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catiuskaa · 4 months

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silly little promises.

SUMMARY: unspoken promises to stay away from your brother’s best friend might work for some, but not when kim seungmin is said man.

WC: 3.1k

CW: mentions of smoking weed, shotgunning, mentions of (fake)enemies to lovers?, slight pain kink?, use of “puppy, darling, beautiful, master”, fingering (f rec.), protected piv sex, (slight meanie?) hard!dom!seungmin, + artistic liberties regarding use of cursive because yes, and I think that’s all, folks!

PAIRING! smoker!seungmin x reader

[☆★🚭★☆]

Kisses in New Year meant nothing.

You wouldn’t have said this a month ago. Not in a chance, considering you and your loving boyfriend were stepping together into 2024.

Or. Well. You were going to.

Because when you turned around to face your boyfriend in midnight, he wasn’t there. You thought he was in his apartment, resting with a cold.

Oh, no.

He was a couple people behind you.

With someone else.

“Well, if it isn’t the queen of the party.” A low voice greeted cheekily.

You shoulders tensed up slowly.

“You shouldn’t smoke, you know.” You snickered, smiling politely at the silhouette that was leaning against the fence in the terrace.

That sentence you said was as empty as words could be.

Years after years, as someone who wasn’t really close to their family, the only moment you saw each of your close relatives was in events, like weddings and funerals. Or, in this case, New Years. Yet, for some reason, Kim Seungmin could —and would— always tag along.

Always next to your brother, Felix and him were attached to the hip. And, despite the fact that you had known him ever since you had memory, you needed that sentence, because it would secure a reaction in him.

He would roll his eyes. Like how he had done just now.

And usually, he would do that and go fetch your brother, dropping the ciggarette in the terrace of his shared appartment, stepping on it, staining the stone just slightly each time.

“Well, my grandmother got to live a hundred years.”

Huh? Your eyebrows shot up, almost innocently.

You fidgeted with your rings, hands gripping the fence in the terrace. As a seven-store building, you thought maybe you could focus on the small-looking mundane views.

Maybe like that, he’d go.

But he wasn’t leaving. He dared to get closer, in fact. And that shouldn’t be happening. You bit your lip. You needed to remember the one promise you had intended to keep.

Then your breath hitched, not only because his slender fingers brushed against your cheek, but because you remembered who you had promised that to. To that cheater ex-boyfriend of yours. And, cigarette in between his lips, pink and soft to the eye, Seungmin tucked a stray hair behind your ear, and you grasped the fence with force, your knuckles white.

“I can’t trust a man like that.” Your ex had said long ago, struggling to justify himself as to why you shouldn’t get too close to Seungmin. “He looks at you… differently.”

“You know how she did that? How she got to live up to a hundred?” The man in question asked in a low voice, tempting you to go forward, to break the unspoken promise of you not going close to each other.

“Smoking?” You muttered humourlessly, licking your lips, staring at his.

Seungmin snorted. “Oh, no, puppy.” Your entire body shivered. Blinking, slowly, not daring to believe what was happening before your eyes.

But it was real. And you knew it because Seungmin suddenly grasped your cheeks with one hand.

“Minding her own damn business.” He smirked, blowing the smoke on your face.

You started coughing, and hesitated as if to push him away and leave, slam the door close and celebrate New Year somewhere else instead of a party filled with friends of others.

“But I think,” he smiled slyly, bringing you back from your thoughts as he licked the small piercing in his lip. “I think you should try it.”

Your eyes widened at his words, your mind wandering away. Would the piercing be cold? How would it feel on his lips?

How would it feel against yours?

“S-smoking?” You let out in a huff, feeling heat creep up your body. He nodded.

“But…” doubt tinted his tone, his hand not leaving your chin, the grip uncomfortable at first but now relaxing against your skin.

Maybe it wouldn’t be so difficult to break that old promise.

Not when Kim Seungmin was related. And not when what you had promised meant not getting… acquainted with him.

After all, he had to make you regret it, right?

“Problem is… I only have this one.” He stated, waving the lit cigarette in his hand. “Unless… you don’t mind sharing.”

He had to make you regret that, for once, you had chosen that sad excuse of a man over him.

Your mind started to turn fuzzy, feeling Seungmin’s lean figure slowly cage you against the fence, his free hand sneakily heading to your waist, stroking down ever-so-slowly to your hip.

Biting your lip, you forced yourself to stop looking at his face, and threatened to burn marks on the necklace that creeped from between the top buttons of his black shirt.

Your cheeks heated up again.

“So, what’s it gonna be, huh?” He scoffed funnily, voice tinted with mockery. “Can a goody-two-shoes like you handle—“

But he stopped talking, because you took the cigarette from his hand and inhaled, siren eyes locked on his, who widened at the sight of you, eyebrows shot up, his features masking contentment.

He liked where this was going. He liked that you had broken the promise. He liked it when he heard that you had slapped your ex in front of everyone in the crowd. He liked how, right then and there, you grasped his face, your nails pressing crescent moons on his cheeks. Painful, but oh, so good.

And then, his breath tasted familiar. In the midst of the smoke you were passing to him, the mix of flavours crossing one mouth to another, exhaling and inhaling.

You backed off after, but he let out a soft grunt.

“Let me do that right.” Seungmin gulped messily, eyes red.

As if shotgunning hadn’t been enough, his right hand cradled your face, his left pushing himself tightly against you. His fingers traced the contour of your jaw, your breaths synchronized.

“Do it.” You panted, the effects of the certainly-not-tobacco substance reeling in your body, taking them in, making you light-headed. “Please, Seungmin, I—”

Your lips met in a fiery embrace, a collision of longing and intensity. It didn’t start with a tender exploration, but rather a fervent exchange of passion. Time seemed to stand still as both of you lost in the intoxicating rhythm of the kiss, all teeth and tongues.

“Just shut up.” He whispered against your lips. “God, just— fuck.”

Heated sighs escaped between kisses, and every touch sent shivers down your spine as Seungmin’s hands roamed freely over your body, gropping and touching to his heart’s content. His cold hands passed underneath your shirt and you whimpered.

“Ah! S-shit, Seungmin!” You shivered against him, trying to quiet your gasps.

He smirked, his other hand grabbing your cheeks and his thumb stroking your red, swollen and so fucking kissable lips.

“Wait, puppy.” He took the cigarette from your hand, took a draw and threw it to the ground, stepping on it lazily.

The smoke came out of his mouth slowly. “Now, I want you to listen closely.” He started. Your lack of response triggered a tug to your bra, and he slapped it back without hesitation, only a mean smile on his features. You whined, nuzziling your face on his neck, and he licked his lips, enjoying himself.

“Are you listening?” Seungmin snickered.

“Y-yes!” You muttered on his neck.

His cold hand trailed soothing patterns on your back, making you squirm on his grasp. You could feel yourself getting wetter and wetter by his antics.

“Yes, what?”

Slowly you stepped back to look at him, his eyes dark with lust and red due to the weed.

You smiled inocently. “Yes, sir?”

He blushed, but slowly shook his head.

“It’s master for you, puppy.” He kissed you again, unable to resist it for longer. “Let’s get the hell out of this place.”

You accept his outstreched hand without hesitation, a contact that made you crave whatever he was thinking at that moment.

Your heels were not at all helpful to take you upstairs, but Seungmin’s kind heart was there to smile at you as his hands took place in the curve of your waist to help you get up safetly. The silk of your dress felt soft under his slender fingers, your body warm to the touch. Every step you took made your hair swish in front of him and the strong scent of your shampoo invaded him completely, wanting to sink his face in and fall asleep.

It was the first time you were able to get a propper look of Seungmin’s room in his shared apartment with your brother. You had seen the door left ajar before, but never dared to cross, keeping your promise in mind.

“I don’t mind if you snoop, you know.” He chuckled next to your ear.

A sudden burst of attitude came right through you when you smirked, turning around to face him, your hands around his neck, playing with his hair.

Fuck that promise.

“I don’t need to snoop. I can always come back for that.”

Seungmin couldn’t help but smirk, moving and pushing you against the door, locking it behind you. He pressed his hands against it, on either side of your head, and leaned down slightly, towering you even with your heels on.

You couldn’t help but gulp, and Seungmin was tempted to press his mouth against your neck just to tease you after feeling your pulse hammering against his lips.

He was not going to kiss you.

Seungmin decided that, against his first intentions, watching you fight yourself was the hottest thing he had the pleasure to view that whole night, your cheeks in a deep shade of red, thighs squeezed together.

He didn’t really need to start anything. Only if you chose to, you would kiss him. And, even if you didn’t, you’d surely come back for more anyways.

Few people could resist Seungmin, and you were certainly not part of that group.

Your breathing deepened when he leaned forward, letting his mouth linger near the shell of your ear, his breath tickling your neck.

“You never hated me like you pretended, did you, darling?” He was mocking you, and he so knew it. “Keep in mind— I still can make you call me master. Your silly little promises won’t make me stay too far, puppy.”

He was trying to make you beg for it, for him, for anything, anything that Seungmin could do for you to make you feel better, as he kept making the heat that run through your body take control.

But Seungmin needed to get his revenge.

After all, he had been pinning over you for ages now. It was only fair you had to ask for it nicely, right?

“Is this a joke?”

The muttered question grazed past your lips, and it look like it surprised you just as much as it surprised him.

“I don’t joke about consent, dear.” Seungmin’s serious tone mades concentrating a much more difficult task. Not when his messy hair looked so good, and certainly not with those cute flushed cheeks of his.

For a lack of an answer —at this point it wasn’t about if it was better, because the man had almost rendered you speechless— you bit your lip, now soft doe eyes staring at him from below.

“You know what will happen.” His voice was soft and enticing, tempting you to go forward. “You just have to kiss me, hmm?” He snickered, his hum vibrating all through your body.

Seungmin smirked, pressing his body slightly closer, slotting his leg in between yours, setting his thigh just right.

Just a bit more.

“Say that you want it,” he whispered. “Master can fuck you so good once you do it, yeah? Don’t you want that, puppy?”

The sudden tug at the collar of his shirt and the force that you pulled him towards you with almost made Seungmin lose his mind, his thoughts soaked in a puddle of arousal, much like the one you were feeling that kept growing inside you.

Your lips crashed together, giving in to a craving that had been building up for what seemed likeforever. It wasn't just a kiss; it was like a dam breaking, releasing a flood of emotions that had been held back for too damn long.

The urgency was wild, like you couldn't get enough of each other. Seungmin’s mouth moved hungrily, as if trying to make up for all the times he'd missed out on this.

Your hands traveled to the rim of his shirt, but he whined, separating his lips off you. “N-no, wait.” He gasped, running out of air and not giving any fucks about it.

You had ruined him for good.

“Bed. Now.” He panted at you, your eyes as blown out as his. “You’re gonna be the death of me, puppy.”

Seungmin licked the piercing on his lip, as he took off his shirt and sat on the edge of the bed, manspreading. His breath hitched and he buckled his hips unconciously when you sat on his lap, rolling your hips teasingly.

He tutted at you. With a mean smile, he grabbed you by your waist and softly pushed you against the soft fabric of his bed covers. Standing on his knees, he unbuckled his belt, and you happily oogled at his toned body. He wasn’t shredded, but there was no need when all you wanted to do was mark him up in kisses regardless.

You didn’t realize he had taken all his clothes off, left with his boxer briefs, only noticed it after he let his body slot in between your legs, his forearms at the sides of your face so his weight wouldn’t crush you completely.

“Seungmin…”

He chuckled, your hands touring up his lean chest, reaching the nape of his neck.

“So demanding.” His characteristic teasing tone was back, but completely different at the same time. “Say, if I snuck my hand under that beautiful dress of yours,” he mentioned temptingly, enticingly grinding his hips against yours, “how wet would I find you, puppy?”

So fucking wet. So much, in fact, that you didn’t dare to say. Disgustingly so. You let out a trembling sigh, yearning for the man before you to inch even closer, to eat the space between both of you and make it dissapear.

In a swift motion, Seungmin took your dress off and discarded it, not bothering if it would be easy to find later on. In fact, he thought as his stare ate you alive, that he wouldn’t mind if you never found it again.

He rocked against your centre, just once, ripping a pained whimper out of you.

“Tell master what you want, puppy.” His jaw hardened, reeling in the bubbling emotions that ran through him. “Tell me what’s okay for me to do.”

Seungmin’s thumb grazed the skin of your breast, eliciting a deep moan out of you.

“That’s it, puppy. So good— so good for me.” He gulped, filled with lust and craving.

He took your nipple between his slender fingers and pulled softly.

You let out an unrestrained whimper. Loud. Almost obnouxiously so, and quickly brought your hand over your mouth, cheeks reddening in embarrassment and arousal. Seungmin chuckled softly, leaning down to press a kiss to your blushing cheek.

“Keep making those pretty sounds for me. Let everyone hear. Let them hear how good your master makes you feel.”

Seungmin’s hold on your hip tightened, making you aware of his hand there, his other hand continuing further down a similar path, finally reaching your wet folds, pressing just for an instant and then gliding down slowly.

Your lips parted as a moan came out. You couldn’t remember feeling so turned on by someone— ever.

He let out a pleased grunt, his hand leaving your core as his eyes locked with yours just so you’d see how he licked your arousal from his fingers, humming with a smirk.

“All of this for me?” He mocked in a deep voice, much deeper than any instance you had ever heard him.

Unable to form any coherent thoughts in your head aside from the chant that numbed your head—Seungmin, more, Seungmin, mine, Seungmin, master,— he didn’t lose anymore time, his fingers sliding inside of you in a swift motion, making you moan at the blissful sensation of finally being somewhat full, also making you realize that only his fingers wouldn’t be enough for the night.

“Hear that, puppy? Those sticky sweet sounds… that’s all you.” Seungmin kept thrusting inside, adding a second finger and bringing a warm sensation that started unravelling itself, as if it was going to crack you wide open. “All drenched for me, fuck.”

After what could’ve been a few minutes, only hearing your own moans and whines, backed my Seungmin’s pleased pants and the sound of your arousal as he scissored you open, he took his hand away from you.

“Open up.” It wasn’t a question, and it made you whine against his fingers when he shoved them in your mouth, forcing you to taste yourself. “So fucking delicious, my little puppy.”

So primal, so basic, so hot.

He slid down his underwear just enough so his length sprang free.

“Would love to feel those lips of yours around my cock, but we’ll leave that for the next time.”

He planted a lingering kiss on your lips and a second one on your forehead as he fetched a condom and skillfully rolled it down his length.

He stared at you, going back to his place between your thighs.

“Words, puppy.” He demanded.

You almost choked in your spit.

“F-fuck, S-seungmin, I—“ you moaned as he went crazy, claming your breasts, neck, collarbone, marking you with hard-to-cover-up hickeys. You were his, and it was now as real as it could get, his fingers and tongue outlining your body, memorizing every nook and cranny.

He panted. “Don’t stop talking.”

“S-shit. Yes. Yes, fuck, please. S-seungmin.” You bit your lip, squirming in your place. “I-inside.”

He snickered against your skin.

“Say that like you mean it.”

His hips rocked against your core, pushing his length between your legs, the tip sliding down with every sway of his body until reaching my entrance.

“M-master.” You could’ve sworn you would cry. “Please.”

With a kiss below your ear, Seungmin finally pressed into you, slowly, and it made you moan loudly, the feeling of his cock sliding inside of you in a deep thrust, filling you completely.

“We’re in for a long night, puppy.” Seungmin whined, almost moaning, and it was delicious. “F-fuck…”

He kissed you fiercily, his lips making your body burn underneath him.

“Now, keep moaning how good your master makes you feel.”

~Kats, who wanted to post this before going crazy with overdue homework and future exams! (HELP!)

aside from my human issues, lol, i was thinkinggg should I open a taglist or smth? js sayin lololol

Almost forgot! Tagging @dumplingsjinson bc their (outstanding, gorgeous) prompts helped me out, so quick, go check them out! hehe<3

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alwritey-aphrodite · 5 months

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An arranged marriage drabble for Sejanus <3

Your parents aren’t the best at keeping secrets from you, but today has been full of strange smiles and glances over the top of your head when they think you aren’t paying attention. They’ve mentioned that the Plinths were coming for dinner, and despite the fact that you find Sejanus to be a perfectly nice boy, you have a sick sense of apprehension coiling around in your stomach all day long.

The bomb is dropped after dinner, with everyone gathered in one of your many sitting rooms. You catch on before Sejanus does, and it only takes a fraction of a second before you're bolting up from the plush couch you’d been lounging on.

“You can’t be serious,” you look accusingly between your parents, swallowing thickly around the lump in your throat. When neither of them move to say anything to make you feel better, to laugh and tell you it was all a joke, you make your way to the exit of the room, the shouts of your family turned to static in your ears.

Throwing open the front door, you barely make it down one of your stone steps before you can’t see past the tears in your eyes and you all but collapse, tucking your head between your knees and wishing for everything to change. You’re so distracted by your own sobbing that you don’t realize when the front door opens again, or when someone sits on the steps next to you, until you sit up to sniffle and wipe your eyes.

“You really got the short end of the stick, huh?”

His voice is quiet and soft, the way you imagine it would sound if he was talking to a child or a wild animal.

“It’s not about you, Sejanus, I promise,” you tell him as you wipe your eyes roughly with the back of your hands, angry about crying and fearing you’ll start crying again because you’re angry.

“I know, just trying to lighten the mood,” and you can’t help the way this makes you huff, the quickest breath of laughter possible, but Sejanus notices, rewards you with a sweet little smile.

Out of all the boys you know, it’s not a secret that Sejanus is one of the best. He’s smart and kind and thoughtful, but you know the only reason your parents are essentially selling you off is because of the enormity of your combined fortunes, sole heirs to unimaginable amounts of money. Really, it’s not the worst case scenario, not even close, and you can’t help but hope that the two of you will be friends, at the very least.

“Better than Festus,” you mutter, and the boy next to you snorts, turning to look at you for the first time since he sat down. His eyes are creasing with his smile, and his gaze makes you melt a little.

“That’s not the compliment you think it is,” he retorts, and now you’re laughing too, even as you swipe underneath your eyes again for good measure.

It’s not long before the two of you are keeled over and laughing like maniacs, any time one of you speaks, it sets you off into another fit of giggles. You finally manage to catch your breath a few minutes later, your laughter fading with the setting sun, and you barely even notice that your head is resting on Sejanus’s shoulder, a strange sort of feeling settling into your chest.

Again, I love these two and I’ll happily write more for this little universe :)

Here’s the second blurb for them

#sejanus plinth #sejanus plinth x reader #sejanus plinth x you #sejanus plinth fanfiction #sejanus x reader #sejanus x you #the ballad of songbirds and snakes fanfiction #the ballad of songbirds and snakes

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leclsrc · 1 year

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see it through ✴︎ cl16

genre: friends to lovers, fake dating au, fluff!, humor, slight angst, slow burn-ish, yearning

word count: 9k

“It’s a proposition for the fans.” She smiles. “It’s a fake relationship.” Or: you go from social media manager to girlfriend in under a day. Keeping up appearances for Charles’ family isn’t easy, until it is – and until they’re not really appearances anymore.

notes... internet translated italian ahaha

auds here... this fic is quite long! i hope you all like it. title from this bee gees song which reappears in the fic later. few music references here so if you like to listen to music, just look for the titles, they’re famous!

You’d gotten the phone call on a Saturday morning.

Barely morning, you realized when you were digging for your phone in the sheets, half-asleep—it’d been five minutes past noon. You’d swiped, pressed the phone to your ear, and waited for the other end to speak, eyes shut.

“Good morning,” a vague voice had said on the other said, distinctly American. “This is Jenna Griffin, newly appointed PR specialist for Ferrari. Your boss told me you were free for lunch on Monday, so can I pencil you in for a one-thirty meeting?”

You click your tongue. “Um, yeah.”

“Wonderful. Monday, one-thirty. Apologies for the weekend call, it’s for Mr. Leclerc.” The line buzzes dead after, and you flop backwards onto your bed, confused out of your mind.

Your job for Ferrari was simple—create social media content, do the occasional damage control, have a pre-interview discussion with journalists, and generally stay out of everyone’s hair. It’s not a high-maintenance job, but it pays well, and you get to travel; plus, you’re young, and you figure this is just a stepping stone for a more legitimate post. Your point is, you’ve never gotten into trouble before, and are only at meetings to take minutes or get assignments.

Which is why a Monday lunch meeting—on your vacation, nonetheless—seems so out of the ordinary. And arranged by a PR agent from Ferrari? Last you’d heard, cars were objects and didn’t need publicity. The whole affair gives off a vibe of semi-mystery, almost, like you’re in the MI6 and taking lucrative calls in alleyways.

You feel through your bag for your hotel key card, wallet, and phone, and finding them all there, you leave and make your way to the restaurant. You’re not too nervous; you’ve had to have your own sit-down talks with higher-ups and even Charles or Carlos before, but none of the “you’re fired” variety.

The restaurant isn’t far from where you’re staying, so you shove sunnies on and trek there, managing to make it inside unscathed.

Table 17, the text reads, and you’re quickly ushered into a private section of the place. It’s empty, save for a couple and a far-off table seating one guy, whose back is to you. You realize it’s Charles when you squint your eyes harder. The waitress doesn’t give you much of a choice and seats you across him, promising to return with noontime champagne.

You slide your sunglasses onto your hair and look up. “Hi,” you say politely.

“Hey,” Charles says back casually. He wears a Richard Mille and a few other bracelets, a linen blue polo, and jeans.

“New PR thing?”

Charles smiles, shrugging. “Man, I’ve no idea. Wake up on Saturday and I’m due for a meeting. Is this for social media?”

Huh, so he doesn’t know either. “I don’t know. It was a super random call for me, too.”

He shrugs. “Both clueless.”

“Right. So, to be clear, we’re waiting for—”

“I am so sorry I’m late,” a woman says sheepishly, her heels clicking along the tiled floor. She definitely looks the part for a PR officer: pantsuit, heels, a blond bob, ridiculously expensive handbag, eccentric sunglasses. “Scusami, really.” Her Italian apology has an American twang.

“All okay,” says Charles with a small smile. “We were barely waiting, no?”

You nod, offering a tight-lipped smile of your own. “Yeah, don’t worry about it.”

She slides into the seat beside him and waves a waiter over, ordering in quickfire English; clearly, she’s been here before. Absently, you wonder if her previous affairs in this restaurant were also to have clandestine meetings. Your reverie doesn’t last long, though, because immediately Jenna’s starting her agenda. “So, are introductions in order?”

“I, um,” you say, “I’d say so, yes.”

“Alright, spectacular. I’m Jenna Griffin, just moved to Monte Carlo after living and working in SoCal. I’ve been appointed as a PR manager for Charles here, but don’t worry. You’re in good hands. I’ve handled three Kardashians, two NBA players, two One Direction members, and a lot of nepo babies.”

“Wow,” you say, nodding.

“Cool.” Charles says, clearly impressed.

Jenna’s gaze flits between the two of you, both smiling at each other. “Right,” she says. “Let’s get down to business.” She clears her throat and pulls out her phone from her handbag, scrolling for a few moments. While the silence settles, you steal another glance at Charles, and hide a chuckle when you find his eyes already glancing back at you.

“Aren’t we waiting for Carlos?” He asks, taking a sip of water.

His PR agent looks up briefly, then answers. “Actually, it’s just you two today.”

You nod slowly, burrowing even further into the confusion you’d been feeling since Saturday. It wasn’t like you were expecting Carlos, per se, but a meeting with just you and him—now, that’s a bit strange.

“So, I know this is all very confusing. But it’s happening for a reason,” says Jenna. “Charles—and I really only feel qualified to say this because I’ve done my research—has been on a streak of…erm, well, lady-related scandals lately.”

“Oh, God,” Charles groans across you, and you chew your lip. You’ve seen the headlines, but you’re still clueless as to how this concerns you.

“As a PR agent, I think it won’t do good for his public image to be seen as somebody who sleeps around.”

“It was two headlines,” Charles cuts in with a laugh. “And they were both fake. Please don’t misunderstand.”

Jenna clicks her tongue. “Yeah, the public definitely has some thoughts.” She turns to her phone and reads off of it. “‘Charles is a playboy and not a driver’, ‘Leclerc is too busy pulling girls’… times ten thousand. So, yeah, it’s a bit of a smear.”

“Right, okay. Listen, I’m not sure I understand,” you say with a stuffy laugh. “What has all this got to do with me?”

“Everything,” she answers with a smile. You raise a brow. “Well, you see, we PR managers always have a network. We keep tabs on who’s who, and who needs what. As a new manager, I need to implement some of my strategies around here. Go digging, you know? Find something good. And when I found your pretty little face in the background of many of Charles’ paddock photos, I realized you could help create something newsworthy.”

“Are you talking about a PR stunt?” You ask, your frown deepening.

“Well—virtually, essentially, yes.” She opens her mouth to explain but is interrupted by the serving of champagne and appetizers. “Okay. Don’t think this is a haphazard decision. Naturally, we had to find out if this would even be a good idea…”

“Which it’s not,” you say, taking a swig of champagne.

She nods. “The thing is, your bosses and I really did go over several scenarios, and this one seems the most likely to keep your fans engaged. This way, the appearances won’t look so staged.”

“—Jenna,” Charles says, clearly having detected your hesitance, “I don’t think she’s interested.”

“It’s fine,” you say, but you still sound off-put. It’s not fine, not really. “I don’t see how this is going to help Charles, though. I’d think the idea of him being committed to somebody would just further alienate his fangirls.”

Jenna chuckles. “While that is, to some extent, true, the number of fans who would go gaga over the two of you far, far outweighs the opposing population. This is a special case. A girl next door social media manager with a social media presence—and a wildly popular, totally charming Formula One driver? I mean, talk about Harry and Meghan! Everybody loves love. And, might I add, Charles’ male fans might actually like seeing you two together.”

You sigh, a quick huff of frustrated air. “So, what is this then?”

“It’s a proposition for the fans.” She smiles. “It’s a fake relationship.”

You reach for champagne, but find you’ve totally drained your glass. The room falls into muted silence, and you can’t bring yourself to look at Charles. You didn’t expect this on a Monday afternoon. You thought maybe it was a job termination. Or a leaked text message. Somehow, this is the strangest of all possibilities.

“So, good?” She chirps. “I’ll send you the primer.”

You both stare at each other. “We’re not actually going to. Right?”

“Right. We are not dating.”

—

“We’re dating!” You chirp, practicing your appearances in front of Carlos and Lando, who had visited the former.

“You two look like two people dating pretending to be friends,” Lando observes.

You grumble. Many of your shots had been staged pap photos outside his apartment, or fans happening to catch you two together; no official statement had been released, according to Jenna’s “masterplan.” For the most part, it was a good dynamic of putting up a façade for the public and settling back into a platonic relationship within minutes.

Nothing really goes wrong at first—and then Charles ruins it.

It happens after a Ferrari event in spring. You’re in Monza again, weather humid when you re-shoot the fifth TikTok for the day with Carlos. There are celebrities to and fro, even more journalists and a shitload of fans crowding the perimeter of the area. You’ve successfully pulled off the fake dating stunt, keeping a lowkey profile and doing your job.

There’s a green room for the drivers and close managers to wait and rest, where you stow yourself away to avoid the crowds. You review the reels and stories for the day, and cap it off with a “goodbye, Tifosi!” post with Carlos that’s enough to quell the many notifications.

Granted, many of the said notifications are of the speculative nature. Some are wondering if it’s you posting or if a new hire was underway to make room for the new couple. You ignore them anyway and take a seat on the couch across Carlos, sighing with exhaustion.

“Where’s your boyfriend?” He teases.

“Ha-ha,” you say, unimpressed. You gesture to the TV behind him, showing a live feed of Charles’ last interview of the day with Natalie Pinkham. Once this is over, you’re free for the week: free of social media manager and fake girlfriend responsibilities. The thought alone makes you well up with relief.

You and Carlos both watch intently as Charles answers several event-related questions that, to your horror, simmer into personal ones. Natalie sounds excited when she goes, “Any plans for the week with a special someone?”

Charles has no thought behind his eyes, a muted wave of panic coming over him as he fumbles for a response. “My family’s staying up in Tuscany, in a farmhouse we own, stay in for spring and summer. We are actually visiting them for the week.”

We are actually visiting them for the week. Your look of pure, unadulterated shock doesn’t go unnoticed by Carlos, who’s quick to snap pictures of you on his phone. What the hell is Charles talking about? Tuscany? No, family?

“I take it you didn’t know about this,” Carlos says with a laugh.

“You think?!” You holler, still appalled. Charles has a lot of gall to spin this without your permission, or Jenna’s for that matter. You know she’ll love it, though; it’s really, mainly, you who has a problem with it. Anxious, you get up and watch the broadcast end; not a minute later, Charles enters and offers a can of sparkling water to you.

“Thirsty?” He asks casually.

“Very,” you pipe, taking a gulp.

“You’re welcome,” he says teasingly.

“Oh, thanks! I think I’ve been busy thinking about the fact that I’m meeting your family!”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” He yells, trying to match your agitated volume. “I didn’t know you were watchi—I was nervous! I didn’t know what to say anymore! And—you kno—well—and Natalie kept asking a ton of questions!”

Your face of disbelief matches his of sheepish apology, facing each other frozen. Across you, Carlos lets out an incredulous laugh, mumbles something about wanting popcorn. You honestly can’t blame him. Had you been an outsider, you would’ve relished in Charles’ slip-up, too. Instead, you’re the one who’s apparently going to Tuscany on Friday to meet the extended Leclerc clan.

“It’s fine. It’s gonna be”—you attempt to find an appropriate adjective—“bearable. At least we don’t need to keep up appearances there.”

You’re met with disagreeable silence. When Charles doesn’t chime in with an agreement, you turn slowly back to him. “No.”

“It’s only for a week—”

“No!”

“A week!”

You’re both standing up, pacing around the other frantically. Pretending to suddenly be bumped up from social media manager to Charles’ girlfriend was a daunting enough proposition. Getting hate mail and death threats was enough incentive to let you want to leave. Timing exits and entrances was difficult. And now, pretending to be together in front of his family? His family.

“Why can’t you just tell them we’re not actually dating?!”

“It’s just—it’s complicated having to explain why.” You remember his assortment of man-whore scandals and realization sinks into you. You sit on the arm of the couch, deflated and contemplative. Despite your own knowledge of the scandals being totally baseless and false, you understand it’s difficult to explain the lengths of tabloids and online rumors to older family members.

You might have to grin and bear it.

“Fine.” You digress. He cheers silently. “One week. Once our quickie breakup is finalized, you’re telling them it ended well. I don’t want to be in anybody’s bad graces.”

“Yeah, yeah, okay.”

Tuscany won’t be so bad, you think. What’s the worst that could happen?

—

Charles’ extended family greets you at their farmhouse when you arrive heaving two pieces of luggage. It’s populated by two aunts, three uncles, and two younger cousins, and their hospitality is contagious. They all somehow remind you of Charles, their faces, their laughs, their easy attitudes.

His aunts, Mia and Giulia, are the first to pull you in for a hug and inspect your face. Good eyebrows! Good lips! Healthy attractive child for you both!

You have to pry yourself off of them with giggles and smiles and pretend the kid comment was never uttered for your own sake. They’re kind, ushering you inside and serving dinner immediately, inquiring about the drive and if it was bad, if Charles had spotted any dead sheep or cattle on the way (none.)

His cousins are both little boys, eleven and six, shy and with thick accents. Charles’ smile is huge when he speaks to them in Italian, eyes comical and animated. His three uncles all eat fairly quietly, talking about politics, or racing, only when they feel like it.

They ask many questions, and tell so many stories, over limoncello and rigatoni that leave you stuffed after two platefuls. You didn’t think you’d be satisfied so soon after the drive, but you’re grateful for it. His uncle Giorgio leads the tour of the house, his voice slow and constantly sliding into Italian, but Charles is quick to supply a translation into your ear. Lit by terrace lights, you get a night view of the house, surrounded by the hills, the lemon trees, and a swimming pool in the back. Further back, there are two horses for riding, and bicycles for easier transportation.

A vineyard borders the other side of the hill, owned by a different family. You can’t digest the beauty of this place, even without the sun to provide a better view. You’re back inside, being shown the rest of the wide dining room and kitchen that lead out onto a balcony-terrace area, and then clambering the stairs to be shown your room—a beautiful one on the second floor that overlooks the hills.

“This is so beautiful,” you say honestly. “Thank you so much. And Charles will be staying…?”

“In my childhood bedroom!” He quips excitedly, already halfway out the door to review his living situation.

Giulia and Mia share a look and then the former goes, “Wait, Charles!”

He slows to a halt and turns, awaiting their words. “Ay. Bambino, because you have been in Monaco so long these days, and we have gotten a lot of stuff, your childhood bedroom is now more of a… storage room.”

“A storage room?!” He sounds scandalized.

“Bambino, mi dispiace,” she continues. “But—let’s not be conservative! You two have been dating now for a year, correct? Surely, you’ve slept in one bed.”

Your face grows warm. “Um, actu—”

“Shh,” Mia says kindly. “No need to make excuses. Charles, stay with your girlfriend. And we will wake you both for breakfast. Ciao!”

You barely voice your assent, managing to wedge in a thank you! before the door closes and leaves you and Charles alone.

In a room without a single couch. The only non-bed “resting” space is a single chair, and as much as you want to, you don’t want Charles to break his spine trying to sleep on it. The situation is clear. You need to configure the bed.

“We cannot sleep on the same bed.”

“I’ll take the floor.”

“No! I mean—ugh. I don’t want to risk you pulling a muscle. Also, more importantly, if any of your family walks in and sees you sleeping on the floor, they’re going to think we’re freaks.”

“The bed is big enough for us both,” he says, gesticulating. You narrow your eyes. If you’re going to be avoiding physical contact, it definitely isn’t. It’s like the gods had decided to bless the room with a bed perfect for two people snuggling.

You place your hands on your hips, analyzing the best way to tackle the situation. You won’t lie, you’d thought about the possibility of sharing a room—but a bed was completely different. You’d expected a couch, a loveseat of some kind, both of which are woefully missing. Thinking fast, you take the three decorative, cylindrical pillows and place them vertically on the centre of the bed.

You step back. “Okay. That’s our boundary.”

Each side is a bit small, but it’s the price to pay, you think, taking a long look at your handiwork. Beside you, Charles snorts. “That is not going to work.”

“I’ll bet you it will,” you say matter-of-factly, retreating to the bathroom to get ready for bed. When you emerge, Charles is fast asleep, half his body on your side of the boundary. You have to pour water on his face to shoo him away, and that’s when you’re positive your creation will work.

You place yourself gingerly on your side of the border, remaining perfectly still as you drift off to sleep. You wake up the next day on Charles’ chest, pushing him away before admitting you’d been in that position in the first place.

You slide him five euros over breakfast.

—

Charles is a good driver, skier, and biker—you can attest to this from being by his side, reviewing pictures and videos of him for a living.

But there’s one thing he absolutely sucks at, and it’s teaching. You thought you’d never have to attest to this, but here you are, with scraped knees and a smudge of soil on the hem of your shorts, on your sixth attempt to learn how to ride a bike.

It’d been his idea, like many of the odd things you’d gotten yourself into. “Let me make up for dragging you along,” he’d said, and then proceeded to commit attempted murder every time he sent you away on the bicycle. Five tries did you no good; Charles’ directions contradicted each other and came much too fast, causing you to crash into the grass or skid yourself to a halt, your sneakers coated in a light layer of dust.

“Why are we still trying?” You ask woefully, examining the scratches on your calf. And to think you would’ve gotten to go truffle hunting with his uncle had Charles not swept you away to bike.

“It is an important life skill. Just—don’t look at the ground. Okay. Andiamo!” He sends you off again, watches as you twist and careen into a bush. Again. Your groan of pain matches the ooof he lets out, jogging to help you up. You turn away from the ground and toward his face. His laughing face.

“Ow. What?” You ask, raising a brow. You flex your fingers, waiting for him to pull you upwards.

“You smashed into a bush and a berry’s all over your cheek.” He says, still laughing when he helps you up. You hold the tip of your pinky to your face, press down, and sure enough, when you inspect it again, it’s stained a dark berry color.

“Is this toxic?!” You ask, agitated.

“Che? Toxic? No, no. It’s a juniper berry.” He reaches over and swipes his thumb across your face, sending you into a frozen state. Your hands remain at your sides while he focuses on wiping the rest of the fruit off of your cheek, showing you his stained finger afterwards with a proud smile. “All gone.”

You turn and pick up the bicycle. “One more for good luck,” you say, shaking off the nerves and gut churning feeling deep in your stomach. You situate yourself atop the bike, trying to remember and re-remember all the tips Charles had given you.

“Don’t look down, just breathe, keep your eyes trained straight. If you crash, on the grass always. Better than this path.”

“Got it,” you say breathlessly, determined. You take off, eyes trained on the landscape in front of you, leaving the house behind and gliding quickly downhill. It takes you a beat to realize, however, that you’re not falling. You’re doing it—properly. You turn to voice your pride, but that’s what gets you caught in your thoughts.

Charles is cheering behind you, but once he detects you’re stumbling, he runs the few metres over. Still, he can’t catch you fast enough; you do manage to turn right and land on the grass. In his own rush, Charles trips on the horizontal bike, and lands right beside you, atop your arm.

Eventually you’re both doubled over laughing, your fingers finding purchase on the blunt grass. You both only quiet down when you hear his aunt’s car, old and rickety, grow louder. You look up to find Giulia peeking out of the driver’s window, her face as amused as it is confused.

Beside her, Mia yells. “Buon lavoro, Charles!”

“What’d she say?” You ask, still half-laughing.

“Good job,” he replies, entertained. “She said good job.”

—

Charles takes Giorgio’s Vespa and rides you both to town two days later, even with the offer of a car. He claims the motor ride is the best way to experience Tuscany at its finest. Nothing about the two-seater bike on the pebbly road feels fine, though, and you’re seriously contemplating broken ribs when he makes a sharp turn. It’s only a ten, fifteen-minute ride, but the downhill slope makes it seem faster—and more dangerous.

Your grip on his waist had gone from loose and hesitant to tight and anxious, your voice a mantra of possible death in his ear. He can’t help but laugh, revving harder and chiming in with a biting remark of his own.

“You know who this is named after?” He shouts over the wind whipping both of you.

“Mmm?” You ask.

“Apollonia, from the Godfather.”

“Oh, Christ. The girl who died?”

“Hey, she was beautiful! My uncle loved the movies so much, his Vespa had to be named after her.” You lean onto his back for purchase, still unused to the speed at which he zips through the countryside. Eventually, after a few turns, the terrain turns from rough to smoother, and he parks at the busy-looking town square, populated by locals and tourists alike, but not with the traffic of more popular cities. Alleyways lead to smaller corner stores and cafés; a chapel overlooks the area, and a market populates the centre.

“What would you name your bike, if you had to?” You ask as a follow-up, removing your helmet and shaking your hair out. You pull at your dress to straighten it out.

“Well…” He takes both your helmets and stores them in the bike, leading the way toward the bustle. “My uncles, and my father—they always say we name our most precious things after beautiful women. Apollonia. My other uncle, Leo, he named his sailboat after his mother, Bianca. Even my dad would name few objects after my mother. It’s a way of honoring them, you know?”

You nod, stopping at a produce stall and examining a bunch of tomatoes. “I think that’s sweet.”

“Yes, so I guess… well, I don’t know, really. My mother’s name, maybe?”

“She’s got a beautiful one,” you comment offhandedly.

“Yeah. Or, if we go by appearances, I suppose your name.”

You ignore the flush of nerves that well up in you and turn back to face him, confused and amused. “My name? Why’s that?”

“I mean,” he coughs, crossing his arms and smiling, “people think we are together, so if I get a bike, and they ask for her name, I must say yours, no?”

“Only if you want to,” you chirp back, amused. What had possessed him to suddenly bring you into the discussion? Neither of you are pretending for all these strangers. Here in town, you’re friends again, browsing the market, walking around stalls, eating free samples of pesto and cheese.

“I do want to,” he says. It’s a joke, you’re sure. Half-sure. It’s a joke.

The town square’s noise begins to die when the sun sets. City-dwellers leave to take trips back to main hubs of Italy, and with no nightlife in the area, many in the square are families or couples sitting down for dinner. The ride back, while short, might be dangerous in the dark; you tug on Charles’ sleeve to relay your thoughts.

“Don’t worry,” he says dismissively. “I’ve biked here past midnight.”

“What were you even doing in town at midnight, hmm?” You tease lightly, following him around. There’s not much to do except eat at this point, judging by the way you’d both exhausted the stalls in the afternoon. He rolls his eyes, mumbling excuses.

“You womanizer,” you whisper in an exaggerated scandalous tone. You poke his bicep. “Bedding the locals.”

“I was not, ay!” He defends. You’ve noticed his accent is so much thicker here, where he has to speak Italian all the time, except with you. It sounds nice. “I would come to smoke weed.”

That’s even funnier, you think, throwing your head back to laugh. Thoughts of teenaged Charles, tinged pink and tan from summer, on a momentary break from a junior racing career, biking fast back and forth—for a joint no less—are both funny and endearing. “That is so cute, Charles. Drug virgin.”

“Don’t speak of those when we’re in front of the house of the Lord,” he says sarcastically, gesturing to where your cyclical walking had landed you: back in front of the town’s chapel. There’s a pot of holy water by the front doors and a rack of candles for lighting and offering. Besides that, there’s a coin drop box being manned by a priest.

In silent agreement, you walk in sync to the candles, lighting one each and whispering brief intentions. You’re not religious, you’ve never been; a church seemed foreign to you, always. But you figure there’s no harm in a candle and an offer to the big guy, if he’s there.

There’s a mural painted by the doors, which you observe silently while Charles goes to drop donations into the box. You catch bits of their conversation. Good evening. Are you a tourist. No, we live up the hill, visiting for spring, yes.

The rest you don’t catch, turning to Charles and watching him talk, animated as he is solemn. The priest smiles at you politely, turns to Charles, goes, “Siete qui insieme?” You rack your brain for the Italian you’d picked up recently but can’t match it to anything.

Charles nods. “Qui per cenare, ed esplorare.” Esplorare, explore? You fail again, but continue listening anyway, occupying your eyes with the mural.

“È la tua ragazza?” The priest asks with a soft chuckle.

“Oh, sì, sì.” Charles looks very sure of himself when he says so.

The priest nods once. “Se ti sposi, allora dovrebbe essere qui, no?”

Charles turns slowly, looks at you, then smiles. “Okay,” he says, still looking at you. “Farò in modo che accada.” Then they’re exchanging quick Italian goodbyes and he’s walking back to you, guiding you to a nearby restaurant for dinner.

“What was that about?” You ask, the curiosity getting the best of you. You don’t remember what they said, so you can’t plug it into Google Translate; your last hope is getting Charles to translate it for you. You figure it’s no problem. He’s always translated for you during your stay here so far, word-for-word recounts that have you feeling fluent in the language after decoding them. Whether it be a family anecdote or a market transaction, the language has never become an issue for you.

You walk beside him, awaiting the translation that never comes. Instead, he smiles, shakes his head, and says, “That was nothing.”

—

Your first, last, and only close call happens during a wine and poker night with Charles’ uncles and aunts. You’d spent the morning semi-cuddling (to beat the early a.m. cold, you both insisted), and then a majority of the afternoon in the nearby vineyard volunteering to help pick grapes, and they’d offered to let you wind down for the night inside.

It starts off well enough—you and Giorgio best the first two rounds, much to everyone else’s chagrin, and you rest on the sofa, reading Giulia’s cookbook with a glass of wine. At quarter to midnight, Charles’ six-year-old cousin, Marco, comes inside and slots himself beside Charles, eyes sleepy.

“Cugino,” he says. Cousin. His voice is squeaky and childish.

“Yes, Marco?” Charles asks, preoccupied with his cards.

“Put me to sleep,” he says in accented English.

“Later. You should wait.”

“Can she do it?” A chubby hand rises and points toward you. You offer a small wink, sipping wine.

“Only if she wants to,” Charles says, turning to face you. You chuckle.

“I’d be happy to, Marco.” You smile.

“Cugino.” Marco tugs on Charles’ sleeve to regain his attention. “What’s her favorite color?”

Oh, shit. Neither of you had really thought this would come up, so you hope Charles can fake it well. While you know everything about him, he knows not much about you, especially little niche facts like this one. Charles clears his throat and goes, “Blue.”

“Favorite song?”

“Uh. Marco, aspettare. OK?”

“Why should he wait?” Giorgio asks, gruff. “Your aunts and I are curious, too.”

Charles meets your eyes, and you try to signal for him to lie, which he ends up doing. “It’s Take a Chance on Me. ABBA, zio.”

You do know that song, but it’s definitely not your favorite. You close the cookbook and get up, pacing onto the seat beside Marco and leaning against it, smiling and nodding. Beside Giorgio, Mia asks sweetly, “Do you have any tattoos, dear?”

Just you, or are Italian aunts ridiculously straightforward? You open your mouth at the same time Charles does, and that’s what leads to your downfall. Yes, one, you say. No, none, Charles says at the same time. You both look at each other, eyes wide.

His uncle grunts. “Bambino, do you know nothing of this lovely girl?”

“You misunderstand,” Charles says. “I thought she wouldn’t want to share that yet, zio. I tried to cover for her, but, er—she seems okay with sharing it.”

It’s a flimsy excuse but it seems to work, and the poker game resumes without any more questions about you.

Still, you grow nervous, frustrated a bit, and, once you spot Marco asleep, you take him into your arms and mumble a polite goodnight, carrying him upstairs. The call was just too close. Why did Charles feel the need to interject like that? Had you been caught in such a lie, you’d need to reveal everything.

Something else tugs at your chest, but you refuse to admit it incites an unhappy feeling out of you. Charles’ lack of knowledge about you did nothing but remind you that in the end, he did know nothing about you, and this was just contractual and obligatory and for the press-turned-for the family. You pat Marco’s forehead, sighing. You shouldn’t be so upset, but you are.

You know a lot about Charles, but it’s a cold fact that he can’t say the same about you; at least, not to the extent that you know him. The doors and staircase creak, signifying the game’s end and everyone’s retreat to bed; you await Charles’ entrance, which comes after you hear him opening your room, finding it empty, and then—

“Sorry. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you say, hushed. You get up and walk past him, crossing the corridor and opening the door halfway into your room.

He says, then: “You really never tell me anything about yourself.”

You freeze, turn, suddenly frustrated all over again. Suddenly sad. “Yeah. You really know nothing about me.” It’s exaggerated, so it cuts deeper.

He’s upset, you realize. “Do I have to beg for these sorts of basic facts? I wa—I…” He pauses. “I want to know you more. I’ve always wanted to.”

“You didn’t even think to—to ask me the most basic questions before we got here.” You’re aware he didn’t owe you this, but your irritance doesn’t quell. “My favorite song, my favorite movie, color, anything. I could name all that on your behalf.”

“Every time I ask, you deflect. You never told me, either,” he says defiantly.

You scoff and ponder for a minute before shaking your head and clambering down the steps. You need some fresh air, having gotten mad so quickly. You know it makes no sense—he never needed to ask about you. Prior to last week, you worked with him. Still, everything’s changed now, and it feels hurtful knowing he can’t name these things about you.

You take a seat on the terrace chair, pretend not to notice when he sits beside you, separated by a table.

You hug your arms closer to yourself, sigh. “It’s, a koi fish on my hipbone. Hurt like a bitch.”

He looks at you, curious. You continue.

“My high school superlative was ‘most likely to be elected president’—embarrassing, I know. I won the local spelling bee. Thrice in a row. I love the color green, and the movie Fantastic Mr. Fox.”

You pretend you’re not feeling anxious from the sudden sharing, clearing your throat and keeping your gaze trained on the landscape of houses and hills around you.

“I love crosswords to a worrying degree, I’m a dog person but have never owned one, and my favorite song is Don’t Go Breaking My Heart. I kill it on karaoke.” Finally, your eyes slide slowly over to look at Charles. He’s already looking at you, smile soft on his flushed, pink face.

“I didn’t think of you as much of a singer,” he says, eyes crinkling from the size of his smile.

Huffing and stifling a laugh, you cross your arms defiantly over your torso. Your lips melt into a pout, and you flip him off in an attempt to stave him off. He just laughs harder, gulping the rest of his wine with ease.

“To be fair, I think I dance better,” you respond proudly. “It’s still bad, but it’s better. Better than you, anyway.”

“Is that a challenge?” He asks, mouth half-open, still caught in a laugh. “Wow. Okay, d’accord. It’s on.”

“It is most certainly not a challenge, Charles!” You object frustratedly.

“Challenge accepted!”

Against your vocal protests, he gets up from his chair and reenters the house, exiting with his phone in one hand and the rest of the wine in the other. He browses his selection of songs, humming until he seems satisfied with one of them. He pours you both a glass of preparatory red, a grin lighting up his face.

You burrow into the chair, unrelenting when he stretches out a hand to invite you to dance. You only end up giving in when you’ve successfully finished your wine, getting up and straightening out the wrinkles in your dress.

Your hand is still loosely clutched around his when he plays the Bee Gees song he’d queued up, and then both of you start dancing.

It’s a bit fast-paced, but you catch up well, letting yourself move fluidly to the song. All the while, your hand remains looped around his, like an anchor, a saving point. You shut your eyes to immerse yourself in the song, a smile on your face. When you crack them open, you watch Charles dance goofily, with moves you’d be totally embarrassed by otherwise. This time, you’re strangely endeared.

Where you expected yourself—the both of you, really—to be stiff and awkward, you’re both loose and easygoing, chuckling and laughing as the song progresses. Your dress swishes by your knees softly when you move, letting go of his hand momentarily. It flexes with the feeling of his absence. Charles dances like he has no care in the world, with movements that would rival a fifty-year-old’s. You find that you don’t have a care in the world either, watching him with a stupid grin on your features.

Your heart swells and seizes, and you swallow, not wanting to realize why yet. He reaches for your hand again, seeks it in the evening light. You give it to him easily, cut his search short. You’re what he looks for.

He lifts your linked hands right as the song starts its ending, and you realize you’re supposed to twirl around them. With a laugh, you follow, letting your arms stretch out when you’re done. He pulls you back, with strength that sends you barreling into his chest. “Dude,” you mumble, giggling. “Charles, you ruined my flow.”

You both part, but barely; your hands are still clasped, your distance barely increased. You stare up at him when the next song clicks on.

It’s slower this time, a song you recognize from films and novels. You remember this specific rendition from two years ago in Silverstone, when Charles had shared over a meeting that he’d been busy teaching himself the piano—specifically, The Way You Look Tonight.

The song continues, your hands still together, your eyes boring into his. The moon makes his light eyes a different shade, all green and soft edges rivaling the intensity of his stare. “Come on,” he says. “Why stop, no?”

He raises your hands, guides his vacant one to wrap around your waist. It’s warm there, secure, belonging. With all the hesitance in the world, you wrap a hand around his upper arm. Your gaze is unbreaking.

“Thank you,” he says, steering you both into a slow, easy rhythm. The nerves melt away slowly when you continue to sway. You cock a head to the side in a silent request for elaboration.

“For sharing.”

“Oh. It was only right,” you reply. “Considering you know nothing niche about me.”

“Tell me…” He starts, but the words tangle in his throat, lodge themselves there in a fit of nerves. He breathes, breaks the gaze. “I mean, I wouldn’t mind… if you told me more.”

A brief shine of surprise passes through your eyes, and you nod. “Alright.”

“Alright.” He smiles.

“Do you think, ” you say, swallowing the sorrow, “we’ll need to keep doing this when the week is ov—?”

“Let’s not dwell on that,” he says quickly. He sounds—sad, almost, at the thought of this being fake. In the days spent here, picking grapes, drinking wine, going on bike rides and practicing Italian, it was easy to let the lines blur. Perhaps he’d forgotten.

You realize, when he leans forward and slots his chin atop your head: you’d forgotten, too.

—

Despite the tension, the next day goes fairly normal, and Charles takes you to town on Apollonia late at night. The Tuscan air is crisp and clean when he parks by a pub, loud not with techno music or hip-hop, but Italians singing. Inside, it’s not so crowded, populated by regulars, few tourists, and several older people.

Charles orders himself a beer, and a cocktail for you after you request something sweet. The bartender gives you an extra one on the house, and you and Charles seat yourself in front, watching people sing on the stage.

“Vi piace cantare?” Someone asks, and Charles quickly supplies: he’s asking if we like to sing.

You wave your palm back and forth. So-so, you signal. Charles, of course, ever the social butterfly, slides into a natural conversation with him, about Italy, pubs, beer, and singing. The guy introduces himself as Antonio, owner of said pub and a man who is apparently more than happy to clear the queue of singers for you two.

“Wait, seriously?” You ask. Antonio nods, clapping Charles on the back. You’d have thought they’d been friends for years or something.

You immediately turn down the request, but Charles scrambles onstage, having downed two bottles of beer. You’re overcome with horror as you watch him walk across the small stage to the side of it to request a song, encouraging whoops from the crowd.

“Ohhhhh. Oh, no. This is not a good idea,” you say, gulping. “Plus, I’ve had a lot to drink. Your aperol spritzes have so much alcohol in them.”

Beside you, Antonio laughs. “Non si preoccupi—do not worry. He seems to be a confident guy. You’re in good hands.”

“Am I? He didn’t even ask if I wanted to sing. I don’t even know what to sing.” You watch him whisper a song to the guy in charge of the pub’s ancient karaoke system, half-sure that the song archive stops after 1990. The stage creaks when Charles reaches for another mic and then stretches his arm out to offer it to you.

You muster your best angry face, but he just laughs. “Come on. You will like it.”

Gulping the rest of your cocktail, you accept the mic, and then his hand, strong in yours as he helps you climb onstage. The crowd of locals and few tourists cheer for the both of you, and you don’t do much to hide your stage fright; even the buzz of alcohol can’t help you. You hope (and know, deep down) that Charles will.

“Buona sera a tutti,” Charles says, met with more raucous cheering. “Io e il mio amico cateremo per te stasera.” He bows, and you follow a bit stiffly, not knowing what he’s saying.

“Amico?” Someone jeers from the audience. “O fidanzata?!”

Charles laughs, and you know he’s truly entertained because his eyes crinkle the way they do. You fiddle with your dress, your hair, anything to channel the nerves. He waves the crowd off with a shush motion and then turns, gestures for the song to start. He catches your eye, anxious, quells your nerves by taking your hand and squeezing it. Don’t worry, he mouths. I’m here.

You identify the song before two seconds of it even play, and the realization is breathtaking: your favorite. You shut your eyes and let a huge smile come onto your face, laughing. You almost can’t believe him for this.

He starts off the song, taking your hand and leading you into a dance. Don’t go breaking my heart.

You twirl around him, exaggerating your movements and smiling. I couldn’t if I tried.

Somehow, you find dexterity, flow in the movements, the words. Maybe because you love the song so much. Charles matches your enthusiasm, singing loudly and exaggerating his accent to incite laughs from the onlookers. When he speeds up, so do you, allowing both of you to join in an upbeat rhythm that leaves you panting.

Ooh-hoo, nobody knows it, you both sing, laughing and shimmying toward each other. You both point and laugh, joining hands again when the chorus ends to sing your lines all over again. Charles always leads you well, alert as he is excited, letting you melt into him, adapt to the dance. You feel like you’re floating.

Don’t go breaking my heart, he sings.

I won’t go breaking your heart, you sing back, ducking underneath your hands, laughing.

The tension, warmth, spark between you grow as the song begins to close, your words breathless, faces flushed with alcohol and semi-exhaustion. Even if your face seems to show it, though, you find you’re not tired at all, smiling as your heart beats faster. You pull away, dancing to the last bits of the song, having let go of all your worries, nerves. Why were you ever nervous? You always trusted him.

The song fades to an end when you pull together, faces as close as they’d ever been. You’re both breathing heavy with the intensity of your dance, smiling. You shut your eyes, laugh, with the ecstasy of this moment. From the crowd, the bartender yells: “Ora bacia! Kiss!”

Both you and Charles turn to the crowd, who quickly cheer him on, and laugh. But they’re not kidding, you realize—they’re all yelling kiss in unison, intermittent whoops and cheers joining the chant. It’s like a rural Italian version of an MLB kiss cam.

You turn back to Charles, who’s looking at you already. His eyes dart to your lips. You’d never done it before—appearances never went that far—but the crowd is unrelenting, and you nod back when he cocks his head to the side in silent question. Like always, you’re nervous. And again, like always, he helps you through it.

Warmth blossoms through your chest when he leans in and presses your lips together.

That would’ve been enough to satisfy the crowd, you think, but neither of you pull away. Sparks ignite your stomach, your hands looping around his neck, his around your waist. You kiss him back effortlessly, like you’d done this a million times before. You feel him smile against your own smile, laugh when you laugh.

The kiss is nothing if not dizzying, the perfect kind, the kind of the fairytale variety. His lips are soft, a bit chapped, against yours; when your tongues meet, they taste like aperol spritz and beer. Your hands tighten around his neck, like you need him still against you, when you both pull away for air. The crowd cheers.

You barely even hear them, staring into his eyes.

—

The night becomes cloudy, raining softly over the hills when everybody’s done singing; Charles boards Apollonia and like always, you wrap your hands around him, leaning against his back. You’re a bit tipsy, but above all, you’re utterly conflicted with how everything’s seemed to turn in on itself within the last few days.

The rain only grows as Charles revs harder, and the Vespa skids to a screeching, horrible stop. Thankfully, you’re not far from the farmhouse, so you don’t walk much; still, both of you are drenched, Charles’ arms stained with motor oil that drips off with the force of the rain. He stows away the bike, turns back to you. You’re looking at him expectantly.

“What is this?” You demand, raising your voice.

“Rain,” he replies blankly.

“This.” You wag a finger in between you both. “We kissed in Antonio’s pub, Charles. And we might—we might tell ourselves it was because of the crowd’s pressure, but we know. We both know that kiss was for nobody but us.”

He wipes a hand over his face. “What do you want it to be?”

“I don’t know,” you say honestly, sighing. Your hair is dripping with rain. “I really don’t.”

“I’ll tell you what I want,” he says. And he pauses, like he always does when he’s unsure, nervous, bumbling, and then blurts it out. “You—I want you. I was a fool to realize it late. But years of being with you, around you… I should’ve known earlier, I—”

“Charles,” you cut in, not expecting the sudden rawness. “No, no.”

“You’ve got to realize,” he says desperately. “I do. I constantly think of you, feel for you, look for you, look at you. I’ve known you for so long, I always end up liking you all over again. Everything comes back to you. Seeing you here, a place I love—seeing you love it here—listening to you sing, dancing with you—don’t you—haven’t you gotten it yet—?”

You stare at him.

You’re faraway, on the clouds, dry from the rain, when he says it. I love you.

—

The morning after is quiet, muted. You drown in your own overbearing thoughts.

“Got a lot on your mind?” You emerge from them quick, eyes darting over to Charles’ two aunts leaning by the doorframe of the dining room. You offer a polite smile, hoping it hides the conflict in the recesses of your mind.

“A bit,” you reply.

“Come join us,” Mia offers. “We will pick lemons outside. For lunch.”

You take a basket from the entryway and follow them through the front door and onto the yard, matching their slow pace, relishing in the morning sun that hasn’t yet grown too hot.

Tuscany is beautiful. Despite your best efforts, you’d grown to love it here over the course of the week. The hilly terrain, the fruit, the constant goat sightings, the bike rides to town where you clutch Charles’ shirt out of fear you might fall off.

They seem to spot good lemons within milliseconds, balding the branches in minutes. Perhaps because of your own cloudy thoughts, or maybe their breakneck speed, you fail to catch up, and they notice.

Mia again brings you out of your thoughts, guiding you three to the next tree. “Are you upset, bambina? Is Charles being a pest?”

“Oh, God, no,” you say with a laugh. “We—he’s a great tour guide. I never explored Italy before, and it’s beautiful here. He bikes me to town, because I can’t, uh, ride, unfortunately. He transacts for me, because my Italian is hopeless. He buys wine and cheese and lets me pet sheep when we bike past them on the hills.”

“Bambini innamorati.” Mia sighs fondly. “What is it you like about Charles?”

You hum, thinking. There are lots of things you like about Charles, but surely his family share the same sentiments. What’s unique? What about him is just yours? “His humor, I suppose,” you say. “He finds the fun in everything, even in competition, in boredom. Everywhere else, his good traits—everyone knows them. A stellar driver, charming, kind. Good-looking. But his humor, I think… I think he reserves his weirdest jokes, his best laughs, for the best people in his life. I’m just glad I’m there.”

Giulia is the next to speak, slow and encouraging, prompting you with a question you’d once dreaded but now feel excitement to hear: “Tell me again, how you and Charles met?”

It’s a rehearsed story, with bits of lies that you and Charles had to insert to make it appear more romantic and less coworker-esque. But you’d only told the short version before. To some journalists, to his cousin. You figure you’ll lie less and tell a more unabridged version. “Oh, okay,” you say, nervous and collecting your thoughts.

“I work with Charles. I was spending time with him a lot, so naturally, we became somewhat friends. Not very close, but comfortable enough. I had to take pictures and videos for him and his teammate, so we really were together a lot. I suppose that’s how we met. How we became… something more, is a totally different story. I think the best thing about it was that neither of us were looking for it.”

You breathe, pausing. “It simply happened—despite both of us not expecting, not needing a relationship, it happened anyway. Almost funny, how young people like myself look for the moment of love at first sight. The staggering moment of eye contact and realizing you’ve met your soulmate. But—it wasn’t like that for me. It happened slowly, like I had to dissect what I felt. Like my heart had always known, so I had to catch up with myself and realize I…”

You pause. You really aren’t lying. “…I’m in love with him.”

Giulia and Mia exchange a knowing look over the branches.

—

“So, are you dating?” Natalie asks. It’s the first race of the season, and everyone’s excited—but this interview moves slowly, Charles dictating the flow of it himself. He smiles.

“Yes, we are.”

“Well, there’d been rumors a few months ago that this was a PR stunt, calculated by your new officer, Jenna Griffin. So, tell me again, are you dating? For real?”

Charles seeks you in the crowd of the meet-and-greet fans, finds you in the front row. You roll your eyes when he smiles fondly at you. A Tuscany trip and several months later, he thinks, has changed everything.

For the better. “For real.”

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

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amara-scott · 6 months

Text

One more step.

pairing: mattheo riddle x slytherin/reader themes: angsttt, fluff summary: Mattheo Riddle was known to be impulsive, doing everything he wanted and not caring about the outcome of his shenanigans. But what if he actually took it a little too far?

𓆙𓆙𓆙

How can it be that I've never, until now, noticed the beauty of a silent autumn evening? I know being a Slytherin comes with loads of bias. Not all Slytherins are ready to party at all times, and not every one of us seeks trouble.

Well, except that one group of boys, maybe. And even more precisely, Mattheo Riddle.

I sigh, shaking my head to myself and re-read the paragraph of my history of magic chapter. My once steaming hot cup of green tea is nearly empty and my fingers get tired of scribbling down notes as I try to remember all that I read. I really don't mind tests and exams- it's just that I would rather go out with Pansy and Cassandra. The only reason I am not is that I actually care about every grade I receive. Maybe a little too ambitious for my own good.

I shut the book with a mark in place and collect my belongings while taking a look around. The library is rather empty. Some gather around the fireplace, having their eyes glued to their books. I know, a fireplace in a library? Doesn't seem too smart. But good god, we're not muggles.

I stop in my tracks, on my way to the exit, as I made out a certain head of brown curls close by a nearing bookshelf. He disappears behind it, his eyes searching intensely for a specific book.

I took that as a sign to quickly make my way past the isles. I hurry, my robe flowing behind me and my hair bouncing with every step.

"(Y/N)?"

I freeze in place, inhaling for the first time since I walked. I carefully turn to the side, Mattheo smirking at me from head to toe.

"Mattheo." I get out and want to keep moving, but he steps outside the isle and right in front of me. My eyes glued to him, not daring to miss what could be a meaningful move.

"You know, it's quite early to be studying for the test on monday." He tilts his head slightly to the side glancing down at the book I am holding onto. He is wearing a smug expression, obviously aware of how intimidating he can be. And that really bothers me. A lot, actually. Maybe also the fact that he's using that to constantly bully my friends, Harry and Hermione. She is the smartest witch in Hogwarts, besides me. If not beyond.

"Move aside, Mattheo, I want to get dinner before it's too late." I got out, harsher than I thought. Good.

I step to the side and want to walk around him, but he blocks my way once more. I glance up at him and frown, pressing my teeth together. "What is it?" I ask rudely.

Mattheo steps forward, making me take a step back to not bump into him. "What's gotten you in such a sour mood, huh? You should be glad you're in Slytherin - otherwise I would -"

"- you would what? Constantly pick on me because I'm only a half-blood? Make me feel uncomfortable or embarrass me any chance given? Well, news flash, Riddle, you do that to many friends of mine and I despise you for that." I spit out and am surprised at my sudden burst. I quickly regain composure and push his frame slightly to the side to get around him.

His eyes were wider than usual and his mouth unusually closed. I don't hear any comebacks, so I don't bother turning around and briefly hurry out, to get to dinner.

𓆙𓆙𓆙

The pumpkin soup filled my nostrils long before turning into the Great Hall. I spot Pansy, Draco and a few others sitting at the Slytherin table. I hurry over, setting my books below the bench before sitting down next to Cassandra. She sends me a smile and I return it.

"Hey."

"- She was so stunned, quite like stone."

"Did she leave you alone then?" Draco asks Pansy and she continues a story I didn‘t bother to get into. Besides, Draco wants her all for himself anyway.

More people join the table now and I feel someone sit right next to me on my right. I glance up and see Theodore taking a seat, winking at me. I roll my eyes and turn back to my bowl, filling it with soup from the cauldron in the middle.

"Would you mind?" Theodore holds up his bowl and I take it, filling his too. "Thanks, love." I nod and begin eating. I stop before I can take a bite of toast when Mattheo joins, sitting opposite of Theodore.

I sigh internally, placing my spoon down in my bowl as our eyes meet briefly. The awkward tension in his eyes made me feel a little bad for my words earlier. But I don't regret them. He looks away and focuses on Pansy and her story, throwing in a few sarcastic remarks here and there. Acting like nothing happened.

"Hey, are you good?" Cassandra asks me, a little hushed. I stop stirring the soup, glancing up and noticing more eyes on me that have caught onto Cassandras question.

"Yeah, you look a little pale?" Pansy adds, her observation sounding more like a question.

Draco chuckles, "Nothing new there" earning a kick to the leg from Pansy, followed by a glare. The rest of the boys looking at me now too, trying to figure out if it's true.

"Uh- nothing? I think I'm just tired, it was a long week." I grab my book from below me and stand up. Not able to hold their stares as I feel judged.

"- where are you going? You haven't even finished the soup?" Theodore tries and I wave him off.

"I'm just exhausted, I'll see you later." I quickly turn around, ignoring Pansy calling my name and only stop walking once I'm outside the big doors and around the corner.

I really couldn't stand sitting there across from him, while he is who he is. I've finally had enough. I tried to ignore him being absolutely rude to countless people. But I can't pretend anymore.

The others weren't innocent either, don't get me wrong. But he was far from that.

𓆙𓆙𓆙

I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling and thinking. Actually thinking about nothing. More so just staring.

"Can you tell me what's with you?" I hear Pansy as she sits down on my bed and looks down at me, frowning. I haven't even heard her come into our room. "Is it Riddle? What did he do this time?"

My eyes dart to her and I come up, leaning on my elbow. "No, that's not it-"

"- if it's not Riddle, then why have you bolted as soon as he sat down at dinner?" She raises an eyebrow at me and I fall back onto my pillow, holding back a groan. "I'm not stupid."

"He is ridiculous, truly infuriating." I tell her and she smirks at me.

"What?"

"Well, you sound like you think about him quite a lot."

*It's not like that Pansy, I swear." She sighs, standing up and shrugging her shoulders.

"If you don't trust me enough to tell me, so be it. Just don't come running to me when he breaks your heart." She's out the room before I can reply. I sit up in bed and look at the door.

Breaking my heart? I wouldn't let him get that close to me. Never.

𓆙𓆙𓆙

"(Y/N)!" I look behind me to see Hermione running up to me, falling into my step.

"Hey, how are you?" I ask and she shakes her head, giving me a worried look.

"How bad?" I ask and she stops, I copy her and turn around to look at her.

"He's in the Hospital Wing. They were already done once I saw them." I shake my head in disbelieve, not sure how to respond. I just had that talk with Mattheo and he still goes around, fighting and bullying others.

We both make our way to Harry. He sits on a bed, Madam Pomfrey smiling at us as we enter. "Hello there, you two." I smile at her and leave Hermione to talk to her while I check on Harry.

"Hey you." I say, sitting next to him as he rubs his bandaged arm. As he looks up at me, I see a deep purple bruise forming on his right cheek bone. Dried blood still sticking to the skin below his nose and upper lip.

"Don't look at me like that." I take his arm and look back up at him.

"How, Harry?"

"Like I lost the fight." I raise a brow and he tries to smile but hisses, touching his cheek bone. "He looks worse, I promise."

That oddly doesn't make me happy and I look down, letting go of his arm as Hermione joins us, sitting next to Harry's other side.

"You're an idiot, trying to win against him in a fight!" She taunts and I agree with her, Harry only rolling his eyes.

"What, you want me to run away? Tell him to please stop? Whatever I do or say doesn't matter. Our parents did that for us. We're only fighting their fight now." He mutters the last bit, his eyes fixed on the tiled ground.

"That's enough." I stand up with one goal only. Making this stop. This has to stop.

"(Y/N), don't-"

"- I have to."

𓆙𓆙𓆙

Walking down the cold stone stairs, I spot them around the corner in the open common room area by the fireplace. Talking and laughing. Pansy smiling, Blaise shaking his head with a smirk and Mattheo- grinning. He hasn't even bothered to change his shirt or clean his face, which is still bloody. Wearing it like a trophy.

"Hey!" I shout, all their eyes on me now as I storm up to the group. My eyes boring daggers into his brown ones.

"Who the actual fuck do you think you are!" I stop behind the couch where Pansy, Draco and Blaise sit on. My eyes not once missing him.

"What?"

"You heard me, jerk. How dare you-"

"Whoa, whoa, (Y/N)-" Theodore stands up from the floor with raised hands and Mattheo follows suit, his stare could kill me.

"Theo, don't." I warn him and step around the couch, walking up to Mattheo, not afraid of him. His breathing quick and his eyes dark.

"Answer my fucking question, Riddle. Who do you think you are?" I stab my finger into his chest a couple of times, feeling my cheeks warming up and eyes glossing over.

"I am his worst fucking nightmare. And don't you ever make the mistake of believing you could stop me from being just that." My mouth is agape as I feel a warm tear running down my cheek, stunned at his cold heart.

"But -"

"- No! You don't get to come in here and question me about something that doesn't concern you in any fucking way!" He yells, throwing his arms up and huffing, almost smiling at me with a crazy glint in his eyes.

"Harry is my concern, he is my friend - and so is Hermione! I can't believe that you can't see past that."

"Then why don't you go, leave! Run to your precious Gryffindor friends if you love them so much! No one will fucking miss you here. Not a single minute."

"Guys, maybe we shouldn't talk about that here." Theodore says, coming closer to us both, holding Mattheo's shoulder now.

Mattheo pushes his hand from him, his cold stare now turned onto him, allowing me to take a breath.

"Pathetic half-blood." Riddle mutters, only for me to hear.

Pansy now pulling at my hand quickly from behind me, "come on" and I slowly take a few steps backward, glancing at Theo and Riddle one last time.

"- you think I would hurt her?" I hear before Pansy takes me to our chambers. I don't remember how long I've been sitting here on my bed, tears running down my cheeks. Her hand runs up and down my back.

"What happened?"

I look at her and I feel my head throbbing now. "He went too far with Harry. I can't just sit back and watch."

"You know, if that sorting hat had asked me, I would have placed you in Gryffindor anyway. How bravely you protect your friends." She smiles at me and I huff, chuckling.

"You're forgetting how stubborn I am, I wouldn't survive a day there. Plus, green is more my color." It's her turn to laugh and she nods, agreeing with me. Her smile leaves her lips and I know what's coming next.

"Jokes aside. This can't keep going on. You both have quite a lot to say to each other, despite claiming to hate each other. What happened to two years ago? You both were on such a good way to becoming wonderful friends."

Honestly? I don't know myself. After the winter break, when we came back to Hogwarts two years ago, something had changed. I noticed it right away but didn't want to talk to Mattheo.

𓆙𓆙𓆙

Mattheo POV:

"Really now, what's gotten into you? I know Harry isn't the greatest but why pick a fight with him so often, especially while knowing it will get a rise out of her?"

I shrug, picking at the dried crimson blood on my knuckles. It's turning brown now.

He sighs as he scratches at his forehead, squeezing his eyes shut before looking at me once more. "Matt, please tell me you're not doing anything stupid anytime soon, yeah? Give us all a break."

Theo stands up, walking out and I stay on my bed, biting at my split lip, chewing my skin. She is all I can think about. Good or bad- but those teary eyes were torture. I wanted her attention, yes. But not like this. Not if her heart is already with someone else anyway.

𓆙𓆙𓆙

(Y/N)‘s POV:

I skipped classes for the whole next day and only ate what Pansy brought me. I don't know what I'm more afraid to face. Mattheo's angry gaze or Harry's disappointed one, once he figures out I failed to stop the bullying.

I crumble up the tissue and toss it across the bed, it lands with some others near my feet. With closed eyes, I can't make out who entered the room but I'm guessing it's Pansy by the way she sits on my bed and sighs.

"I'm not hungry -"

"- you haven't eaten all day."

"Yes, I have -"

"- the dry toast I brought you eight hours ago surprisingly doesn't count." I open my eyes and glance at her sideways. She frowns, her brows being pulled together and she seems to wince at my sight.

"Seriously, come with me and get some dinner, you can go right back to bed, okay?" I shake my head and look back up at the ceiling.

"Alright, that was the last time I asked nicely." She stands up and pulls me by the leg.

"Hey!" I try to hold myself on the bed but she janks once, hard enough for me to fall off the bed.

"Get up now and let's go!" She helps me stand up and I hiss, holding my bum.

"That was mean." I mumble and she shrugs, not seeming fazed in the slightest.

"I don't care, now come on." She throws me one of my sweaters and pulls my hand. I sigh, giving up, not ready for another fight.

I decide then I would sit at the Gryffindor table, not daring to sit close to him. I couldn't face him now. Not with what happend and what was said.

"I'll see you later Pans-" I walk right to Harry and Ron as I spot them, leaving Pansy by the entrance. Walking down the isle of benches I take a seat next to Ron, facing Harry.

"Hey." I greet them and they share a worried glance.

"You look worse than Harry- no offence." Ron states and makes a face, pushing his mug of tea over. "Here."

I take it and gulp it down, thanking him.

"What happened?" Harry asks, his broken glasses fixed once more probably by Hermione. Who isn't here yet, I notice.

"Nothing really, just trying to keep him off your back." I try sending a weak smile but it's probably more a grimace.

"(Y/N), don't. That's a thing between me and him- I don't want you to get hurt-"

I tune out his speech and glance toward the Great Hall doors as he enters. An unreadable expression on his face. His eyes go toward the Slytherin table but he frowns, his eyes trailing along until they meet mine.

In the gloomy light the shadows dance across his face. His lips slightly ajar as I try to peel my gaze from him, unsuccessfully.

"(Y/N) -" A waving hand forces me to blink. I glance over to their owner, Harry. Hermione sitting now next to him.

"Have you heard a single thing I just said?" I shake my head, not in the mood to lie. She sighs and glances behind her at the Slytherin table where Mattheo sits down next to Theo. Him patting his back. His eyes finding mine once more. I can't help the tears coming back and quickly stand up, running toward the big doors.

"(Y/N)!" I block out Harry's, Ron's and Hermione's calls, just running out.

I don't stop in the hallway and follow the path to the courtyard. The cold air slowing down my movement and I take a few deep breaths. I sit down on a bench near the tree and pull my knees up. No one's around. Even if- I don't care anymore. I start sobbing, my face hidden.

I fully realize the impact his words have on me now, the strength he has over me. The feelings he hurt. My heart he broke.

𓆙𓆙𓆙

Pansy lies with me now. The covers warming me up from the cold air. She found me outside, not knowing she would find me where she did. But she did. She really is the greatest friend I have.

"You know, he probably feels terrible having hurt you so bad." I wipe away the dry path of my past tears and shake my head.

"He doesn't have feelings. He is a shell of nothingness." I mumble and feel my eyes getting heavier.

The knock on our door pulls me back out of my soon overtaking sleep and I sit up with Pansy, sharing a quick glance. It's nearly midnight.

"Can I come in?" Theo asks and carefully pulls open the door, his right eye blinking through the crack.

"What are you doing here?" Pansy asks, getting out of bed and opening the door. Theodore seems uneasy, stepping left and right, scratching the back of his head. Stumbling along his words.

"Well, I know it might not be a good idea, but we didn't know if -"

"- get to it, Nott." Pansy says, sighing with a hand on her hip.

"It's Mattheo -"

"- no, not a chance." She wants to push the door in his face but he holds it open, placing a foot in the door.

"Wait, listen, please."

She sighs and I stand up now, walking forward and stopping next to Pansy. Theo's eyes on me now. He gulps and stutters.

"He- he's down the hall in the dungeons, picking a fight with Harry -"

I don't need to hear anymore, grabbing my wand and pushing past them, running up the stairs in the common room to get out. I hear them hot on my tail but don't turn around.

"- you shouldn't pick a fight with someone like me, Potter!" I make out Mattheo's voice and pick up my speed even more.

"- And you shouldn't even be alive, Riddle!" I intake a sharp breath of air as those words leave Harry's lips, neither of them noticing me and start casting spells at each other.

"Expelliarmus!"

"Protego!"

"Stupefy!"

I step up and hold my wand out, pointing it at Mattheo. A hand on my shoulder stops me from talking. "(Y/N), don't-"

"Accio!" I yell and a wand flies through the air and straight into my palm. I look up and Mattheo's eyes find mine as he tucks away his own wand before walking over to a wandless Harry.

"No, Mattheo-" I run over as they start throwing fists, pushing each other to the ground. I look back at Theo, who comes to my aid, trying to get ahold of Harry's shoulder who sits atop of Mattheo, throwing a fist in his face. I hold my hands in front of my opened mouth, gasping.

Theo pulls Harry from him as he struggles to get out of his grip.

Mattheo quickly gets to his feet but another arm holds him back. Draco. "It's not worth it, trust me."

"You're just like your father!" Harry yells and I watch as Mattheo's eyes loose all light, his hands hanging by his sides. He stopped struggling against Draco's restrain.

My feet carry me quicker than my brain can register and soon I place my arms around his shoulders, holding him, hugging his frame. His chin laying on my shoulder.

"Get lost, Potter, before we call for Snape." I hear Theo say but don't turn to look. My heart swells with anger and regret. Mattheo's arms soon find their way around me, pulling me even closer, clawing at me shirt. I feel my neck soaking with his - tears.

I glance over his shoulder, the others gone, leaving us two.

"He's wrong, you know?" I whisper, scared of him leaving this position. He doesn't answer at first but his silent crying turns into sniffling.

He pulls away a bit, looking at me. "You don't have to pretend to feel bad for me." He gets out.

"I don't, Matt. I just know the whole truth now." He frowns, his pretty brown eyes sparkling with the remaining tears.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I know why you pick so many fights. And I know why you hated Harry particularly much." His eyes leave mine and glue themselves to the floor between us. He pulls away from the embrace. My hands falling to my sides.

"I don't know what you-"

"-Matt, you don't have to pretend to be a big, bad boy all the time. I'm sorry I made you feel invalid."

"What happened to calling me Riddle, huh?" I sigh, shaking my head to myself. Of course that didn't make it any better.

"I'm so sorry."

"No, I'm the one who's supposed to be sorry. I was the biggest dickhead to you, even when I rather should have just asked you to Hogsmeade."

"Matt, I-" I stop myself once I understood the whole sentence. "-Hogsmeade?"

"Yes, since two years actually."

Two years. Two goddamn years in which I tried to figure out what went wrong between us. Nothing.

"You idiot." I say.

"I know. I know, I am. And I won't blame you if you say no-"

"-You, Mattheo Thomas Riddle, are the absolute worst dickhead to ever have walked these halls." I stab my finger into his chest and look up at him, his lips curling into a small smirk, showing his teeth. One of his hands takes my finger down and holds my hand there.

"Nothing new, love." He states, raising his brows and biting the inside of his cheek.

"First- you terrorize my friends. Then you actually fist fight one of them- until you're both ready for the Hospital Wing. Just for me to end your duell in the dungeons before one gets the other killed. And now you're asking me to Hogsmeade?" I can't help but my stunned expression is probably quite visible on my face.

"Uh- is that a yes?"

"Well, of course I'm going with you! But only if you, for the love of Merlin, stop fighting with Harry. That's not getting you anywhere except maybe Azkaban once you finally killed each other."

He stops for a moment, coming even closer and I freeze in place, not knowing if what's about to happen is really the start of something good. But right now, right here, it feels truly amazing.

„You‘re cute when you’re angry.“

#imagine #imagines #harry potter #mattheo riddle #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle imagine #harry potter imagine

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ozzgin · 7 months

Text

I was pondering on what horrors to write for Halloween and when I remembered how many times I’d hoped for Valak content…I ran and whipped out my Grimoire and started typing in delirious inspiration.

Yandere! Valak x Reader

Featuring the Infernal President and a blissfully unaware reader backpacking through Romania. Warning: NSFW, blasphemy, non-consent

[Horror Masterlist]

“Mommy told me something

A little kid should know

It’s all about the Devil

And I’ve learned to hate him so

She said he causes trouble

When you let him in the room

He will never ever leave you

If your heart is filled with gloom”

"Now, you can't really say you've visited Romania until you see at least one monastery! Most Romanians are very religious, so churches and monasteries are popular attractions for tourists and locals alike." The tour guide is awfully enthusiastic for a cloudy Sunday morning. You nod politely and follow the group, although you can already feel yourself become distracted.

You're mostly interested in the old castles and bucolic hiking trails that Transylvania has to offer. Religious places...not so much. Alas, it's part of the experience. You check the flyer containing today's travel plans and google the location mentioned by the guide. Cârța Monastery. Seems to have some ruins included, and you'll be right on time for the Sunday chorus service, huh. Maybe that's why they picked today for a visit.

You hurry along the cobblestone path until the first traces of a building come into view. Somehow you can't shake the feeling that something is off. You scan over the visible windows, wondering if someone is watching from above. Nothing. Once you lower your gaze again, you notice the tour guide vigorously waving his arm and encouraging you to enter the church with everyone else. You were at the very front of the group, so how long did you stare at walls? You flash an apologetic smile and rush inside. The wooden door closes with a grating creak and you fumble to the first available seat. There's a few coughs and shuffles and eventually the Liturgy begins. Your eyes wander until they find a clear window, so you entertain yourself with the sights outside. It's not like you understand the words of whatever is currently happening, and you're not religious to begin with.

"How long is this going to take?" you groan internally and switch your focus to your hands, intertwined and resting in your lap. The monotonous chants cause your eyelids to feel heavy and they gradually lower themselves until all you see is black. It's okay, you're not sleeping. It's just a short nap, until...huh...the voices of the singing men diffuse as if distorted by distance and now everything is quiet.

"Took you long enough."

You jolt awake. You turn your head to check if whoever is sitting next to you has just spoken, but the room is suddenly empty. You jump from your seat and the thud of your feet hitting the stone floor creates a cavernous echo that sends a shiver down your spine. Ah, could it be that you're dreaming? The candles of the chandelier flicker, as if startled by a breeze, and abruptly go out.

"I don't like waiting. Especially for mere humans like you."

The same voice as before reverberates through the chamber. It's deep and jarring, sounding almost unnatural. You don't like it. You tilt your head, afraid to find the source of speech but too curious nonetheless. It's a person dressed like a nun. For a brief second you relax your shoulders, assuming it's one of the people living here. But after one step ahead the figure becomes vaguely illuminated, and you can discern the features bearing on this creature's face. Blood drains from your face and you can feel the bile pooling at the back of your throat. A blasphemous deformity, oozing with blight and evil. From within the hollow, dark sockets, two yellow orbs glisten with raw malice. You realize you've held your breath until now as your lungs contract in a pitiful attempt to pump more oxygen. The movement brings back your senses and your flight instincts kick in. You immediately sprint for the door and use your elbow to slam it open, nearly collapsing to the ground. Your eyes squint under the flash of bright light.

As you pant for air you notice you're back outside. There's people taking photos and talking cheerfully, and inside the church your group seems to have gathered before the iconostasis, listening attentively to a hearty discourse from your guide. The liturgy ended. What on Earth did you just witness? Before you can ponder the event, you feel a tug at your sleeve. It's an old lady, short and comically hunched. She's dressed all in black, with a head covering that hides most of her face, though you can still see the deep wrinkles that cross her features.

"Oh? Sorry, I don't speak-"

"L-am văzut și eu. Diavolul, maică. Aici nu mai e demult casa Domnului. Pleacă cât mai poți, am să mă rog pentru tine."

Her voice is shaky and she seems in distress. She strokes your arm once before limping away hastily. You blink and spend a moment trying to collect your thoughts. There's no one else nearby to ask for a translation, so you can only hope she finds help somewhere else. You return to the group and hope you won't have to deal with any other adventures.

"This is the annex. You can still see some details in the arches." Your guide points around the pillars and mossy brick patches. You take out your phone for some photos and your arms tremble slightly.

"It's suddenly very cold here, don't you think so?" you remark to your neighbor.

"Really? I'm quite literally sweating right now" they respond, baffled.

"It's a shaded area, that's probably why."

"Or you're just that excited to see me again."

Your eyes widen. It's the voice. You blink, and you find yourself in the empty church once more. No, no, no, this isn't happening. No. You're dreaming. This is an absurdity. Some hallucination of sorts. You try the door handle, except this time it's locked.

"It's not often I become interested in a mortal. In fact, this is the only time."

The nun is sitting on a bench, hands together in a praying motion. There's a mocking grin on its face.

"Maddening, truly. Deplorable, disgraceful, outrageous. Humiliation would await me if they suspected my intentions with a perishable being like you."

"Who the hell are you?" you interrupt the erratic monologue. The nun stands up and locks eyes with you, instantly making you nauseous.

"The Sixty-second Spirit, President Mighty and Great. His Office is to give True Answers of Hidden Treasures, and to tell where Serpents may be seen. The which he will bring unto the Exorciser without any Force or Strength being by him employed. He governeth 38 Legions of Spirits."

"What?"

"Valac." the creature extends a hand, as if expecting a handshake. "At least that's how they introduce me in the Lesser Key of Solomon." The fingers spread out and you feel a gravitational force pull you closer. It chuckles.

The cold fingers sink into your back and feel like claws digging your flesh. You let out a scream of protest and try to push away without success. It hurts. The touch burns your skin and spreads out like a wicked plague. What would this fiend even want from you? You search your mind for potential meanings and explanations. Truth be told, however, you're not well-versed in theological fantasies.

"You can't just possess someone's body. I won't accept it. You don't have my permission."

The creature erupts in hysterical laughter and you feel your knees weaken at the sharp, grotesque teeth that creep their way out. Everything about it is vile, scandalous. Unholy.

"If you want to call it like that...Then sure. But for this kind of possession I don't need your input, I'm afraid."

Your limp body is picked up and sloppily thrown over the altar table. The impact of the hard surface against your stomach causes you to gasp. You try to turn your head and look behind, but the large, clawed hand locks around your neck and keeps you in place. You can only glance ahead. You can sense your garments being ripped apart with one swift move and shudder at the unexpected contact with the cold air on your bare body. The creature's other hand slides over your forms before stopping on your bottom, adjusting it. The realization sinks in and you begin to panic. Is this the time to say a prayer? You don't know any.

"Our Father..." you mumble, trying to remember the continuation.

"Go on. I'm sure He'd love to hear from you while you're being fucked on His altar. Send Him my regards."

He forces your hips upwards, exposing your intimacy. Without any further delay he thrusts his member in, painfully stretching your entrance around it. Tears well up in your eyes at the sudden discomfort. The iconostasis in front of you blurs and sways with each violent plunge into your frail body.

"Oh, God" you sob.

"God ends here."

#the nun #the nun 2 #the conjuring #valak #valac #valak x reader #valak smut #the nun smut #yandere #yandere x reader #demon x reader #ars goetia

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apdreadful · 4 days

Text

Anyone saying that Tommy is just convenient, he’s just a stepping stone, or Buck is confused and projecting his feelings for Eddie onto Tommy. Denial is not a river in Africa.

Buck didn’t just roll out of bed one morning and decide “I am declaring myself to be bisexual! And starting today, I’m looking for a guy”

Buck has ALWAYS been bisexual. So the whole time we have known Evan Buckley, he has been attracted to men.

However, it’s very likely had never really sat with and processed what to do about that attraction prior to meeting Tommy. Never acted on it prior to Tommy. Never made it as obvious to anyone before Tommy.

In retrospect, the signs were definitely there, before Tommy.

The catalyst for the change? Is Tommy.

He made the conscious decision to go see Tommy when he had no damn reason to. He wasn’t thinking of leaving the 118, he just wanted a reason to see him again. I don’t think Buck actively processing “I want to date this man” he just wanted “something” and Tommy was part of that something. But he had no damn idea how to get his brain wrapped around what exactly he was planning to do with those feelings “Huh, this is more…what do I do now?” Hence the basketball game.

And I don’t know if it was before Tommy came over or if seeing Tommy standing there in his apartment made those pieces finally click into place for Buck.

(Personally I’m leaning toward that “Well not at the same time” response to teaching him Muay Thai. Because there was no mistaking THAT look that Tommy gave him)

Because if you have ever been into someone and are even the tiniest bit queer, you saw that dance for exactly what it was.

The subtle signs, the shifting in atmosphere, the carefully chosen words, way their bodies started mirroring each other as they moved closer.

Tommy having more experience with this dance, started getting the inkling this may be going SOMEWHERE...So he took that chance and dropped the “Well probably not at the same time”with THAT look. That look was a whole sentence.

Now Buck’s awakening bisexuality, understood that look. And those butterflies starting flying and he stepped right up and said “I have been trying to get your attention”

He decided THIS man. Right here. Is the one that I want enough- choose to just lay it all out for.

Now for any baby bi THAT is a big damn leap. Because you think you know..But you don’t have the experience to know if you’re reading the signs right.

Brass Tacks my lovelies is..

Buck wanted Tommy..he wasn’t entirely sure for what. But he knew it was Tommy specifically.

And if you think he’s projecting his feelings about Eddie onto Tommy. Go back and look at that first episode Eddie shows up at the 118 in.

Buck wanted to be in that firefighter calendar, and he saw Eddie as competition to getting that which he wanted. Eddie was his competition. Did he recognize that he was competition because he also looked hot af?

Yep.

So when Tommy catches Bucks interest, once again Buck finds himself in competition against Eddie for the thing he wants, which this time is Tommy’s attention. And because Eddie is his best friend, and he knows Eddie is awesome. In Bucks head, Eddie is worthy competition for Tommy’s attention. It doesn’t matter that Eddie isn’t interested in Tommy the same way Buck is.

If it were Eddie that Buck really wanted, why tf hadn’t he asked Eddie to teach him Muay Thai? They’ve been friends for years. Why had Buck not been interested in the basketball game prior to Tommy’s appearance??

Buck is bi. And it was the hot dish casserole that is Tommy Kinard that made all those little “huh” moments click into “well that’s makes sense” place.

So stop playing at being flat earthers.

#Tommy totally ignited that bi 🔥 in Buck.#like a big ol bonfire WHOOSH #and I don’t blame Buck one bit #911 abc #evan buckley #tommy kinard #911 spoilers #buck x tommy #evan x tommy #bucktommy

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cal-flakes · 10 months

Note

please write more dealer!rafe idc what it is about i love that dynamic it was so cute !!!

you’re so real for this. i am LIVING for dealer!rafe right now. eeeeeeek

╰┈➤ saved by dealer!rafe

warnings: drugs, violence, weapons, death. possible tw; implied sa (no description as it doesn’t actually happen)

summary: doing a favour for dealer!rafe takes a dark turn.

“wait, can you run me through it again? please? just one more time?” sighing, rafe cupped her face. “princess, you really need to remember this for me, okay?” y/n nodded, the innocent look in her eyes almost making rafe feel bad for asking her.

“barry here..” rafe pointed “is gonna take you with him to a deal, all you gotta do is sit and be extra pretty, okay?” he explained, his patronising tone going straight over her head.

y/n thought hard about what he said, nodding her head as he spoke. “okay!” she beamed.

“alriiiight, come on little girl, gotta be there on time..” barry sang from the corner of the room, sighing as he stood from the couch.

“yes sir!” she squealed, not really understanding the danger of what she’s about to do.

rafe squeezed her tight as she wrapped her arms around his neck, planting a few kisses to his cheek.

loosening his grip, he peered over her shoulder to adjust her skirt, disgruntled by the short length.

she pulled away and followed barry to the door, a pep in her step.

“man i swear, if you let anything happen to her i’ll fucking kill you” rafe stated, pointing a threatening finger at his friend.

“chill out man, i’ll keep your little princess safe” barry mocked him, holding his hands up.

y/n situated herself in the passenger side, wincing slightly as her thighs stuck to the leather. the drive to the cut was comfortably quiet while y/n wracked her brain for what rafe wanted her to do.

barry glanced at her through his peripheral, sniggering to himself as she looked lost in thought.

“you forgotten already huh?” he smirked, mocking her. bowing her head, she nodded to the ground, picking up on his tone.

“all you gotta do, is sit there. okay? you sit there and don’t say a word, you’re just here to sweeten the deal. if they say anything to you, just be nice..” barry stated, gesticulating as he spoke.

“okay, just sit there..” y/n muttered to herself as they closed in on the porch.

the house, or shack, wasn’t anything y/n was used to. she wasn’t particularly stuck up, she had just never spent much time on the south side of the island, and that was set in stone once she got with rafe.

barry knocked a couple times, the look on his face was almost nervous, a small frown settled on his lips.

a disheveled looking man opened the door, ushering them in. y/n followed closely behind barry, avoiding the man’s prying eyes. the living room was a mess, she struggled to step over the countless empty bottles littered around.

“so, you got my money bare?” the strange man rasped, standing in the doorway sheepishly.

“yeah man, i got your money, but i wanna see the goods first..” turning his head, the man nodded to someone in the hallway.

narrowed eyes closed in on the pair as eerie footsteps sounded around the room. another man, just as strange looking, appeared in the room, duffel bag in hand.

the bag was placed on the table roughly, the silence in the room becoming awkward immediately. y/n picked at her nails, away in her own little world.

the men swapped bags, barry counted the pile of little packets while the other two counted the money. they whispered amongst eachother, their words muffled by the rustle of baggies

suddenly, barry perked his head up, his eyes meeting the knife that had been pointed at y/n. her breath hitched as she clocked it, failing to back up any further against the couch.

“hey man, what the fuck are you doing?” barry snapped, standing up without hesitation.

“you’re missing two-thousand dollars barry..” he sighed, throwing his head into his hands, mentally cursing himself for not double checking rafe’s bag.

“you wanna go get us our money barry, or this one’s not getting out of here alive..” the man motioned towards y/n with the blade.

“nah man, leave her out of this” he uttered, holding a shaky hand up.

“call your buddy, get us our money” the other guy demanded, reaching forward to pull y/n out of her seat.

she let out an ear piercing scream as she was dragged out of the room. barry groaned as her shrieks were muffled by a closed door, having been taken into the bathroom.

“balls in your court bare, get cameron down here with our money, and neither of you get hurt”

barry dialled furiously, “c’mon man, answer the fucking phone” he murmured into the phone.

“rafe! you gotta get down here, right now man” he whispered, “they’re keeping her hostage man, they know about the missing money”

“fuck!” rafe yelled.

“please! let me out!” a high pitched plea erupted from the bathroom. “shut the fuck up bitch!” their voices could be heard through the phone, igniting a burning feeling in rafe’s chest.

barry leapt from the couch, lunging at the man in the room, taking him down with a thud. heavy fists we’re thrown as the two men scuffled around the room, destroying furniture in their wake.

the screams and shouts went on for a while as barry struggled against the man.

the front door burst open as a shaking rafe stood in the door way, chest heaving. “barry! help me! please!” y/n yelped again.

without hesitation, rafe kicked the door open with a crazed look in his eyes. the man had y/n pinned to the wall, trailing a knife along her neck.

from what he could see, she hadn’t been physically injured, but the thought alone was enough for rafe to snap.

he lunged forward, dragging the man to the floor, knocking the knife out of his hand. y/n wailed as they struggled on the floor.

“gun! y/n grab the fucking gun!” rafe bellowed, startling her. nodding through the tears, she pulled the gun out of his waistband.

he stuck a hand out hastily, reaching for the gun in her shaky hands. quickly cocking it, he didn’t give the man a chance before putting a quick bullet in his head.

y/n’s hand covered her mouth as she wept, in a heap on the floor. breathlessly, rafe hurried to her side, scooping her onto his lap.

“i’m gonna get you out of here princess, c’mon angel..” he breathed, lifting her into his arms.

“you good bare?” he shouted, stopping for a response. a sweaty barry appeared in the door way, unconscious man left behind. “all good here bro, let’s fucking go!”

rafe placed y/n in the car carefully, wiping her tears. “it’s okay princess, i’ve got you now, it’s okay..” he cooed, meeting her glassy eyes as he spoke.

arriving back home, he carried her through the house, placing her on the couch. “stay still for a second angel, im gonna clean you up” he said soothingly, rubbing his forehead as the guilt set in.

“rafe..” she let out a shaky whimper. “yeah?” he stopped in his tracks. “please don’t, sit with me..” she cried.

“whatever you need baby, i’m here now, you’re safe with me” he whispered, pulling her into his side.

#rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x fem!reader #dom!rafe #rafe cameron #outer banks #outerbanks rafe #obx #rafecameron #rafe obx #soft!rafe cameron #dealer!rafe

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neesieiumz · 1 year

Text

𓆩☆𓆪 | 𝙾𝚄𝚃𝙻𝙰𝚆 ⸺ ⚞𝚁𝙴𝙸𝙽𝙴𝚁 𝙱𝚁𝙰𝚄𝙽 ⚟

⸻ synopsis ⫸〖 it's not every day a criminal breaks into your home, huh?〗

⸻ warnings ⫸ sm*t. 18+ wild west!au. part i of the gold rush anthology! bar-maid!reader. robber!reiner. black-coded reader. female reader. afab anatomy. p*rn with plot. full nelson position. fingering. a bit of dacryphilia. reiner threatens reader with a gun. the two of them get comfortable with each other really quick. reader calls her mother a bitch in this. reader was raised by her late grandmother cause her mother abandoned her. Erwin is in this, who was also raised by reader's grandmother. sheriff!erwin. erwin sees reader as a niece/daughter. annie and bertholdt are also in this, but they don't matter.

⸻ writers note ⫸ this has been sitting in my drafts for the past two months because I wanted to finish the next part of the anthology. I just finished the Erwin one, so I'll upload it when I'm halfway done with the Eren one or fully complete it.

⸻ word count ⫸ 5.7k

masterlist. | next part in the anthology |

Heavy boots sunk into the mud, and loud voices called out to the dark forests. The sounds of horses neighing, catching up against his hunched-over form. He ran as fast as he could, dodging the trees and branches, boots snapping the sticks and stones within the wet ground. Hand clutching the bleeding wound, he glanced around, looking for something, anything to get him out of this situation. His partners were long gone, taken into arrest by the law. They told him to run, to get out while they distracted them.

He tried his best to blink away the tears, the sudden burn possibly due to them being mixed with the sweat dripping down his face. He’ll get the rest of them out, he resolved, he first has to survive this. Glancing up and around, a large shadow was right up ahead. Squinting, the blur came into focus, before revealing a small home. It was well kept, but all the lights were out, which was all Reiner needed. He jumped the fence, flinching at the sudden stab of pain in his abdomen. He limped towards the back door, pulling out his old trust lock pick before jimmying with the lock. He hissed out a yes as the door creaked open, before hobbling right inside. Gasping, he leaned against the door, hearing the sounds of the law running by.

“What the…”

A voice called out, before suddenly, a dark glow illuminated the room, revealing a decently sized kitchen. A gasp rang out, as Reiner looked to the light, seeing someone standing there.

Fuck…

He pushed himself up to his feet, immediately running over to you, who immediately screamed before running away, possibly to your bedroom. Despite his injury, he had just enough adrenaline to catch you, pulling your arm back. He muffled your screams with his hand, wrapping you in one big hold as he dragged you away from the hall, before taking you right back to the kitchen. He could hear your muffled whimpers against him, the feeling of your body shaking against him.

He pressed his lips against your ears, “just stay quiet for me darling, and all will be right.”

Reiner pressed himself against the counter, waiting for the sounds to go away. As he did so, he could hear your own sounds beginning to quest, however, the feeling of wet salty tears began to soak his hand. Just as they were beginning to go away, a sudden loud knock came out the door, jilting the both of you.

“Y/n, it’s Erwin, are you awake?!”

Reiner cursed under his breath, heart pounding away at his chest. He stepped away from the counter before looking at the door, seeing a tall figure standing right at the door. He then looked back down at you, before telling you not to scream. Slowly he let go of your mouth, removing his hand from you before grabbing the top of your dress, wiping away the slowly drying tears on your face.

“You gon answer that there door, and pretend like I’m not here. Say whatever you gotta say, alright…?”

You nodded your head quickly, and he nodded his own, before taking you by the hand and draggin you over to the door. He stood at the side, one hand still pressing against the wound while the other, pulling out his revolver, holding it up. You glanced over at him, seeing him nod his head. Taking a deep breath, you reach over, unlocking the door with the key still stuck on the knob before opening it up just a little bit, enough to see the sheriff of your town. Erwin Smith, a man both you and many people in this town respected. He was very close to your family, especially your grandmother, having helped her many times while she was still alive. So seeing him and talking to him was an easy occurrence for you.

“Hello there Erwin,” you let off a smile, hoping it wasn't wavering too much.

He let off his own warm smile, “hey there cherie, hope everything’s okay?”

You nodded your head, “everything’s fine, was just about to head to sleep when you knocked.”

For kickers, you looked behind him, seeing a bunch of horses and men standing on the front of your lawn, “what’s going on here?”

He looked back to see the people before looking back at you, “well we were trying to catch someone, and he ran right through here. I was hoping you saw something?”

You pondered a bit, before shaking your head, “haven’t seen a thing sheriff, sorry. Everything was dark for me.”

He hummed, before reaching down, pulling out a sheet of paper, “if you're so sure, take this. His name Reiner Braun, a dangerous felon known for robbin’ and shootin’ people.”

You slowly took the folded sheet, before peeling it open, those familiar eyes brown malice staring right back at you.

You looked up at Sheriff Smith’s warmer ones, smiling, telling him you’ll keep on the lookout for him. He nodded, before turning around, and heading back to his own horse. As you waited to watch him go, you could hear a sudden thump right beside you. Closing your door, you glanced over to the right only to find the very man now slumped on the floor. The hand that was holding his side was now soaked with blood, the sounds of his slow, heavy breaths echoing in the living room. You glanced over at the door, at the muffled sounds of the sheriff telling his men to move out and continue looking before looking back at Reiner.

Letting out a defeated sigh, you walked away heading towards your kitchen before going to your sink and picking up an old tattered rag. Dampening the rag, before grabbing a bucket, and filling it up with hot water. Before walking back to the dangerous criminal, you bent down, grabbing the small bucket your grandmother deemed an aid kit, along with the bucket of hot water. Walking back to your living room, where Reiner Baun, which was apparently his name, was now writhing and bleeding out on your grandmother’s hardwood floors. Bending down, sitting at your knees, you grabbed the dirtied dress shirt he was wearing before slowly unbuttoning it. His large body dripping with sweat, you removed the shirt as much as you could, revealing the irritated wound.

You took the rag, leaning down before removing his bloodied hand from the lasting wound. Slowly, you pressed it against it, applying as much pressure as you could. He fought against you, but his strength greatly dropped, allowing you to continue to press against it. He let out deep heavy groans, all dripping with pain. Soon, the tattered rag was soaked with blood, removing it before dipping it in the hot water, washing off most of the blood before pressing right back on. Soon, the wound stopped bleeding, just enough for you to get the gauze and the large sheets of cotton to wrap it.

Once you did so, staring down at your shotty work of a doctor, Reiner’s own eyes slowly opened, looking over at you.

“Should have let me bleed out on your floor,” he let out a low raspy groan, still in pain.

You scoffed at that, “and let you ruin my grandmother’s floors? She’ll rise up from her grave to scold me with a hot comb.”

He let out some formance of a chuckle, smiling a bit. Taking a deep breath, you stood up before heading down your hallway Stopping at the small closet, you owned it before taking the few spare pillows and blankets out. Walking back, you found the area where you left him empty before seeing him rest right on your couch. Pursing your lips together, you walked over to him, before handing him the blankets.

“Here, sleep as much as you can, then I want you out of my house, all right now?”

He blinked at you, smirking before taking the sheets and pillows from your hands.

“Thank you mighty kindly, cherie,” he cooed, placing the blankets on the couch beside him.

You hummed, before glancing back at your kitchen. He’ll probably need something to eat so he can heal faster… is what you thought to yourself before walking towards the kitchen. He said nothing, only turning his body as much as he could, watching you walk away. His eyes lingered on your backside, before looking away, focusing on his accommodations for the night.

Pulling out some bread, some meat, and other things from your ice box, you made him a couple of sandwiches. You took it to him as well, seeing him all laid out and spread out on your couch. Tongue poking out your cheek, you handed him the plate.

“Just for you to heal faster, body can’t work without something to fuel it,” you said, turning around once he took it.

He said nothing, although his smirk said all his words for him. You took the lamp that illuminates the kitchen, before walking away. Just before you walked inside your bedroom, his voice called out to you,

“Good night, cherie!”

You turned your head and glared at him for a few seconds before walking back into your room. He let out a chuckle, before taking the sandwich, taking a large bite from it.

Slowly opening your eyes, the feeling of sunlight beaming through the trees and through your window jolting you awake. Lifting yourself up, stretching with a smile on your face as you look around your room, ready to clean yourself up and head into town for work.

Three… two… one…

A frown immediately overtook your face, oh wait…

Pushing yourself off your bed, and grabbing your robe off of the bed frame, you flung your door open. Slowly stepping into the room, carefully listening for anything that didn't sound like your creaky footsteps. As you reached the living room, no sign of the man from last night on your couch. Glancing around, not seeing him in your kitchen or hearing him in your parlor room either. Nothing was missing either, luckily. Least he had that courtesy, you thought to yourself.

That’s when your eyes caught onto something sitting on your kitchen counter. Walking towards it, eyes widening as your eyes locked into two stacks of cash sitting one by one, a piece of paper sitting under it.

Picking up the paper, you gazed over it,

For all your troubles cherie, now and in the immediate future,

⸺ r.b

You couldn’t fight off the excited smile, as you picked up one of the stacks, sniffing it before squealing.

“Oooh, my mother would tell me to return it… too bad that bitch wasn’t the one who raised me!”

You placed the money in a hidden area in your room, before getting ready for work, which was at a bar in town, the only one within the area you lived in. The town was large, a farmer’s town with miles and miles of land tended by a multitude of farmers all around. It would probably be called a city to others, but you weren’t like them city folk. Wearing a creme dress, shoulderless with loose, wave-like sleeves. You paired with skin-colored pantyhose while placing your work shoes in a bag. You put on your walking shoes and grabbed your keys and other things you need before heading off, locking up the entire house, especially your back door. You walked through the pathways in the forest, glancing at all the heavy footsteps and horseshoe grooves within the damp ground.

You soon made it to town after fifteen minutes of walking, waving at the locals around town before making it to your destination. Despite it being early in the morning, the bar was bussing with all different walks of life. Smiling at the bands of men calling out your name, waving at them before arriving at the bar. You shuffled into the bar, waving at your friend, who was serving three people at once. She owned the bar, inheriting it from her deadbeat of a father. The two of you had been friends for a long time, ever since your mother had sent you here when she moved to the “sophisticated” parts of town.

“Hurry up and get up here! There’s orders to be taken, you know!” She said, giving one man his tall glass of beer.

You headed to the back room, placing your bag down, before switching into your taller heels, with cotton-padded into them for a bit more comfort. You’ll be on your feet all day. Looking in the mirror, swiping your lips with gloss before placing your long plaits into two pigtails, tying them with matching creme bows before walking out. As you walked out, you grabbed an apron, tying it around your waist as you took your station around the bar.

Your friend sighed in relief as you helped her out, taking the few plates in her hands before asking which table they went to.

“The Garrison boys over there in the back, and there should be a few more coming out.”

Nodding your head, you took them down, plastering a smile on your face as you approached their table.

The morning continued like that and continued well into the afternoon as well. Your job was a rush, but the pay was very good and included a mountain of tips as well. As night approached, things slowed down just about as all the men soon had to return to their wives or head down to the secret club behind the old platoon which their wives didn’t know about. The door chimed open, glancing up and only for Sheriff Smith along with a few of his men standing right there.

Glancing over, you see your friend tidying herself up, pulling her long locs out of her deflated ponytail, and letting them fall. Smirking at her, with her not even looking at and flipping the bird before carefully walking over to the area they had overtaken. As she spoke, having a shimmering smile while she looked down at Erwin who sent her his own award-winning smile right back. You looked back down at your work, which was wiping down the counter and preparing for you to head back home. Your shift was over soon since your coworkers didn’t like you walking back while the moon was too high at night.

They had once asked you to consider actually moving into town, but you wouldn't have it. This was the home you were raised in, the home your grandmother had raised your own mother in.

“Cherie, wait a moment,” Erwin’s familiar voice called out to you, just as you put the rag away, preparing to head to the back room to get your things.

You turned around, seeing the tall man tower over you. You don’t know why, but your heart began to slightly pound.

“Can I help you, sheriff? This ain’t about last night, isn’t it?”

He grimaced a bit, “m’fraid it is, lemme walk with you to the back?”

You glanced over at your friend, who looked between the two of you, shrugging her shoulders and nodding her head before focusing back on the others in the bar. The two of you walked together down the small hallway before reaching the small room where all the workers had placed their own things. He opened the door for you, thanking him as you walked inside the room. As you found your things, Sheriff Smith began to speak.

“As you know, last night, we were chasing a very dangerous criminal, who had reached the forest where you live.”

You nodded your head, “yes, and you knocked on my door and you asked me if I had seen anything, and I told you that I had not.”

He nodded his head, “yes, yes you did. We continued to look through the forest, but he was gone. Like he disappeared within the wind, cherie…”

You nodded your head, “yes… is there something else you wanna say, Erwin?”

“This morning my men conducted another search, to make sure we didn't miss anything, and we found heavy footsteps… leading away from your home.”

Your heart dropped to your knees, lucky your back was still turned away from the sheriff so you turned to pack your things, flinging off your shoes as you pretended nothing was wrong.

“Heavy footsteps, leading away from my home… is there something you wanna say, sheriff?”

Heavy boots walked closer and closer to you, as you turned around and faced him, face calmer.

“I just wanna know the truth, cherie, you know you and I go way back. Your own grandmother helped raise me after my father died. You're like a niece to me, and I hate to see you in some trouble.”

You took a deep breath trying to calm your beating heart, however before you could say anything, the door suddenly slammed open, revealing an out-of-breath officer.

“Sheriff, the other two thieves escaped their cell!”

The tall man cursed, hissing under his breath before running out of the room, not even glancing back at you. Once he was gone, hearing the muffled sounds of the rest of his men following suit after him, you let out a breath of relief. You soon walked out of the room, grabbing a box of food from one of the chefs for dinner. You waved goodbye to your boss, before walking out of the bar, the cooler air of the night hitting you. It was still hot, so there was no need for a jacket as you walked away, heading towards the forest into your home. The walk to your home was quicker than the walk to the bar, soon arriving at your home. As you began to pull out your keys, you could hear muffled sounds inside the home.

No…

Inserting the key, you flung your door open, seeing three figures lounge around on your grandmother’s couch.

Locking eyes with familiar hazels, seeing him smirk before lifting up his glass, holding a beer, “hey there, cherie.”

You could almost scream. Instead, you stepped inside your home, closing the door before dropping the bag right onto the floor. You glanced around the room, seeing your table and floors all messed up and dirt tracked all over your floors, and you could almost guarantee that your icebox was nearly empty. You stepped over the trash, ignoring the two unfamiliar pairs of eyes watching as you approached the larger blonde man.

You stared down at him, with him looking you in the eyes. Unbreaking your stare, you pressed your hands roughly against the side of his waist, right where the wound you wrapped was. He cursed, screaming as you did so.

“Yeah, that’'s what you get, now y’all better clean this fucking house or else!”

The two others with him snickered at Reiner, seeing him being kicked around by you. Hearing their laughter, you turned towards them, eyes sharp in glares.

“Don’t think I ain’t forget yall yet, yall get up too and clean this fucking house! Or else, I’m getting Erwin down here!”

Immediately the two of them shot up, one of them towering over you all like a giant. You pushed them all around, making sure they picked up all the trash and scraps they had put on your floor. You rested on your couch, entertaining yourself while you ate your food, still hot luckily. They were kind enough to chop up some wood for your fireplace, enjoying the warmth as they picked up the last of their mess. Once they were finished, the two unknowns had plopped down onto the couch, while Reiner made himself comfortable right beside you. He leaned down, mouth wide open, trying to get a bite of your food, but you pushed him away, grimacing as he laughed out loud.

“Think you can fuck up my house, and eat my food, you have another thing coming,” you mumbled, eating the bit on the spoon.

“Aww come on cherie,” he mumbled, landing his head on your shoulder, “i'm still hungry!”

You rolled your eyes, “go and find something else to eat, maybe in prison, where you all belong.”

He smirked, “and yet, you still hadn’t turned us in, cherie. Plus, I paid you kindly for your services, thinking that “immediate future” was a joke huh?”

You rolled your eyes again, scoping up the last bite, before hovering the spoon in front of his face. He glanced in between the spoon and your face, before eating it, humming as he did.

“Thank you kindly, cherie.”

Ignoring the warm feeling his raspy voice gave you, as well as the looks the two others gave each other before glancing back at the two of you.

“How long you are staying here, Reiner, along with your two little friends, because Sheriff Smith is sniffing around me,” you gasped slightly before extending your hand, smacking him in the head again.

“Hey!”

“Be careful where you stepping when you leave next time, cause they was sniffing around and saw your fucking footsteps!”

He suddenly smirked, “‘next time?’ huh?”

You narrowed your eyes at him, before raising your hand at him again. He immediately held his hands up and surrendered, scooting a bit away from you. Annie and Bertholdt snickered, looking at the two of you. Getting up, walk towards your kitchen to put away your bowl. Reiner followed after you, a teasing smile on his face. Cleaning off the bowl, drying it, and putting it away, feeling him stand dangerously close behind you. Drying your bowl before pushing past him, heading towards your living room.

“So I’m assuming you're staying the night once again?”

Reiner nodded his head, leaning against the wall, “hope you're alright with that, cherie.”

You narrowed your eyes at that, “didn’t I tell you to stop calling me that?”

He shrugged his shoulders, tucking his hands into his pockets. You glanced over at the three of them, before rolling your eyes.

“I’m gonna take a bath, y’all better figure out how y’all gonna sleep.”

You sat amid your room, ignoring the sounds of the felons taking shelter within your home. Sitting at the vanity table your grandmother had the in-town carpenters built for you when you turned fifteen. You looked over at the set of picture frames, mostly filled with photos of you and her, one with Erwin as well. Picking up one of the picture frames, the last birthday you were able to celebrate with her before she passed.

“Is that your grandmother?”

Screaming, jerking up, knees hitting the table, as you turned, seeing blonde hair in your peripheral.

“God, don’t do that!”

He stood straight up, watching you as you turned around in your seat, still holding the frame.

“And to answer your question, yes, yes it is.”

He held out his hand, and tentatively, after glancing between his face and his hand, placed the frame in his hands. He looked down at it, smiling a bit at your wide smile, arms wrapped in the smaller frame of your grandmother.

“The two of you look alike,” he says, handing you the frame.

Your mouth curls up into a slight smile, and you place the frame back on your vanity, “everyone used to say that about us, and that used to include my mother as well.”

His eyebrows quivered at that, “your mother? Is she still alive?”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes, “yep, sipping on fancy margaritas and livin it up in the big city with her rich old-ass husband.”

“Forgot she had her own mother and a daughter too, didn’t even come for the funeral, even after me and Erwin sent letters.”

He hummed, “Sheriff Smith?”

You nodded your head, “after his own daddy died, my grandmother watched after him. My mom and he were sweethearts once, but she decided this lil ole town was too small for her but taking care of her daughter was too big for her.”

“What about your father?”

You shrugged your shoulders, “never met the man, grandma always told me she’d wring him by his neck if she ever saw him again. Says he’s the reason my mother took off to the city and never looked back, but I think she was putting blame on anyone but her.”

Facing the mirror, the lamp illuminated the side of your face. You could see Reiner still standing behind you, his face cut off from the mirror. Crossing your legs, feeling a slow, churning throb in between your legs.

“I like to think she would have helped you when you first arrived at my door, despite threatening me with a gun. She always had a knack for getting in trouble, and helping people who didn’t deserve to be helped.”

You could feel his hands beginning to rest on your shoulders, his actions not stopping your spiel.

“Which is why, had my mother come through that door when she was still alive, she would have taken her back in on the spot.”

He hummed, leaning down towards you, seeing a few of your tears rolling down your cheeks. His face lingers over your shoulder, looking over at you. You glanced over, looking at him straight in his eyes.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to rant about my life, you’re still a stranger technically.”

You began to move away, but his hands tensed, keeping you right in your seat. His left hand moved from your shoulder, sliding across your chest, reaching up to your neck. Letting out a shaky breath, shivering as he moved your head back towards him.

“Don’t gotta apologize, cherie,” he mumbled, thumb stroking your cheek.

Your body turned as well, your leg swinging over the bench as you faced him fully. Your body, responding to some unknown force, leaned forward towards him as he leaned closer to yours.

“Reiner,” you gasped, right before he rushed forward, lips capturing yours.

The kiss was deep, and heavy, as his hand stayed tight at your neck, his other, sliding down your body. He grabbed at you, pulling you right into his lap. Your moan was muffled by the kiss, your hips slowly grinding into him. His hand soon left your won, settling right on the other side of the bottom before effectively picking you up. Unremitting as he approached your bed, placing you right on it. For a moment, he let go of the kiss, reaching down and unbuttoning his shirt, before pulling it off his body. As he threw his shirt onto your hard-wooden floors, your own hands reached up to his buckle belt, feeling his erection press up against his jeans. Reiner smirked down at you as you unbuckled, sudden haste pushing you. Getting the tough fabric off, Reiner did the rest, leaving him in nothing but his boxers.

He soon leaned back down, climbing in between your legs before capturing your lips into his once again. Your hands slid up to his face, the feeling of his scruff against your hands and face. His hands slowly slid up your thighs, going right under your nightdress, gripping at your waist, pressing further into you. You could feel him pressing into you, the feeling intensified by the pressure he placed on your waist, easily keeping you grounded against him. His hands soon left your own, one pressing against the back for your thigh, pressing it as far as it goes. The other moved down your dripping wet pussy, two large fingers easily spreading your lips with ease. Gasping for breath, immediately choked on a moan as he pressed one finger, entering slowly within you. He moved from your mouth to your neck, as he moved his fingers in and out of you slowly. His lips were still wet, allowing him to leave soaked kisses against your skin.

“Reiner,” you gasped, fingers weaving into his hair, messing up the blond strands.

Back arching as his pace quickened, the lower half of your body trembling under him as you pulled harder against him. He whimpered against your skin, the feeling of you pulling his hair eliciting a deep feral feeling within him. Everywhere was heated, the air, your skin, your thin nightdress bunched up at your waist. Drool dripped from your tongue as you took everything he gave you, everything and more.

“Lord,” you sighed, body aching all over, “I really shouldn’t be doing this, lord.”

Reiner chuckled, “I can go ahead and stop, if you need me to?”

You twisted your hand in his hair, “you bet not.”

He said nothing, chuckling one more time, but his kisses continued, trailing down to your chest, dipping into the valley between your chest. At the same time, he pressed another finger into you, your arousal coating his fingers. Your slip dress had long fallen off your shoulders, allowing him to reach them with ease. His journey continued down lower and lower, his hand still lingering on your thigh sliding down. The two of you hadn’t noticed the lantern dimming in the background, as the room was soon engulfed with darkness, nothing but the high moon shining over the two of you. Shuddering, twisting against your blankets as he plunged his fingers deep inside you, resting his head against your stomach.

“Damn, didn’t think you’d be good at this, fuck…” you sighed, as your hips surged up into the air.

“...that a challenge, cherie?”

Despite the immense arousal and pleasure flowing through your veins, you smirked down at him, “take it as you want, cherie.”

His eyes darkened, his unrefined look getting more and more feral. Reiner suddenly pulled his fingers out of you, taking a quick sniff before placing them in his mouth, tasting your arousal. Suddenly, he rose up, towering over you, before grabbing both of your legs. Squealing as he pulled you up from the bed, easily carrying you into the air. His hands grasping at your ass as he held you up, holding you up in the air. Your hands couldn't help but wrap around his shoulders, looking down into his eyes.

“Reiner, what are you doing—” you started before being cut off by a loud gasp escaping your lips.

You hadn't noticed him shifting his boxers, before feeling him sink into you deeply. Your sounds hadn’t deterred him though, his tight grasp on you as he moved you up and down his cock. The sounds of your moans echoing through the mid-sized room, the feeling of your tight wetness, only urged him more, deep, raspy moans spilling from his own mouth. His fat cock stretched out in ways others hadn't yet before, muddling your mind as he moved in and out of you. His brute strength allowed him to pull you nearly off him with ease, before plunging right back into you. His hips slamming into you, the possibility of leaving deep dark gnarly purple bruises all over your inner thighs.

“Sosososo good, sos deep, oh my god!” Your mouth slurred on their words, head thrown back in euphoria.

“What was that you were saying before?” he suddenly questioned, pulling almost completely out of you, leaving only the tip.

Gasping, whining at the sudden prolonged loss of him. Your whines and squirms did nothing for him, only smirking up at you as he awaited your answer. His hands fondled you, squeezing your bottom rigidly.

“Tell me how good you feel, and maybe I’ll continue.”

Convulsing, aching for him to continue, your resolve fully crumbling. Reaching out towards him, your shaking arms attempt to pull him towards you.

Your mouth spelling with pleas, “please please don’t stop, god I take back what I said. Keep fucking me just like that.”

He took in your words, his smirk getting wider and wider as you twisted, tears threatening to fall down your face. With no other words, he slammed back into you and continued pummeling you as if nothing happened. You clung onto him, and your head was thrown back as he did so. Reiners's efforts and actions electrified you, feeling your body jerk, a familiar pounding feeling building up within you.

You let out a gasp, before letting out, “Oh god!” hissing as you came, clear liquid spilling out of you.

Your cunt clenched around him, causing him to groan deeply, grounding his face into your shoulders as his thrust became erratic. His unsteady movements caused you to choke, his heavy breath rumbling right into your ear.

“So good, fuckfuck,” he growled, slamming into you a few more times before letting off one final groan.

Letting out a shaky moan, feeling him suddenly pull out of you, feeling his release land right on your stomach and thighs. Breathing heavily, legs shaking as he slowly lowered you onto the bed. Reaching over, grabbing his shirt that had landed right on your bedpost, using it to wipe away the mess.

“Can’t have you getting pregnant now?” Is all he said, wiping away his mouth.

You rolled your eyes, smacking him on the head as he threw his shirt back onto the floor. Just as you began to cover yourself up in your sheets, you felt movement beside you. Looking back, seeing Reiner getting into the bed with you.

“Aht! What the hell you doing?! If you don’t get out?!”

“Aww, come on cherie, don’t make me sleep out here on that little couch. Nearly broke my back the last time I slept there. Plus,” he added, gesturing down to his wound, “I’m still wounded.”

You narrow your eyes, “didn’t seem like you were injured just a few minutes ago.” He still didn't budge, causing you to roll your eyes at that, “fine, but you better make some damn breakfast before you fucking leave.”

He smirked, agreeing to your demands before continuing to pull the blankets up and around the both of you.You turned back over, snuggling into the bed, feeling Reiner’s weight shifting beside you. His eyes burned into the back of your head for a few seconds, before suddenly feeling an arm sling over your body. You rolled your eyes but suppressed the smile appearing on your face before snuggling yourself into his warm embrace

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