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scuderiahoney · 4 months

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All You Got

Charles Leclerc x teammate!reader

Masterlist

Summary: You hate Charles Leclerc. The feeling is mutual. He’s made that clear from the very beginning. enemies to lovers anon I hope you’re still here and I hope I got this right!

Word Count: 5.4k

Warnings: alcohol/intoxication, mild swearing, mild car crash (everyone is fine), panic attacks, comments about sexual activities (but no actual sex/smut)

Everyone in the entire world seems to love Charles Leclerc. Honestly, you can’t blame them. Objectively, you get it. He’s the total package- good looks, kind, generous, rich. They fall at his his feet, and they worship the ground he walks on.

Everyone except for you.

To you, everything he does rubs you the wrong way. Charles Leclerc annoys you to no end. You can’t even pinpoint what it is, just- you can’t stand him. Which is becoming a problem, seeing as he’s your teammate, so you have to deal with him constantly.

Charles was a constant thorn in your side when you were just competing against each other from separate garages. Now he’s your paddock next door neighbor, your supposed collaborator, and the only person who you can truly be compared to. Equal machinery and all that. The truth is, he’s good at what he does, which only makes it so much worse.

You’re having a good season, a great one, even. You’re not a rookie, but it’s your first year with Ferrari, your first year with a car that isn’t a tractor. It’s just that you’re constantly being compared to and overshadowed by him. It’s awful and exhausting and you sit in the briefing before the race glaring daggers at the side of his head.

He’d slowed you down in Q3. You were on a flying lap and he got in the way, left you starting in 9th when you were on track for your best qualifying yet. He’d said it was an accident, and everyone else believed him. Including your own race engineer. You think maybe if you stare hard enough you could actually light all the product in his hair on fire. Then he has the audacity to come up to you after the meeting, to lay his hand on your upper arm softly. You wrench yourself out of his grip, turn to him with a snarl. He must take it as surprise rather than what it really is, because he has a soft smile on his face.

“I’m sorry, again, about quali,” he says, and you spot a camera over his shoulder and fight the urge to roll your eyes. “I’ll find a way to make it up to you, yes?”

“Crash out at the start,” you tell him, raising one brow. There’s a smile on your face and venom in your words. “And take Max out with you.”

“Anything but that,” he says.

He winks before he breezes past you, and if there hadn’t been so many people around, you think you may have actually slapped him this time.

…..

You collapse into a chair in a swanky restaurant that night, resting your chin on closed fists, elbows on the table. Lily, jumps when you do. Alex is sitting across from you, doing a bad job of hiding a laugh behind his hand.

“I’m gonna kill him,” you tell them, knuckles digging into your cheeks. “I’m going to pass all the cars between us tomorrow and ram him into the wall.”

“No, you’re not,” George says as he sits down, Carmen following behind. “Because when you do pass all those cars tomorrow, you’re going to want to stay in the race.”

“I was going to qualify second,” you groan. “I was, seriously-“

“I know,” George says, patting your shoulder. The waiter has appeared at the end of the table.

Alex points at you. “She’ll have a shot of tequila, please.”

“She has to drive tomorrow morning,” Lily reminds him.

“And we have to sit through dinner tonight,” George says.

You slap his shoulder, glaring daggers at him, now.

“Did he apologize?” Lily asks.

“Of course!” You snap. “Because he’s fucking Charles Leclerc, and-“

Before you can launch into one of your tirades, Lily waves her hand. “Forget I asked. Never mind. This subject is banned until the weekend is over- we’re all here, this is supposed to be a nice dinner.”

You sigh and slump into your chair. “Okay, mom.”

Once the conversation starts, though, and you have your shot of tequila, you forget about Charles. You’re here to spend time with your friends, not worry about your teammate. It’s the first time in a while that both of their girlfriends have been able to make it to the same race. You’ve been looking forward to it all week, and you refuse to let Charles sour it. Besides, they’ve all heard it before, they don’t need to hear you complain again.

The next day, when you take 5th and Charles takes first, you don’t let him see you cry. You sneak out of the celebrations as early as you possibly can and head back to the hotel.It’s just so frustrating. You’re trying so hard, giving it your all, and it’ll never be enough. You want the podiums, the trophies, the champagne spraying in your face. You want it all, everything Charles has. He takes it for granted.

When you open your hotel room door, there’s a giant bouquet of flowers on the dresser. For a moment, you think maybe it’s from your family, or maybe George and Alex, a sympathy present for a race that held so much potential. You slip your finger under the flap of the envelope and pull the card out of the white flowers.

Sorry about Quali,

You throw the flowers and the note in the trash and cry yourself to sleep.

…..

Lily tried to convince you that the flowers were actually supposed to be an apology, but you’d refused to see it as anything other than what it was- a way to get in your head. So at the next race, you leave it all on the track. You manage to qualify 4th- not the best you’ve ever done, but you feel pretty good about it. You feel even better that Charles is starting in 7th. He’ll be stuck in the midfield, in the dirty air, while you fight with the big dogs. You’re on cloud nine, floating around the garage, thanking your crew and your engineers and offering drinks on you if you get a podium on Sunday. It wouldn’t be your first, but it would be your first in a while, and it would really crush Charles, you just know it.

“Congrats,” he says, standing next to you in the media pen.

You think he waits to talk to you until there’s cameras around. It makes him look good, being nice to his teammate. You can play the PR game too. You plaster on a bright smile. Behind Charles, Alex raises his brows at you. You tone down the smile and he gives you a thumbs up.

“Thanks,” you say, shrugging slightly. “Sorry about seventh.”

He shrugs. “Could be worse.”

You head into the lion’s den just after that, hit with a barrage of questions about every aspect of the weekend. How does it feel to be starting fourth? Good. Do you feel good about your chances tomorrow? Yes. How’s the car feel? Good. Are you hoping for a podium? Always. What did you give Charles to convince him to let you qualify higher than him this weekend? What?

The reporter who asked it is sneering at you. Your media handler balks at the question, fumbles to grab your arm. She’s afraid you’re going to snap, but to be honest, you’re too dumbfounded to find the words. Maybe he doesn’t deserve a response anyways.

“She didn’t give me anything,” Charles says, grabbing the microphone from your hand, and now you’re seeing red for a different reason. “She didn’t need to. She did it all on her own.”

Which is true, and nice of him to say. Objectively. But he’s not saying it because it’s true, or because he wants to be nice. You can already picture his devoted fans, clipping the video and making TikTok edits that make him look like a saint. He is, in their eyes. In everyone’s eyes.

You leave the microphone with him and stalk back to your driver room.

You run into Charles in the hallway later, when you’re slinking your way to catering to try and find something good to eat. He’s just- there, all of the sudden, broad shoulders taking up all the space. You try to slip around him, but he moves with you.

You look up at him, raising your brows and throwing your hands up. “What, Leclerc?”

He raises his brows, too. “Just wanted to say sorry. For what he said. It’s not true, you know.”

“Yes, Charles, I know I didn’t… blow you or whatever to get you to let me qualify better,” you say, and he rears his head back. “Can you move?”

“Hey,” he says, voice soft. “Look, I just wanted to say-“

“I think you’ve said enough,” you snap. “You said it all, live on camera. The whole world heard it.”

“I was just trying to stand up for you.”

“I can stand up for myself,” you say, throat feeling tight. “I’ve been doing it my whole career. No need to step in now. And honestly, we both know you get off on being the savior, so cut the shit.”

You finally find a gap and slip around him. You walk out of the garage and all the way down to Williams. Nobody stops you when you head to Alex’s room- he’s there, and George is too.

“We were wondering when you’d show up,” George says, as Alex holds his arms out wide. “Fucking bullshit, the whole lot of it.”

You nod and collapse into Alex’s chest. Neither of them comment on your tears.

“At least Charles stood up for you,” George says brightly.

“Fuck off,” you say, and Alex slaps his shoulder for you.

…..

They call a red flag three laps in, and your team calls you into the pits before you can even figure out what’s going on. You’re in third, having moved past Lewis in the opening chaos. Your heart sinks, knowing that when the race restarts you’ll have lost the lead you’d built up. You search the big screens as you pull into the pit lane, trying to figure out what’s happened, and then your heart sinks even more.

It’s a Mercedes, crumpled against the barriers. They only show it for a second, and you can’t hear any of what the commentators are saying. You hadn’t caught the number or the helmet, and- it’s either Lewis or George.

As much as you like Lewis, you’ve been friends with George since you were little. He and Alex had taken you under their wings, accepted you when a lot of the others wouldn’t. Your heart pounds wildly in your chest as they help you climb out of your car.

You flip your visor up and look to the nearest mechanic. “Who is it?”

He stares, blankly, and you already know.

“Who is it?” You ask, louder, looking around the room frantically.

“S’George,” someone finally answers.

“Is he-“

“We don’t know yet,” someone says, gently. “Just-“

The panic claws at your chest. You haven’t felt like this a long time, not since Lily called you from the hospital when Alex had appendicitis. You can’t breathe, can’t see, can feel your fingers.

There’s a ripple of noise, applause from the crowd. You look at the TV, see George, standing strong and holding up a thumbs up. It should be a relief, but the panic doesn’t fade. Suddenly someone’s hands are on your shoulders, guiding you into the hallway. Fingers brush against your jaw, unbuckling your helmet and wiggling it off your head. You gasp for air, and strong hands hold you steady.

“Breathe, breathe, it’s okay, he’s okay,” Charles says.

You should be shocked it’s him, but right now all you can feel is panic. You grab onto his wrists, looking for an anchor in the storm. He doesn’t let go, just holds onto you, squeezes your shoulders until you start breathing slower and slower. He only drops his grip when you drop yours. You wipe tears and snot and sweat from your face and sigh.

Suddenly it hits you- it’s Charles, holding onto you, witnessing your panic attack. You take a couple steps back.

“It’s okay,” he says again, reaching out. You brush him away. “Hey, how about we go sit, yes? Have some water?”

“I’m fine,” you sniffle.

“You’re not.”

“Why do you care?” You ask, tears springing to your eyes again.

“Because you’re my teammate,” he says. “Because your friend crashed and you are upset.”

You roll your eyes. Charles has the audacity to look confused. Like he doesn’t know.

“You don’t have to act like you like me, Charles. There aren’t any cameras around,” you snap.

Charles blinks once, then again. “What?”

“You can drop the act,” you say as you cross your arms over your chest. “I already know you hate me, you don’t have to pretend. You can go.”

Charles looks utterly and completely perplexed. For a moment, you falter. He hates you. Why does he seem so confused? It’s not that difficult to understand. Why had he even come back here with you in the first place? He could’ve let one of your crew members help you, or left you to deal with it alone. What the hell is going on here?

“I don’t hate you,” he says, voice soft. “Why would you think I hate you?”

“You’ve hated me since I got here,” you remind him. “Actually, since before I even signed the fucking contract.”

“What are you talking about?”

You stare at him, wide eyed. Is it possible he doesn’t even remember? Maybe he hates you that much.

“When I came to the factory for contract negotiations,” you start, “you made it very clear I was the last possible person you wanted as your teammate.”

You’d been leaving the factory. He’d stopped you in the hall. Sounds like you might be my new teammate, he’d said. Hopefully, if it all goes well, you’d replied. Any advice?

He’d looked around, checked to see that nobody was there. Then, voice low and serious, arms crossed, he’d said, this is the last place you belong. If you know what’s best for you, you will not sign that contract.

You’d left that day heartbroken and with a vendetta against him.

Charles’ eyes go wide when you repeat his words back to you. “I did not say that.”

“I think I’d remember,” you tell him, trying again to shove past him.

“No, no, I mean- I didn’t mean it like that,” he says, insistent, grabbing onto your arm gently. “I- that was before they hired Fred, yes?”

“Yes?” You answer, furrowing your brows at him.

“And before they changed the staff, before they-“ he sighs. “I had a shit year. I was worried the next was going to be the same. I was trying to warn you.”

Now it’s your turn to blink once, then again. “No, you…”

“I swear,” he says. “On my life, I swear.”

He draws a tiny cross with his finger, right over his heart. You take a step back and drag a hand down your face. Your head is spinning, tilted on an insane axis.

“You thought I hated you, all this time?” He says, brows furrowed. “I sent you flowers, after the quali thing-“

“I thought you were playing mind games!” You cry out.

He’s reaching for your arm again. This time you let him. His fingers dig into your skin pleasantly- not enough to feel bad, just enough to know he’s there. It’s like the fight has suddenly left your body. He doesn’t hate you. He sent you flowers because he really was sorry.

And you threw them in the trash.

“So when I stood up for you with that reporter, you thought…” he trails off, then laughs. “What, you thought I was- this is why you reacted so badly. This explains so much.”

“Yes!” You say, nodding. “Why are you so fucking ominous with your warnings? Why were you so cryptic?”

“English is not my first language and I had to be careful about how I said it, there could have been people listening!” He says, laughing again. “You didn’t listen, anyways.”

“No, because then I wanted to prove to you that I could handle myself, that I deserved the seat!”

“Of course you deserved the seat,” he says, wide eyed. “That was never a question.”

The two of you stare at each other for a beat. Then you double over in laughter, tears streaming down your face for a different reason. Charles joins you, his laughter mixing with yours for the first time ever. The noise of it sends a jolt through your heart.

He doesn’t hate you. How crazy is that?

…..

When you run into Alex in the paddock later, he’s staring like you’ve grown a second head. Actually, with the intensity of his stare, you think you may have grown two extra heads. Maybe even a third eye. He comes to a stop in front of you, and you cock your head at him.

“Hey, Al,” you greet him. “Have you seen Georgie? He’s not at Merc.”

“Yeah, he’s… he’s at the stewards, doing a debrief,” Alex says. “He said he’d meet us at the driver briefing.”

“Oh, cool,” you say. “How’s he doing?”

“He’s fine,” Alex says, eyes flickering across your face.

“That’s good. I’m glad,” Charles says from his spot next to you.

His arm is slung around your shoulders, his race suit tied around his waist, just like yours. You take it in from Alex’s viewpoint- the proximity, the fact that you’re even letting him touch you, and the look on his face makes sense.

“Hey, did you know Charles doesn’t actually hate me?” You ask Alex, and next to you, your teammate laughs.

“I told you that a million times,” Alex deadpans.

“Huh. Weird.” You shrug. “We should go, the briefing starts in five minutes.”

Alex trails behind the two of you, quiet the whole way there. Charles peels off when you arrive and stops to say hi to Max. George is already sitting down in a chair near the front. You sit down next to him, eyes tracing over him like you’re looking for injuries. Alex sits on his other side.

“I’m fine,” George says, nudging your shoulder lightly.

“Excuse me if I’m worried,” you say with a roll of your eyes.

Alex opens his mouth to say something, but before he can, someone sits down next to you and elbows you lightly. It’s Charles, a cold water bottle in hand, extended towards you. You take it eagerly. His knee nudges against yours, and you nudge him back. You thank him, opening the water bottle and taking a drink.

“Mate, I think I hit my head harder than I realized,” George whispers to Alex.

“Nope, you’re seeing correctly,” Alex says, holding his hands up when George turns towards him. “I don’t know either!”

…..

It turns out that when you’re not busy thinking Charles hates you, and hating him back, he’s actually pretty fun to be around. The two of you have nearly everyone else bewildered for the next few races, because you’re suddenly attached at the hip. You’ve always been civil in public, but this is a different story.

In briefings, Charles saves you a seat, and Alex and George have to fight over who gets to sit next to you. You eat lunches and dinners together in the paddock, out in the open at a patio table. Charles brings you coffee in the mornings, and you bring him pastries. During breaks, the two of you can often be found hunched over your phone, watching YouTube videos together. You have a surprising amount in common. You wonder how you never saw it before.

Charles even takes you with him to play padel one morning, brings you a half hour early to try and show you how. When George and Alex show up to play against you, they stare at you in confusion for a solid thirty seconds.

“You don’t understand,” Alex says over lunch with you and Lily later that day. “He had his hand on her waist.”

Lily is the only one who hadn’t been surprised. She shrugs.

“He was correcting my posture,” you say. “Alex is just mad that I beat him.”

“Charles beat me, you were just on his team,” Alex corrects. He’s not exactly wrong. “Come on, like, two months ago she hated his guts. Tell me this isn’t crazy, Lil. I think we need an intervention.”

“You know, I don’t think you’re supposed to talk about the intervention in front of the intervention-ee,” you say, stirring your pasta. “Intervention-ette?”

“She’s fine,” Lily says, smiling at you. “She’s just finding out that hate and love are a lot more similar than you’d think.”

You drop your fork, wincing when it clatters. “I don’t love him.”

Lily cocks her head at you. You freeze. Alex is looking back and forth between the two of you like it’s a tennis match. You can feel your face growing hot.

“I don’t,” you repeat. “We’re friends, that’s all.”

Lily blinks, feigns surprise. “I never said anything about romantic love.”

You swallow. “Yeah, but that’s what you meant-“

“That’s what you assumed I meant,” she says, and you blink.

There are butterflies in your stomach- where did those come from? You definitely don’t love Charles. Like Alex said- two months ago, you hated him. Well, you hated that he hated you. You hated the way you thought he was treating you. But now, in a different light, his actions seem a bit endearing. You’re just swept up in the new friendship, that’s all. Lily’s reading too far into it.

You tell her as much, and she drops the subject. Alex seems happy to move on, a bit unprepared to handle the whole conversation. But Lily watches you, and you can’t help but feel like maybe she knows something you don’t.

…..

It sticks in your head, is the thing. Hate and love are a lot more similar than you think. And to be honest, it sort of makes sense. Both very strong emotions, both making your chest feel tight and your cheeks feel hot. You’re not in love with Charles, though. You can’t be. He’s just- a friend. He’s a friend, and it’s new, and of course you’re going to spend time together. You’re getting to know each other! This is normal, this is teammate bonding like you were supposed to do when you joined the team.

It’s not weird that Charles introduces you to his family when they come to one of the races. It’s not weird that you’re inviting him out for drinks when you go out with George and Alex after a race. It’s not weird that you start actually playing padel and asking him to help you practice- it’s fun, and he’s good at it, that’s all.

Then you’re out at a club in Monaco one night, surrounded by other drivers. You go to leave, Lily tugging on your hand. The two of you are having a sleepover without Alex. You’re saying your goodbyes, waving and smiling and-

Charles grabs onto you, hauls you into a hug. He’s a little tipsy, you think, but not drunk. You laugh and lean into the hug, wrap your arms around him, breathe in the smell of his cologne and laundry detergent. Then he pulls away, puts his hands on your shoulders, and kisses both of your cheeks.

Butterflies erupt in your stomach. Lily has to drag you away as you giggle before you make a fool of yourself. Charles waves and smiles brightly when you turn around. You burst out onto the sidewalk and cover your face in your hands. Really, it means nothing. It’s just his way of greeting people or saying goodbye, it’s a thing he does. But your chest feels warm and your head is swimming, and it’s not the alcohol.

“Oh, shit,” you say to Lily, who’s smiling at you.

“Love and hate,” she reminds you.

…..

You swear Lily to secrecy, and though she loves Alex, she would never sell you out, thank god. You’re determined to act like everything is normal. You can’t be in love with your teammate. That would be crazy. It would be awful. It would be everything that everyone has ever said about female drivers, all confirmed. You’d get torn apart on the internet.

It’s not easy, though, because it’s Charles. Because he’s sweet and kind and handsome, and he cares about you. He doesn’t hate you. He wants to spend time with you, all the time. They say absence makes the heart grow fonder, but you think they’ve got it backwards. Maybe there’s a second part- presence makes the heart go crazy.

When you qualify in pole position for the first time in your F1 career, you have a panic attack. It’s a massive one, one that has your legs giving out and leaves you hyperventilating. It’s bad enough that Charles almost goes and gets George or Alex, but you beg him to stay with you, so he does. Eventually, he just wraps you up tightly in his arms and holds you there until you can breathe again.

“I’m not going to be able to do it,” you sniffle, as he runs his hand over your hair and rocks you from side to side. “I’m gonna crash on the first turn and then everyone is gonna be right, and I’ll lose my seat, and then-“

“No, amour, that is not going to happen,” Charles soothes, chest rumbling against you. “It is not. You are going to do just fine.”

“But what if I don’t? What if I can’t win, what if I don’t do it-“

“Then you will try again next time,” he says, so sure of it, like he can see the future. “You are starting on pole tomorrow. It’s scary, I know. But it’s just another race. You just… go out and give it your all. The same way you do every weekend.”

“You’ll keep them away from me?” You ask. Charles is starting third.

“No,” he scoffs, a laugh bubbling up from his lips. For just a moment, your heart breaks. Then, he says, “I will not need to. You will be so far ahead you’ll forget anyone else is even there.”

You laugh, press your teary face into his chest. “Shut up.”

…..

You check your rear views before the race starts, something comforting running through your veins when you see Charles behind you. You can’t see his face, can barely see his helmet, but you see the red. Then the lights go out, and he disappears in a blur. Give it all you got, you hear, unsure if it’s your race engineer or you or a voice in your head. You hold your breath for the first few turns, maybe for the whole first lap. And then your race engineer is talking about gaps and clean air and tire management, and you’re looking ahead, trying to see what car you need to try and pass next, trying to tell if you’re in DRS range, and then-

There’s nobody in front of you. Clean air. You’re in first. You’re leading the Grand Prix.

When you come careening over the line at the end of the race, when you see the checkered flag first, when you spot your crew on the pit wall, you swear your heart is going to beat out of your chest. Your race engineer is yelling in excitement. You think you’re yelling too, but you have no idea what you’re saying. It doesn’t matter.

You pull the car into the first place slot and climb out. You have to wrack your brain to remember what you’re supposed to do- it’s been so long since you’ve won a race, back when you were still in F2. Hug the team, get weighed, shake hands, grab the hat- Someone grabs your arm. You spin around and come face to face with Ferrari red. Charles.

He pulls you into a tight hug. Your helmets knock together. He’s saying something, over and over again.

“-told you, I told you, I knew you would do it,” he says. “I’m so proud of you.”

Charles takes your helmet and balaclava for you when you finally get them off. He takes his off too, and his face is red, dimples deep as he grins at you. He’s finished 7th, he tells you. Got passed in the first lap and never recovered.

“-told you you didn’t need me defending,” he says, and you’re laughing, shoving his shoulder. “You did so fucking good-“

The butterflies are going crazy in your stomach. You want to kiss him. The helmet has left a little indent on his cheek- you want to run your finger over it. But there are so many cameras and people watching, and suddenly you’re being pulled away from him, sent to the cool down room. Then it’s shaking hands with Max and Lewis again, watching the race highlights, basking in the excitement of it all. There’s the podium, the champagne, the trophy that you don’t let go of until you get back to the Ferrari garage. The giant group photo with the trophy, more champagne dumped over your head, Charles lost in the sea of red somewhere. It’s all such a blur.

You finally stumble back to your driver’s room, in a rush to change out of your race kit and grab your stuff. Someone has rented out a bar- they apparently did it when you qualified on pole, and didn’t tell you for fear of jinxing it. You text George and Alex, tell them where to meet you. With your stuff in hand, in a pair of sweatpants and a Ferrari sweatshirt, you finally stop and look in the mirror.

F1 Grand Prix winner.

There’s a knock on the door. You open it and find Charles standing there, in a very similar outfit. The line on his face has faded, but his hair is still a mess. You step back from the door and give him room to step inside. He’s staring at you, a soft look on his face. You’re holding your breath again. It’s the first lap. You just have to make it through the turns, get out ahead into clean air. His lips are parted, eyes wide and sparkling.

His hands are shaky when they cup your face. Yours are even shakier when you fist your hands in his sweatshirt. But the kiss he pulls you into is steady and sure and true. You melt into him, shoving your hands under his sweatshirt as he pulls you close with an arm around your waist. You reach up, thread your fingers through his hair, let his tongue slip into your mouth.

When he pulls away, his eyes are wild.

“We have to go,” he says, squeezing your hip. “You have a party to be at. Also, you are so pretty.”

You can remember the way he looked at you at the start of the season. How you thought the fire in his eyes was going to burn you alive. You’d stoked your own fire to burn him up first. Now you’re blazing, and you never want the fire to go out.

“I can’t believe I thought you hated me,” you say, muffling a laugh into his chest. “You’re coming to the party, right?”

“Of course,” he says. He cups your face in his hands again and presses another kiss to your lips. “And tomorrow, you are coming on a date with me, right?”

You laugh, his thumbs brushing your cheeks. “Of course.”

“Perfect,” he says, kissing your forehead and then letting you go. “Come on, winner. You have so many people waiting to buy you drinks.”

…..

When you walk into the bar hand in hand with Charles, Lily slams her hand down on the table.

“Pay up, boys,” she says, a wide grin on her face.

“Never in a million years did I see that coming,” George says.

“I’m never betting against Lily ever again,” Alex adds.

Max leans down over the table, holding his hand out, too. George and Alex groan and start pulling cash from their wallets.

“Hate and love,” Max says, a smirk on his face. “Very thin line, huh?”

woo! enemies to lovers, classic trope in the bag! come say hi and let me know what you think. send me a dm or drop me an ask to be added to the tag list!

taglist: @4-mula1

#charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc oneshot #charles leclerc #formula 1 fanfic #formula one fic #Charles Leclerc angst #enemies to lovers #cl16 #honeywrites #Charles Leclerc

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proxima-writes · 8 months

Text

the right wrong number

pairing: pre/no outbreak!joel miller x soccer coach!female reader

rating: explicit (18+ MDNI)

word count: 6k

summary:

When Joel receives a dirty text from an unknown number, he gives into his curiosity and messages back.

He doesn’t expect the number to belong to his daughter’s summer camp soccer coach.

dear reader:

this work is a request and a birthday gift for my sweet baby @mydailyhyperfixations , who’s been one of my biggest supporters since i started posting my work on tumblr. ily, and i hope you love the fic! special thanks to @cutesyscreenname for helping me with some lil details to finish this surprise. support and mdni banners by @saradika

content warnings:

explicit sexual content (18+ MDNI), age difference (undefined, but references are made), pre/no outbreak!joel miller, identity porn, wrong number au, sexting, dom/sub dynamics, use of ‘sir’, pet names, praise, thigh riding, semi-public sexual activity, spanking, safe word discussion, dirty talk, p in v. let me know if i’ve missed any!

Unknown Number: I had a really good time at dinner tonight!

Joel stares at his phone in confusion. It’s past midnight and he’s been sitting on the couch nursing a beer and watching Indiana Jones. He’s been in the same spot since Sarah went to bed a couple hours ago. His phone beeps again.

Unknown Number: It’s too bad we didn’t have time to visit Noir.

Joel raises his eyebrows. Noir is a bar in downtown Austin known for its calendar of speciality kink events. He’s seen it come up in his Google searches of local bars and had considered going to an event or two but never worked up the courage. His kinks remain between him and his porn search history.

Unknown Number: Wanna see what you missed out on?

[Photo 01.jpg]

Curiosity gets the better of him and he clicks on the image attachment. He nearly drops his phone when a photo of a woman fills his screen, sweet curves hugged by black lace on white sheets. He should absolutely tell her that she has the wrong number. His fingers type across the screen.

Damn, seems a shame something that gorgeous is going to waste.

Unknown Number: Who says it has to go to waste?

Joel swallows nervously. He’s already hard in his jeans, cock pressing urgently against his pants. He palms himself, trying to collect his thoughts.

Unknown Number: I’m feeling a little needy over here.

[Photo 02.jpg]

Against his better judgment, Joel opens the second photo and has to bite back a groan at the image of the woman’s hand slipped beneath the waistband of the panties, fingers hidden from sight behind lace and silk.

You want me to tell you how to play with that pretty pussy?

Joel squeezes his eyes shut as he presses send. This is a colossally stupid idea. This is a stranger, and he’s not the intended recipient of these messages.

Unknown Number: I’d really like that, sir.

Fuck it, Joel thinks. In for a penny, in for a pound.

Start by circling those fingers over your clit. Nice and slow.

And when you feel like you could cum, I want you to go even slower.

Unknown Number: It’s too slow. I want more.

Be patient, baby. And aren’t you forgetting something?

Unknown Number: Sorry. I want more, SIR.

Joel presses a hand to the bulge in his jeans, the pressure offering little relief.

Now don’t start being a brat, sweetheart. You won’t like the result.

Unknown Number: Oh yeah? What would you even do?

I’d love nothing more than to bend you over the edge of the bed, ass ready to be spanked red.

Unknown Number: Fuck, that would feel so good. Bet your hands would feel amazing marking me up.

You still being a good girl and following my instructions?

Unknown Number: I think I forgot. Could you remind me, sir?

You’ll have to ask more nicely than that.

Unknown Number: Could you *please* remind me, sir?

Joel runs a hand over his beard before reaching for the forgotten beer on the coffee table and taking a swig.

You’re supposed to be teasing yourself for me. Nice and slow.

I want you to pinch your nipples until they’re nice and tight, too.

Unknown Number: Like this?

[Photo 03.jpg]

Joel bites his lip as he opens the third photo. You’ve got your bra pulled down to expose your nipples, hard and perfect and begging for his mouth. He unbuttons his jeans, tossing his phone on the couch only long enough to shimmy the denim down his thighs and free his leaking cock.

Just like that, baby. Such a good girl for me.

Unknown Number: Are you touching yourself, too, sir?

Of course I am, baby.

Unknown Number: Can I see, sir? Please?

Joel’s hand falters as alarm bells blare in his head. He should absolutely not open his camera. And he should definitely not find the perfect angle that doesn’t show his face. And he certainly should not grip his cock around the base, holding it steady as the shutter sounds and a new photo is saved to his camera roll.

No. He shouldn’t do any of that.

[Photo 04.jpg]

Unknown Number: God, your cock would feel so good in me right now.

Joel’s right hand moves at a steady pace up and down his length, left hand fumbling to type a reply.

Why don’t you fuck your little fingers and pretend it’s me, then?

Unknown Number: Won’t fill me up nearly as much, sir.

Be a good girl and follow my directions, baby.

Unknown Number: [Photo 05.jpg]

He opens the photo and his cock pulses in his fist. She has her underwear shoved to the side, two fingers plunged into her glistening pussy. His mind reels with an image of this faceless woman writhing on the bed reading his words, thinking about his cock stretching her open and he has to bite his lip to just keep the responding moan trapped in his throat.

Unknown Number: Can I cum, sir? Please?

Since you asked so nicely, yes. Make yourself cum for me, sweetheart.

Joel sets the phone aside on the couch, closing his eyes as he pumps himself with a tight fist while he imagines your desperate pussy clenching around your fingers. He cups his palm over the head of his cock as his release hits him like a freight train, hips flexing from the couch to chase the lingering sensations of ecstasy from his hand.

He stands, pulling his pants up without bothering to fasten them so that he can wash his hands in the kitchen sink. Guilt settles on his shoulders as he dries his hands with the dish towel while he stares at the couch where his phone is lit up with another message from a stranger he had no business seeing that much of.

He approaches the couch and sits with a sigh, running a hand over his face before picking his phone up to read her message:

Unknown Number: Easily my best orgasm. Hope it was for you, too. Don’t be a stranger xx

Feeling like an asshole, Joel deletes the thread and the wrong number for good, but it’s fine.

It’s not like he’ll ever meet her, anyways.

——————

You’re on the phone with your best friend, telling her about how the last guy you went out with about a week ago, a guy named Jeremy you met on a dating app, still hasn’t reached out to you again despite what you’d thought was a successful date.

“So he just never reached out to you after you sexted him all night?” She asks. “Men are so weird.”

You cradle the phone between your ear and shoulder as you zip up your duffel bag of equipment. It’s the beginning of June and the summer soccer intensive camp for junior league starts today. You’ve got a full registration for the girl’s 13-15 division and you’re excited to get back on the field and help these girls do their best in a sport you love.

“Nope. Maybe I came on too strong? I don’t know,” you reply.

“You did come strongly. At least, that’s what you told me,” she says with a laugh. “Well, that’s too bad. Maybe you’ll meet a hot dad coaching this year.”

You roll your eyes. “I’m not fucking someone’s dad.”

“Never say never, babe.”

“I gotta go find my damn cleats. I’ll talk to you later,” you tell her.

“Fine, I expect a full run down of every DILF you meet today.”

You hang up as she laughs, tossing your phone into your personal bag that you keep separate from the gear before you go in search of your cleats from your room.

——————

Joel and an over-excited Sarah sit in the parking lot of the soccer field that her summer camp is being conducted at, ridiculously early at Sarah’s insistence because she didn’t want to be late on the first day. They’re the only car in the parking lot so far, having apparently beat even the coach, and Joel sips at his travel mug of coffee in the hopes that it grants him energy.

Another car pulls up and parks beside his truck, loud music blaring from the open window. Sarah waves excitedly.

“That’s the coach,” she explains.

Joel watches you get out of your car and pop the trunk. You start pulling out bags of soccer balls and stacks of orange cones, bags of agility equipment and strength training aids. He opens the door to his truck and jogs over.

“Hey, you need any help with that?” He asks. You look over at him in surprise, eyes wide.

“Oh, uh, sure. That would be great,” you reply.

“I’m Joel Miller, and this is my daughter, Sarah,” he says, gesturing to the young girl. She gives a little wave and he extends a hand out to you.

You give him your name, shaking his outstretched hand. “Y’all are a little early,” you reply, hefting a bag over your shoulder.

“My dad’s always late but I didn’t want to be late for camp,” Sarah says. Joel narrows his eyes at her.

“Not a problem. You can help me set up the cones,” you tell her. His daughter gives you a bright smile and he almost forgives her for throwing him under the bus. “I’ll grab these two bags, you grab the cones, and Mr. Miller, could you grab the balls, please?”

Joel fights back his childish laughter at your request, grabbing the bags as instructed. “Just Joel, please.”

You smile at him and he feels a bit blindsided by how it makes his heart beat faster, his palms a little sweatier. You’re very pretty, fresh faced and ready for a day of work, wearing one of those quick dry workout shirts that clings to your curves and a pair of shorts that show off your strong legs. Some traitorous part of his brain wonders what it would feel like to have those legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer.

“Alright then, Just Joel. Let’s go.”

——————

“Thank you for the help,” you tell Sarah’s dad. You’re trying very hard not to let your eyes linger on the bulge of his biceps or the broad expanse of his back as he sets down the two bags of soccer balls and places his hands on his hips.

He’s a handsome man, older than you by at least a few years, with tan skin and dark hair and kind brown eyes that crinkle at the corners when he smiles at something Sarah says. His daughter has the same brown eyes and olive skin, her dark curly hair pulled into a bun.

Of course the first parent you meet this summer is a hot dad. It’s like you’ve spoken it into the universe.

“Not a problem. Glad I can be useful if I’m goin’ to be here this early,” he replies with a narrowed glance at Sarah, who is suddenly very interested in the stack of cones she carried to the field. “Anythin’ else you need me for?”

“Let me get you the game schedule and contact sheet.” You open your bag and pull out your folder of materials you like to give to parents, assembling a stack of papers for him. “On top you’ve got the emergency contacts sheet. Fill that out with your contact information and an alternate’s information, too, just in case I can’t reach you or someone else needs to pick Sarah up. You’ll want to have Sarah bring that back tomorrow.”

You flip the page. “The second page is just a welcome letter. It’s got my phone number on it, feel free to text or call if you have any questions or if Sarah can’t make it one day.”

“And then last we’ve got the camp schedule. The girls will have two tournament days where they’ll play against some nearby summer camp leagues. You can sign up to bring a snack by filling out the piece at the bottom. Do you have any questions?”

“I don’t suppose I do. You’re very organized,” he says, taking the packet from you. You can feel your cheeks heating.

“Thanks,” you murmur. “Well, I gotta finish setting up.”

“I won’t get in your way.” He calls out to Sarah and the young girl runs up to give him a hug goodbye. “Be good. I’ll see you later.”

——————

Joel Miller is the first at the field in the mornings helping you set up for the day and last parent to leave at pick-up, after he’s loaded your trunk up with the equipment, wiping the sweat from his brow as he grins at you.

His daughter is a great player, quick on her feet and smart as a whip, picking up the footwork skills you teach like they’re second nature. You’re telling Joel as much Friday afternoon in the second week of camp when Sarah bounds up and asks if you want to get ice cream with them.

“That’s a great idea, baby girl,” Joel says before you can decline. You blink at him and he gives you that lopsided grin that’s been giving you butterflies since the first day on the field. “But if you order mint chocolate chip, you’re buyin’ it yourself.”

“Good news, I’m a plain ol’ chocolate kinda gal,” you tell him with a laugh.

“Me, too!” Sarah says.

“I’ll follow you guys,” you suggest. Joel gives you a quick nod, herding Sarah into his truck and taking off toward town.

You follow them to a little ice cream parlor, the kind that sells old fashioned sundaes and thick milkshakes with red and white striped straws. You park beside them, watching as Sarah hops from the truck with a wide grin on her face and her dad comes around, slinging a strong arm over her shoulder and pulling her close. Your heart feels warm looking at them.

Once inside, Joel and Sarah end up ordering a sundae to split while you get a small cone of chocolate ice cream. You try to tell Joel not to pay for you, but he hits you with a look that has your mouth going dry, any argument disappearing as all your blood rushes south and makes you ache between your legs.

“I’ll go get us a table outside,” you offer, licking at your treat. You don’t miss the way Joel’s eyes track the path of your tongue.

You watch the busy foot traffic while you wait for the Millers to join you, the warm Texas air wrapped around you while you enjoy the slight breeze and your cold dessert.

A deep voice calls your name and you look around, finding a familiar face on the crowded sidewalk.

“Jeremy, hey. How are you?” You ask as the man approaches. It feels like forever ago that you went to dinner together and looking at him now you think he’s handsome but he doesn’t hold a candle to Joel.

“I’m good. Been busy. I gotta say, I was a little bummed I didn’t hear from you after our date. Thought we had a good time,” he says, running a hand through his hair.

“Didn’t…hear from me?” You ask nervously.

He tilts his head. “Yeah. Thought you said you would text me when you got home.”

“Uh…yeah. Sorry. I guess I just forgot.”

The bell dings above the door to the ice cream parlor, Joel and Sarah emerging with a sundae piled with whipped cream. Jeremy looks toward them, then back at you.

“I’m guessing another date is off the table?” He asks, slipping his hands into his pants pockets.

Joel looks between the two of you, brow furrowed as he sets the sundae on the metal table and Sarah takes a seat, digging in immediately.

“Jeremy, this is Joel and his daughter, Sarah. She’s in my soccer camp this summer. Joel, this is my friend Jeremy,” you introduce. Jeremy holds a hand out to Joel, who shakes it briefly, brows still pinched.

“I better get going. Nice seeing you, let me know if you want to get together again,” Jeremy says before turning to leave. When you glance at Joel, his shoulders are drawn up and jaw clenched tight as he stabs his spoon into his ice cream.

“What do you guys have planned this weekend?” You ask to break the silence. Sarah perks up and begins to tell you about how her Uncle Tommy, Joel’s brother, is taking her to a local carnival. You listen and nod along despite the fact that your thoughts are stuck on Jeremy’s words.

If it wasn’t Jeremy on the other end of your conversation that night…who was it?

——————

As the three of you walk back to your vehicles, Joel’s still thinking about that man who’d been talking to you at the ice cream shop and how it made his blood burn hot to hear him mention going on a date with you. His pulse pounded in his ears as he shook the guy’s hand, any information about the guy going right over his head. He didn’t even taste the ice cream or hear the conversation you and Sarah had about the weekend, lost in his thoughts about how between early mornings helping you prep for camp and late afternoons at pick up have all somehow allowed you to burrow into his heart.

A hand wraps around his bicep, halting him in his steps. He glances at your concerned face and suddenly all that tension leaves him in a rush. Sarah says her goodbye, hugging you around your waist before hopping into the truck, leaving the two of you alone.

“You okay?” You ask, taking a step closer.

“I’m great, sweetheart. Get home safe,” he says, eyes dipping briefly to your mouth. Your tongue pokes out, tracing your lower lip. He takes a step back before he’s tempted to lean in and chase the taste of chocolate and you.

“I’ll see you Monday?”

“Bright and early.”

——————

Sarah spikes a fever Sunday night and spends the night curled around the toilet while Joel coaxes some water into her and keeps her hair out of harm's way. When it seems that the worst of her nausea has passed, Joel leaves her to rest in her bed while he goes downstairs and grabs the contact list you’d given him at the beginning of camp.

He starts a text, letting you know that Sarah’s sick and won’t make it to camp, at least for today. When it’s sent, he heads back upstairs, armed with a sleeve of crackers to deliver to his daughter.

Maybe he can squeeze in a little bit of sleep for himself.

——————

Hey, it’s Joel. Sarah’s sick and won’t make it to camp today.

You stare at the text, mind reeling. Not because a parent is texting you, that’s pretty common and you hope Sarah is doing okay, but because you already have a thread with Joel.

One where you’d called him sir and told him his cock would feel so good inside of you because you’d thought you’d been texting Jeremy. Your cheeks feel so hot you worry spontaneous human combustion could actually be a thing.

What are you even supposed to do in this situation? Do you tell him about it?

Hey, Joel. No worries. Thanks for letting me know, hope she feels better soon. Oh, also, you’ve sent me a picture of your dick.

You delete the last line immediately, hitting your phone against your forehead like doing so might make your thoughts make sense.

Hey, Joel. No worries. Thanks for letting me know, hope she feels better soon. Any chance you can make good on that promise and bend me over the bed?

You delete the last line again with a groan.

Hey, Joel. No worries. Thanks for letting me know, hope she feels better soon. There’s something I want to talk to you about. Would you be able to meet with me after practice this week? Or sometime this weekend?

You hit send before you can back out, tossing your phone in your bag as you get ready to head out the door.

——————

Joel wakes later in the morning and reads your text message. His mind races with what you could want to talk to him about. Maybe you noticed how he reacted to your friend and wanted to tell him you’re uncomfortable? Or maybe something to do with Sarah?

Fuck, he thinks, scrubbing a hand over his face. He reads the message a few more times but it doesn’t reveal any additional clues. He types out a message, pressing send before he can overthink the contents.

She seems to be doing better. Should be back to camp tomorrow. I can meet you somewhere for dinner on Friday after camp? My treat.

——————

Joel’s text plays on a loop in your brain for the rest of the week. Unlike the previous weeks of camp, he and Sarah don’t show up early. In fact, he’s been dropping her off almost at the last minute and picking her up promptly when camp ends, always managing to show up when you’re already pulled into conversation with another parent and driving off before you have a chance to talk with him.

On Friday, Joel is at the field early, leaning against his truck as he talks to Sarah. You park beside them, and he helps you unload your car and set up for the day, just as he had the weeks prior, making small talk like he hadn’t just spent the week dodging you after suggesting dinner. When everything is unpacked and Sarah is kicking a ball around, you follow Joel to his truck under the guise of needing one more thing from your car.

“Hey, are we still on for dinner?” You ask him. He runs a hand through his hair and you try not to let yourself zero in on the way his bicep flexes with the motion.

“‘Course. How ‘bout I meet you at that diner downtown? The one with the—“

“All day breakfast?” You finish. Joel grins.

“Yeah, that’s the one. Is six good?”

“Six is great.” You smile back at him, lost in the way his eyes crinkle in the corners and his mouth lifts slightly higher on the right.

“Coach!” Sarah yells, making you jump.

“Guess I better get out there,” you say, shifting nervously.

“Yeah, I’ll uh…I’ll see you later?” He asks.

“Looking forward to it.”

——————

To your surprise, it’s not Joel that picks up Sarah that afternoon, but another man with familiar brown eyes and dark curly hair. You grab your folder from your bag as Sarah greets the man, flipping through the pages until you’ve found her emergency contact form.

“Hey there,” the man says, a grin lighting up his face. “I’m Sarah’s Uncle Tommy.”

You shake the hand he’s held out towards you and introduce yourself. “Nice to meet you. Mind if I check your ID for alternate pick up?”

“Go right ahead,” he replies, pulling a worn brown leather wallet from his jeans and handing you his ID from its contents. “Don’t judge the photo, alright? It’s old.”

A younger version of the man in front of you is pictured on the card, his curly dark hair buzzed short and a grim expression on his face. You note the name THOMAS MILLER beside the picture and check it against Sarah’s emergency contact form.

“Thanks, Tommy,” you tell him, handing back the ID. There’s a brief silence where Tommy seems to be assessing you.

“So…,” he says, rocking on his heels, “you’re the girl that’s got Joel all tangled up, huh?”

You blink. “Uh—“

“Uncle Tommy! Let’s go!” Sarah shouts from the parking lot.

“Hold your horses!” Tommy yells. He gives you one last knowing smirk. “Have fun with Joel tonight!”

You watch him jog over to the truck and get behind the wheel, Sarah waving at you as he pulls out of the parking spot. You wave back, but your mind is stuck on Tommy’s words, the implication of them having your stomach doing backflips.

——————

Joel’s fingers fidget with the straw wrapper, ripping it into small pieces that build in a pile on the laminate table while he waits for you to arrive for dinner. He’s still not sure what this is all about and that uncertainty has had him stuck in his head to the point where Tommy was giving him a hard time at work about it.

“Let me know if you need me to stay with Sarah overnight,” Tommy had said as Joel checked himself in the hall mirror one last time before leaving the house.

“It ain’t like that,” he grumbled back, but there was no changing his brother’s mind.

“Sure, you keep tellin’ yourself that.”

The bell above the diner door rings with a new customer, pulling Joel from his thoughts. You’ve just walked in wearing a dress, a far cry from the soccer shorts and t-shirt he’s seen you in every day this summer. His gaze is pulled to the tantalizing glimpse of your chest he gets from the deep neckline and the way the fabric swishes against your thighs as you approach.

“Hi,” you say, sliding into the booth across from him. “Thanks for meeting me.”

“Sure,” Joel says, giving you what he hopes is a confident smile but he’s almost certain it’s more of a grimace.

A silence settles over the table as you both look at the laminated menus like they hold the secret to the universe. The waitress swings by and takes your orders - chocolate chip waffles for you and a medium rare burger for Joel.

“How’s Sarah doing with the camp?” Joel asks.

“She’s doing great. Easily one of the best players I’ve got this year,” you reply.

“Good that’s…good. You used to play for UT, right?”

“Yep, starting forward until I tore my ACL,” you tell him. “Now I coach because you can take the girl out of soccer but you can’t take the soccer from the girl.”

“That’s impressive,” Joel comments. “Is coaching your full time job?”

“No, I work in marketing for an instrument production company.”

“Really? You play anything?”

“Some guitar, a little piano. Nothing crazy. Do you?”

Joel laughs. “Been a while, but I got a guitar stashed away in a closet somewhere.”

The waitress returns with your food, setting the plates in front of you and asking if either of you need anything else before leaving the two of you to your meals.

Joel is a few bites into his burger when you set your fork down and say, “Look, I’m just gonna come right out and say it. You’ve sent me a picture of your dick.”

Joel nearly chokes, sputtering for air around his burger and grabbing his Coke, desperate for relief. He chugs the beverage, tears in his eyes.

“Are you okay?” You ask, wide eyes full of concern.

“No, I’m not okay, what do you mean I’ve sent you a picture of my dick?” He hisses, looking around the mostly empty diner.

“About a month ago I went on a date with that guy I ran into at the ice cream place, Jeremy? We met on a dating app so we were messaging through there and he gave me his number at the end of the night,” you say quickly. “And I texted the number with some…racy photos. And messages.”

Joel feels the rising panic in his chest. No, there’s absolutely no way that random number could have been you. There’s no way he sexted his daughter’s soccer coach.

“I didn’t find out it was you until you texted me about Sarah being sick. I still had the chat with your number,” you finish, reaching into your bag and pulling out your phone. Joel watches with building dread as you tap on the screen and set the phone on the table, sliding it toward him.

You’ve opened the chat with him, the innocuous messages at the bottom about Sarah missing camp giving way to photo attachments he doesn’t dare click on but remembers vividly. He looks up at you.

“I…I’m so sorry,” he says. “I shouldn’t have replied, the messages weren’t meant for me.”

“I’m not mad,” you assure him. “A little embarrassed, maybe. But also…can I be completely honest?”

“Of course.”

“I haven’t been able to stop thinking about your messages.”

Joel’s mouth drops open in surprise. “You…really?”

“Yeah. And knowing it’s you…,” you say, voice trailing off. Your eyes are dark, a little smirk playing on your lips that has Joel’s cock twitching with interest. “Well, that makes it better.”

“It does?” Joel asks. You nod, picking up a bite of waffle with your fork, a moan of appreciation leaving your lips.

“It does,” you confirm.

Joel turns around in the booth and flags down the waitress.

“Check, please!”

——————

After paying for dinner, Joel walks you to the parking lot, his broad palm on your low back directing you to where his truck is parked.

He’s got you pressed against the passenger door, his chest grazing yours with each breath he takes. He lifts a hand to your cheek, his thumb rubbing across your bottom lip. His gaze grows dark as you dart your tongue out, flicking it against the digit.

“Such a fuckin’ tease,” he says. Gone is the man who was mortified to find out he’d been sexting you and in his place is the man behind the screen. “You wore this little dress because you knew exactly what you wanted, isn’t that right?”

“Maybe,” you murmur. “You don’t like it?”

“Mm,” he hums, “Ain’t a matter of not likin’ it, trust me.”

His hands grip your hips, the fabric bunching in his fists as he moves a thigh between your legs. The sudden friction of his jeans, even through the barrier of your underwear, has you gasping.

“Joel,” you whimper, grinding over the muscle of his thigh. He kisses along the length of your neck, lips right over your racing pulse. “Come on, take me home.”

“You can ask more nicely than that,” he says, hands guiding the movement of your hips, forward and back, across his thigh. You moan, louder than you intended, too loud for the parking lot of a busy diner at dinner rush.

“Please, sir,” you whisper. “Please, take me home.”

“Cum on my thigh and we can leave,” he replies. “Leave a nice little wet spot on my jeans and then I’ll take you home and make you scream my name as loud as you need to.”

Joel’s lips capture your own, swallowing the curse that was ready to spill from them at his demand. His kiss is rough, demanding, his stubble scratching your skin and his tongue tangling with yours as your hips continue to rock over his leg. You dig your fingers into his hair, holding tightly to him while the knot of need in your belly tightens.

“Come on, baby,” he says when he lifts his head, lips still pressed to your neck. “Make a mess, come on.”

You go still in his hands as your orgasm washes over you, your muscles stiff as your pussy pulses desperately over his thigh. Joel pulls you in for another kiss, this one slow and sweet to bring you back to reality.

When you’ve caught your breath, he steps back, adjusting the skirt of your dress back over your thighs. He looks down at his pants and then back at you, a smirk on his handsome face. You look down, face heating with embarrassment as you notice the dark patch of denim.

“Get in the truck, baby.”

——————

You give Joel directions to your apartment, his warm hand on your thigh the whole way there. Your nerves are buzzing beneath your skin again, the effect of your first orgasm wearing off and your desire building rapidly with each mile closer to your apartment.

He parks in the visitor parking and you move to open the door, but a tan arm reaches across and tugs it shut. Confused, you watch Joel jump from the truck and jog around to the passenger side to pull open your door and hold a hand out to you.

You’re laughing as he helps you from the truck and shuts the door behind you, your giggles persisting as you lead him upstairs and his arms circle your waist while you try to unlock your door. He hustles you across the threshold, kicking the door shut behind him and flipping the deadbolt.

“Bedroom?” He asks.

“End of the hall,” you reply.

Joel pulls you along behind him, a man on a mission. Once inside your room, you flip on your bedside lamp and Joel steps in close, framing your face in his hands and giving you another kiss that has the butterflies in your tummy going wild.

His fingers are curling into the hem of your dress, dragging it up your body and breaking the kiss long enough to pull it over your head and toss it to the floor. His lips are back on yours while his hands map your curves, calloused fingers catching on soft skin and making goosebumps erupt in their wake.

“Get on the bed,” he commands. You turn, crawling onto the mattress slowly, a wiggle in your hips. You look over your shoulder at the older man and find his gaze fixed on your ass. He grins. “You remember what I said last time you teased me?”

“No. I think I need a reminder,” you tell him. He huffs, shaking his head.

“Teasin’ me and gettin’ mouthy? Think that might earn you a punishment.”

Joel palms the cheeks of your ass, pulling them apart in a rough grip that has you gasping his name. His fingers dig into the flesh, the ache of them already making your head spin.

“Five ain’t enough, but it’s all I’ve got the patience for right now,” he says. His tone changes as he asks, “You got a safe word? If I need to stop?”

“Apricots,” you say easily. He tilts his head. “It’s from a TV show. New Girl?”

“Never heard of it,” he says. “Alright, apricots it is.”

He pulls your panties down, leaving them around your thighs. His thumbs spread you apart and the vulnerability of this position, your ass in the air and everything spread for him, by him, has you feeling like you’re on fire.

“Pretty little pussy,” he murmurs. “But I already knew that. Because you’re a dirty fuckin’ girl who sent me pictures just because I told you how to cum. Ain’t that right?”

“Mhm.”

An open palm lands on your right ass cheek, hear blossoming on the spot as you gasp, lurching forward. His hands pull you towards him and he presses down between your shoulder blades, your back arching.

“Don’t move,” he commands. “That was one. You count the next one.”

Another smack across your other cheek, more sharp pain that shifts into dull ache as you mumble, “Two.”

He doles out two more in quick succession, each other making your pussy clench with need. You’re drooling into sheets, a whimpering mess as he runs his fingers through your soaked folds and lets out a deep groan.

“Baby, you’re soaked,” he says. “Fuck, one more, okay? One more and then I’ll have you wrapped around my cock.”

You nod your head, bracing for the final blow across your sensitive skin. The sting of his palm as it lands makes your eyes roll back, the line between pleasure and pain so blurry you don’t know which side you stand on.

His hands leave your hips and without the support, you slide flat to your belly. Distantly, you register the opening of your nightstand drawer and the sound of Joel rummaging through the contents, followed by the muted thump of clothes being discarded to the floor.

Joel maneuvers you to your back in the center of the bed, pulling your panties off. “You did so good, sweetheart,” he praises. You smile at him.

“Do I get a reward now, sir?” You ask.

“‘Course, baby. Good girls get what they deserve.”

His hips press between yours, his cock sliding through your wetness and catching on your clit. He positions the thick head at your slick entrance, pressing in the slightest bit. You take in the sight of him, his broad chest held over you by strong arms, the muscles of his neck tense.

Joel slides in slowly, your body accepting him gratefully. The stretch borders on painful but the fullness has you digging your nails into his back, a moan falling from your lips. It feels like ages before his hips as flush to yours and all you can feel is Joel Joel Joel.

“Fuck,” he groans, forehead dropping to yours. “Christ, you feel so fuckin’ good.”

He pulls back slightly, thrusting forward with a sharp snap of his hips. As he starts to set a rhythm, he sits up on his knees, lifting one of your legs up with a hand on the back of your thigh and pressing it to the side. The position opens you up further, letting him get impossibly deeper, and all you can do is allow him to use your body to his liking.

It’s not long before you’re screaming his name, as promised, the knot of pleasure in your core pulling tight and getting ready to snap.

“You gonna cum again for me?” Joel asks, breathing labored as his pace doesn’t falter. “Come on, baby, cum on my cock. You’re such a good fuckin’ girl, I know you can do it.”

“Joel!” You shout, that last thread snapping as your orgasm rushing through you, stars bursting behind your eyelids as they snap shut with the force of it all. Your pussy clenches around him, his hips stuttering and growing sloppy until he’s pressing in deep with a groan of your name.

He collapses on top of you, a heavy weight but not an unwelcome one as you both try to catch your breath, sweat cooling between you. After a moment, his softening cock slips from your body and he rolls to the side, gathering you to his chest.

“Holy shit,” you whisper.

“Yeah,” Joel whispers back. He sits up, leaning over the edge of the bed and grabbing his jeans, pulling his phone free.

He taps on the screen and brings it to his ear, a distant ringing audible through the speaker.

“Tommy? Yeah, everythin’s fine,” Joel says when his call connects. He takes a deep breath, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Could you stay with Sarah tonight? Shut up,” he grumbles. He presses a kiss to the top of your head. “I’ll be back in the mornin’. Thanks, brother.”

Joel hangs up and you raise your eyebrows at him.

“You’re staying?” You ask.

“Yeah, baby. I ain’t finished with you yet,” he replies, pressing a flurry of kisses to your face, neck, and shoulders, sending you into a fit of giggles.

——————

1 Year Later

“Alright, great job, girls! Let’s get your snacks,” you shout as your summer league girls jog towards you from the field following their third tournament game.

The girls crowd around the cooler that Joel’s prepared, grabbing small bottles of Gatorade or water and a bag of orange slices. They lounge around the sidelines and you step up beside Joel, bumping him with your hip.

“Thanks for the snacks,” you say. He grins at you.

“‘Course. Gotta take care of my girls,” he replies. He pulls one last bag of oranges from the cooler. “And one for coach.”

“How’d I get so lucky?” You ask, looping an arm around his waist.

“What can I say? You texted the right wrong number.”

Joel Miller Masterlist

#joel miller x reader #joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller x female reader #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x you #joel tlou #no use of y/n #joel x reader #pre outbreak!joel #no outbreak!joel miller

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teapartyprincess4two · 2 months

Note

Could you write about a random morning with Matt as his girlfriend? Sorry if I not making any sense.

Your writing is amazing!!! Have a wonderful day!!!

A Cold Sunday- M. Sturniolo

pairing: Girlfriend!reader x Boyfriend!Matt

classification: fluff

warnings: use of y/n, slight cursing, established relationship, a lot of dialogue, very short

inspiration: request^^, A Cold Sunday by Lil Yachty, just the title mostly

summary: You and Matt spend a cold Sunday morning together, snuggling up and keeping warm.

—

Every day of the week was chock full of activities for both you and Matt. Whether it be work, appointments, events, or daily chores; you two rarely had time together during the week. Even Saturdays were hectic for you both, you’d usually only get a few hours together before bed before one of you dozed off.

That’s why you loved Sundays, they were the only day neither you worked and you always made sure never to schedule anything on those days.

“Good morning, beautiful,” Matt croaks from beside you, a lazy arm wrapped around your waist from under the comforter. “Good morning, baby,” you reply, pushing his hair back and kissing his forehead.

“How did you sleep?” you ask, his eyes closing once again as the drowsiness settles back in. “Mmm good,” he hums, nuzzling into your chest slightly.

“That’s good, baby.”

You’re playing with his hair, your mind filling with ideas of what to do throughout the day. The possibilities were endless, especially because your only responsibility was to have fun with Matt.

“What do you wanna do today? We can go to the flea market, go eat some breakfast, or maybe we can try that new coffee shop,” you say in excitement, your cheery tone being too much for Matt this early in the morning.

“What about the mall? The mall could be fun. Ooo what if we have a picnic? We haven’t done that in so long,” you continue, subconsciously braiding strands of his hair as you compile a list of possible activities.

“It’s cold,” he murmurs, the statement being followed by a soft yawn.

Yawns are infectious, causing you to yawn shortly after. “Yeah, you’re right,” you reply, the yawn making it sound more like a roar.

“We can still do stuff…” he trails off, pulling away from you slightly to look at your face. You smile at him, you’re just happy to be spending time with him. “But we can stay in?” Matt suggests, loving the idea of a cozy day in.

You hum in response, already anticipating the cozy day ahead.

—

“Hurry, Matt! I’m cold!” you exclaim, lifting the comforter up so he can hop back into bed. “I can’t! The hot chocolate is gonna spill!” he shouts back, panicking as he tries balancing both mugs so none of the liquid spills over.

You groan playfully, scooting to the edge of the bed and reaching for a mug, “here let me help you, you goof.” He chuckles at the nickname, carefully handing you a mug, “be careful, it’s hot.”

“I know, I’m smart.”

You sip the hot chocolate, trying to prevent it from spilling, but the scorching liquid has you pulling away immediately, “Fuck! That’s hot!”

“I just said that,” Matt chuckles, getting comfortable under the covers and pressing play on the movie you two were previously watching. “Shush, it’s good,” you murmur, going back for a second sip.

You settle back against the headboard, sipping occasionally as you watch the movie. Matt blows on his hot chocolate, afraid to burn himself like you did.

He blows on it hard enough for the liquid to spill over the cup. “Oh fuck. I spilled it,” Matt says blankly, looking at you as he tries not to laugh.

—

“Why was that movie so sad?” Matt sniffles, rubbing the tears out of his eyes. You’ve seen the movie a million times before and each time Matt has the same reaction.

“Babe, you know how it ends. How does it still make you cry?” you ask, chuckling slightly at his dramatic behavior.

“Y/n, don’t be so heartless,” he replies, looking at you as if you’re some type of monster. “How does it still not make you cry?”

You take a sip from your hot chocolate, fighting the laughter. “It’s really not that sad,” you say, taking a hold of the remote to find your next watch of the day.

“YES IT IS!”

“Matt, it’s Toy Story.”

“AND? HE WAS JUST A FORK!”

—

You’ve laid in bed with Matt all day, and although you haven’t waisted any energy, you’re really hungry.

“Just order pizza,” you suggest, resting your head on Matt’s shoulder as he orders the food on his phone. “I don’t want pizza though,” he replies, scrolling through DoorDash in search of the next best option.

“Chinese food?” you ask, your stomach grumbling at the suggestion. “Neh, too greasy.”

“Okay, what about Cane’s?”

“Not in the mood for chicken,” he replies, exhausting all his options.

“In N Out?”

“We had burgers last Sunday,” Matt finds an excuse to turn down all of your suggestions. “Just get whatever you want,” you mumble, becoming hangrier by the second.

He stays silent for a while, searching relentlessly for something appetizing, but he can’t find anything.

“I’m just gonna order pizza,” he finally comments.

“Bruh.”

—

MASTERLIST

A/n:

Just a short story about a goofy morning with Matt. Enjoy, luv u. Longer stories coming soon, they are COOKING!

- L.A.M.B👼🏻💗

—

taglist: @nicksmainbitch @sturniololovers @mayhem-72 @worldlxvlys @gnxosblog @meg-sturniolo @creamoncreamoncream2 @mattnchrisworld @sanyi5 @lustfulslxt @whicked-hazlatwhore @tworosesblackthorn @mxqdii

note: if you want to be tagged in my fanfic related posts, you can access my TAGLIST and comment 💐

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soobnny · 1 year

Text

jealousy, jealousy — nrk.

trope. established relationship. overprotective / jealousy au.

synopsis. nishimura riki is stubborn and hard-headed, yet not even a fight can stop him from making sure no one bothers his girlfriend. who knew jealousy could look so good on riki? (2.1k words)

note. here’s to anon who requested for me to write jealous aus! realized i’ve never actually tried writing it before :0 the song btw has nothing to do w the fic. just stole the title

There’s nothing more unsettling than seeing you trying to talk to Nishimura Riki who is actively making it a point to avoid looking or speaking to you, despite being in the same vehicle.

Especially when you’re saying, gently, “Riki, I’m really sorry.”

Riki couldn’t bring himself to look at you. He was understandably upset, and there was an insistent voice in his head that told him to give you the silent treatment. Your boyfriend had the right to be annoyed – especially when he had spent hours prior in the day waiting for you at your favorite ice cream parlor.

It wasn’t like you had meant to stand him up on your date. You had been called back late by your teacher, and you had forgotten to inform Riki especially when your mind was a sea of responsibilities you had to tend to. And on most days, Riki would understand and forgive you in a heartbeat – even offer to help you with your workload.

He always said it was a stupid reason to be upset with, and it was in hindsight. However, it’s been a really long time since you’d last been on a date together.

With his dance competitions and your constant strive to keep your scholarship, the both of you were understandably busy. Spotting free time on both of your schedules was rare and you took every chance at spending time together when it happened.

Today was one of those days, and the plan was that you’d go on an ice cream date (just the two of you) before going to one of Jay’s famous parties. It didn’t help that Riki was particularly clingy today after having lost a spot in the Top 3 of his recent competition. He just wanted to be with you, to bask in your comfort, and to hold you in his arms as a reminder that there was always next time.

And you had accidentally robbed him of that. So, Nishimura Riki was upset with you.

“Riki–” You begin.

“Don’t.” He cut you off before you could even continue. “I don’t really want to talk to you right now.”

He surprised himself with how cold he spoke to you, guilt instantly settling in, but it was too late to take back his words. Besides, you knew never to take it to heart when Riki was upset. You’d just have to try again tomorrow, when he’d have enough time to calm himself down. So, you simply grow quiet as he pulls up the driveway of your shared friend’s house.

The night air is cold when you step out of the car, and you visibly shrug at the sudden coolness in contrast to the heat you had felt in the silence between you and your boyfriend. It’s only now that Riki allows himself to look at you. His gaze follows the gentle shaking of your shoulders and the clattering of your teeth as you wrap your arms around yourself in an attempt to warm yourself.

While he was angry, Riki was not a cruel boyfriend. Shrugging his jacket off, he places it on your shoulders gently, helping you adjust your arms in its sleeves to make sure that in the chill of the night and the air-conditioned party, you would not feel cold.

Before you can thank him, he starts walking for the door.

Poor Sunoo is unaware of the fight when you pull both of you in for a hug, bouncing in conversation and being greeted by an awkward string of responses from the both of you. He only understands the situation when you and Riki walk separate ways upon entering the party.

The music is unbearably loud, and Riki is the first one to go meet up with his friends. You walk the opposite direction in hopes of seeing a friend.

Truthfully, you did not want to be in this party right now. It was only ever fun when you were Riki, popping out an ankle biter or two as you’d make fun of the drunk teenagers around you. Time always stretched in meaningful ways when you were with him, blurred by silly dancing and excusing yourselves to pull pranks on your friends.

“(Name)!” You spot Felix, a good friend of Jake, approaching you with a smile on his face. He gives you a side hug, immediately noticing the lack of your boyfriend by your side. “Where’s Riki?” You return the warm smile at the boy, politely acknowledging him. You don’t really want to tell him you weren’t with Riki because you had a fight, so you settle with a little white lie.

“He’s downstairs. I’m looking for a friend.” Felix nods his head, patting your head before he’s called by Hyunjin. “Well, I’ll leave you to it. I’ll see you around!” With one last tap on the shoulder, Felix heads towards the direction of his friend, leaving you to walk around by yourself again.

You grow more anxious upon not spotting a single close friend in the party after roaming around the house for a good fifteen minutes. Then again, Jay’s space was huge and it’d be impossible to look through every space and crevice in search of a friend.

You had hoped maybe Yuna or Yunjin were around so you could pass time through conversation and gossip. However, fate doesn’t hand you luck tonight.

On the other side of the party, Riki is seated with his friends – Sunghoon and Jake joking around with a beer in hand as they chat about their recent flings, Sunoo off to dance with friends, Heeseung and Jay busying themselves to make sure the partygoers were accommodated with enough food and drinks, and Jungwon who is concerned why his friend is awfully quiet tonight with the absence of your usual figure next to him.

“Where’s (name)?” Jungwon starts.

“We had a fight.” Riki’s response is pointed as he glances at Jungwon before going back to people-watching. It’s like he doesn’t want to say it. Riki hates fighting with you – and while it was normal to occasionally fight in healthy relationships, it didn’t mean Riki hated it any less. However, he was stubborn and hardheaded, and that insistent voice has not left his head.

“Oh. I’m sorry to hear that.” Jungwon blinks, unsure of how to respond. He wasn’t sure if Riki wanted him to keep pushing at the topic or not. Going for the safe option, Jungwon keeps his mouth shut as he excuses himself to go help Jay and Heeseung.

While heading for the kitchen, Jungwon spots you seated on another couch in the living room, scrolling through your phone. Next to you is Chaewon who looks like she’s in a peaceful slumber despite the loud music and the crowd of people.

When you catch sight of the boy, he waves at you politely before he disappears into the crowd.

You hum to yourself. You suppose you should just leave in a bit after Chaewon wakes up. Besides, it wasn’t really a bother having her lean her head on your shoulder, and you didn’t really want to wake her to leave the party you had just joined.

You’re less fortunate with the man seated on your left.

He had been trying to talk to you the whole time you were looking for a friend (after Felix had left your side), and he had sat down next to you the moment you grew tired.

When Jungwon disappears, the boy next to you perks up and starts quizzing you on your name, which school you went to, what year you were in. He honestly seemed friendly, noticing your lack of mood for the party and attempting to lighten it up a little. But, you did not feel like answering him.

Perhaps he was trying to make a friend, but you were too preoccupied on how you were going to apologize to Riki tomorrow. And, he was being a little too creepy about not leaving you alone.

He tries asking you open-ended questions, tries to be quirky by asking conversation-inducing questions, but you really had nothing to say that might be of interest to him.

“You look like you aren’t enjoying yourself.” You’re ripped out of your thoughts at his constant efforts at a conversation, and when you start to feel properly awkward, you feel his arm slide behind you, dangling on the couch and inching impossibly closer to you. Maybe he wasn’t trying to make a friend after all.

You silently pray in your head for Chaewon to wake up so you could peel yourself away from the situation.

You stutter over your own words, trying to think of a way to tell him you really weren’t in the mood to have a conversation with a stranger, and you’re sure Riki wasn’t too big of a fan of someone else trying to be touchy with you.

While you appreciated his efforts at trying to make you enjoy yourself, you can’t help but think that he had ulterior motives, and you were sure your boyfriend wouldn’t appreciate that.

Was the oversized jacket you’re wearing not clue enough that you had a boyfriend?

“Yo, who’s that next to (name)?” Riki’s ears perk up at the mention of your name, back straightening as he tries to listen in on Jake and Sunghoon’s conversation.

“Riki, I think someone’s trying to chat your girlfriend up.” Sunghoon looks behind him to look at Riki who has grown intimidatingly silent at his comment. Motioning over to where you’re seated, Riki pushes himself off from the couch, peering over in search of his girlfriend in the crowd.

Jake and Sunghoon were right. In his view, he spots a stupid looking boy trying to impress you – and you were clearly not having it. Riki feels his head start to ache and his fists clench by his side. He grips his phone tighter, knuckles turning white at the sight that greets him.

The icy grip of jealousy that seeps through his veins is overwhelming. You’re smiling politely at the boy, and Riki knows you’re trying to think of a million ways to get away from the situation. He doesn’t understand why he feels jealous. It’s not like you even wanted to talk to that boy.

Then it clicks. Maybe that’s why. Because here you were, seated with some boy who has his hand on your shoulder when it should’ve been him. And all of this is happening just because he was upset at you for your lack of communication from a while ago.

Nishimura Riki couldn’t take it anymore.

Locked and loaded behind gritted teeth and popping veins on his neck, he makes his way through the crowd, stopping right in front of you and the cause of his annoyance. “The fuck do you think you’re doing?” Riki glares down at the boy beside you. “That’s my girlfriend, so get your hands off her.”

The sight of Riki is enough to send bullets of sweat down the boy’s forehead. With a newfound fear, the boy straightens up from his seat, pulling his arm off of you before raising it in defeat. “Dude, my bad. She was here alone, how should I have known she had a boyfriend?”

“Go fuck yourself.” Riki’s face flashes in your direction and his features soften at a ridiculously fast pace. He reaches out to take your hand in his before gently tugging you off of the couch, apologizing to Chaewon in the process while he takes you outside.

Riki pulls you in for a hug. He doesn’t care how upset he was with you, he needed to make sure you were okay. With his hand running through your back and his lips pressed on top of your head, he feels his mood instantly lighten.

He pulls away, brushing your hair off your face before asking quietly, “Are you okay?”

You thought about it for a second before nodding your head, smiling gratefully at him. You know he was upset with you (he might still be), and Riki tended to be stubborn and hardheaded when it came to arguments. It was just nice to know that even then, he always had your back. Even if he was angry or upset or annoyed, you knew you could always count on him to be there for you.

“You wanna go home?”

You nod your head, scooting closer to him. He knows that you just need him so he takes your hand in his, leading you over to where he had parked the car. “Maybe some ice cream to make it up to you?”

“Okay. I’m still upset, by the way.”

“I know. I love you.”

“...Love you too.”

#enhypen x reader #nishimura riki x you #ni-ki x reader #ni-ki x you #ni-ki x y/n #enhypen ni-ki x reader #enhypen ni-ki #nishimura riki x reader #enhypen riki x reader #nishimura riki x y/n #riki x y/n #riki x reader #riki x you #nishimura riki fanfic #enhypen nishimura riki #sam nishimura #jealous #overprotective

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paymechildsupport · 28 days

Text

Teacher!Ryomen Sukuna x Sorcerer!Reader // Teacher!Sukuna HC's <3

(THIS IS NOT STUDENT X TEACHER, READER IS NOT A STUDENT!)

Personally, I think it’s an actual crime there isn’t more teacher!sukuna content out there. I’ve only ever seen one fan art of it, and ever since I’ve been scrounging around on my hands and knees to find more

So m’ gonna just do it myself 🙏

-!! [AFAB + AMAB] READER (HC’s involving reader’s bodily autonomy have both a female and male vers. → brief smut drabble at the end) [everyone's in on this one👏]

-!! Reader is a rather powerful sorcerer

-!! CW: Slight possessiveness (mainly for the short smut at the end → overstimulation, dacryphilia, slight size kink(?), mention of double cocks for og form Sukuna)

-!! Veeeery slight nod to manga spoiler if you squint. If you don’t know it 99% certain you won’t pick up on it

-!! Sukuna being a bit of a softy for his SO

3k+ words

————

Awhile (around a good few centuries) ago, Ryomen Sukuna came to the conclusion that no, this was in fact not the way he wanted to live his life. He decided to put everything behind him; the bloodshed, the death, the massacres, and cannibalisms— (okay maybe that stayed the same)— all the things that essentially made his staple as the King of Curses. He’s a changed curse, he swears it. Honestly? Human food? Not that bad. Kinda worth changing his world view for

With a changed work ethic, and a changed heart, Ryomen Sukuna made the conscious decision to become a teacher, — specifically a teacher in sorcery

—————-

Ryomen Sukuna works at Jujutsu Tech,-- the infamous King of Curses, who predominantly spends most of his days helping ungrateful brats obtain the necessary skills to kill his kind

→”No, you thick-skinned brat, you’re doing it all wrong!”

“I’m sorry, Sukuna-sensei! I’m trying,--.. I really am! Could you maybe go over it one more time–”

“No! You’re going to die all alone as your friends are tortured mercilessly!”

“How could you say that…” 🥺

Following the fateful passing of Yuji Itadori’s grandpa, the poor kid awakened as a sorcerer with a rather nasty supply of cursed energy; a complete abnormality with an aura suspiciously like that of a certain Ryomen Sukuna…

→ “The little brat is not living with me”

“Awh, c’mon Sukuna-!! The kid’s a ticking time bomb to disaster, he needs help controlling his cursed energy, and who better to help than the amazing King of Curses himself!”

“Shut up, Satoru Gojo.”

“Ohoho~... looks like someone isn’t happy to become a single mother~~”

“What-!? Single moth– fool, you yourself are a single mother”

“...oh, yeah. Hehe… 😚”

“I hate it here…😒”

Now, with the additional burden of personally attending to Yuji Itadori, there was only one thing keeping Ryomen Sukuna from completely imploding:

You. His partner, his lover, his spouse, his anchor,-- the only source of light in his miserable, cursed life, – the sole person keeping him from reverting back to his old, murderous ways.

Meeting a few years back, the ancient curse could’ve sworn the world got a dozen shades lighter the second his eyes landed on your form in the Tokyo crowd. Where everyone was actively moving away from his looming, intimidating hulk of a body, you looked at him with eyes void of the fear reflected off so many others.

You approached him with interest, recognizing his unmistakable aura for that of the King of Curses, – and, to his utmost shock, – you proceeded to have a perfectly normal, civilized conversation with him. Never once did you look at him like you would a monster. Every time he’d get lost in those eyes of yours, never once did he find anything short of pure love and affection. It was sickeningly sweet.

There on a mission, you introduced yourself as a fellow Jujutsu Sorcerer.

Ryomen Sukuna could’ve sworn he’d heard your name before: rather infamous with the higher-ups, you were a well-respected sorcerer. That only aided to his immense confusion: why would a sorcerer of such high esteem and all around regard even remotely think talking to him, the King of Curses, was a good idea?

Absolutely flabbergasted and entranced from your first encounter, Ryomen Sukuna was practically completely at your mercy. It took very little for you to simply haul him over your shoulder and take him wherever; he’d soon become akin to a lost puppy with you.

Ryomen Sukuna is absolutely down-horrendous with his emotions. Hah, communication? Never heard of her.

He’s never felt this deep for anyone before, and it terrifies him to no end. You terrify him to no end,-- the amount of power you have over him could be almost comical.

At the start, he flat out avoided you altogether. Anytime he’d see you on campus he’d immediately start in the opposite direction. Anytime you’d attempt to strike up a conversation something would come up,-- he’d have to go somewhere, or the brats had gotten themselves in trouble again. And when Satoru Gojo found out about his little “crush”... oh boy, the teasing was lethal.

It wasn’t long before he craved your touch, and Ryomen Sukuna started to enter withdrawal from your presence. You were brutal, the poison continuously being pumped into his veins, – which was extra ironic, considering he was after all the King of Poisons, – how the actual hell did he end up in such a position? What have you done to him?

Man, he was cooked.

With a lot of time, and a heck of a lot of patience, did the curse finally allow himself to reveal more of himself to you.

It’s never been easy, – even after you two were married did Ryomen Sukuna still suck absolute ass at communicating his wants.

He craved your attention, your gaze, your approval. You were the drug that he simply couldn’t get enough of.

He’s not good with words, – in the past everything was just handed to him, – he had no clue how to actually work for someone’s affection.

Please be patient with him, – he’s trying, he really is 🥺. No matter how much he denies it, no matter how much he complains he hates being dependent on someone, no matter how much he claims how meaningless love is, you both know deep down these feelings of deep admiration and affection aren’t one sided. Sometimes, that fact alone can get you through even his most frustrating of times. He pushes you away because he feels guilty, but almost immediately does he regret his actions and desire your presence more than anything. The things you do to him

He lost his original form centuries ago, abandoning it after his near fatal confrontation with the sorcerers of the Heian Era. Gravely wounded, he absolved to staying hidden, laying low in the shadows. Sometimes he wished he still had that form, – still had his four arms, his two faces– he felt stronger, prettier in that body. Despite how much you told him how beautiful his current, two-armed form was, he wonders if you would’ve liked his original form– what it could do, how it could please your body. (But most of all he missed his two massive cocks to shove deep inside you–)

Ryomen Sukuna is very insecure about his image as the feared “King of Curses”. He’d be seen as weak, like he’d gone soft, – if anyone found out about you. That did little to deter you from showering him with your affections though <3 Even if he struggled to receive such affections–:

“What the actual hell do you think you’re doing–”

“What? Am I not allowed to visit my darling husband at his job?”

“No- ..! Who exactly do you think you are, you can’t just waltz into wherever to embarrass me–” You were in an empty classroom in what would be the normal time for lunch. The students would be out eating, so it was only you and him.

“Is that really all you think I do? Embarrass you?” You fought to conceal the pained expression threatening to bubble up to the surface.

“Yes! Do you know what they’ll think of me if they see me with you? He snaps angrily

“Are you.. Ashamed of me?” You blink

“What-? No, of course not” His face contorts into a scowl

“Then why can’t people see me with you?!”

“That’s not what I meant–” He hisses

“Yeah?” you retort, “then, what did you mean by that?”

“I–....” Ryomen Sukuna only ever seems to find himself short of words with you

Nodding curtly, “I’ll take my leave then” you make your way to the door

“Wait-” you pause, he hated seeing you upset. It made him feel hopeless, it made him feel weak. “tsk, nevermind. Leave then”

Huffing, you step out the door. Your second foot never even leaves the threshold before you’re lifted up by a pair of strong arms.

“Gah-! Ryomen– what the hell?!”

“Shut up.” the curse growls, placing you down on the nearest desk with a surprising gentleness, “just shut up.” He nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck

You smile, accustomed to his brazenness, knowing this was him succumbing to his own affections for you.

“I’ll be quieter next time.”

“Mmm… don’t be”

“Oh?” you quirk an eyebrow, “are you no longer embarrassed of being seen with me?”

“No,” he grumbles, “if any pathetic worm dares to utter something against me, I’ll cleave their head off”

Chuckling, “charming”

“I’ll do it for you too” that part he whispers, so low you almost miss it. Almost.

“Awh, you’d slaughter anyone putting dirt on my name? And they say romance is dead 🥰”

“Shut the hell up.”

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

Sukuna Ryomen would have a special ringer set for you in his phone so whenever you’d text him he’d know it was you

He never responds to anyone’s texts,-- anyone’s that’s not yours.

The second he hears that notification that man is immediately scrolling. It took him years to figure out how to work a telephone,-- and he still kinda sucks at it. So it takes him a while to respond, – he’s just a slow typer :)

He’ll be in the middle of sparring with Yuji for his training when he’ll hear your notification and swiftly whip out his phone, – still in the middle of fighting. Poor Yuji will still be sweating his ass off trying his very diddly darn hardest to land a singular punch and he won't even glance up from his phone 😭

It doesn’t matter what he’s doing, – the guy could be in the middle of fighting a Special Grade and he’d start texting you about what he wants for dinner while simultaneously throwing slashes 😟

Not big on PDA, – but alone? Man, you can’t get the bastard off you, – blud’s clingier than a kitten 😭he just really likes being nice and snuggled up in your arms

Alone, will often call you, – regardless of gender, – doll, (whore), sweetheart (if you’re not being a pain in the ass), – possessive lil’ shit and likes to add ‘my’ in front of any pet name, just to enforce the fact that you’re his.

Calls you karasu –(Japanese word for raven)

Sukuna Ryomen is incredibly picky with what he eats, (unless it’s your ass–) – he needs his meals done in a very specific way, otherwise he’s just not eating. It needs to be your meals too. If bro forgets to bring lunch or you don’t have time to make one for him he just starves. He’s an absolute menace when hangry– super grumpy. None of the students can stand him hungry, – and he refuses to defile his delicate palette with fast food of all horrible things

You got some of those cute cookie cutters for sandwiches and gave him little star sandwiches one day for his lunch. Mans was over the fucking moon. His ass refuses to ever eat another sandwich again unless its cut into cute lil’ shapes 🤏🥺

Be careful if you ever decide to visit him at work after a certain amount of times, cuz he will make you useful: using you as a sparring partner, giving you chores, making an example out of you to the other students.

You’re strong enough to hold your own against the King of Curses in a quick spar, – which really only means you won’t get immediately eviscerated upon throwing hands.

You’re strong, but nowhere near as strong as Ryomen Sukuna.

He’d only give you a cocky smirk, telling you to hurry up and lock in. You stare at the expecting faces of Megumi, Nobara and Yuji – who you naturally have grown a rather close bond to, being around each other so often. He gives you a reassuring thumbs up, smiling with an expectant glamor. You gulp, glancing back at your husband who has the most shit-eating grin on his face. Oh, you were cooked.

You manage to successfully dodge at least two strong attacks before being thrown onto your ass, the wind knocked out of you. Huffing, you scramble up, irritation giving you newfound determination. The King only raises an eyebrow at you.

You explode into a sprint, dashing up behind him, seemingly catching him off-guard. You lean in real close to his ear, whispering in a sultry tone:

“Your shoelace is untied”

“What, I’m not even wearing shoelaces–” and he gets thrown into the nearest tree, snapping it in half.

“Hahah!!”

“No way, Sukuna just got his ass handed to him!” Nobara exclaims, grinning

“That was so cool!” gushes Yuji, sending a wave of pride flowing through you at his excitement.

It is short lived, as your husband comes up behind you, glaring with a burning passion in his eyes.

“You totally beat him up, you sent him flying–” Megumi slaps a hand to Yuji’s mouth, his rambling getting choked off with a “mmph-!”

His smile is laced with dynamite as Sukuna dismisses the students early. Confused, but mostly relieved, the trio scurry away, Nobara and Yuji shouting cheery goodbyes over their shoulders.

Only you were close enough to see the raging lust in the King of Curse’s many eyes. His gaze rakes over your body, tensed in a fight or flight state, predatory. You swallow, hard, chuckling nervously, “Heheheh…”

Oh man, you were so horribly, undoubtedly cooked.

(short smut begins below line)

----------

[AFAB vers.]

Sukuna is brutal, hips smashing against yours, large hands gripping so hard large bruises start to form on your hips. You cry out, sobbing, pleading with him to slow the fuck down. Sukuna only clicks his tongue, condescension dripping from his tone,

“Where’s all that confidence and strength from before, eh?”

“h..*hic*..huh-?”

“Tsk,” he grunts, slamming himself particularly hard into your leaking heat, causing you to scream in both pleasure and pain

“S..sukuna-!! P- *hic* please..-! I-..I can’t— I can’t– OHH~” You keel over, knees giving in from underneath you. You stay pressed firmly against the teacher’s desk– his desk– in his empty classroom, – only being held by Sukuna’s deadly grip. “I-It *hic*.. It– HURTS..- *hic*”

“You can,... and. you. will.” he punctuates each syllable with another unforgivable thrust, “You seemed confident enough you.. *pant* take me in a..- *pant* .. in a fight– fuck–” Warm cum swells, coating your insides white.

Your eyes roll violently to the back of your head, thighs squeezing desperately against him, instinctively trying to milk him for all he’s got, – despite the excess cum already spilling from your abused hole, kept in only by Sukuna’s massive cock. Was this the fourth or the fifth time..?

You lost count ages ago, numbers losing all sense of value along with everything else in your head, Sukuna absolutely fucking your goddamn brains out. Dumbed by his cock, you could only limply gaze dreamily through lidded eyes, a look of pure bliss on your face.

Sukuna grins down at your fucked out face, admiring you as his masterpiece. You looked so pretty impaled on his cock. Pulling your head back by your hair, he smashes his lips onto yours in a sloppy kiss. You truly were the best thing to come of his long, cursed life.

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

[AMAB vers.]

Sukuna is cruel, hips smashing against your ass, large hands gripping so hard large bruises start to form on your hips. He fucks you, bent over the desk, – his desk, in his empty classroom,-- and shaking like a pathetic mutt. You cry out, sobbing, pleading with him to slow the fuck down. Sukuna only clicks his tongue, condescension dripping from his tone,

“Where’s all that confidence and strength from before, eh?”

“h..*hic*..huh-?”

“Tsk,” he grunts, large hand closing around your swollen, throbbing cock. Your eyes widen in horror as he begins to jerk you off at a grueling pace, causing you to scream in both pleasure and pain

“S..sukuna-!! P- *hic* please..-! I-..I can’t— I can’t– OHH~” You keel over, knees giving in from underneath you. You stay pressed firmly against the desk only held by Sukuna’s torso. “I-It *hic*.. It– HURTS..- *hic*”

“You can,... and. you. will.” He punctuates each syllable with another unforgivable thrust, syncing with a violent pump to your cock, limpand emptied out. “You seemed confident enough you.. *pant* take me in a..- *pant* .. in a fight– fuck–” Warm cum swells, coating your insides white.

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

Sukuna brain-rot goes hard-!! He's such a goofy lil' guy, I love him :3

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sagesolsticewrites · 2 months

Text

Take A Break

Rosie runs into a childhood friend at the flak house.

Requested by anon, based on the prompts “I kissed you because I wanted to. Dumbass.” and “You’ve got stars in your eyes.”

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction based off the portrayal by the actors in the Apple TV+ series. I hold nothing but respect for the real life individuals referenced within.

As you stood on the front steps of Coombe House, you found yourself nervous for the first time since you’d started there.

Lieutenant Robert Rosenthal was the name at the top of the list of the latest group of soldiers assigned to the house, and since you’d been given it, you couldn’t stop thinking about a childhood friend of yours from Brooklyn with the same name.

Don’t be ridiculous, you scold yourself, reminding the sentimental part of you that the odds of it actually being Robbie were astronomical and you shouldn’t get your hopes up.

Pasting on your best smile as the car filled with boisterous soldiers pulls up, you shove those thoughts away.

“Hello gentlemen!” you call, “I’m Y/N. Welcome to Coombe House.”

You lead them around the house, reciting your spiel about the various activities and amenities, and then passing them off to Michael.

A gentleman who had been hanging towards the back of the group during the tour stepped up, calling your name as the rest of the group was led to their rooms.

“Robert Rosenthal,” he said, introducing himself, “I was just wondering--”

“Robbie?” you gasp.

The brightness in them had dimmed the slightest bit, but you'd recognize those kind blue eyes anywhere.

His brow furrows, no doubt baffled at hearing his childhood nickname all the way over in England.

“I’m sorry, how did you— Wait,” he scans your face, recognizing… something, “Y/N… L/N?”

At your answering nod, you’re tackled in a hug, his joyous, disbelieving laugh filling your ears.

“What are you—? How—?”

“I wanted to help out, and I guess the Army figured this is where my skills would be best put to use,” you explain with a laugh, “When I saw your name on the list I wasn’t sure if it was really you, but…”

“Gosh, Y/N, I haven’t seen you in…”

“Nearly 10 years? I know, I tried to keep in touch after we moved…”

You catch up with your friend, responsibilities forgotten — “So… Rosie, huh?” “Hey, you’d be surprised how little control you have over nicknames in the Army!” — until the clock begins to chime and you realize you’ve spent nearly half an hour just standing here talking.

As Robert begins to excuse himself, not wanting to take up any more of your time, you recall the incident that led to this conversation.

“Er, you said you had a question?”

He hums in confusion before remembering “Oh! Yeah, I was just wondering how long I have to be here…?”

“Unfortunately that’s not really up to me,” you reply with an apologetic shrug, “It’s the decision of your CO to send you boys out here, but you’re welcome to chat to Dr. Huston about it.”

“Though while you’re here,” you say as he’s about to walk away, “I’d recommend taking advantage of the baths and hot water. Absolutely life-changing.” You add with a teasing grin.

He lets out a laugh, though not nearly as genuine as you’d hoped. With that, Rosie thanks you and departs with a two-fingered salute

Robert spends the first couple days at the house keeping his distance from his crewmates, his eyes continually on the sky rather than taking part in the sports and activities available to the soldiers. He doesn’t seem like the boy you remember, but… well, there is a war going on. It’s changed everyone it touches.

One night you find yourself wandering the halls, unable to sleep, when you hear music coming from one of the sitting rooms.

“Hello?” You call softly, following the sounds of Duke Ellington to find Robert standing next to the record player, staring out the window at the darkened English countryside, soft curls tinted slightly blue in the moonlight.

He starts, then relaxes once he sees you.

“Hey,” he says, turning down the volume, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you-”

“I was up already,” you assure him, “Couldn’t sleep?”

“I guess I’m having a hard time with,” he gestures to the lavish country house with a shrug, “all this? I mean… all the croquet, badminton, riding with hounds— what even is that, by the way?”

Your lips twitch up into a smile as you move to stand beside him, “Foxhunting.”

“Foxhunting,” he sighs, shaking his head, “That’s exactly what I don’t need right now.”

He turns his gaze to the star-filled night sky, “What I need is to be back in that seat getting this job done.”

He continues, talking to himself almost as much as you, “Sittin’ here doing nothing, when people are bein’ persecuted and— I can’t— I had gotten into a rhythm, you know? Three days, three missions, easy. And now being yanked out of that, it’s like…”

He searches for an analogy, and you can’t help but smile at the one he lands on, recalling his fascination with music back when you were children.

“You don’t yank Gene Krupa out in the middle of a drum solo, and then expect him to pick right back up where he left off two weeks later, you know?”

You nod, understanding where he’s coming from. You recognized that while some jumped at the chance for a distraction, it was a more difficult adjustment for some soldiers to be thrust into this environment after so long in battle.

“Well, Gene Krupa’s not just responsible for his own rhythm, is he?” You say softly, following his analogy, “He’s responsible for the rhythm of the whole band. And if he’s off, then…”

Rosie nods, letting out a soft laugh, “Okay, I see where you’re going with that.”

“Seriously, Robbie,” you say, taking a chance and resting your hand on top of his on the windowsill, his gaze meeting yours at your touch, “If you don’t let yourself take a break, even just for a little while… it’s not gonna be good.”

He’s silent, and for a moment you worry you’ve overstepped.

Until he mumbles, in a voice so soft you’re not even sure you were meant to hear it, “You’ve got stars in your eyes.”

Maybe it’s the soft sounds of Duke Ellington still playing. Maybe it’s the moonlight, the calm silence filling the house.

Maybe it’s the way he’s looking at you like you’re the first good thing he’s seen in a long time.

You’re not quite sure what, but something possesses you to surge up onto your toes and press your lips to his.

His hand moves to your waist, pulling you closer, before he abruptly pulls away.

“I, ah…” He says, seemingly trying to gather his thoughts, “You didn’t just do that because you felt… sorry for me or somethin’, did you?”

Relief floods through you— he’s concerned with why you kissed him, not the mere fact that you did.

You cup his cheek, and Rosie’s eyes close, leaning into your touch as you say softly, “I kissed you because I wanted to.”

Then, after a moment’s consideration, you add with a smile, “Dumbass.”

His eyes shoot open as he barks out a laugh.

“Oh, that’s how it is, huh?”

Your giggles are swiftly silenced by his lips landing on yours once more, the tension finally leaving his shoulders for the first time in weeks.

The two of you end up on the couch, talking late into the night about what brought you to England, Rosie mostly telling you in hushed tones about the friends he’d made in the 100th— men that were no longer here, but lived on in his memory, and now yours. You fall asleep leaning against each other, still holding hands.

You shift, eyes fluttering open as the gray dawn light filters into the room. It takes you a moment to get your bearings, but you grin seeing Rosie asleep next to you, looking the most relaxed you’ve seen him since he arrived. With a single kiss to his forehead, you slip away to the women’s wing of the house until it’s an appropriate hour for you to stumble upon him in the sitting room.

Armed with a thick blanket and a coffee service, you creep in to see Rosie still sound asleep. Smiling, you gently lay the blanket over him, trying not to wake him. Unfortunately, he stirs the moment the blanket touches him.

He looks around, attempting to orient himself, and relaxes when he sees you.

“Good morning,” you grin, taking in his sleep-mussed curls shining golden in the morning light, “Coffee?”

“Please,” he replies in a voice rough with sleep, mustache twitching up into a smile as he sits up.

“Just don’t tell anyone, alright?” You say coyly as you prepare a cup, “I can’t be bringing all you boys breakfast in bed, now can I?”

“Well, I must be special,” he grins, taking the cup gratefully and adding with a wink, “I’ll take it to the grave.”

You’re glad to see him relax a tiny bit more over the group’s last few days at the house, and the two of you are able to find plenty of stolen moments together once everyone’s gone to bed.

When it’s time for them to return to base, he leaves you with a promise to write and a kiss. He captures your lips tenderly on the front steps, disregarding the whoops and cheers from his crew mates waiting in the Jeep, and you can’t help smiling despite yourself as they drive away, keeping your eyes on him for as long as you can.

#robert rosenthal #robert rosie rosenthal #rosie rosenthal #robert rosenthal x reader #robert rosie rosenthal x reader #rosie rosenthal x reader #masters of the air #masters of the air x reader #nate mann #nate mann rosie rosenthal #nate mann masters of the air #nate mann x reader #my writing

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steddiecameraroll · 11 months

Text

It Takes a Muscle to Fall In Love - Part 3

Part 1 Part 2 Part 4 Part 5

“Dude, it was so epic. We spent all weekend at Mike’s. Eddie’s campaign was one for the ages. I wish we could do that every weekend.” Dustin trails behind Steve while he restocks the shelves with returns.

“I’m sure Ted Wheeler loved you being there all day.” Steve wasn’t completely listening but trying to capture enough to stay engaged.

When Dustin got on his D&D rants, Steve’s brain always wanted to go into shutdown mode, and it takes active effort to pay attention.

“Not just during the day, Steve. We all spent the night too. Even Eddie and Eddie never does that. Started Friday, and I only got home at 8 pm on Sunday. I’m telling you, EPIC!” Dustin bounces around and misses when Steve pauses, slamming their bodies together.

Steve hits his elbow on the nearby shelves and groans. “Damnit, dude.”

“Sorry, sorry, shit.” Dustin helps Steve into a standing position. “You ok?”

“Yeah, just watch where you’re going.” Steve straightens his vest. “What do you mean all weekend?”

“All weekend.” Dustin shrugs. “We played all night at Mike’s after school on Friday. Then had a sleepover and played all day Saturday. Slept over again, and the only reason we stopped when we did was ‘cause Eddie had to get home and have Sunday dinner with Wayne.”

Steve absorbs that timeline information and tries to figure out when Eddie would’ve had a date interspersed in there. He knows about Sunday dinner. It’s the only time Wayne and Eddie’s schedules line up, so definitely not a lie to get away for a date.

“Did Eddie leave at any time?”

“No? Like in the middle of the campaign?”

“Yeah, for an hour or two? Just at any time?” Steve can feel a prickle crawl up the back of his neck.

“No,” Dustin furrows his brow. “That would’ve been weird.”

“Ha, yeah, yeah, weird. For sure. But… uh, did he mention plans of his getting canceled or something? For this weekend?” Steve’s stomach twists at the implication he’s uncovering.

“No, he’d been building that campaign for weeks and on the Hellfire calendar just as long. We were forbidden to make plans on those days. He would’ve banned us for life. There’s no way he had plans.”

“Oh,” Steve’s stomach drops, and he suddenly needs to escape.

He shoulders around Dustin, slams the videos in his hands down on the counter, surprising Robin where she stands, and stomps toward the employee-only door in the back.

“Steve?” Robin’s voice floats through the door before it shuts behind him.

He paces in the tiny cramped space trying to parce his thoughts together.

He feels so stupid.

Eddie hated it so much that he lied.

His blood boils as frustration seeps through his veins. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. As the back door creeps open, he kicks a nearby folding chair, sending it toppling against the locker-lined back wall.

“Fuck.” He covers his face and huffs in anger.

“Steve?” Robin’s voice is soft and cautious.

“He lied, Rob.” Steve tosses his hands to his sides and stumbles back, leaning against the wall.

“Who?” She props the door open to listen for any customers and slides up to Steve’s side.

Steve nervously glances at the open doorway while chewing on his bottom lip.

“I kicked Dustin out. What happened? I thought you two were talking about his D&D thing this weekend.” She nudges his shoulder with her own.

“Eddie,” his voice wobbles. “He-he lied to me. He told me he had this…thing this weekend. But he didn’t. Why would he do that?” He wraps his arms around himself, trying to ignore the burning in his chest.

“What thing? That doesn’t seem like him.”

“I know, um…just this thing.” He pushes himself away from the wall and starts pacing again. “I thought we were…I don’t understand why he would lie. I mean, he coulda talked to me. Told me he wasn’t interested. But instead, making up this whole thing as if I couldn’t figure it out. Shit.”

“Dingus, I’m gonna need a bit more context here to give valuable advice.” Robin’s eyes follow Steve back and forth.

“No, you know what? It doesn’t matter. Screw it.” He shakes his head and hears the tinkle of the front door. “Perfect, a distraction.”

Steve plasters his fake customer service smile on his face and strides through the back door when his eyes take in the customer.

“Stevie!” Eddie throws his arms up and smiles wide.

“Get out.” Steve keeps his voice calm even though his fingers are itching to grab the man by the shirt collar and scream at him for an explanation.

“What?” Eddie’s smile slips from his face.

“Eddie, maybe the two of you should talk later.” Robin appears behind Steve.

“I don’t understand.” Eddie looks between the pair anxiously.

“I don’t want to see you right now.” Steve’s entire body is shaking.

“W-what?”

“Don’t you have a…date to get to?”

Eddie’s eyes widen. He glances at Robin, seeing a look of confusion strewn across her face, and then he reflects back at Steve. If Steve weren’t so honed in on Eddie’s movements, he would’ve missed the exact moment Eddie felt the weight of his lie crumble down on him.

Eddie nods nervously and backs away. “I didn’t-“

Steve shakes his head, his jaw clenched tightly, trying to bite back his anger.

The bell above the front door cuts through all three of them when a mother and child enter the store, breaking the moment. Eddie bows around them and nods to Steve, glancing apologetically at Robin before heading outside.

Steve’s eyes track Eddie until his van has pulled out of the parking lot and driven away.

Tag list (let me know if you want to be added or removed): @sunfloweringstories @solalasoforth @blackpanzy @gw3n-st4cy @starman-jpg @sofadofax @goodolefashionedloverboi @stxrcrossed186 @loguine-linguine @vampireinthesun @unclewaynemunson @saganarojanaolt

#steddie #steddie fanfic #I promise a happy ending #comfort will come #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #steve x eddie #steddiecameraroll posts #my writing

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hannie-dul-set · 5 months

Text

PATIENCE, PATIENCE.

p — SIM JAEYUN x gn! reader. g — humor, fluff. w — swearing, making out, secondhand embarrassment aka the hannie-dul-set fic triumvirate + a good amount of public indecency. 1.5k words.

requested by — anon: cocky jock (who loses that cockiness around you) x reserved student librarian (who loses that cool because of him).

note — loosely inspired by a moment from the manhwa "unstoppable hayoung" ifykyk. in a prev fic i alluded beomgyu to a mosquito, in this one jake to a pest. i think i'm seeing a pattern here.

a pest has been following you for quite some time now.

“sim jaeyun.”

his name falls icy off your tongue, prefacing it with a sharp inhale yet the man in question is unfazed. he’s trespassing the barrier that’s preventing you from socking him in the face: the front desk of the library where he’s decided to prop his arms over, leaning into the surface, smiling oh-so-handsomely at you as if you aren’t politely telling him to fuck off with your eyes alone.

then again. you don’t really expect him to understand social cues.

“for the dozenth time, please leave me alone.”

so you verbalize your intent instead.

“i can’t do that, baby,” he replies. “not until you agree to go out with me.”

you suck in a deep huff of air, close your eyes, and dig your fingers into your thighs to ward away the distress.

“just one date. please?” he prods, nudging himself closer over the desk as if the scrawls of paper you’re trying to organize aren’t as important as his incessant badgering. “are you really going to keep saying no to this face?” the face in mention looks particularly punch-able right now. you’ve always taken pride in yourself for being a very patient, patient individual. jake sim from philosophy 102 is testing that patience.

“the library is for reading,” you say through gritted teeth. patience, patience, patience. you’re a daffodil on a breezy field, a piece of driftwood on a steady river. you will not fight a man in your workplace. you will keep your job and maintain inner peace.

“i am reading,” he argues. “i’m trying to read your mind because i don’t get why you don’t want to go out with me.”

holy crap. he’s insufferable.

“i’ve already told you dozens of times, jake.” now, you don’t know a thing or two about the ball sport he does, but that pink varsity jacket is starting to look abhorrent. it’s being shoved into your face the more he tries to throw himself over your desk. a bright jarring color, unsafe for the eyes. “i don’t want to go out with you. also, i’d appreciate if you stop ruining my work.”

one of the documents got wrinkled under his elbow. his mouth opens, “oh, sorry!” and he quickly backs off, ironing the sheet with his palms. “but at least tell me why you don’t want to go out with me. you keep rejecting me with a blank face but i don’t know why.”

your upper lip twitches.

because this is all because of a dare, that’s fucking why.

no, even that aside, the way he keeps arrogantly trying to hit on you, expecting you to just accept it and go is grinding your gears. you’re calm. you’re usually calm. but something about this guy just pushes all your buttons in one go, makes you spew out bullshit you’d never dare yourself to say to anyone else.

“hey,” your rouse. “can you kiss me right now?”

two can play at that game, bitch.

it works. it works really well because jake is suddenly as pink as his jacket. well, you don’t blame him. the library isn’t safe from gross, hormonal activities, but those are usually done in between the shelves— not at the front desk near the entrance.

you’re mimicking his stance, leaned forward, arms crossed over the desk and all. “like— like a peck on the cheek?” he stutters.

“no. like tongue in mouth kissing me like a starved man and it’s your last meal on death row,” you clarify. it’s funny how you can see his brain circuits crashing in real time. serves him right. you let out a breath and stand up, seeing the clock tick closer to your break. you quickly gather your things and circle out from behind the desk, now in cross-armed disappointment next to your persistent pest. “this is why i don’t want to go out with you, jake. you don’t even have feelings for me. you’re doing this because your friends told you to, and i don’t—”

suddenly, you feel something soft on your lips.

suddenly, your knees are weak, your mind is fuzzy, and you’re exchanging spit with jake sim in the library lobby.

wait, you gasp into his mouth and he responds with a grunt. wait, your eyelids flutter, air knocked out of your chest that’s somehow now pressed against his because wait— this wasn’t supposed to go this way.

how dare he actually do what you told him to? how dare he give you the best damn kiss you’ll ever have in your life?

“what the fuck?” you breathe out in intermittent huffs, hands on his chest as you pull yourself back. jake’s hazy eyes are looking at you in a way that makes your brain jump in circles, coupled by the arm that he has looped around your lower back. he’s crazy. he’s fucking crazy. “why— why would you do that?!”

“you told me to kiss you!”

“and you did?!”

your eyes widen at the volume of your own voice, quickly slapping a hand over your swollen lips, but making noise is at the bottom of your library sins today. you see your supervisor’s attention on you from the corner of your eye, and your face flushes. “why would you go this far for a dare?” you say in a quieter voice, still manic, still frantic, and jake flinches hard when you jab a finger to his chest. “you’re nuts, you’re actually nuts, oh my god—”

“wait, what do you mean dare?” your finger seems to be hurting him because he grabs your wrist and brings your hand down. “a dare? a dare to do what?”

you seethe. “don’t play dumb with me, jake. overheard you and your little soccer friends last time—”

“it’s football—”

“i don’t care.” your voice is getting louder again. jake flinches once more. “the problem here is you keep asking me out to date you because your soccer friends are betting on who can bed the quiet library assistant first and— and i’m not going to play dumb just because you’re a good kisser. i’m angry and disgusted and—”

“do you mind continuing your argument outside?”

your mouth is hanging open, paused mid-speech. when you peer to your left, you see that your supervisor has teleported right next to you. oh, god. there goes your job. jake apologizes for the both of you and skews your frozen figure out the door. you’re screwed. your patience could handle six months at starbucks and three months babysitting three toddlers, but i cannot handle one sim jaeyun.

“so,” the perpetrator’s voice snaps you back to reality. you’re both now outside the library, and he’s looking at you with a smugness that begs a kick to the balls. “you think i kiss good.”

your face bitters. “is that your only takeaway from all that?”

“no,” he shakes his head. “i also got that you’re rightfully mad at me for something i have to clear up.”

here we go. you’re curious to see what excuses he’ll make, how many sorry’s he’ll impart, and if he’ll get down on his knees. jake. but his starting words aren’t what you’re hoping for. “there isn’t a bet,” he starts. “my teammates were just trying to tease me because i didn’t have the balls to ask you out. dumb, i know, but they were dumber because they were all like, ‘if you don’t make a move soon, we will, blah, blah, blah’ to provoke me so—”

jake is matching his varsity jacket again.

“long story short, i made them run fifteen laps and decided to get it over with by asking you out on a date.”

you’re brought back to the first instance jake had asked you out— it was in the lecture hall, right after class, and he was wearing the same pink jacket that at this point seems like his second skin. the color isn’t as jarring as you initially thought.

“but rejection didn’t feel nice. so i thought i’d try again.”

you narrow your eyes. “again, as in like, eight times?”

“you counted?” he muses. you are unamused. he clears his throat and continues. “you’re always so calm and collected, but your eyebrows would furrow and your face would scrunch up whenever i threw you the question. it’s cute. i got addicted. you can’t pin all the blame on me.”

you let his words simmer, and with each passing second of silence jake grows more nervous, fidgeting in wait. you decide to spare him the agony, letting out a deep and heavy sigh. “okay. you’re forgiven.”

it’s instantaneous how his face lights up. now, you’re the one flinching.

“nice! does that mean we’re dating now? can i kiss you again?”

“now hold on,” you stop him, mildly appalled, mostly flustered. “i said i forgive you. i never said we can start making out in a public area again.”

he bats his eyes at you. “in private then?”

you want to hit him. you want to hit him so bad. sim jaeyun is the pest that has been following you for quite some time now. you fear that at this point, there’s no getting rid of him now.

PATIENCE, PATIENCE. © hannie-dul-set, 2023.

#enhypen x reader #enha x reader #enhypen jake x reader #sim jaeyun x reader #jake sim x reader #enhypen scenarios #enha scenarios #sim jaeyun scenarios #jake sim scenarios #enhypen imagines #enhypen x you #sim jaeyun x you #jake sim x you

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taylor-swift-imagines · 1 year

Text

Break up prank

Pairing: Taylor Swift x (female) reader

Warnings: None

Requested: @girl-style-now

Request: Can you do Y/N pranking Taylor telling her that shes breaking up with her?

***

Taylor Swift has been your girlfriend of five years now and you both couldn’t be happier, nothing else in the world made you both happy than being together.

You had been moved in with Taylor for about two years now, and things couldn’t get any better than this. You were both just so happy together, always snuggled up to each other on the soft sofa in her theater room, watching a movie while enjoying each other’s company. The most challenging part of this relationship is when you couldn’t make it on tour with her, and it saddened you that you wouldn’t be able to tag along on her Eras tour.

There were only a couple days left until Taylor leaves for tour and each passing hour was agonizing for you, as you wouldn’t see her for a few months. When the night before had arrived, you couldn’t stop yourself from letting tears roll down your cheeks at the thought of her being gone for so long, although you would Skype each other every night wasn’t enough for her. You needed to be with her in the flesh, but it’s not going to work for you this time. When Taylor first met you, it didn’t take long for her to understand that she was dating a prankster. Pranking was your favorite activity, but all of those pranks you pulled were harmless, but they got people extremely upset at you and you had even lost a few friendships to them. You’ve pranked basically everyone you know, everyone that is, except for Taylor.

As that thought had come across your mind, you got a wicked idea. You were going to do a break up prank on her just like on some of the YouTube videos you’ve seen couples do to each other. It’s one of the meanest pranks you could pull, and it could cost you a lot. But when you mentioned your idea to Taylor’s best friend, Selena Gomez, she wanted in on it. Selena was stopping by the following morning to help Taylor pack her bags and suitcases in the trunk of her car before taking to drop her off at her private jets. When the following morning arrived, you quietly answered the door when Selena texted you she was outside and ready to help you out. You went over to your big walk in closet and pulled out two black empty suitcases and took them with you outside to meet her.

The plan was now in action.

You watched from the side of the house until Taylor went back inside for her final bag and that’s where you come in asking for Selena to call Taylor back outside for a talk.

“Hey, Taylor? Could you please come back for a second?” She called.

Taylor reappeared and when she saw you with the suitcases of your own, she had a confused yet, very concerned look on her face before she started asking questions.

“What’s this? What’s going on, (Y/n)?”

“Well… there’s no easy way to tell you this, so I’m just going to come right out and say it.”

“Okay..”

Anxiety was pricking at Taylor’s heart as she thought she already knew what you were going to say, what this was going to be about.

“I think we need to take a break.. while you’re on your at least.” You say, looking away.

Selena had a guilty look on her face suggesting that she almost regretted helping you out on this.

“What do you mean? Have I done something to make you want to leave? How can I fix it?”

Taylor was frantic now as she continues to reason with you to stay.

“Can we at least talk about this-“

That’s when it hit Taylor that this must be one of your many pranks.

“Wait a minute… this is a prank, isn’t it?” She asks, sounding irritated.

“You guessed it! Selena here helped me out on it, too!”

Taylor looks over and spared a death glare at Selena before turning back to you.

“Don’t do that to me, (Y/n)! I really thought you meant that and you especially can’t do this to me right as I’m head out for tour!” Taylor sounded choked up as she says this, having you feel guilty.

“I’m sorry, Taylor. I never meant to scare you, it was supposed to be just a prank. I would never leave you, I love you too much.”

Taylor heavily sighs before engulfing you into a hug.

“I love you too, (Y/n). Just.. promise me you won’t do that again.”

“Of course, I promise.”

You weren’t able to make it for the drive to the airport due to online courses, so instead, you walk Taylor to the passenger’s side of Selena’s car and opened the door for her.

Taylor gave you a kiss before getting into the car, closing the door shut as you watched until the car was out of sight. This was the worst prank yet, but you loved each other so much to let anything come between your relationship.

Your love for each other was real.

This proves it.

***

@taylor-swift-imagines

Requests: Open

#taylor swift imagines #taylor swift imagine #taylor swift x reader #taylor swift #taylor swift x female reader #requests #request #requested

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softichill · 8 months

Text

The Sounds of Nightmares unofficial transcript

Chapter 4 - Two of a Kind

(As always, made with the help of @queen0fm0nsterz!!!)

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

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

[CLICK]

[Something is booted up]

OTTO: Duality. A notion essential to psychology. We all contain a multitude of personas and change proverbial masks to match our present situations. [Shifting] The body is the container for this legion within, allowing us to maintain the important illusion of a singular self, the very basis of human experience. In Noone, there lies both the innocent child and the disturbed traveler. Both fight for control. But what happens when the duality is not only in the mind?

[Click]

Recording of NOONE: “T…Two breaths. Why could I hear him breathing? Why could I feel them breathing? My body was sh–”

[Tape is cut off with a click]

OTTO: Given her vanishings, I fear it is not only her inner self which has become subject to division, but her body as well. One child, torn between two worlds… Either I have lost my marbles, or we tread ever deeper into territories beyond the boundaries of rational thought.

[Click, tape rewinds]

[Intro plays]

[Click can be heard twice. Young voices scream joyfully in the background, muffled through a wall]

NOONE: Otto? What is this place?

OTTO: The reunion room.

NOONE: Is that cake they’re eating? May I have some? Can I go in there?

OTTO: I’m sorry, you may only watch. My colleagues don’t allow inpatients to mingle with outpatients. …Those who are ready to go home to their families, I mean. Sit tight, and I’ll get you some cake.

[Otto walks away]

OTTO, distant, fading: Get me a piece of cake. Piece of cake? Get me a piece of cake… [Door closes]

[Otto walks back in]

OTTO: There! A fine chocolatey slice.

NOONE: They’re not waving back…

OTTO: Ah, it’s a two-way mirror. We can observe them but they can’t observe us. …(inhales) I’d – like to ask about last night.

NOONE, eating: Mh? Last night?

OTTO: You were in bed with the brain activity monitor on. One moment you were there, and the next – gone! Where… did you go?

NOONE: I don’t understand…

OTTO: (inhales) I watched you myself so I know you didn’t get up and leave the room.

NOONE: Wasn’t I asleep? I don’t recall any of this.

OTTO: ...You vanished, Noone.

NOONE: Huh?

OTTO: I – I thought I might have been mistaken at first, but the E.E.G. readings persisted, as if you were still there. Several minutes lapsed, then you reappeared.

NOONE, distressed: That makes no sense!

OTTO: This wasn’t an isolated event.

NOONE, even more distressed: What do you mean, I can’t just — [raising her voice] people just don’t disappear! [breathing heavily] You’re supposed to help me! You’re supposed to understand…

[Noone breathes hard in the background, on the verge of a panic attack]

OTTO: And yet neither of us do! It’s a major event, a bonafide anomaly. That’s why you must be sure that –

NOONE, interrupting: Is there some kind of trick?!

OTTO: It’s alright. [Noone is still breathing hard] Look at me. Focus on my eyes. Breathe. Noone, slowly.

[Noone’s breaths slow down slightly]

OTTO, under his breath: Breathe, two, three… Hold, two, three… Out, two, three…

[Noone follows his instructions, breathes slower]

OTTO: That’s it. That’s a girl.

[Noone stops breathing hard]

OTTO: Better?

NOONE: … Why did you take me here, Otto?

OTTO: I know solitude can be hard, and visualization is essential to developing beliefs that will –

NOONE: It’s being alone I hate. It’s being lonely.

OTTO: And I’m showing that, one day, you’ll be in the reunion room too! Just as relieved as those children, sharing cake rather than eating it by yourself. But you have to trust my process, even when it’s difficult for you to grasp.

NOONE: (Sigh) I understand more than you think.

OTTO: … Yes. I suspect so too. Hidden somewhere in your head. Come along! We’ve got preparations to make before tonight’s session.

NOONE: …Can we stay here? A minute longer?

OTTO: (Sigh) Alright. Just until you finish that slice.

[The recording stops momentarily and picks up mid sentence]

NOONE: – o many wires! T-They’re everywhere!

[Strapping, Otto preparing the machine]

OTTO: It’s the same E.E.G. machine I use to monitor your sleeping brain, only now I’d like to acquire readings during wakefulness, during your retelling to compare results.

NOONE: My last doctor made me do things like this all the time. [Otto prepping] Tubes into my stomach… I– I don’t much like being awake for tests and proddings.

OTTO: [hums] These electrodes may feel strange on your scalp, but there’s no pain. Nothing to worry about. If anxiety rears its head, take deep breaths. Same as earlier, yes?

NOONE: I– I’m not sure –

OTTO, interrupting: (slightly strained) Trust, remember?

[Shifting. The machine boots up, activates and Noone winces]

OTTO: Not so bad, is it?

NOONE: Can we get this over with?

OTTO: Of course! Begin as you like.

NOONE, narrating: I spun out of a dark place, and brilliant lights sparkled around. Then, far off laughter, and screams. But… screams of joy. Gathering my head, I… I saw other kids sitting on wooden crates nearby. As I approached, they were surprised to see me, but introduced themselves one by one.

[Quiet music begins, machine can still be heard]

NOONE, narrating: They were performers, they said. Each with different skills and talents. Juggling, fire breathing, trapy-something…

OTTO, correcting her: Trapeze?

NOONE: Trapeze! That’s what he said. (narrating) The boy called Rusty, he – he walked tightrope too. There were caravans all around: wooden ones, big yellow wheels, and all these colorful fabrics. I noticed the lights again. Fairy lights, shining down into the puddles from the rain that cleared before I’d arrived. Their reflection, swirling in the murky water, like a ballet. It was… beautiful.

NOONE: (sighs) As I lost focus, the others went on talking, fast and loud as teenagers do.

OTTO, interrupting again: Teenagers? And how long have they been there, performing in this place?

NOONE: Please, Otto! Let me get through it.

[Shifting. The carnival grows louder and distorted speech can be heard]

NOONE, narrating: From the way they looked, they’d been there a long time. But they were confident, or tried to be, and kind. As the clouds parted, Rusty asked if I wanted to go on a ride.

RUSTY, in the background, ov. with Noone: “Wanna go on a ride?”

NOONE: He said,

RUSTY, bg., ov. with Noone: “It’s the best one, because it lets you see clearly.”

NOONE: So, I said yes, feeling… a part of their gang. I’ve never had that before.

[Carnival games and music, steps]

NOONE: We passed by games and silly booths until we came to… the giant wheel. [The ferris wheel creaks] We climbed into the seats in pairs, me and Rusty taking the last cart.

[Sitting, the wheel creaks again]

NOONE: It went so high up that… I could see the whole carnival. It was… unnaturally high, like – like we were in the sky itself. [Wind blows, music quiets] Rusty pointed to these tall wooden polls, like- masts on a ship, as if that answered where we were, but… how could a ship be in the air? Rusty saw my face full of questions and said,

RUSTY, ov. with NOONE: “Look down, not out. You won’t feel sick that way, and we haven't much time.”

[Wind blows]

NOONE: I… I remember feeling, for a moment, things were OK. On the giant wheel, for the first time in such a long time I… I felt… happy. But, Rusty… he suddenly seemed so sad. His voice shifted and he continued,

RUSTY, ov. with NOONE: “That massive tent there, that’s the Big Top.”

NOONE: He said we’d be going there soon because him and his friends had a show to put on. I already knew the answer, but I asked anyway: “You don’t like performing, do you.” He looked glum for a moment before replying: “I hate it.” When I asked why he does it, Rusty mumbled to himself,

RUSTY, bg.: I…

NOONE: … But I couldn’t hear with the wind so loud. Finally Rusty turned and said,

RUSTY, ov. with Noone: “They force us. And whatever they say, goes.”

NOONE: I didn’t know who “they” were, but a bad feeling came over me and… I understood why we were really on that wheel. Because, all the way up there, he could say what was in his heart without worrying about being heard.

[Creaking wood]

NOONE: As the wheel came around, he began explaining very fast how him and his friends had been planning. Rusty wanted me to be part of a special show, where they would try something they’d never done before. He told me that my job was to be lookout. That if… I saw a man in a purple suit, I needed to give him the sign while he walked the tightrope. I asked, “Is this the man who makes you put on shows?” Without really answering, Rusty kept talking.

RUSTY, ov. with Noone: “In the spotlight, some glow, while others shrivel into shadows. We glow, and do as told, or…”

NOONE: He didn’t finish the thought, but, I understood. The times I was on TV, I’d have done anything to avoid all those lights. So I said, “A simple sign won’t do. I’ll have to shout. A code only we’ll understand. How about… Big Top?” He agreed it was a good idea and I realized he didn’t tell me what they were planning, but… when I saw him staring out at the clouds, I asked, “You mean to escape, don’t you? The carnival?” And he quickly said,

RUSTY, ov. with NOONE: “This entire… rotten world.”

[Silence. Narration stops.]

[Machine whirring]

OTTO: Was the boy expressing knowledge of a world beyond this carnival?

NOONE: I hadn’t thought about it until now, but… I guess so. And, I felt that too.

OTTO: Then – All the places you’ve been are one and the same?

NOONE: Sort of. It’s like how this basement is connected to the upper floors, but don’t work- together.

OTTO: Why didn’t you ever express this before?!

NOONE: What’s so impo–

OTTO, interrupting: You’ve sensed that the dreams you visit hold a tangible, sustained existence?! That these spaces are objective!? Physically… there?!

NOONE: I — uh, I think so? I don’t know how it works, but… it feels that way, yes. …Do you finally believe me?

OTTO: Giving the mere thought validity would have my license revoked! Yet I admit there’s potential that what you say is true. It offers some explanation of your… spiriting away, last night.

[Pause, machine running in the background]

OTTO: …I’d need to see it for myself.

NOONE: See it yourself?! You’re supposed to help me avoid going there!

OTTO: I need to reach it with you! To find that… quidity of consciousness we spoke of!

NOONE: Why would you want that?

OTTO: …

NOONE: How can I trust you if you don’t answer my questions sometimes?! It isn’t fair!

OTTO: (Sigh) …I… I lost someone dear to me, you understand? A long time ago. …Part of me believes that they may be there.

NOONE: (Upset) So that’s the reason you’re so fascinated by me, isn’t it?! [Starting to breathe hard again] That’s why you have me do- all these tests and experiments, to find them!

OTTO: Now you’re the one being unfair.

NOONE: Well, you can’t even get there!

OTTO: Why not?!

[Noone’s breathing quiets, still upset]

NOONE: …it’s Nowhere.

OTTO: Nowhere? What do you mean??

NOONE: It’s a place… that Is… and Isn’t.

OTTO: Did the boy, [stuttering] Rusty, say that? The Candleman??

NOONE: Neither.

OTTO: I can’t help you if you hide things from me.

NOONE: I tell you everything! You know what’s in my brain- more than I do!

NOONE: [breathing harder] There’s things on my head.

OTTO: Breathe, Noone… breathe…breathe. Deep. Follow my rhythm.

[Noone and Otto take deep breaths, pulsing notes rise in the background]

OTTO: Alright, okay. If the theatrics are done, we must press on.

NOONE: I want to stop.

OTTO: The sooner you finish, the sooner we’ll be free.

[Noone pauses, takes a few more deep breaths]

NOONE, narrating: We went to the Big Top. Rusty, and the others got all dressed up. In- amazing costumes. Black and white with sparkles. And another in… a fancy red coat.

NOONE: Rusty lead me round to the towering stage, placing me in the front, saying,

RUSTY, ov. with NOONE: “Best seats in the house.”

NOONE: I felt… so special. [distant music starts] Until, Rusty looked around, with that worried face again. Without another word, he went backstage, as the crowd started pouring in.

[Distorted speech]

NOONE: These… “people”... were the wrong shape. Faces like… bad drawings come alive. [thunk] One sat down in the seat to my left, eating… [crunching] a candy apple. It… it stank horribly [Dream!Noone gags] and, the center was mushy and raw.

NOONE: These… plump bodies filled the seats, too big for them, crushing and… spilling into one another. [Crunching and chewing] At the same time stuffing their faces with- rancid snacks, all grisly and chewy. I thought to throw up, but, as the lights dropped, [lights shutting off] everything went still.

[Pause, light turns on]

NOONE: Then… [drumroll, faint trumpet] a spotlight [cheering] illuminated the stage, and the kid in a red coat walked to the middle. He put on amazing magic tricks, [whoosh] that almost made me forget where I was. For his final trick, he waved around the swirling cloak, smoke spilling out, and topped off with a bang! [sparkles pop, cheering]

NOONE: When cloak dropped, he had disappeared, [whooshing] and in his place, were two different kids. They had sticks near their mouths, blowing fire. That did it for the crowd. [Distorted cheering gets louder] Then I remembered– I was playing lookout! But I saw no man in a purple suit, and I was distracted as the firebreathers finished and, jugglers came on.

[More cheering]

NOONE: They took the flaming sticks from their friends, and threw them so high in the air, [Dream!Noone cheering] I… I found myself cheering with the crowd! [Dream!Noone clapping and cheering] And then the lights went down again, [click, drumroll] marking the final act.

NOONE: (Quiet) The spotlight blared again, shining at the top of the tent. Way up… standing at one end of a rope between two ladders… was Rusty. The others stopped, staring in complete quiet. He started walking… slowly… then with more confidence. The silent went on too long, like we were all under a spell. And… that’s when I noticed… [quiet breathing] something beside me, in the seat that had been empty a moment ago.

OTTO: (incredibly distant) The man in the purple suit?

NOONE: I heard him before I saw him. [breathing] T…Two breaths. Why could I hear him breathing? Why could I feel them breathing? My was shaking but, his attention was on Rusty.

[Cheering, Dream!Noone gasps]

NOONE: Noticing that I wasn’t cheering, the man turned. He had no eyes. But I felt him look at me. How can someone with no eyes look at you?

[More breathing, cheering picks up again]

NOONE: Then, I saw a smaller man in his lap. [A smaller, faster set of breathing starts] A- dummy, only… he wasn’t made of wood or plastic, and had hair atop a lumpy face where… a wider mouth had been carved out. Unlike the man, the puppet had eyes, staring at the spotlight above.

NOONE: Suddenly the crowd burst into a cheer, [cheering] as Rusty reached the middle of the rope, but, the dummy’s face crinkled, full of hate- wanting those cheers for himself. I was the only one not clapping, and he turned to face me. I’m not sure if they spoke, or- if it was in my head, but with a smile, they invited me to be part of the show.

NOONE: [Cheering gets louder] That’s when I shouted “Big Top! Big Top!” But the crowd was booming! Rusty made it across the rope, but… but instead of climbing down the ladder he began climbing towards a small cut in the fabric at the top of the tent. I turn back… and the man was still there, limp, but his dummy… his dummy was… [Noone’s breathing picks up] gone, right near- Rusty–

NOONE: [Breathing heavily now] “BIG TOP!” I tried to scream– tearing my throat, but– I had no breath!– And then– [Attempts a deep breath] I saw the dummy– It’s lumpy face peering out from the shadows– at the top of the tent– Waiting for Rusty.

[Ambience become more intense]

NOONE: The man beside me grew shy– both loving the praise, and– regretting the attention. [Noone’s breathing gets faster, ambience picks up] I can hear him breathing again– between breaths– (unintelligible)*– I tried and tried to shout but– it was too late!– Rusty was finally out of the spotlight!– And the tiny doll man lunged!– And– Rusty!– Rusty–

OTTO: [Dream ambience suddenly stops, loud machinery] Did he escape, did he manage?

NOONE, not narrating: Get this thing!– off my head!!

OTTO: Was Rusty able to get away?!

NOONE: [Hyperventilating] NO I DON’T LIKE IT! Rusty!!–

[Noone continues hyperventilating, machinery gets louder]

OTTO: Okay- okay okay- alright, alright, deeep breaths. Deeeep breaths, follow me. Like this now, one-

NOONE: AAA! TWO!! BIG TOP!!

[Otto attempting to get Noone to breathe, Noone having a panic attack]

OTTO: Slow down, slow down, slow down- breathe.

NOONE: RUSTY!! TWO!!! TWO!!!

OTTO: Just breathe-

NOONE: BIG TOP!! THE BIG TOP!!!

OTTO: Two… three… One… two…

NOONE: Deep breaths– One– One body**–

[machinery suddenly shuts down]

OTTO: Noone? [suddenly standing up] Noone! Noone!

[Shifting, moving furniture, crashing. Audio cuts]

[Pause]

[Click, audio starts]

OTTO: Mercifully, the only irreparable damage this evening was the wound cut in Noone’s confidence towards me. (Inhale) What concerns me more is the lack of detail in her retelling. A step backwards, which may be the result of her preoccupation with the testing equipment.

OTTO: Her body dysmorphia was exacerbated. That celebrity doctor’s to blame, whatever he put her through. And all those poor children… but it’s causing her to become furtive.

[pen clicks, paper rustling]

OTTO: I’ve exhumed the journals published by my outer circle of colleagues, with whom I’ve lost touch. [pages turning] While I previously entertained the possibility of a multitude of realms, a singular space seems more probable, and in line with their transcendental musings.

[Closes paper]

OTTO: While their studies are conjecture, I can no longer deny the empirical signs pointing towards such peripheral existence! Why then, are my senses unable to perceive it whatsoever? There’s a veil up. Ha! Yes, like a two-way mirror. Only I’m the one stuck on the side of blind, deaf, and dumb ignorance.

OTTO: (sigh) And the lurking presence of the Ferryman. While he may be a master of dream manipulation, he’s no denizen here. Noone said it many sessions ago: He does not belong in our world. And yet, he’s the connective tissue. I am determined to find his arcane hinterland- to cross into the place she calls… “Nowhere.”

[Outro plays]

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

*It's really hard for me to hear what she says here, sorry!

**Take this with a grain of salt, I'm not entirely sure I heard right

#little nightmares #ln #the sounds of nightmares #tson #noone #otto #ln noone #ln otto #otto ln #noone ln #transcript #the sounds of nightmares transcript #No Ferryman appearance this episode beyond Otto's mention of him...... hrmmm #Otherwise GRARARAGRHGR!!!! GRAAAAHG!!!!!!!!!!! /POSITIVE #THE VOICE ACTORS WERE FUCKING AMAZING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!#AND THE STORY IS RAAAGH #This episode was written by Supermassive WHICH MEANS this is probably the same Carnival location that'll be in LN3!!!!!!!#Otto. Otto. I am fucking strangling you. You are doing mad science NOT therapy #You deserve to get your license revoked goddamn. You suck at this

103 notes · View notes

greg-montgomery · 1 year

Text

Ivy - Part 10

gif by: @hotch-girl <3

Aaron Hotchner x Fem!Reader (Sean Hotchner x Fem!Reader)

Series summary: Your relationship with your boyfriend, Sean, is going great. Well, that is until you meet his older brother, Aaron.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9

my besties <333 i'm sorry it took me a while to update, but i'm here!! don't yell at me for not tagging anyone in this, no one gets notifications from me anymore, so there was no point. idk who is gonna see this without any tags but i'm posting it for the people who ask me about it and are waiting for an update 🥹 ilysm!!!!! this chaper is hurt/comfort and they're all gonna be okay! i promise!

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

“I’m saying we should double the prize. A hundred thousand dollars for your one and only. Sounds fair to me.”

Spencer held the button of Garcia’s device so he could speak without being heard by the people on the other side of the phone. “Agree with him.”

Sean nodded, looking at his almost empty apartment, left alone now with only Spencer and Penelope.

“Fine. A hundred thousand dollars. Tell me the place and I’ll bring them to you,” he said with confidence.

“I’m not telling you the location more than half an hour before our meeting. Do you think I’m stupid?”

Yes, Sean wanted to say, but he held back. “Alright. I’ll have them ready by eight o’clock tonight.”

“Good. Wait for my call around that time then. Say goodbye to pretty Y/N for now,” the man’s mocking voice replied, before hanging up.

Sean closed his eyes, exhaling as if it was the first time he had breathed all day. “Jesus…”

“You did a great job,” Spencer said. “They think you’re gonna meet in the evening so they won’t attempt to move locations for now.”

Reid’s reassuring words were comforting, but the weight on his chest was still heavy. “I won’t feel okay until Aaron calls me and tells me he has her.”

You, in his brother’s arms. His greatest fear had somehow turned into his greatest wish. As long as you were safe, nothing else mattered to him.

Being tied up and alone in a basement left plenty of time for your thoughts to travel wherever they desired. At first, those thoughts were filled with Aaron, and Jack, and Sean. But after that last phone call, your fantasies had shifted. This time they were violent and they involved the chair you were currently sitting at, and you using it to hit your kidnappers in the face.

They had, at least, finally shut up and left the room; although you were certain they were still in the house. You closed your eyes to appreciate the silence before a loud bang disturbed your little moment of peace.

“FBI! Drop your weapons.”

Aaron.

Aaron was here.

You smiled. Aaron was here and it was all going to be okay.

You could hear loud noises and yells from the other room, but you couldn’t make out everything that was being said. Two sentences, though, arrived perfectly clear to your ears.

“Where is she?”

“Hotch, slow down, you’re gonna kill him.”

Listening to the mess that was taking place on the other side of the wall and not being able to see any of it was actively killing you, but that torture ended fast when the door opened and you finally got to see the love of your life after a day full of agony.

Your heart melted at the sight of him and the tears you didn’t know you still had inside you spilled.

“Baby…” you cried, as he rushed to get next you.

Derek and Emily followed him, still pointing with their guns. “There’s no one else here,” you informed them.

“Sweetheart…” Aaron’s voice got your attention again. He kneeled in front of you, and started untying you gently.

It was hard for you to get any words out, your voice choked by your sobs.

“I’m here now. You’re okay.” he said.

“You’re here.”

“I’m here. I got here on time,” he said, kissing your forehead. You weren’t sure if he was talking to you or himself. “I got here on time,” he repeated against your skin. “You’re alive, I wasn’t too late this time. I wasn’t too late.”

“What did you do to them?” you whispered.

“That’s not for you to worry about,” Aaron answered softly, helping you to stand up and then immediately lifting you up in his arms.

You could feel the eyes of his team on the two of you. You knew how it looked, yet you did not have the energy to care. You hid your face in the crook of his neck, holding onto one of the straps of his vest, as he walked you out of the building, protecting yourself from seeing the reason behind the blood that had stained the sleeves of his white shirt.

Getting checked up by the doctors didn’t take long since - besides the scars on your wrists and ankles by being tied up - there wasn’t a single scratch on your body.

You shut your eyes letting yourself surrender to the safety of being in Aaron’s car. He was talking on the phone with someone from his team, but you didn’t pay attention to what he was saying, his voice muffled with the sound of the few drops of rain that were falling on your windows, the soft melody coming from the radio, and the sound of the other cars passing. His hand was holding yours, resting on his lap. He squeezed it softly every few seconds as if to make sure you wouldn’t suddenly disappear.

“Sean…” you whispered.

“I called him. He knows you’re okay.”

“Good.” You smiled, and finally dozed off.

Your nose was buried in something soft. A hand was playing with your hair and the sweet feeling of sleep was taking over your body, but you resisted it. Where were you?

Your eyes fluttered open, being met with the fabric of a gray t-shirt. Turning your body to lay on your back and looking up, you saw a pair of brown eyes staring at you sweetly.

“What time is it?” you asked, not recognizing your own voice.

“It’s four in the morning.”

“Four?” You palmed your forehead and closed your eyes, feeling tired and confused.

“I know you needed to shower and eat, but I didn’t wanna wake you,” he explained himself. “How are you feeling?”

“My throat is dry.”

“Here.” Aaron offered you the glass of water that was sitting on the table right in front of the couch you were laying at.

The feeling of the cool water down your throat was worth a million dollars.

“I feel like shit,” you said, handing back to him the now empty glass.

“Wanna take a shower?” he suggested. “Then we can eat something. I cooked.”

You nodded.

You didn’t have the energy to talk; you didn’t have the energy to cry. And you felt immeasurably grateful it was Aaron that you were with. Someone who understood you, someone you didn’t need to fake it with.

He led you to the bathroom and quietly removed your clothes. An action he had done before, but this time there was nothing sexual in his movements. There wasn’t lust in his eyes. Only care and worry.

“That’s it,” he whispered, as you stepped into the shower. He made sure the temperature of the water was perfect and then he placed the shower head above you so the water would be poured all over you. After a few moments, he opened the shampoo bottle, and dropped some of the product on his open palm. The feeling of his fingers scratching your scalp was what broke you.

Your sobs were soft and your tears blended with the shower water. Still, it wasn’t hard to miss that you were crying. But Aaron didn’t acknowledge it, giving you the space you needed, even though he was right next to you. Just when you thought it was impossible to love him more, he made you fall for him even harder.

“I love you,” you attempted to say, not sure if the words even came out.

“I love you,” he answered, cupping your cheeks. His lips touched yours, the kiss light as a feather; a reminder that he was right there and he loved you.

Aaron moved onto washing your body, his touch reaching every single inch of you, washing away every reminder of that experience.

His clothes had gotten wet and some parts even had soap on them, so you figured it was okay if you did something that would make an even bigger mess. When he was done rinsing all the soap of your body and hair, you opened your arms and pulled him into a tight hug. You held him as close as possible to your body and Aaron lost no time before wrapping his arms around you protectively.

“Thank you for saving me.”

“Thank you for coming back to me.”

“Your hair is still wet. You’re gonna catch a cold,” Aaron said from the kitchen, as you made yourself comfortable on his couch. You were dressed entirely in his clothes, seeking comfort in every little thing of his.

He walked towards you, with a bawl of soup and his famous Aaron Hotchner disapproving stare. He didn’t fight you, though, letting you settle in his arms even with wet hair, and fed you the soup he had prepared when you were asleep.

“Baby?” he said, carefully, as you devoured the food.

“Mmm?”

“Are you feeling okay enough to call Sean now?”

His question took you by surprise.

“He asked me if you could call him at some point,” he explained. “He wants to hear your voice.”

“Of course,” you said. “I’m an idiot for not thinking of it earlier. I should have called him as soon as I woke up.”

“No, you’re not. You went through a lot today.”

“Still.”

You were in the middle of dialing his number when you realized what time it actually was. “Aaron, the sun is not even up yet. Isn’t he probably sleeping now?”

Aaron’s gaze dropped on his lap, in what you figured was guilt. “He said he wouldn’t sleep until he heard your voice. He…he thinks all of this is his fault.”

“It’s not.”

“I know. But you know Sean.”

“Yeah…I do.”

As hypocritical as it sounded, you both shared a love for Sean that you were afraid he would rightfully not accept. Sean would beat himself up for what happened to you, and you would not let that happen. You had already damaged his heart enough.

Part 11

#aaron hotchner x reader #sean hotchner x reader #hotch x reader #aaron hotchner #hotch #criminal minds #ivy #hotch 🪐

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thyme-in-a-bubble · 1 year

Text

sunflower, chapter eight

summary: just a cute little valentines date

warnings: references to 9x15, Valentine’s Day, playing board games, dancing, kissing, making out, dry humping, JJ being a cockblock

word count: 1895

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Looking down at the caller id, you couldn’t help but smile, “hi, Spencer!”

“Y/n, hey,” you heard his voice over the phone, “how are you?”

“I’m fine, thanks. Just working on this still life.”

“Oh really, what of?”

“Oh, you know, just this apple I had laying around. It’s one of those that’s kinda pink inside, so I cut it open.”

“That sounds really pretty, I can wait to see it,” you’re not sure what, but there was something in his voice.

Now a bit worried, you asked, “Is everything alright over there in, um, where are you again?”

“Pittsburgh,” he reminded you, “yeah it’s going fine.”

“Oh, I just thought it sounded like there was something going on.”

“Well, no, not with the case, there was just something else that I wanted to ask you,” he said nervously, “so, it’s valentine’s day in a few days.”

“It is?” you asked, generally unaware.

“Yeah, it is. I just thought maybe we could go out on a date?” he asked hesitantly, “it occurred to me that we haven’t really done that yet…”

“Oh,” you breathed out, “I, um, no.”

“What?”

“No, it’s not that. I do wanna go out on a date with you, but I don’t wanna go out on a date with you,” you emphasized, trying to make him understand what you meant.

“What do you mean?” he sounded slightly hurt.

“I’m sorry, this is coming out in the wrong way. I’m not trying to reject you, I really really like you,” you were starting to panic, “it’s just, dates aren’t really made for me. You know, dinner and a movie, not really my idea of fun, both very stressful activities in my book. So, no. I’m sorry I don’t want to do that. Even though you will be there and that will make it a bit easier, I still don’t want to. I’m sorry.”

“Oh, well,” he thought out loud, “can’t we just make our own definition of what a date is?”

“We can?” that honestly hadn’t occurred as an option to you.

“Yeah, who’s gonna stop us?” he smiled, and then asked you again, this time with more confidence in his voice, “Y/n, do you wanna go on a date with me?”

Trusting him implicitly, you breathed out, “yeah, okay. But what are we gonna do?”

“I think I have some ideas,” he said brightly, “shall we say Friday? I’ll probably be back by then.”

“Sure, Friday, I’ll see you there.”

Looking at yourself in the mirror, you ran your hands down your body, smoothing out the fabric of your blue flowy dress, then stepping a bit closer, to fix your hair. Both trying to fluff it up and also smooth it out, the effort didn’t do much of a difference in the end, just kind of made it frizzier.

The knocking at your door startled you and did not help the nerves that had been building over the past few days. Stepping out to answer the door, you opened it. The sight calmed you, after all, it was just him. It’s just Spencer. Standing there, looking phenomenal as ever, a huge smile plastered on his face.

“Hi,” you let out a nervous giggle.

“Hi,” he breathed out, letting his eyes absorb the effort you’d put into your looks for the occasion, “you look beautiful.”

“Thank you, you look beautiful too,” you pointed out.

“Are you ready?” he asked, and when you nodded, he added, “great, just lock your door and come with me.”

Doing what he asked, you then followed him and almost collided when he stopped at his own door and swung it open.

“I was thinking,” he started, holding the door open for you, letting you in first, “that we could play a game?”

“A game? What like chess? Or go?” you offered, jokingly, “I thought we already established that I’m not very good at those.”

“If that’s the games you wanna play, then sure, but I thought you could choose tonight.”

“Really?” you questioned, not really believing him, “I get to choose? And you won’t complain, no matter what I pick?”

“I won’t,” he promised.

Walking over to the bookcase that had a stack of board games on the lowest shelf, you bent down to look at the selection, “hmm,” then with a glint in your eye, you took your pick.

Straightening up again, with the box in hand, you just managed to catch the tail end of Spencer checking you out. “Here,” you offered it to him.

“Really? Is this what you wanna play?” he complained lightly.

“Oh, absolutely. I wanna beat you at Jenga” you challenged with a smile, “why do you even have it?”

Sitting down and opening the box, “because I’m a great godparent,” he poured the pieces out onto the coffee table. Helping each other, building the tower quickly, you suggested right before finishing, “alright, Vegas man, why don’t we make this interesting, winner gets a price?”

“What kind of price?” he smirked, putting the last wooden block in place.

“Winner chooses.”

“Deal.”

And with that, the game was afoot. Now, Spencer had previously joked about his lack of physical prowess but seeing it now first-hand was something else. You’d always thought he was just hard on himself, he was an FBI agent, after all, you’d just assumed that it was just in comparison to his co-workers, but no. Doctor Spencer Reid really was bad at physical things.

Mumbling stuff about physics and finding the right angle, none of his theories worked out as planned. Fumbling with the pieces, he nearly knocked the tower over multiple times. You tried your best not to laugh at his obvious failure, but it was just so cute, he took it so seriously.

Once all the easy-to-grab blocks were gone, it didn’t take long before the tower collapsed. It was Spencer who made it fall, of course. When he did, he let out a string of curse words, making you laugh. You had never heard him curse before, not that you were complaining, like any words, these foul ones were just as beautiful as poetry to your ears when spoken by him. The passion that came along with them didn’t hurt either.

Calming down a bit after the small explosion of frustration, he questioned, “alright, champ. What do you want?”

Smiling, you stood up and reached out your hand for him, “dance with me.”

“What?” he chuckled.

“I want you to dance with me. That’s my price.”

“But there’s not any music,” he tried.

“Oh, I can fix that,” skipping over to his old record player, you picked out something that looked to be slow and put it on. Once the soft music started, you turned around and looked at him, “Spencer Reid, can I have this dance?”

Pushing himself up to a standing position, he admitted “I don’t really know how.”

“Who said that I know how to dance?” you smiled, snatching up his hands, “we don’t have to make it look pretty. Just, hold me and sway,” sliding one of your hands up onto his shoulder.

Hesitantly, he placed his left hand on your waist, pulling you closer. It took about half the song before he relaxed, and your stiff movements became more free and loose. He started to spin you around and twirl you out, so that there was some distance between your bodies and only your hands kept you connected.

Once the next song started, it vibrated a different mood out into the room. You slowed down your swaying and moved closer to him, letting your hand drift down to his chest and resting the side of your head there as well.

You felt his left arm move higher and wrap itself around you, holding you close, still clasping onto the hand that you retracted from its outstretched angle. Breathing in his scent, you smiled. You felt so safe. Right here in Spencer’s arms. He leaned his cheek against the top of your head, only helping to close the warm cocoon completely.

Hearing him sigh at the comforting feeling, he kissed your hair. Tilting your head up to catch his lips with your own, he finally let go of your hand to touch your cheek.

Moving your arms up to drape them around his neck, the kiss quickly turned heated. Hands wandering, tongues dancing, at some point, your bodies found themselves on the couch, you straddling his lap.

Settling down on him completely, the contact felt so good that you didn’t hold back. You grinded your core into his, letting out a small whimper. His palms firmly found their way to the curve of your ass, squeezing and helping along with your movements.

Pulling your head away from the passionate kiss, you breathed heavy, struggling to keep your eyes open. His lips never left your skin, travelling over your jaw and down your neck. Your dress had ridden up and your thighs were now out on full display. One of your hands found the nape of his neck, lightly scratching his scalp.

Arching your back a bit, you managed to hit the most exquisite and ecstasy-inducing spot, over and over again, making you moan. Closing your eyes, you felt him take control of your hips movements, pressing you down harder against him. Having only really your underwear as a barrier, the friction his hardness gave you was delicious.

Just as your fingers began to work on the buttons of his shirt, the sound of his phone rang, “fuck,” he pulled away, panting, reaching down to fish it out of his pocket. Even after what you’d just been doing, the feeling of his fingers brushing against your bare thigh still made you shiver.

Bringing it up to his ear, you heard him say, “yeah?” and god if his voice didn’t make you want to just take the phone and chuck it across the room so you could have your way with him. “okay JJ, I’ll be there in, um, 40 minutes. Bye,” he hung up, looking at you with heavy lids.

Reaching a hand down to fix the strap that had fallen off your shoulder, his eyes followed your movements.

“You have to go, right?” you bit your bottom lip.

“Yeah,” he breathed out, “please don’t look at me like that, you’re making this so much harder” softly running his hand up and down your arm.

Damn your mind being in a dirty mood, you let out a laugh, “yeah, I can feel how hard it is for you,” you rolled your hips one last time.

Groaning at the feeling, he grabbed onto your hips and warned you, “Y/n, this is not funny,” then you scooted back a bit, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you reassured him, taking a hold of his hand, and squeezing it lightly, “walk me home?”

Letting out a small sigh, he smiled, “yeah.”

Crawling off him, you first tugged down your dress and then reached out a hand to help him up as well. Keeping your fingers interlocked, the two of you walked the short distance to your door. Giving you one last kiss, you told him, “I had a great time tonight.”

“Me too.”

Lifting your hands up, you gave the back of his a small kiss before letting go of it, “goodnight, Spencer.”

“Night,” he breathed out, dreamily.

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