he was done for.

Finally, your peak crashed over you. Waves and waves, blinding pleasure that left you with silent, open-mouthed screams. Twitching underneath him, your fingers tore down his back, your legs snapped against his hips, holding him to your body as white-hot bliss drowned you.

He only needed a few more thrusts, your back arching and his name a chant, enough profanities to scar anybody passing by as the lewd sounds of your movements covered your moans. He came with a groan, thrusting through until the sound tapered off into a whimper, his own unsteady body collapsed down on top of you. Dragging breaths into his lungs to recover as his sweaty body covered you, you hooked your arms around him, hugging him close, unwilling for him to move even a fraction.

You felt numb, the aftershocks of pleasure racing through your body, still twitching and shaking despite his weight on top of you. Freeing one hand, he smoothed it up your body, dragging from your thigh to your ribs, stroking softly in soothing motions, as his lips gave delicate pecks, shushing every lingering whimper that escaped.

You reciprocated the action, raising one hand to land in his hair, fingers brushing through sweaty curls, as his cheek found your shoulder.

“That… was some of the best sex we’ve ever had.” Your words were still breathless, and he laughed lightly, nodding against you where he lay.

His skin was littered with lipstick, smudges of his facepaint on every part of your body, painted with love and lust everywhere you’d touched one another. The night was still heavy on your skin, the festivities outside still raging even if your night had come to an end.

Maybe minutes had passed, maybe hours, but eventually, Mattheo dragged himself up, pulling himself free from your body, and smirking down at every mark he’d left on your skin. With unbalanced steps, he wandered away to the bathroom of his dorm, the squeak of the taps and the splash of water in the basin signalling the running of a bath.

He offered you a hand as he returned, pulling you to your feet, the two of you wobbling your way through to the bathroom and taking stock of your mess as the water ran. Elixirs and salts, the fresh smell of jasmine and honey filled the air, and then you were sinking in, leaning back against Mattheo’s body as the two of you revelled in the hot water.

His hand looped around your body, fingers lacing with yours and resting on your stomach, as his chin hooked over your shoulder. For a while, the two of you remained just like that, chasing the cold of the night from your bones and merely enjoying one another’s company.

“Tell me, was that your little friend— the one who was ripping out hearts for the Weasel-twins— that I saw running from Nott in the woods, this evening?”

“Oh, Matty,” You chuckled, turning to press a kiss to the underside of his jaw. “You have no idea the games she’s been playing tonight.”

He only grinned, head resting on the edge of the tub. “I fear those two together, they’ll rip each other’s hearts out.”

“Maybe so,” You mused, his fingers dragging along your ribs, and you shuddered happily. “Or maybe, they just found their perfect match together.”

“Just like I found you.” He whispered, lips brushing along your cheekbone, and you scoffed.

“You’re so cheesy.”

“It was your game!”

Your hum echoed off of the walls. “Don’t tell Theo. I want to see how it plays out.”

“What, and ruin the surprise? I would never.” He smirked, “Besides, Theo didn’t help me find you, let him search for a while.”

Holding onto his forearm banded around your waist, your fingers traced up and down, before his hand caught yours, holding tight and weaving fingers your together.

“I love you, but don’t you ever run from me again. There is not a place on this earth you could hide that I wouldn't find you. I’d search forever.”

“You know,” You whispered, turning in his arms to sit across his lap, and he made a happy sound, face tipping up to brush his lips on your own. “That sounds vaguely threatening. You’re a little bit fucked up.”

“That’s because it is a threat, and a promise. Besides, you’re a little bit fucked up too, because I know you love it.”

You couldn't deny it, only able to snicker in response instead, and press a firm kiss to his lips, which he was happy to return. “I love you too, Matty. Now, let’s try and scrub off all this makeup, hm?”

#mattheo riddle #mattheo x y/n #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle/reader #mattheo riddle/you #mattheo riddle x you #slytherin boys #benjamin wadsworth

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leclsrc · 8 months

Text

in so deep ✴︎ cl16

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

word count: 13.1k

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

nsfw warnings under the cut!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah?”

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re not coworkers.”

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

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

“—I can’t—”

“Without telling her?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t—” Carlos starts with a sigh.

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

Maybe it’s worth it. Maybe—

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So, he replied, leaning closer. So.

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

What rule is that?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

“You’re staring again.”

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

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

“I said I’m not!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Christina?” The other two echo, confused.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He and Lily matched—Sonny and Cher.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh? Oh, okay. Well—be careful?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“—Pierre—”

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

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

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

“Take that back.”

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

You speak Portugese?

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

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

Ah, he laughs. Yeah.

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No shit. Who?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

Are you—

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

What he said, it wasn’t…

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Will they?”

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

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

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

“Lonely.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’s your boyfriend, then?

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

Is he an arse?

No either. It’s just too late.

I’m sorry, love.

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hhhh…iiii.”

“Salut.”

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

“Yes,” he says.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Should know what?”

“I missed you.”

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

“In a different way.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m glad I found you here, then.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“D’you want this?”

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

His heart drops.

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

“Ditto,” he says, and you smile.

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

“I do. I love you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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toorurs · 5 days

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"i see my reflection in your eyes" - aventurine

synopsis: aventurine loathes what he sees in the mirror. he avoids looking at his reflection, be it when looking down at champagne glasses, rain puddles or shop display windows. but how come you on the other hand look at him with such adoration? what makes him so special in your eyes, that the person that is reflected in your eyes looks nothing like aventurine but is none other than him. what do you see in him?

pairing: aventurine x reader (gn) |wordcount: 1.8k | content & warnings: established relationship, insecure!aventurine, aventurine cries a bit at the end, fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, use of kakavasha once, dual pov once but only short mainly aven centered, rushed ending (you can tell when i became lazy..), half assed-ly proofread; oneshot

tags: @azullumi "i see my reflection in your eyes" hits a lot. because azul is one of the ppl. whom i look up to and kinda aspire to be. + i feel so understood and never judged by him. thank you, sending u kisses and hugs to you azul <3

a/n: also inspired by "reflections" from the neighbourhood

“‘rine, come here! how do i look?”

aventurine readjusts his tie once again, the lush fabric is placed atop of his freshly ironed shirt, attached to the collar of the crisp button up shirt. the lavish bracelet, that shimmers like a delicate marble statue beneath the bedroom chandelier, is adorned with a dozen sapphires. his eyes dart over to your vanity which you’re sitting in front of, the mirror reflecting your face, mirroring your beautiful self.

he gets up from the queen size bed and makes his way over to your vanity, now standing behind you as he admires you through the mirror.

“so?” you look at him through the mirror, two pairs of eyes meeting each other. they find its way to each other just like how the sea longs for the shore and meet each other again and again.

“beautiful. beautiful as always.” he responds, he tears his eyes away from your gaze just like how the tide sweeps away. (he'll always find his way back to you.)

“yeah? sure that this isn't too much?” one of your fingers starts to fiddle with the strands of your hairs, as if you were trying to fix something.

(aventurine is under the belief that there’s nothing about you that should be fixed, you’re already perfect - you’ll always be perfect in his eyes.)

“mhm.” he hums.“ you look amazing, trust me. there’s nothing worth fixing.” upon hearing his words you withdraw your fingers from your head and place your hand onto the surface of the vanity again as you stare at the mirror and lock eyes with aventurine again, grinning while doing so.

the blond can only give you a sad smile in return. he’s unable to tear his eyes away from the mirror, there’s something eerie behind you - an ugly monster that is lurking behind you.

in comparison to you, he, the monster, looks like a hideous beast. he’s loathsome to look at, datatable even - a sore to the eyes, your seraphic eyes.

aventurine doesn't know what you see in him.

he’s an outcast that people ignore and resent, but still, you reach out your hand to him and give him a saccharine smile.

he's the last kid that gets chosen in a chair circle, however, you're the first one who invites him to join you.

he’s the fallen angel that was long abandoned by the heavens and the people, nevertheless you still pray to him.

aventurine tends to avoid looking at himself, be it when he’s walking past puddles, mirrors or shop display windows, aventurine doesn’t dare to look at them, out of fear to see himself. there are times when he has to look at himself - times when he’s forced to look at himself.

those mornings before work, right after he brushes his teeth and spits the remaining tooth paste into the sink and looks up to wash his face and stares at himself in the bathroom mirror - he loathes what he sees.

those times when the two of you take selfies together and he stares at his own reflection, so later on you’re able to hang the pictures up in your room - as long as it makes you happy.

those times when you ask for his opinion on your appearance and he stands in front of your vanity - just like now.

aventurine is convinced that he’s ugly. both on the in-and outside. there’s nothing good about him. he’s of no use other than being the ipc’s dog that is chained to their leash. he carries no value with him, he’s only worth a little - a mere thirty tanbas. he’s charming on the outside, but on the inside he’s nothing but hollow - an empty shell.

he often gets complimented by people, they say he has fair skin, a million dollar smile, a good body.

the fair skin they’re talking about is engraved with scars and burns. it’s tainted with scratches, tarnished in scrapes, stained with wounds that’ll never heal, no matter what.

his million dollar smile isn't his, the white teeth that beam every time he grins took him years of perfecting and polishing, until the yellow of his teeth faded away and was good enough to satisfy the people.

after all those years, his good body is still emaciated and malnourished, sometimes people would joke about him just being skin and bones and then brush it off by saying that it was a good thing that he was slim and toned.

the person in the mirror is called aventurine, that’s the name he received by the ipc. aventurine looks good - handsome even, better than kakavasha could ever or will ever be, after all kakavasha is a fragmentum that lies in the past, long forgotten.

“aventurine?”

“‘rine!”

“kakavasha!”

after what feels like an eternity aventurine reacts, he’s caught off guard - it’s been so long since he’s heard that name. he remembers telling you that he goes as aventurine now, kakavasha is a name that ties him back to the past, a time that only he remembers, after all everyone else who he had once known was gone. he recalls that you agreed when he asked you to address him by aventurine now, but hearing his given name spill from your mouth, is a sensation, a certain bliss aventurine didn't know he could experience.

“kakavasha, are you alright? you asked, your diligent voice brings him back to where he is - where he’s supposed to be. (with you.)

the way his name drips off your tongue is intoxicating, a tune chanted by a siren that lures him in, into the depths of the bottomless ocean.

(your eyes are like the wuthering waters, they’re full of yearning and longing. you wrap him tightly into the blankets of the ocean, even if he were to try to swim away, the tide would pull him back, sinking into unending abyss - you.)

“hm, yes of course.” he tilts his head to the side, grinning as he innocently tries to brush the worry in his and your voice off. “why'd you think otherwise?” he asks you as he stares into your eyes, two pairs of eyes locked with each other, like a pair of hands that intertwine and can’t seem to let go - just like a boy that can’t let go of his past and still hangs on.

“you know that i’m always here for you right?” you look at him with such devotion as if you’d worship the ground he walks on like a religion. caress his hands so lovingly, ignoring the fact that they’re soaked in blood. kiss the cheeks that are tainted with blemishes.

how?

the person that reflects in your eyes isn’t aventurine - it can’t be him. he doesn’t look like that, he’s not worthy looking at, he shouldn’t stand in the way of your cherubic gaze - he’s only a bother; an ugly sight to look at. your pupils dilate as they watch him with utmost love, he doesn’t deserve it. your eyes fill with love, like they would with tears, he fears that your love would spill if you were to watch him any longer. he fears that his eyes would well up and release tears, the longer he watches himself in your eyes.

how can you look at him with such adoration?

aventurine is a sight to behold.

he has always been - he’ll always be.

he’s the setting sun that welcomes the cold breeze of the night, the vibrant colors of the sunset are like his eyes - polychromatic, full of life. a blossoming flower that awakens as it gets shone upon by the sun, revealing its true beauty.

“your life only revolves around aventurine” would be a wrong thing to say - after all aventurine is your whole word.

you tuck one of his honey colored strands behind his ears, eyes glinting with playfulness as you stare at him. “you’re so beautiful.” a smile makes its way onto your face, earnest and sincere as you let out a small chuckle.

“so pretty.” you hum in amusement as you twirl another lock around your index finger.

his mouth opens but it closes again and he can only chuckle before replying.

you never fail to take his breath away, but he doesn’t mind, there was never much to say in the first place, after all you already know everything about him.

he lets out a strained laugh. “is that so? well i’m flattered, really.” he tries to give you a reassuring smile, it’s not like it’s hard for him to do so, but it seemed like you always knew what was going on in his head.

aventurine doesn’t know if he should fear or admire that trait of yours.

(to have a person know how you really feel means to become vulnerable around them, for them to see your weaknesses and mistakes, he doesnt want that, of course he wants to be seen, but that can only be done when you see his failures.)

again you see right through him, the palms of your hands immediately plant themselves on his cheeks. “aventurine, you know, i love you a lot. but i despise it when you lie to me.” your voice is stern but the words are full of care.

“it's okay if you're not sure what to say. I don't mind - i'd never mind. so i ask you to be honest with me.” you plead at him, why - why are you so irresistible. shy don’t you just give up on him, after all he's hard to love and even harder to understand.

“i don't think i can do that.” he mumbles quietly, his gaze swaying away from yours, out of fear that you’d look at him in disappointment. the doubt is clearly showing in his words but he tries to ignore it.

“see? that wasn't so hard was it?” at that he snaps his head back to your gaze, cheeks still kept in between your hands. you smile at him - why do you smile at him? “you just told me the truth, you told me that it’d be hard for you to tell me the truth.” you gently caress his cheek.

upon that aventurine can’t help but bury his head into the crook of your neck, slightly surprising you as you stumble a bit. due to him covering his face you can’t see what expression he wears but you feel wet patches form at the crook of your neck.

at that you can only run your fingers through his hair, massaging his scalps and drawing circles around the back of his head as you whisper into his ear. “take it slow, we have all the time in the world.”

he feels himself trembling under you and his voice breaking a bit as he murmurs the words into the crook of your neck.

“thank you.”

okay @azullumi you're getting an additional paragraph cause yeah!! you're super cool and i took a liking to u very quickly, ure sososo fun to talk to and you def have sweetened up the past few weeks for me and also motivated to write a lot! your feedbacks, praises etc. always give me sm motivation which isnt often found on tumblr anymore nowdays so i'm really grateful that you're always here for me. i'm very very fond of you and the same goes for you, i'll always be here for you!! (ps: please take care of yourself more, you're a great student and friend but please be a bit more considerate to yourself and take more breaks and rest well!)

e/n: when i had the outline i thought this was abt to turn out so good, well guess who was wrong.. not really content but oh well... as always rbs and comments are vv appreciated!! (and will def be read)

#𝓣𝓞𝓞𝓡𝓤𝓡𝓢: works ✯#—stellaronhvnters.#honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #honkai star rail fluff #hsr fluff #hsr aventurine #aventurine hsr #aventurine x reader #aventurine fluff #aventurine imagines #aventurine headcanons #aventurine angst #honkai star rail imagines #honkai star rail x gn reader #hsr imagines #hsr angst

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wonijinjin · 6 months

Text

seventeen’s hiphop unit when their s/o falls asleep on them

author’s note: was feeling tired, wrote it quickly hehe. let me know if you guys want the other unit versions aswell! the vocal unit version of the fic is available here.

synopsis: what the title says

word count: 0.7k | genre: pure fluffiest fluff | pairings: hiphop unit x gn! reader | warnings: mention of food in wonwoo’s

you were laying in bed with cheol, pillowtalk being the routine of most of your nights, just casually discussing how you spent your day. “then i had to scold mingyu because he wasn’t listening and we couldn’t make progress regarding the lyrics.” he explained, voice low and quiet, waiting for your usual giggles about his members being silly as always, but silence was your only reply. he looked down at you on his chest, seeing your eyes closed, mouth slightly open, a bit of drool coming out of it, right onto his shirt. “seriously? man, my shirt is gonna get soaked.” he sulked jokingly, knowing fully well you couldn’t hear him, otherwise it would’ve earned a betrayed whine from you. “you are lucky you’re cute, i will let it slide this time.” he giggled while trying his best to keep his voice down as much a possible. he rubbed your back while looking head over heels at you, easing you to dreamland even more so, whispering. “good night my love, see you in the morning. i love you.”

wonwoo knew you were tired the moment he saw you when he arrived at home, so he figured that it would be a matter of time when you were gonna stop fighting sleep and let your eyelids get heavy. he was editing the photos he took on his walk earlier, you snuggled up into his side, watching him do his magic in different editing softvers on his laptop. “these pictures are so pretty wonwoo.” you said sleepily. he smiled softly while looking into your eyes. “thank you sweetheart, but you are way prettier.” his cheesy line normally would’ve made you burst out laughing, but as he expected you were already half asleep, eyes closing for longer amounts of time every minute. a moment later he sensed how your head felt heavier on his torso; he kissed your forehead and patted the crown of your hair, smiling sheepishly to himself seeing you rest at last. “my sweet baby.” he said while shutting his laptop down, holding you closer to him.

“wow, the special effects are amazing!” you commented to which mingyu hummed in agreement. you and mingyu were watching a movie, your head in his lap. you were invested in the plot, but it was a bit late in the evening. in fact it was so late that mingyu had actually kind of dozed off for a few minutes, resting his eyes after hours of work with woozi in his studio, the screen’s hue taking a turn on his optic nerves. when he opened his eyes he did not expect to find you asleep, especially since you chose the movie; it was one of your favourite director’s new films. he took a moment to just stare at your face shamelessly, feeling like he was falling in love all over again; your cheeks were squished into his thigh, nose scrunching up from time to time thanks to a few strands of hair tickling it. you were just so adorable in his eyes. he brushed the hair out of your face, stroking your cheeks gently. “i am so lucky to have you. i will always protect you, my darling.” he muttered, draping a blanket that was resting on the couch next to him over your slumbering form.

you were in the practice room with vernon since he had to work overtime with their newest comeback approaching, you offering to stay until the end so the two of you could go home together. he knew you were exhausted from all the exams you had to take, and even tried to talk you out of staying, but you insisted, getting into a comfortable position on the floor, head resting against the wall. he sat down next to you, drinking a bottle of water while you put your head on his shoulder. “i should’ve urged you to go home. look at you, so tired and in an uncomfortable room!” he whined, feeling extremely guilty about the situation. you didn’t reply to which he raised his head a little, upon doing so seeing your relaxed face, soft snores and breaths escaping your mouth. he slowly lowered your head into his lap, but not before putting his hoodie on it, making up for the lack of a soft pillow. “i should take a break anyways. sweet dreams, babe.” he smiled, gently kissing your lips.

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sourcherryandsprinkles · 11 months

Text

Let's play a little game | Ethan Landry x Reader

Summary: You get a phone call from a masked ID when you’re home alone…

Word count: 2k

Warnings: smut, fingering, p + v action, ambiguous consent, home invasion, cheating,

my taglists are here + you can send requests here at any time

—

You looked at your reflection in the mirror as you brushed your hair, admiring how hot your body looked in those small shorts and cami. The rumors were true, you really looked your best in your early adulthood. You posed, making sure all your curves were in a flattering angle, and sent a picture to your boyfriend. It was a bummer Chad was away in Woodsboro for the weekend when you looked that good.

After exchanging some naughty texts with Chad, you called Tara if she wanted to come over and watch horror movies. The weather had been gloomy and cold all day, which was perfect for the occasion.

‘’If you had called me two hours ago, I would be running over in my pajamas and bringing along my fuzzy blanket, but I may have gotten a call from a certain brunet from my film class and agreed to go on a date…tonight.’’ Tara covered her mouth to stifle her excitement, but you could hear it in her voice.

A smile bloomed on your lips, excited for your friend. ‘’Oh my god! He did?’’

‘’Yes.’’ On the other side of the line, Tara paused, her head full of Tyler. ‘’I’m so nervous. It’s my first date ever.’’

‘’It’ll be okay, T,’’ you reassured her. ‘’And if he turns out to be a jerk, excuse yourself to the bathroom and send me a text. I’ll call you and fake an emergency.’’

Tara promised, then hung up to finish getting ready for her date. She needed to leave before Sam got home and asked a plethora of questions. Maybe she’ll do a full search on Tyler to make sure he’s not a crazy Stab fanatic like her own ex-boyfriend.

You were about to shoot a text to Anika, but your phone rang again. This time, the caller ID was masked.

You answered with a frown.

‘’Hello?’’ a distorted male voice said.

Your frown deepened. ‘’Eh, shouldn’t I be the one saying ‘hello’?’’

‘’Who is this?’’

‘’Who are you trying to reach?’’

‘’I don’t know.’’ There was a short silence, then the man spoke again. ‘’Do you like scary movies?’’

‘’Yeah.’’ You took a body-spray from your vanity desk and spritzed a little on you, smiling when the sweet caramel scent filled the air.

‘’What’s your favorite scary movie?’’

You took a moment to think. ‘’Probably Jennifer’s Body. Does that count? It’s more of a horror comedy, but I’ve watched it a thousand times.’’

The stranger hummed. ‘’The one with the hot chick that eats her best friend’s boyfriend?’’

‘’Yes!’’

‘’Speaking of boyfriend, do you have a boyfriend?’’

‘’Why? You want to ask me out on a date?’’ you joked, fixing the pendant of your necklace that had flipped over.

‘’Maybe.’’

‘’If you want to ask someone out on a date, calling on a masked ID is not the best way. It gives off stalker vibes.’’

‘’I’m not a stalker.’’

‘’How can I know you’re not?’’

‘’If I were a stalker, I would tell you how hard my cock is just from looking at you in those pajamas.’’

You gulped uncomfortably, standing from your vanity chair and going to your window to peer through the curtains to see if anyone was outside. You were on the tenth floor. How would anyone get up there from the outside? It didn’t make sense.

But it was the only window in your bedroom…

‘’I…I’m gonna hang up. I need to take my dog out.’’

It was a lie. You didn’t have a dog, but the stranger on the other end didn’t know that.

‘’Don’t hang up on me!’’ he yelled at you.

You did anyway.

Seconds later, the phone rang again. Fuck.

‘’Why are you calling again?’’ you snapped at the caller, not bothering to check the ID. You knew it was him.

‘’To apologize, of course.’’

‘’Okay. You did. Now bye.’’ You pulled the phone away from your ear, but the man yelled at you.

‘’If you hang up again, I’ll come inside and gut you!’’

The threat was stronger and starting to scare you, but you couldn’t let him know.

‘’You’re bluffing,’’ you said, praying your voice wouldn’t falter. ‘’I’m on a high floor. You can’t get to me.’’

‘’From the outside, no. But who said I’m not already inside.’’

Fear settled in your guts as your phone buzzed with a text message. A picture. Someone in a Ghostface mask standing in your bedroom. He had a knife in his hand and you had a feeling it wasn’t a fake one.

When was this taken? And where was he now?

You searched your vanity for something to use as a weapon. There was a ton of makeup, a few perfume bottles, your hairbrush — all useless. Then your eyes fell on your manicure scissors. You used them a few nights ago to cut a thread from a shirt. They were small but pointy. It could injure your stalker.

Scissors tight in your hand, you stood from your chair and ventured to your living area. It was a very small apartment. The living room and kitchen were merged into the same room and all the lights were off. You turned the main light on, illuminating the whole room, but saw no one.

The curtains were closed. They were tall and thick enough for someone to hide behind.

Putting your fictive big-girl pants on, you walked to the window to check, but jumped and when you heard the distorted voice in your ear.

‘’Let’s play a little game. I say something and you do as I say….or else I’ll use that sharp knife on you. Got it?’’

You gulped and nodded. A part of you wanted to call the cops and signal a home invasion, but if your intruder was already inside, they would never get to you on time. Even at night, New York traffic was a nightmare.

‘’Take those little shorts off. I want to see those lacey panties you have on underneath.’’

You didn’t want to, but you reached for your small dolphin shorts anyway. You weren’t shy with your body, but getting undressed for a stranger to jerk off to you made you stomach churn. Your fingers touched your waistband, about to pull your shorts down, but stopped when you remembered you were not wearing anything under.

‘’I-I'm not wearing any.’’

‘’Don't lie to me. I can see those tiny shorts from here.’’

You looked around the room, trying to figure out where he was hiding. Your bedroom window was already out of the options. Your bed was a box and your closet and the bathroom door were shut. Where the hell was he hiding?

‘’Not the shorts,’’ you corrected. ‘’The panties.’’

‘’Naughty girl.’’

You should be disgusted, but you found yourself blushing — and slightly turned on — at the creepy stranger's words. Was it the Ghostface mask that was suddenly having this effect on you? You did feel a strange liking to the masked killers when you watched horror movies.

‘’Strip.’’

You fumbled to push your dolphin shorts down and out of the way, exposing yourself bare.

‘’Now go back to your room, get on the bed and sit against the pillows.’’

You did as told and leaned back into your pillows, but kept your knees closed. You could sense where this was going. Men loved to watch a girl touch herself. If you look at their internet history, you’ll find a ton of porn videos of women touching themselves.

He tutted you. ‘’Don't try to hide. Spread your legs. I want to see.’’

You knew you shouldn’t part your legs, but your arousal was getting stronger at every instruction. It’s like he had casted a spell on you and you were helpless to disobey him.

God, you should be disgusted with yourself. How could you be turned on by a masked intruder in a Ghostface mask asking you to strip and give him a free view of your intimate parts?

Shutting your subconscious, you parted your legs and exposed yourself, shivering when you felt the cool air of the room.

You heard a groan in your ear. ‘’That’s a beautiful pussy. Show me how wet you are for me.’’

Your free hand slid down your body and to your mound, then lower. You sighed as you reached your folds, spreading them and showing the way your lips glistened with wetness.

‘’Am I wet enough for you, Mr. Ghostface?’’ you asked into the room, sliding your finger up and down your folds a couple of times.

‘’Why don’t you stick a finger inside? Play with yourself for me.’’

A soft moan slipped from your lips as you did, your finger sliding easily. You thrusted in slowly, then out, and repeated. The pace was too slow for your personal liking, but you knew how to tease and turn on a partner. Watching a video of your fingers sinking in and out of yourself, coated with your arousal had made your boyfriend cum in his dorm bed many times.

But let’s not talk about Chad now.

You added a second finger and caught your bottom lip between your teeth when you curled them. You wish you had your pink vibrator for your clit, but your other hand was occupied holding your phone.

‘’Mmh, you’re making me so fucking hard right now.’’

‘’Are you touching yourself to the sight of me, Mr. Ghostface?’’ you asked, bringing your thumb to your clit and rubbing.

A distorted whimper came from the other side of the line. He was.

The sensations from your touches were sending fuzzy tingles from your neck to your dripping pussy, but it wasn’t enough. You needed more.

‘’Is that all you’re going to do? Are you going to just watch me fuck myself for your own pleasure like a selfish asshole…or are you going to come and fuck me?’’

The line went dead and all the lights went off, sending chills down your spine. You removed your fingers, unsure if this was part of the game or not.

‘’Hello?’’ you called into the darkness of your bedroom. ‘’Is someone there?’’

It was stupid to ask, having seen enough horror movies to know what happens to characters who ask that very question.

The light returned with a static noise and you jumped when seeing a tall Ghostface figure standing at the end of your bed, watching you intently. He pounced on your bed like a lion on his prey, grabbing you by the ankles and pulling you toward him.

A deafening scream left your throat, thinking he was going to kill you. Instead, he parted your thighs and lifted his robe, his pants already down to his thighs and his hard cock out. He wasted no time, thrusting himself between your wet folds and splitting your cunt open as you moaned out loud.

‘’You like being filled with my cock, uh? You unfaithful little whore!’’ the distorted voice said, grabbing your hips and pounding into you. ‘’Getting fucked by someone else while her boyfrined is away in California.’’

Unfortunately, you couldn't deny it. This cock felt fucking amazing.

You pushed all thoughts of Chad to the back of your head. You’ll figure this out later.

Right now, all you wanted to focus on was the man between your legs.

The sounds that rang from your throat were nothing short of obscene, mouth hanging open helplessly while he wrecked your pussy, his cock slick with the evidence of your arousal. You clawed at your sheets, your back arching from the bed from the intense pleasure filling your whole body.

Moans and grunts mixed with wheezings came from underneath the mask. Breathing must not be easy under the rubber mask. You reached out and took it off, gasping in shock when seeing who was underneath.

Ethan?!

You opened your mouth to speak, but he threw your legs over his shoulders and you cried out at the change of angle, not caring that your boyfriend’s roommate was fucking you.

—

Scream taglist: @misfityanii @beautybyfire @iluvscream191 @mariposa555 @bella7866 @o638 @lulubelle14 @luvvtxinityy @frasersgf @Eddiefrickenmunson @jasperr-the-friendly-ghost @ghostf4cee @thesebitcheslovesosadotcom @wandaswigglywoos @xjennyx2 @jennasslut @thatonesblog @mikaelsonsstuff @icarly23 @tcddszn @bt.oliana @skyesthebomb @a1mzcruml3y @red1culous @iluurmom @popeheywardssecretgf @michaelangdonsslut @byhrxb @kamthecoolest @kattybug @ravenstrueluv @landryslxys

All and more taglist: @spiokybirdstarfish @kenqki @liidiaaag @hawkegfs @gillybear17 @areaderinlove @acornacreacure @black-rose-29 @fudge13 @cece05 @rosie-cameron @Caxddce @laylasbunbunny @gemofthenight @beautyb1ade @hi-bored-as-fcuk-rn @lovelyy-moonlight @mellabella101 @vxnity713 @marzipaanz @bisexualgirlsblog @queenofslytherin889 @thatbxtchesblog @softb-tterfly

#ethan landry #ethan landry imagine #ethan landry x reader #ethan landry x you #ethan landry smut #scream 6 imagines #scream 6

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hoesformatt · 27 days

Text

LOW

“whatever you want, don’t call me”

“I need you to get the fuck out of my space”

“I’m fuckin, I ain’t making love no more”

chris smut/angst (first angst y’all), FOR THE CHALLENGE @annamcdonalds67 + THANK YOU FOR 1800?!?! WTF THERE’S 1800 OF THE FREAKS

toxic ex!dom!chris • poc!reader friendly

contains: oral (female!receiving), missionary, kinda angsty, pet names, no use of y/n

word count: 1.4k

partially proofread

Booty calls, all the fucking time, does he never think a bitch is tired? He broke up with me two weeks ago just to fuck some lame ass blonde bitch that he was texting while we were dating. In his defence ‘It’s not cheating if I broke up with you before I even fucked her’. What type of fuckboy shit is that?

It’s the 6th call from a 3rd No Caller ID and I’ve had about enough of it, I shut off my phone leaving my device to charge on my bedside table.

I raced down my stairs, pulling down my shorts because my thighs were rubbing. I turned on the tv to take my mind off but I heard a ping from my iPad.

Shaye⛽️

how you been holding up bae

Give me a fucking break. I just get out of a relationship and she’s too busy trying to scissor me?

My stud-plug texted me for the millionth time of the week, can people get out my phone and mind their own business? I guess that’s my fault for telling her about my situation with my now ex-boyfriend, we were getting high and I got off topic or whatever. I debated on blocking her knowing that I can’t, cause as much as I display my tits to a store owner they weren’t going to sell kush to someone ‘underage’.

I was in need to disconnect from everyone by turning off my iPad rolling my eyes while grabbing an energy drink from the fridge.

In time, I got back on my phone having nothing better to do as I had already developed a headache. I scrolled through instagram being unamused by everything until Jana sent me a photo of a random girl. ‘I found her’, I knew I could count on her. When I first saw the blonde bitch on my ex boyfriend’s camera roll I sent the photo to myself then sent it to Jana to do her investigation skills.

I searched her profile and saw a bunch of bikini photos, picture of flowers and photos of herself. What does she have that I don’t? Cause she most definitely does not have these curves. I brushed it off and called it his loss because at the end of the day, he’s the one blowing my phone up.

Unknown

I need to talk to you

Don’t block me

I’m coming over

Who the fuck does he think he’s talking to?

I checked that the text was sent 28 minutes ago and I heard a car pull up in the driveway. I ran to the door holding the doorknob when he was unlocking the door. “I swear to— OPEN THE DOOR!”

“You better fucking leave!”

“OPEN THE FUCKING DOOR” He pushed the door with force sending me almost flying. He shut the door locking it behind him as I rushed to the kitchen shaking my head “I can’t believe this shits happening right now” I cursed under my breath.

“Did you miss me” His lips curled into a smile looking down at my ass before I turned around and caught him. “It seems more like you miss me, blowing up my phone and showing up at my door?” Our eyes were locked and tense along with the air in the room.

“I’m not sucking your dick.” Chris scoffed, walking towards me “so you’re gonna ride me?” I pushed him away the folding my arms looking at him with a ‘are you fucking serious’ face.

Unbe-fucking-lieveable.

“Go get that flat corny ass blonde bitch to ride your small dick” He raised his eyebrows being taken aback from my remark “that’s a new low for you ma, you know that’s not true—and I don’t want her, I want you” I laughed. I laughed hard in his face making him scrunch his face.

“You realised she didn't have what I got?” I continued to laugh “that’s what happens when you don’t appreciate what you have”. Fuck face. Chris clenched his jaw drawing a deep breath in before gripping my wrist, taking me behind the kitchen counter.

“Bend over” He ordered I sternly looked at him with a stone “tell me that you want me to leave”. Chris stopped his actions waiting on my response. The healing part of me wants him to leave but I honestly want him to put on me, and good so I stayed quiet. “Bend over. Now” I let Chris spin me around and arch my back across the counter.

Chris yanked off my shorts, spanking my ass leaving a stinging sensation, then kneading it to ease the pain. He leaned over to my ear “you’re so beautiful mama” I slightly smiled at his compliment as he snaked his hand into my panties, rubbing my clit and feeling my wetness “this is the last i’m fucking you” he chuckled with cockiness.

“Get up on the counter baby, I wanna eat you out” I immediately climbed onto the counter, lying on my back and the cold granite sending shivers down my spine. The brunette pulled my thong to the side while he was going on his knees, inserting his tongue between my folds making me gasp.

The warmth of Chris’ tongue on my cunt made my back arch and he sucked on my clit. My eyes flutters close from all the pleasure and Chris twisted his tongue in pussy, cleaning up all my juices in one lick “I can’t get enough of you, can’t believe I let this pussy go” he began to push a finger deep into my cunt “Fuckkkk—” My moans dragged out from between my lips as I felt my climax.

I gripped on his brunette locks waving my hip towards his face while he placed wet kisses on clit. I gasped loudly as Chris sloppily licked off all liquids while they came out “such a sweet pussy that cums just for me” he kissed my inner thighs, the spots darkening.

Chris pulled me off the counter, carrying my naked body to my room, laying me on the bed with my legs spread open. He slid his tip across my wet, sensitive slit, coating the head of cock with my wetness.

Pressing his tip to my hole, he groaned entering my tight pussy. “You’re so tightttt” I tensed up the more his inches entered my cunt. Did he get bigger? My eyes began to water as I felt his cock hit my tensed walls “relax mama” his hand was on my stomach feeling for dick that’s creating a little poke. I took a deep breath, exhale trying to stop tensing as he began to thrust into me.

Hands gripping on my hips, small moans escaped my lips, feeling his length abuse my walls with every thrust becoming harder than the last. Chris lowered himself for lips to kiss neck then in the crevice where his forehead was on my pillow making our bodies collide.

I opened my eyes with Chris’ hair laid on my cheek realizing this was the closest me and him have ever been and kind of scared of it but he started to kiss my jaw as if he could tell what I was thinking “c’mon baby”

My walls tightened around his cock making it harder for him to ram into me. Instead he hit in a different angle hitting my g-spot “please Christopher, right there” I placed my nails on his back, scratching it up while doing. My breathes were laboured with the rush of my orgasm was about to come and his thrusts got sloppy up until I came and he did also inside of me

“Fuck baby” post-nut clarity hit me while Chris leaned in to kiss me and I shoved him away by his chest “get out” I said quiet but loud enough for him to hear “what do you mean—” he looked at me lost and confused “I mean get the fuck out my bed Chris”. I got out the bed naked picking up his discarded clothing from the floor of my bedroom

“We can work this out baby you know this” He put on his jeans buttoning them up before looking up at my bare body “GET THE FUCK OUT MY HOUSE CHRISTOPHER, YOU KNOW YOU SHOULDN’T BE HERE” Chris backed up as I pointed to my door collecting the rest of his shit before leaving.

Worst ex, but great sex

tags: @lunariaxzz @chrissturniolosbitch @leahsbussy @luv4kozume @mattslolita @muwapsturniolo @idkwhosnyla @strniohoeee @iiheartstef @nonamegirlxsturniolo @ka1nani @1800chokedathoe @fuzzycupcakebeliever @mattgirly @love4chris @mattslutt @nicksmainbitch @luhsexcbihh @hearts4chriss @thesturniolos @junnnilieee07

#Spotify #chris sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #hoesformatt #riyahspeaks #fan fiction #fan fic #sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo #nick sturniolo #sturniolo smut #smut

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undiscovered-horizon · 6 months

Text

"Everywhere is good but home is..." - Mihawk x Reader

@thetempleofthemasaigoddess wondered why Mihawk doesn't quite get along with his mother-in-law and who am I to keep such secrets to myself?

SUMMARY: Mihawk is not exactly fond of his in-laws. Nevertheless, he compliantly tags along whenever you pay your parents a visit. If it makes you happy, he's willing to bite his tongue. For a day, at least.

WORDCOUNT: ~ 2.6k

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Imagine, if you will, an angry boar. A large, stout boar with birse as dark as the night sky. As boars do, it will gore with its tusks to let out the frustration and get rid of whatever it was that made the animal seethe. Now, if you take away its tusks, what can it do? Angrily dig for truffles?

Or maybe stand beside you, a scowl on his face and a begrudging “I am fine” every time you ask about the bitter expression?

Mihawk doesn’t like visiting your parents. It’s the sickeningly sweet familial atmosphere that suffocates him. Don’t misunderstand - he’s fond of the thought of having a family with you but the aura of your childhood home is a little too… overwhelming for him. A little too picture-perfect. But being the man he is, Mihawk has never outright talked about his dislike because he’s aware of how much that would hurt you. Still, you know your husband a little too well to disregard his sighs and frowns. This piece of secret knowledge always makes you love him more - he’s willing to suffer for a day or two just to make you happy. If it’s not love, what else could it be?

The farmhouse looks different than it did last year when you visited: the roof tiles have been changed, the outside of the building has been repainted and even some of the fence surrounding the land is new. Clearly, your parents have been busy with their retirement.

Despite the irate expression on his face, Mihawk silently overtakes you and opens the shabby wicket gate to let you enter first. He gives you a questioning look when you suddenly stop.

“It’s going to be fine, Mihawk,” you reassure him.

“So you’ve been saying, darling.”

Comforting warmth spreads inside his chest as you smile at him and kiss his cheek. He turns his head, hoping to catch your lips but you’re already on your way to the older man raking leaves in the distance. Mihawk clenches his jaw and lets out an exasperated sigh. With a loud bang, he closes the gate behind him. He follows you in slow steps, naively putting off the fateful moment of meeting your family.

Walking down the path leading to the farmhouse and the fields behind it, Mihawk looks around the desolate landscape. It’s quaint, he thinks to himself. Tall trees sway on the chilly, autumn wind. Right above their peaks, although far away, are mountains with their tops covered in snow. Uncut grass brushes against his clothes. A flock of cranes flies high in the sky, disappearing and reappearing as they fly through grey clouds. Their key is directed south, towards warmth that will shield them from winter snow. The area is a bit too colourful and bright for his liking but with a nice “please” from you, Mihawk could see himself settling down in a place like this.

Dracule just comes into earshot and has the displeasure of hearing your father yelling:

“Pumpkin!” The older man’s voice is filled with excitement. He lets go of the rake, letting it fall on the ground. Despite his age and clear exhaustion from the work, he wraps his arms around you and hugs you almost to death. “Honey, come out!” he shouts towards the farmhouse. “It’s Pumpkin!”

Mihawk almost can’t stop himself from rolling his eyes. You’re a grown woman, married at that, and they still call you by a nickname they had come up with while you were still in diapers. ‘When I asked where children came from, they told me that they found me between pumpkins in their field,’ you once explained to him.

The door to the building flies open. Soon enough, your mother is running to you. Her greying hair is braided into a plait. She’s wearing an apron with traditional patterns hand-stitched into it. Half of the motif had been done by a skilled hand, stitched with precision and perfection. The other part, however, is a lot more crooked and amateurish, probably done by a child’s hand. Your hand.

Tears glisten in your mother's eyes. Despite her older age, there’s vigour and youth inside those irises - a certain love for life that you’ve taken after her. She quickly wipes her hands on the apron and hugs you.

“Oh, Pumpkin!” A stray tear leaves her eye. “I haven’t seen you in ages! You could have said you’re visiting.”

“You’ve always loved surprises, mum.”

She lets go of you and redirects her attention to Mihawk. Her face lights up as though he’s her own son, beaming with love and pride. To his absolute horror, your mother puts her hands on the sides of his face. He almost pulls away to avoid the unwanted affections.

“Sweetie, you look handsome as ever!” she exclaims. Her expression falls as she looks him up and down. “But you’re a bit thin, aren’t you? And that open shirt, tsk. Winter is coming, sweetheart, you’ll catch pneumonia if you don’t cover up.”

“Delighted to see you again, ma’am,” Mihawk lies through his teeth. To some degree, you’re impressed with how honest he sounds.

"Oh, sweetheart, I told you to just call me mum!” She laughs. “We're family now."

You can see the relief in Mihawk’s eyes as your mother lets go of him. Some part of you wants to burst with laughter as you recall countless moments when you’re the one cradling his face and Dracule is more than overjoyed with the tender touch. It feels like there’s something beyond special about you, that he welcomes such intimate things. Although, truth be told, when it’s your hands on his face, you usually lean in to kiss him and that’s definitely not something he wants to think about while standing in front of your mother.

“He’s a grown man, honey.” Your father nags at his wife. He waves his hand in a dismissing manner. “Leave him be.” Mihawk’s terror returns when a heavy hand reaches for his shoulder. “Come, son, you’ll chop some wood for the night. I’m too old for this. The last time I tried chopping firewood, I got sciatica.”

“Pleased to help,” Dracule drones his words. He gives you a glance like a silent plead ‘Look what I do for you’. Then, he follows your father further into the garden.

You feel your mother put her arm around your shoulder. “Boys are off to have fun and we have a dinner to make.”

Something inside you stirs with excitement - cooking and baking used to be your bonding activities with your mum. Since you’ve married Mihawk, you’re not allowed to do any housework. Everything is taken care of by servants. You find that you’ve grown to miss the rhythm of mundane life, although it would be a lie if you said that you dislike the life you have with Mihawk. It’s just… different.

The sound of pots, pans and knives hitting the cutting boards is like a symphony to your ears. An aria to your childhood. If you closed your eyes, you could almost see the world as it used to be, your eyes right below the level of the countertops, always standing on a stool to help your mother.

But the thoughts of your younger years dissipate as you stare out of the kitchen window. You have the perfect view of your husband chopping firewood with your father raking leaves in the back. Mihawk’s skin glistens in the afternoon, autumn sun. There’s not a bead of sweat on his torso. He appears completely relaxed as he swings the axe with one hand. Some logs are already cracked or particularly dry and those he rips apart with his bare hands. Those same hands that tear pieces of wood into matches have caressed your skin with almost fearful softness; the arms that bring destruction have tirelessly shielded you from the dangers of the world.

Your dad looks over his shoulder at the pile of firewood with a nod of awe. If Mihawk keeps up his tempo, he’ll prepare enough fuel for the next week.

“You remind me of your dad and me when we were younger.” Your mother’s face shakes you awake from your thoughts. Suddenly remembering that you were supposed to be helping her, you look down at the awfully chopped carrots. At least you didn’t cut off your finger. “Always stealing glances as though we weren’t already married.”

A sigh of yearning leaves your lips. What did you do in your past life to deserve a man like him?

“Dad still looks at you in an uncomfortably intense way,” you answer, a smile on your lips.

Your mother’s laughter brightens up the small, crowded kitchen. It’s not hard to correctly guess what your dad saw in her that made him want to spend his life with that woman. “He does the same when you’re not looking,” she says while vaguely pointing at Mihawk.

Her words make you blush. A deep shade of red covers your cheeks, making your whole face hot to the touch. “What do you mean?”

She looks at you with sympathy. “I saw it the day you introduced him to us. And each time you come over, he seems to be a little worse in his affliction, staring at you like you’re the one who hung stars in the sky. It made your grandma remind her of grandad so much, that she cried at your wedding.”

Listening to her, your longing gaze returns to Mihawk who appears oblivious to your undivided interest in him. “Mum, does it ever get boring?” you ask without looking away. “The sense of calm when you’re around him. Like everything could be ruined but it’s fine because he’s there.”

“It’s the only thing in the world that never gets tiring.” A flustered, juvenile smile decorates her face. Even with wrinkles and greying hair, she looks barely older than you at the moment, reliving the flame of love inside her that has never dwindled. “Now, let’s finish with the sentiments and stuff the duck, eh?”

Mihawk is reaching for another log when something makes him momentarily freeze. There, in front of the stump he’s been chopping wood on, sits a dog. It’s clearly a mutt, each feature taken from a different breed. The fur is an amalgamation of markings in different colours: orange, grey, white and black. As the dog notices Mihawk’s interest, it gets up, restlessly stomping in place or rather hopping as the pet is missing one of its hind legs.

“Gulliver,” Dracule recalls the name of the mutt you’ve told him so much about. Your first and only friend growing up in the countryside.

The name is taken as an invite and so the dog places a drool-covered, chewed-out ball next to the piece of firewood. The pet sits again, tail wagging as fast as it can.

For a moment, Mihawk is torn. He wants the dog to leave him be but that would mean he has to put his hand on the slimy toy. Then again, the pet is sure to continue disturbing him now that he has acknowledged its existence.

Cringing at the wet and warm sensation of the ball, Dracule picks it up, only furthering Gulliver’s excitement.

"This means nothing," he drones his words and throws the toy so far it almost disappears from sight. The dog, overjoyed, runs after the ball.

Considering that your dad’s throw has gotten weaker with age, Mihawk might have dug his own grave with the distance he made the ball fly. Gulliver will probably want another run. Or ten.

For a moment, Mihawk goes back to the fantasy of settling down with you in a mountainous wonderland. Maybe you could have a dog too? Not a mutt but a hunting hound? They look very noble.

But he shakes those thoughts away and continues chopping wood.

The dinner went well. Homemade food, family you haven’t seen in a year, the cosy and sentimental atmosphere of your childhood home… And Mihawk didn’t look as miserable as he probably felt. Although you’re enjoying this little family reunion, you seize the opportunity for solitude when it arises:

Your parents go to the kitchen to put away the dirty dishes, plate the dessert and brew some tea. Tugging on Mihawk’s arm, you pull him outside the house.

The old flooring of the porch creaks under your weight. A bright, melodic tune is carried by the wind as it brushes against the chimes hanging under the roof. The sun has recently set and the sky is still in a lovely, indigo shade. Birds croak in the distance, announcing nightfall.

His warm hand rests on your lower back. The touch makes you momentarily take a deep, relaxing breath. Your thoughts become both orderly and fuzzy as though Mihawk’s presence turned all of your wandering, useless ideas into static you can easily ignore. How can a person have so much control over you?

Mihawk is towering over you. He tilts his head downwards to look at you. Something about his looming aura makes you feel not only protected but also well-cared-for, as though you could give yourself up to him completely and you’d still live like a queen in a castle.

“If you keep frowning, your face will stay like that,” you say to him.

Mihawk’s expression relaxes at the mere mention of his visibly bitter mood. Or maybe it softens because he’s looking at you. “I was under the impression that you’re rather fond of my face.”

“And you’d be correct. But I do have to say that seeing you tear wood apart was much better.”

You lean closer to him as you put your arms around his neck. He welcomes the gesture, allowing his hands to travel an inch or two downwards, a little too low for when one is in the vicinity of others. Especially someone’s parents.

“So my wife likes to see me do manual labour,” he states, his warm breath brushing against your cold cheeks. There’s no surprise in his voice and there shouldn’t be. He’s noticed the way you look at him when he wields a sword and Mihawk would be an awful liar if he said he doesn’t enjoy those glances.

“I like seeing you, full stop. Chopping wood is just a nice variation to the scenario. Strong arms and all that.”

The said arms pull you by your hips into a kiss. Although he’s spent only a day in this part of the region, he already smells like fresh mountain air and pine needles. Mihawk groans, feeling the curves of your body against his. He will never get enough of this. Enough of you.

“Tea is served!”

Your mother’s exclamation makes you pull away from Mihawk. He instinctively chases after your lips before letting out an annoyed sigh. A chuckle rumbles in your chest. Dracule rolls his eyes but lets you thread your fingers with his and pull him back inside the farmhouse. There, you interrupt an interesting conversation:

“Darling, when’s the cake tasting again?” your father asks while flipping through the calendar, a pencil in his hand.

“On the 25th, honey,” she answers. The dining room is immediately filled with the aroma of bergamot as your mother pours the tea. “At 6 in the afternoon.”

“Cake tasting?” you repeat in confusion. “What’s going on?”

“Our golden wedding, of course!” the older woman beams with joy. “We’ve yet to send out the invitations, though, so don’t tell anyone. Especially your aunt. Gods know she runs her mouth like it’s a marathon.”

As though you’re thinking the same thing, Mihawk and you glance at each other. The miserable, irate expression in his eyes elicits a burst of bright laughter from you. He just can’t catch a break, can he?

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