#i missed writing late night reaction fics like this

[leclsrc]

it’s never over ✴︎ cl16

genre: childhood friends to friends with benefits to lovers (a mouthful), smut, humor, Fluffff!!!!, several references to 70’s music, 

word count: 12.9k  

You must have lost the plot along the way, because pretending to date your childhood best friend was not on your 2023 bingo card. (Neither was the fact that things are looking a lot more real as time passes.)

nsfw warnings under the cut!

18+ because... handjob (f receiving), penetrative sex, semi public sex, praise central, size kink

auds here… hi hi hi!!! you’ve no idea how much i missed writing posting and interacting w u guys. thank u for all the love & follows i’ve gotten in my periods of mia. more things soon i promise ty for ur patience love love love u allll 🌟🤎🤠💋 this is my love letter to fic tropes. i feared if it was too long i’d lose the plot somehow so i had to condense it. i truly hope u all like it :) will try & reopen reqs sometime soon to get inspo kicking

It’s later than late. The lights are strobing purple and blue, the “let’s get you even drunker than you are” headache inducing kind. The floor is crowded, swelling with teenagers who are probably too young to get in, drunk off cheap aperol and watered-down tequila shots. You’re balancing yourself on a barstool, one hand busy wrapped around a slim glass, the other clawing your miniskirt lower because the air bites at your legs.

“Another voddy Red Bull!” You’re slurring, mind spinning almost as fast as your vision. You almost drop your empty glass in your rush to look for another one—but right as it slips clumsily out of your fingers, it’s caught. 

Charles, your cocktail’s knight in armor and yours just as well, is eighteen. His hair is  light brown and long, but not draping over his eyes like before. You know before because you’ve never not known before—Charles has been your best friend since you were five.

Snoopy, he says, voice steady and calm in your ear. His frame is still lanky but he’s tall and his grip on your shoulders is enough to quell the yelling. You pout. Get me another voddy red, you plead. Charlie, it’s my birthday. He smiles to himself, knowing your vision’s too cloudy to see him and your mind’s too bogged to remember any of this. You’d already slipped up and told two bouncers you were seventeen and not eighteen, like your poorly-Photoshopped ID suggested; Charles had to keep you in check, lest you or your friends end up kicked out of the club.

A song booms in through the speakers and your eyes widen with recognition. Charles doesn’t anticipate your reaction fast enough, affording only a stumble backwards when you attempt to leave the barstool to dance. He swears under his breath, mind recounting the five previous dance sessions that left you exhausted and out of breath earlier.

I’ll get you a vodka Red Bull if you sit down, he tells you. He enunciates because, twelve years later, you still can’t wrap your mind around his thick European accent. Sit down.

Alriiiight! You hoot, throwing two fists up in the air. Customary for many bartenders on nights as busy as this one, a free shot is thrust into your vacant hand and you cheer loudly, much to Charles’ chagrin. With whatever malice the eighteen-year-old can muster, he casts the bartender a dirty look before turning to face you again, worried. He places a hand on your shoulder and watches, half-anxious and half-endeared, you take the shot and visibly grimace at the raw taste. Fuck. It’s gin I think, you sputter. Charles presses: You okay?

More than, you holler, smiling. I am officially seventeeee— 

The bartender’s eyebrows furrow, the thirty-something businessman in the adjacent stool turns to look—so Charles has no choice but to shut you up, leaning in and pressing his lips to yours before you can seal your fate.

Your eyes widen briefly, and when Charles feels the passed seconds are sufficient, he pulls away. You stare, eyes hazy, at the pretty boy you’ve had feelings for since you turned fourteen, and lean in to kiss him again. 

—

Pascale is hosting her weekly Sunday brunch at the Leclerc residence, all French windows and wide kitchens and bowls of fruit. As always, your place is at the kitchen island picking at plates to taste test them. Bonjour, Arthur drawls when he walks in. He turns to Pascale. Mum. Then you. Snoopy.

You halt biting into your forkful of arugula and turn toward the younger Leclerc, eyebrows raised. “What’d you just call me?”

“Snoopy,” he says simply. He’s beside Pascale, one arm wrapped around her affectionately. “Or, Snoops, if you like that. Yes?”

“Who told you about that nickname?”

“Lorenzo.”

“Hasn’t been in use since your voice was cracking every sentence.”

“Tête de noeud.” Pascale swats his arm and he yelps, so you resume your arugula with satisfaction.

Charles is late for reasons he did not disclose, but everyone is used to it. The open kitchen door stretches into the front yard, where the table is set up and Lorenzo is setting the places. You know that although you usually expect a few more relatives, today’s just for the family—and you, but you’re basically family.

“How is Paris?” Arthur asks, licking hummus off a spoon opposite you. Your position is reminiscent of how you spent afternoons after school with Charles before, and the memory strikes a chord in you. Strange nostalgia, fondness.

“It’s fine.”

“Oh really?” He laughs in-between nibbles of carrot.

“I got an offer for a higher position,” you relent. Pascale calls you both, and you get up and walk toward the yard to sit down. “If you must know.”

“Oh? Let me know how that goes.” He follows you, carrot slice in hand, chewing. The conversation is cut short by the smooth noise of Charles’ decidedly un-smooth parking outside.

You’re seated at your usual spot—in-between Charles and Lorenzo, across Arthur—when the former finally walks into the yard. He looks tired, moreso than usual, bags under his eyes deep and hair a bit more disheveled.

He sits beside you. “I need to talk to you.” Then, quieter, “Private.”

You hum confusedly, eyes flitting across the three other people at the table to gauge their reactions. They’re equally aloof. “Wh—now?” He nods.

You end up talking in the kitchen. He’s sighing the whole fifteen steps there, rubbing the bridge of his nose, exhaling, inhaling. Ever observant, and of someone as close to you as he is, you pick up on the tiny actions, behaviors. Charles is wringing his hands. He’s tried to pop the same knuckle twice. He isn’t frantic—he’s scared. You lean against the counter, waiting, eyes looking him up and down to identify his exact emotions.

“Tell me,” you press. “Whatever it is, I won’t judge.”

“The—my—the iCloud of my phone has been leaked. The press found out.”

When you were eight and he was nine, you and Charles summered in Villefranche with your mum and dad. The weather then was the kind you could write love letters to and about—blue skies, salty wind, soft sand. The current was calm enough that you could ride the gentle waves without fear of going under or straying far from the shore, where your parents sunbathed blissfully.

Don’t drown, he’d warned you, ever protective. You wore pink floaties over your arms, so it was already difficult to.

You dove under with great effort, fighting against the buoyancy, and poked his bare knee, surfacing to watch his reaction. He grimaced. Slowpoke, you teased, swimming away. You wondered then what it might feel to drown. Maybe not in the blue water of Villefranche, but anywhere else.

You think it hurts to drown? You blubbered, bobbing above the wave. Charles swam in front of you and wiped water off your face gently. I hope you never find out, he said, smiling.

But this is you finding out. This is it now, the drowning. Your fingers flex over the edge of the counter and you gulp, eyes fluttering with nerves. “Shit?” It comes out like a question from how nervous you are. “Um, sorry. What are we—” But your question is cut short by Pascale’s voice, cutting through the tension like it’s wet cardboard. The agreement is silent and mutual: save this discussion for later.

—

Charles can’t wake up fast enough. There are calls, texts, voicemails from every officer on his team, which isn’t that surprising given he’s up two hours late. But the amount—the sheer amount of notifications is dizzying. Overwhelmed, he finds it in himself to pull up his search engine app and let his fingers possess themselves.

All he types is his last name, and then The Sun article is splashed onto his face like a pot of scalding coffee: “F1 DRIVER ICLOUD LEAKED, PERSONAL PHOTOS ALL OVER INTERNET.” Daily Mail is next, of course, watering down the situation to seem more dirty and scandalous: “Naughty Driver? Charles Leclerc’s iCloud Hacked, Reveals Mystery Girl.” And then of course Page Six, who doesn’t miss a beat—

Wait. He blinks and presses the back arrow to return to the previous webpage. He reads over it again, slower this time. Mystery Girl? Shit—no. No way. It’s almost (it should be) silly, the way he’s reading vigorously over the reports like he’s a fan, but he’s anxious. He scrolls, because if any tabloid is daft enough to publish the leaked photos, it’s got to be the Daily Mail.

He pauses his quick swiping when his eyes harden with recognition, and staring back at him, on his phone’s full brightness, is a picture of you on his lap at Christmas. It’s the one Lance took while attempting to guess Charles’ password, one of you wine drunk with his head buried in your neck.

It’s unmistakably him, at his own house in Monaco where the drivers had a holiday get-together. It’s unmistakably you, hair draped over your face, three gold rings on your fingers. You had just given him a Strokes vinyl, he recalls. That’s why you were hugging.

There’s another one of you playing Scrabble in his bed—he’s not in the frame, but he remembers taking it. This, he could deny. He’s not in it, and he’s pretty sure the fans don’t know his house this well. Already his brain’s doing manual damage control, dread filling his veins at the thought of reading through his team’s frantic messages.

Another message stands out, pinned on top of all the others—from his mum, reminding him about brunch. He gets ready half-focused, half-lucid. Fully worried. He worries about the PR crisis this may cause, about his iCloud security, about the reactions online. Above all, though, he worries about you. About what he should tell the press. About how “actually, we’re not dating, we just fuck constantly” might hold up for the fans.

—

You’re twelve and Charles thirteen, both of you seated across Hervé and Pascale. Behind them stand your own parents, and they all look stern. What this is, Pascale says gently, is a family meeting. Okay?

Okay. It leaves your high voices in shaky unison. You both know what you’re doing here—you snuck out of school to catch a movie earlier, the teacher naturally caught wind of the misdeed, and now you’re in a meeting for it.

Snoops, Charles whispers, trying to ease your nerves with lighthearted commentary. This is the worst.

No, you want to tell preteen Charles—this is. You’re older now, yet still subjected to similar questioning, though today it’s Pascale going solo. It’s been three days since the fated day where the press leaked the pictures of you and Charles in compromising positions, and like any boomer, she’s used Facebook to her advantage and gotten ahold of the compromising pictures, too. 

“How long?” Her voice is enunciated in hard syllables.

“Mum—”

“Answer the question.” She looks back and forth, moving into territory of intense questions. “Both of you.”

“Um.”

“Because… I’ve been…”

You notice it immediately, given your observant track record: her shoulders relax and her lips smile just slightly. You sit still, and wait for the next words out of her mouth. “…waiting for this all my life!”

You and Charles watch in mild horror as Pascale’s face goes from firm to absolutely elated. Her eyes soften and a smile spreads over her face, illuminating her with pure joy. Do you even know how many bets I made with your papa, Charles? She claps her hands together several times.

Charles opens his mouth to verbalize dissent, but she doesn’t take it—she’s already droning on and on about how long she’s waited for this to finally happen. Your eyes glide over to the doorway of the dining area, where Lorenzo and Arthur watch with smug looks on their faces. Little shits won’t help you. You don’t even try to protest, and at some point Charles gives up, too. You don’t know how it’ll come across, anyway.

Ninety minutes later, you’re in Arthur’s bedroom rifling through his desk and praying you don’t find anything too gross. He’s on his bed throwing a bouncy ball up in the air, conversing with Charles about your gameplan with their mum.

The sky outside is in limbo between afternoon and night. It’s cloudy, so the sunset is a pale yellow instead of angry orange. “Why not just tell her the truth?”

You’d also thought that was the easiest option, escape route, exit path. But that would involve breaking Pascale’s heart, and that was out of the question for you, let alone Charles, certified mommy’s boy.

“I can’t, Arthur.” Charles’ voice is steady and unwavering.

“You can.”

“No.”

“Fine. Next best thing then.”

You fiddle with a Rubik’s cube, then turn in the seat. “What?”

“Pretend you’re dating.”

“Arthur,” you say seriously. “Shut up.” But he doesn’t join you, and you realize neither does Charles. You stare blankly at both of them, unwilling to believe they’d actually bank on this as an actual plan. 

“You guys realize this kind of thing never works? Zero percent success rate.”

“It’s just paddock appearences. You’re not pretending for millions of people,” Arthur says, shrugging. He catches the ball and throws it to you—you catch it one-handed. “You’re pretending for Mum.”

“Sure. And by extension, millions of people. Are you dense, or do you think the paddock appearances will just breeze by everyone who saw the leaks?”

“Ughhh. You’re acting like it’s impossible.” Arthur holds his breath before he utters the next sentence. “Like you two aren’t fucking every other w—”

“—oh, my God!” Shocked, you get up, and so does Charles. “Wh—I’m—language, Arthur!”

Charles balks. “How did you even—”

“I didn’t. But merci mille fois for confirming my theory,” Arthur quips faux-sweetly, smiling dopily. “I mean, I was going to find out! Your pictures are so… intimate. So just pretend to date and throw Maman off your scent.”

You protest briefly, wrestling with the option, and reconvene on the bed, you cross-legged and leaning on Charles’ shoulder and Arthur in front of the both of you. He’s always had a knack for schemes—he never got caught sneaking out, which destroyed your and Charles’ record of being caught twelve times by either of your parents. It’s a bit childish, but he gets the job done.

“Do it for… let’s say a month. Tell Mum you’ve been dating a while—Christmas isn’t that long ago, and that was the least recent picture. D’accord?”

You both nod, hyperfocused. 

“During race weekends, be all over each other—shouldn’t be hard—especially in front of Mum. People might catch you doing it, but I wouldn’t worry.”

“No, wait—I mean.” You shrug. “People—tifosi—they know I’m Charles’ friend. They’re going to be all over the fact that we’re apparently dating.”

“Don’t worry. We’ll use palatable density,” Charles says, nodding.

You pause. Arthur does, too, sensing something off.

“You mean plausible deniability.” Your deadpan voice is tinged with amusement, muffled into his shoulder. 

“Right, ouais, that.” He smiles, chuckling a bit; his shoulder shakes with it and your head nearly slips off. He brings a hand to cup over your jaw and hold you steady. “Sorry.”

“S’fine.” You sigh. “I’m totally okay with this. Just worried it’s going to have unintended consequences.”

Arthur quells you with rushed explanations about how it’ll be over and you two can say something like we decided we’re better off as friends to really sell the thing. At the seven-minute mark of your and Charles’ intense interrogation, he promptly kicks you out to figure out if you’re willing to do it yourselves.

You wedge yourself into Charles’ front seat, knowing you were headed to his place anyway. You massage your temples with one hand and fiddle with the hem of your shorts with the other. Nervous. Antsy. “Did Fred say anything?”

“Got the IT team to fortify my account.” 

“You think this thing’s going to be okay from a professional standpoint?” You look up and toward him; he’s already gazing at you, eyes soft. “I’m worried. Plus, with my job offer thing in London and New Y—”

“Don’t be.” He starts the car and maneuvers out of the driveway, into the dips of Monaco streets and the familiar route back to his place. “Bitter with the sweet. The only thing you need to worry about”—he takes your hand in the centre console, laces your fingers together loosely—“is your acting skills.”

“God, you’re right.” You sigh, looking out the window. “How am I going to pretend I can stand you?” Then, for good measure, you squeeze his hand wrapped in yours.

—

You visit Monaco from uni in London over spring, and for the first time in months, your schedule aligns with Charles’—though you learn this indirectly when you visit the Leclerc home. Pascale, of course, is the one who tells you his new flat’s address before she presses a kiss to your cheek and then leaves to run errands in the city. Alone, and in a burst of excitement, you make the drive there, take the elevator upstairs and shove the door open without knocking. He’s there. Your Charles. You can tell because the music he plays is loud—The Kooks—like his ears are still fourteen and not twenty-one, like he’s still in middle school and not in Formula One.

“Save your eardrums,” you say, before beelining toward the couch and leaping onto him for a hug. He sits up to match your energy, arms wrapping around you, sitting up straighter to keep you from totally falling atop him. 

“How’s uni?”

“Shit,” you say into his hair. It smells like his shampoo and his favorite cologne. Clean, soapy. “Obviously. How’s the Ferrari?” 

“Amazing.” He smiles. “Obviously. How’d you know I was in? Mum told you?”

“Ouais. She’s running errands. Listen, can we drink tonight?” You sigh, parting from the hug and sitting across him.

Yeah, sure. His voice is concerned, thick with worry. You shake your head—it’s not that deep, you tell him. It’s just—I had a bad date before I left and it’s put me in the worst mood.

Oh? He leans back, clasping two hands behind his head as he goes.What happened? He laughs. 

You tense visibly, rolling your eyes despite yourself. “He was just weird. Nothing.”

He wiggles his eyebrows. “You shy, Snoops?”

Ha-ha. You roll your eyes, but your face is flushed and your gaze avoids him. You reach up to tuck the loose strands of hair by your ears behind them, face warm. You’d never talked with Charles about boys or flings before—maybe several times, but never in full detail. It was always vague umbrella statements, like Ryan is boring or Greg is such a prick, but never anything beyond that. Come to think of it, you don’t know why, either.

“You can tell me.”

“The—when we—I had to fake,” you say cuttingly. “You know.”

He purses his lips and smiles, eyebrows furrowing. I don’t, actually. Something unnamed trills through you—through your stomach and into your fingertips. Your first time talking to your best friend in real life after months of uni and racing and this is the topic? It’s, if anything, a sign of your growing up, you guess.

Charles lets up on the teasing and you end up rejecting the club in lieu of sharing a bottle of vodka, throwing it back raw and without any type of chaser (to really prove nothing at all; you don’t even know why any sane human would do this). You do a Just Dance party on his TV, even try out drunk sim racing and FIFA, but by the end you’re well exhausted and retired to the couch again.

His voice is wavy and tipsy when he speaks. “You really had to fake it?”

“Yeah.” You pout. “Can never—um, finish, I dunno.” Your inhibition’s gone, shame loosened and untied by the vodka. You shift in your position on the couch.

“Maybe because it was too casual.” His voice hardens.

“So you’re saying I should…” You swallow dryly, eyes fluttering. “Sleep with somebody I know?” You’ve dropped the implication and it floats up, hangs above.

His eyes flick over to your legs, folded on the couch. The hem of your shorts. Your fingers playing with your empty shot glass. He didn’t mean anything by that. He’s half-sure you didn’t. 

“I am just saying that a good friend would do that for you.”

“You’re a good friend,” you say, volume low. 

Five minutes later you’ve properly crashed into each other, him pinning you down against the couch, licking fire up your throat. His lips trail across your jaw. 

He dips a hand into your shorts, presses against your clothed core. He’s smiling. So wet for me. He’s got his mouth pressed messily up to your jaw, when he sinks one finger all the way in, slow and stretching; and you’re clenching around him—

Come on, he’s saying. Insisting. You’re trembling, yanking desperately at his hair as he pumps his finger slowly in and out of you, aching to be full of him, to take him deeper. 

He slips another one in, and you feel the cold of his ring pressed against your entrance, then he’s fucking them into you and you’re leaking around them. 

Yes, yeah, Charles—you’re gasping, airy breaths tapering into whimpers that sound sinful, desperate. He knows you so well already. Presses his fingers against your sweet spot, watches your eyes flutter.

So needy, and you’re chanting his name under your breath as he quickens his pace, craving the stretch of him desperately. I know you want to cum, baby. He’s calling you baby and you’re closer, so much closer. Come on, for me, yeah? 

You melt, crashing and crumpling into him and shuddering as you release all over his fingers. He presses his forehead to yours and lets you take a beat. You feel giddy and dizzy and warm, which is weird because you don’t feel drunk at all anymore. This dizziness is something different. It’s Charles.

“Are we going to do that again?” You ask meekly, hand still in his hair.

“Only if you want. Whatever you want,” he says. He’d do anything for you. He’d do whatever you wanted.

“I do, I do want.” And Charles, the good friend he is, helps you out.

—

Imola is humid, warm, and the racetrack is absolutely teeming with people. But you’re not there—clad in linen shorts and a fresh tank top, you’re walking around the vicinity of the track, cup of gelato in hand, sunglasses over your eyes. The restaurant near you is playing music out loud. Beside you, singing along and drafting a list of wedding appetizers, is Lorenzo.

“Lamb chops?” You suggest, licking amaretto off the plastic spoon. The weather is pleasant enough that people are crowding the streets without it being too unbearably hot. Stevie Wonder flows from the speakers, permeates the entire block.

“I was thinking more seafood.”  

“Tuna? Make ‘em little tacos.”

“Good idea. Think I’ll go for those. Hey, are you sure you’re on board with fake-dating my brother?”

You turn sharply toward him, taken aback. He hadn’t brought it up in the week and a half this plan had been in the works—he’d been privy to it the entire time, too, which makes it weirder that he’s asking so suddenly.

“I meaaan…” You slow your pace, contemplative. A shy smile plays at your lips, brows knitted together. “It’s only going to be for a month. Ish. So, yeah. Are you—do you—sorry. Is it alright with you? Sorry.”

“It is not not okay.”

“So it’s…” You pause. “Okay.”

“It’s—yes, but I worry, is all. How sure are you that this won’t hurt anyone?”

“I don’t know, it’s… bitter with the sweet. And who’s getting hurt… like the fans?” You laugh a little. “They’ll live, won’t they?”

“Like you.” He pauses. “Like Charles.”

—

Pierre is running a comb through his hair, staring at himself in the mirror; his Narcissus moment is interrupted by a banana to the back of his head. Bonjour, he says, monotone and already knowing the culprit.

“We need to talk.”

“Could this possibly be about the news of your brand new ‘girlfriend’ over last week? Where is she, by the way?”

“With Lorenzo. Listen, here’s the thing. Mum thinks we’re dating, and I don’t know how to tell her we’re not—so I won’t.”

“Lie to your mum, go ahead.” Pierre crosses his arms and hums.

“Tais-toi. It’s for her own good.” 

“So you’re going to pretend to date.”

 “Ouais.” 

“Should be easy. You guys are hooking up and making out or whatever all the time.”

Charles pauses and lets the silence speak for itself. When Pierre makes a noise of confusion, he gives. We don’t kiss, he says finally. She thinks it is too intimate, and we ‘are not dating,’ so sex is the only thing we do. Sex, and if you still have leftover antsy energy, you pull on his shirt and sit up against the headboard to finish a crossword puzzle. Sometimes he helps you, but most of the time he’s just there to press lazy kisses to your hair and temple, cheekbone and jaw—never your lips.

“You don’t kiss?” Pierre’s genuinely shocked. “Putain, you’re a hero. How does that even work?”

“We just do not kiss. We fuck, but no kissing.” He shrugs. “It’s always been that way.”

“So how about her birthday?”

“She doesn’t…” Charlex exhales tightly. “Remember.”

“Charles,” you suddenly say, head appearing into the doorway. “Oh, hey. Fred said you might be here. What are you guys talking about?”

“Sprint racing,” Pierre says, an easy lie.

Charles, though, is never good at the lying bit. “International tariffs.”

—

Your only memories of your seventeenth birthday are applying lip gloss and mascara, wearing your shortest skirt and tightest top, and reciting your supposed date of birth in line like a mantra. Anything after that’s been sprayed off by the ultra-clutch strength of vodka. Which, you’ve been told, was your drink of choice.

“Headache’s better,” you moan over the phone, face squashed onto your pillow. “Mum gave me an Advil but I was so sick all morning.”

“Did you snog anyone?” Charles is always teasing.

“God, I wish.” You shut your eyes and try to remember if your drunken stupor had somehow managed to get you successful in lip-locked matters. Nothing comes up and you wipe a dry hand over your face, heaving a sigh. “I really wanted to kiss Matthew but I think he left before you and I did.”

A pause. Then Charles clears his throat. “You mean you and me and the police car that escorted us home?” He snorts.

“You’re such a prick!” You scream into your pillow, laughing. “I already thanked you for being my literal savior last night.”

He smiles to himself. “You’re welcome.”

“Did you have fun?” You flop onto your back and stare at the stick-on stars on your ceiling. You make a mental note to try and remove them.

“Bit boring because I vowed not to drink at all, but I got to dance. Bitter with the sweet, right?”

—

“Nervous?”

“I mean, fuck, yeah.” You fix the hem of your dress, speaking to Giada through the phone. “Pascale’s waiting for us on the paddock. And so are, like, a hundred photographers.” You wince. “Can you even imagine Charles and me? It’s just—I dunno—it’s weird.”

“It isn’t,” she says, laughing. “Not really. It makes sense. Plus, aren’t you on the whole arrangement?” You envision her air quotes.

“Yeah, but”—you slip your sandals on—“it’s on and off, and that’s not dating. It’s sex. Two different things.”

“Is it really, though? Considering how close you are outside of bed, aren’t y—”

“Okay, input no longer needed,” you laugh. “Bye, Gi. I’ll text you later.”

You reunite with Charles just by the paddock entrance. The throng of fans holding cutouts and posters notice you two before anyone else does, inciting a collective bout of yells around the both of you. He notices your blue silk dress first, eyes unmoving. “You look like the sky.”

“Thanks, man.” A beat, and you squint through your sunglasses. “That’s a compliment, right?”

“Sure.”

“Prick.” You peek over them and to the fans, who wave more aggressively when they notice you’re looking. Nervously, you raise a hand and wave back, and the noise heightens. “I think I’m going to be replacing you.”

“Dream on. On y va?”

You turn back to him, smiling, and you both enter at the same time. His hand wraps around your waist, dips a bit lower to rest at the small of your back as you walk—the fans clearly dig it, because everyone’s yelling in a frenzy as you depart. What are you doing, you ask through your smiling teeth.

“Did you forget we’re supposed to be dating?” He maintains an equally pleasant (totally duplicitous) façade, smiling. 

“I didn’t think,” you say, still smiling falsely, “that you’d put your hands on me five minutes into the whole agreement.”

“Smile, honey,” he teases. “I see at least five cameras at us right now.”

“It’s seven,” you beam. “Dumbass.”

“Again with the competitive streak.” memory

“I totally deserved to win last week’s game. You’re just a sore loser.”

“No you’re just a—hi, hi, hello!”

Your walk to the motorhome is interrupted by running into a friend of Charles’—someone from McLaren, one of the executives there. While Lando has been informed of your stunt, nobody else on that team has. 

They handshake and he waves at you politely. “Whole paddock’s buzzing with news of you dating,” he says, smiling. “It’s a tad crazy! I remember seeing you as Charles’ plus one back when he was in Formula Two. And now you two are dating. How did—well, if you don’t mind me asking, where’d it all happen?”

“Oh,” you say, laughing. “Yeah, Monaco.”

“Texas,” Charles says at the same time.

Alarm bells go off in your head at the totally random, unwarranted statement out of Charles’ mouth. Texas? Neither of you have even ever been at the same time. “He means”—you say, coughing and nodding—“we went on this, um. Wild West themed, um, restaurant in Monaco, and that’s where he asked me out.” You make a face that you hope conveys you get it, and it seems to work.

“Definitely not what I had in mind, but if it worked, it worked, eh?” He grins. “I guess I always knew you two would end up together. Alright, ciao!”

You’re smiling and waving after him as he leaves, and then you’re (semi) alone again, or at least within your own space on the incredibly crowded paddock. 

You turn to him, unable to hide your confusion. “Um? Texas?! What’s up with the backstories?”

“It slipped out! Sorry. But nice save.”

“You’re so f—” You try to scold him, but can’t, bursting into laughter and leaning forward to laugh into his chest. “Texas, really?”

“Sorry,” he says. You feel the vibration of his own laugh through his chest and it’s warm and nice. You peel yourself off lest you look too clingy, and resume your walk to the motorhome.

Ferrari is crowded, filled with people and strategists and guests. You’re given a bottle of water and then hounded with questions from the team who haven’t been informed of the situation at hand. David, one of the engineers close to Charles who you’d previously spoken to in one of the earlier races, asks to borrow him.

“Ciao, ciao.” They speak in one of the outdoor patio areas. “Is everything okay?”

“The car is fine. I just wanted to ask about the girl.” David punches his arm, playful. “You finally got her!”

“Oh.”

“It’s just… I remember all the times she would show up and you’d tell me about how much you liked her… I don’t know, it’s perfect for things to end up like this, no? Bravo!”

“Oh, si. I’ve just been, you know…” He looks through the glass sliding door and into the hospitality, where you’re talking to Isa and Carlos, sunglasses over your hair. Your hands are moving quickly, and you’re smiling while talking. He wonders what you’re so passionate about. When you’re caught in fits of happiness and passion, you’re extra animated. Your eyes are lively, and your lips can’t stop curling into a slight beaming smile. Now, maybe it’s France, maybe it’s crossword puzzles, slim chance it’s your job—whatever it is, he could watch you talk like this for hours. He thinks it’s beautiful, the way you transform, the way you smile, when you talk of things you absolutely love. 

“… crazy about her forever.”

—

There are banners, Italian flags, and Charles’ face on every other wall. He’s done his first hat-trick of the season (of several more, you’re hoping). You’ve foregone the usual clubbing for dinner with a smaller group of people, but only because you’ve been told the nightlife is bleak and you’d rather save that energy for the next race.

Lando picked out the restaurant—he’s “on a massive Yelp high” trying to get the best restaurants in every city they get to. He’s tried two over the weekend, and is hoping this guns for first place. The restaurant’s name is long and so very Italian, to the point where your semi-fluency fails you. The food is amazing, though, and so is the wine—a whole other level of grape-flavored bliss.

You’re in-between Joris and Charles, nursing your fourth glass while Charles downs a bottle of beer. Light conversation flows through the table, but your sleepiness only allows you to hear some of it. You’re content with the white noise.

Lando is getting a new cat, Lewis bought a new pair of shoes—oh, no, shares in the company that makes the shoes—Joris bought the shoes, Lorenzo will now buy the shoes, why isn’t anyone paying attention to Lando’s cat. It’s funny, entertaining, and the perfect nightcap to your immensely exhausting day of acting.

Wine tipsy makes you loopy and snoozy. By default, your head lolls onto Charles’ body; he immediately wraps a sweater-clad arm around your frame, leans back, pulls you closer. Doesn’t miss a beat. In fact, while doing so, he’s even able to get a dig in against Lando’s affinity for cats.

“No more wine, m’kay?” He whispers quietly, angling his head to yours. 

“Oh, but it was so good, though.” You mope, but nod in agreement. “I could seriously drink wine out of a keg here.”

“Sure did that a lot with beer.” You laugh, punching his bicep with what little space you’re given. “You sleepy?”

“Yeah. But I’m fine,” you respond, smiling. “Now shut up. I need to know what happened to Lando’s cat.”

Lewis leaves first, claiming he’s into this whole “sleeping at 9PM” thing, and Lorenzo follows to get ahead of an early flight tomorrow. It’s you, Joris, Charles, and Lando now, and you’re good as dead, eyes half-shut and fluttering, head slipping off his shoulder.

How was it? Lando asks, lowering his volume to keep from being too jarring. Day 1, fake dating? I actually read something like this in one of those, um, fanfiction stuff the fans do. Joris and Charles cast him a half-weirded out, half-amused pair of looks, but Lando defends himself. They’re actually pretty good, guys. I read one where I ended up with my rival or summat.

“Sorry to burst your bubble, Lando,” you croak, voice raspy with sleepiness and a day of bubbling laughter, “but Charles and I probably didn’t do your fanfiction kink justice.”

“Ignoring the emasculation.” He says, turning beet red. “What’d you do, then? Wasn’t it hard?”

“It was hard, but it’s like that.” Charles likes to substitute the phrase it is what it is to it’s like that, a result likely stemming from his trilingual childhood. “We just. Pretended. Oi, we held hands in front of the cameras.”

“Yeah, you can get a good wank in if that does it for you,” you joke. Lando hurls a cube of parmigiano at your face; it lands squarely and you flip him off, the table erupting with peals of laughter.

“In all seriousness, though—how are you two okay with this? I know I’d be second guessing my feelings every second.”

You shift, trying to hide your obvious lack of answer. It’s quiet for a few seconds, and then Charles says, “We’re both comfortable with each other, I think.”

“Yeah, comfortable enough that we can, you know, be honest.” You’re looking at Lando when you say that. You don’t know how well you could repeat the sentence if you were looking straight into Charles’ eyes.

You leave the restaurant with a generous tip, and Charles helps you pull your coat on when you’re out the door, back into the chilly night air. It’s then that all four of you catch news via text, of a club invite somewhere in the city.

“It’ll be fun, guys.” Joris and Lando stand in front of you and Charles, bumbling with excitement. “I heard Lil Tjay is going to be there.”

“It sounds very fun,” you say, smiling, “but I might pass out if I drink anything other than water, and I have zero energy. You three go ahead.”

“Wh—no, I’m not going, either.” You raise an eyebrow at Charles. “Serious! I wasn’t in the mood much, anyway. Joris, take Lando’s car and we’ll take mine.”

“Alright,” Lando whistles. “Suit yourselves, agoraphobes.”

“Joke’s on you”—Charles smiles, smug—“I don’t know what that means.”

“Not the dig you think it is, Charles,” you say, rolling your eyes. “Night, Joris, Lando. See you guys tomorrow. Use protection!”

“Should be saying that to you guys,” quips Joris with an evil grin that he closes the car door on.

The climb into the car feels like a chore in itself with how tipsy and sleepy you’ve become. Charles likes to bring his Ferrari to race weekends, but you convinced him to use a different car for this one, because you honest-to-God can’t stand the low seats anymore. 

“You want dessert?” He asks when he’s rounded the car and settled into his seat. “Gelato, a cone, biscotti…”

“No, no,” you say, voice thin. A palm covers your shutting eyes; blindly, you reach for his hand. It’s easy because he sees you searching and takes your hand to cut it short. “I’m good. So sleepy. Can I sleep at your hotel room?”

“Sure.” He starts the car, waves to the wait staff idle by the entrance, and drives off. “How was the day as my fake girlfriend? Anyone ask about me?” He wiggles his eyebrows, flickering his gaze to your figure beside him. “Wasn’t too tough, I hope.”

Imola whizzes by, trees and city, and a poorly stifled yawn escapes your lips, wine stained. You laugh sleepily. “It was a bit awkward, but bitter with the sweet, right?” He smiles, nodding, and you continue. “Yeah, few strategists, some people who knew you from Prema. I was talking to Isa and Carlos, too, earlier. Even if they know it’s fake.”

He recalls seeing you talk to them through the glass. “About?”

“You.”

—

The sun is merciless on the clay courts, and so are your shoes, shuddering against the surface in your continuing attempt to beat the opposing team. Charles cowers behind you—he’s scored less than half of your points thus far—but you’re on a mission, like your competitive self always is when you’re put in a position to be able to win.

You’re two points down now, and the noontime is becoming increasingly itchy and unforgiving; across you both, Giada and Joris call a mutual time out. “That’s not allowed!” You say, petulant.

“This is a practice session,” Charles says gently, nearing you. “Mate, none of us are actual players.”

You wipe sweat off your forehead. “Right. Désolée. I’m just—I’m in the zone.”

“Ouais, I get it. Relax, m’kay? We got this.”

You shake yourself off and hop a few times, skirt bobbing by your waist as you go. Your braid bounces on your shoulder and you nod, turning your racquet over in your grip. 

Charles pings the ball hard and it soars over to land just shy of the line, seemingly scoring a point for you two and securing your win. Giada and Joris chime in with protests, claiming that the ball’s out. You throw your hands up in question.

“Okay, what? That was clearly a point!”

“Snoops, I think they might be right. The ball looked out to me,” Charles says, wrapping a sweaty arm around your red shoulders.

“What are you talking about, Charlie? That ball was in! I saw it!” You elbow yourself out of his grip, aghast.

“How about…” He suggests quietly. “We let them win? You did win the last”—he pauses to count—“five sets. Come on, Snoops. They need this. Bitter with the—”

You take a deep breath, staring into his eyes. “Fucking sweet, right, okay. Fine, fine.” 

Charles thinks he’s in the clear and he’s managed to extinguish your flames of frustration—that is, until you walk into the Leclerc household for lunch an hour later and, after greeting Pascale and Hervé, you point squarely to the jar on the kitchen counter. “Five euros.”

He splutters. “Five? Wh—non, non! I was trying to calm you down.”

“You were blind and gave Giada and Joris a fake win,” you say playfully.

“Saluuut,” Lorenzo greets, sitting at the stool beside yours. “Quoi de neuf?”

“Charles has five euros for the jar.” The jar, the infamous jar, sometimes dubbed the Dumbass Jar when Pascale’s out of earshot. It was Lorenzo who first made it up after three straight instances of Charles pulling a push door (three different establishments).

Arthur’s joined in at this point, but its biggest indirect donors are definitely Lorenzo and Hervé, who view it as just about the funniest thing in the world. Out of pity, you don’t call dumbass too often, but the tennis loss is bruising enough that you warrant the usage.

“You heard Snoopy. Five euros. We’ll be able to get milkshakes with this money after next week.” You high five. “At this rate, Charles, you could open a restaurant in Paris.”

“He’s going to race,” you correct. You both watch a begrudged Charles junk a bill into the nearly-full jar. “What race driver is going to open a restaurant?”

—

You meet Yuki Tsunoda on a flight to Nice. You’ve seen him several times before, not too frequently but enough that his name and face are familiar on your mind. Also a personality trait that Pierre would bring up in fond conversations with you and/or Charles: he loves food, apparently.

“Yuki’s volunteering AlphaTauri to be your hideout,” Pierre tells you and Charles, across him. 

Turns out, the hardest part (insofar) of this whole schtick: the officially appointed paddock photographers are being extra sneaky with it, finding the best vantage points to snap pictures of an unwitting you and Charles.

They’re like hawks, watching for even the slightest glimpse so they can post the photos on Instagram and get clicks.

So, just a few hours earlier, Charles asked if there was a place you and him could talk if needed where photographers wouldn’t be awaiting you already, and this was the answer.

“If it’s too much trouble, feel no need to… you know.”

“Nonsense.” Pierre smiles goofily and Yuki pokes him to stop, pausing his session of eating a quesadilla (where he’d even acquired it, you’re clueless). “Yukino would be happy to.” 

The flight lands and the drive to Monaco is infected with notoriously slow traffic; you pop an Advil to try and alleviate the motion sickness. Pierre and Yuki, it seems, have joined you even outside of the flight. They’re in the backseat offering bits of conversation.

“Oh, mate, we should totally play tennis while we’re here.” Pierre sighs. “Didn’t you guys play before?”

“Mmm, yeah,” you mumble with a lilt of amusement at the memories from basically a decade ago. “At the country club. Doubles always, otherwise I’d knock Charles out of the park.”

“Hey, I won a couple times!” He protests weakly. “Like… twice.”

You laugh out loud. “Anyway, Pierre, do not bring me into tennis. I get all competitive and develop anger issues.”

“I had to calm her down twice a set,” Charles says; you swat him lightly to silence him. “Still do.”

“You know, if the Dumbass Jar still existed,” you say cuttingly, “I swear I’d be able to buy off Ferrari with that money.”

—

Monaco is swelterinly hot today. You know this because you know the weather here, you know the curves and ups and downs of it—this is your home. And today is hot. Every few minutes a breeze filters through the air and you can hear journalists or PAs sigh a collective breath of relief before they’re all subjected to the inane, high-degree weather again.

It’s also, according to Arthur, a good day to kiss in front of the cameras. He says it easily over a plate of sliced kiwi, with a devious smile, because he assumes your friends-with-benefits arrangement equates to constant kissing. But the truth is you’ve never kissed Charles, and it intimidates you.

“Do we have to kiss?” You play with his bracelets, sitting beside him on the sofa. The talk of kissing entertains the thought of sex and you can’t help but mentally complain at the remembrance that you haven’t gotten laid in weeks.

“If you don’t want to—”

“I do.” You splutter, eyes going wide, face warm. “No! I mean I don’t mind. If it sells the thing.”

“D’accord, then we will.” He smiles. “That okay?”

“Sure. First kiss,” you say. Your voice feels as clammy as your hands.

“First.” He looks away.

You take your woes off the kiss by playing a friendly round of tennis with your favourite opponents, Giada and Joris. They bemoan your competitive nature (that, to be fair, allots you and Charles three straight wins), and Giada incites a protest for a girls versus boys round.

You both embarrass Charles and Joris, heckling them as you win another two straight games. Charles runs over to you when you throw up the L sign on your hand, lifting you up and making you squeal.

“Put me down, loser!”

Giada and Joris exchange a look. Amused, knowing. “Charles! You’re such a cunt.” You kick hard, and manage to snag his abdomen, so he gently places you onto the clay again. He laughs and paces back over to his side, and you play with the tail of your braid as you watch.

You play set after set, but the kiss comes anyway. When you know photographers can see you—by the entrance—and it happens faster than your mind can muster. He’s leaning in, you’re reaching up, and your mouths slot together. It’s—and it feels crazy to say it, but—

It’s perfect. It’s lovely. You smile against his lips like they belong there and like they’re familiar and yours and like maybe this is all you’ve ever wanted, and like they deserve the smile, because they do. You feel your need to pull away before you can’t help but keep him tethered to you always. It’s strange and it’s not platonic—you’re mature enough to admit that, but not enough to label exactly what it is.

You spend the day with your fingers pressed to your lips, like you’re sealing the memory. Hours later, Charles wins. There’s massive uproar and you’re in the crowd when it happens, in the sea of strategists going to congratulate him on winning Monaco, which—that’s—it’s winning Monaco. Your ears ring by the end of it and your throat’s dry from your own cheering. Carlos comes in second, and the outlook for their team is going much better than it’d been at the start of the year, so there’s a lot to celebrate.

And celebrate you do. It starts with being pinned up against the door, hungry kisses along your jaw and neck. One kiss, it seems, has broken the dam from the few years you’ve spent abstaining from the kissing. He’s just finished interviews. He’s only just changed into his polo, and now he’s tugging it off again, feverish.

This is rushed and dirty, down low and dark. Only one light’s been switched on and he’s hiking your dress up, panties down with one hand to tug his cock out with the other. He’s kissing you—kissing you stupid, almost. Like he’s waited forever to taste your lips and now he’ll starve if he’s away for just a moment. He needs you. So have me, you want to say, all of me, push me up against the wall again and cover my mouth with your palm. Or don’t, don’t—so everyone knows I’m yours.

He presses your chest against the wall so your back’s turned to him, thrusts in with a breathless, throaty grunt. 

“S’ big,” you’re saying, clawing at words the pleasure bars you from finding.

“Barely even in,” he whispers. “Slow down, baby, come on, take it.”

Your toes curl. You’re high on the win, on the kissing, on Charles, on the slow delicious stretch of his cock. “I’m taking it, I’m taking it,” you say, shaky. He thrusts, slow and deep and dirty, until he’s bottomed out and you’re tiptoeing from the overwhelm.

“I feel you,” you’re whimpering, moans and gasps leaving your mouth. You blindly search for his hand, find it against your hip, drag it to your abdomen, under your dress that he hasn’t even fully removed. “I feel you there,” you say, an edge of teasing to your voice.

His cock’s bulging, almost, out of your stomach, and it’s getting you both all lightheaded. He thrusts harder, a devious smile felt against your neck.

I need it, Charles, you plead, please, please fuck me harder. You feel it coming, the familiar pleasure intensifying so quickly—you don’t usually cum so early, he’s always making you wait for it—pussy squeezing around him.

Jesus, already? He’s groaning but a laugh escapes, breathy and amused and taunting. He’s fucking you harder, faster. It’s so good, each hit getting you closer. Taking me so well, you’re bruised all over now, baby. You hate how well he knows what turns you on; memories of mornings post-sex spent inspecting the purple marks on your hips flash through your head and you’re even closer now, shaking, whimpering, begging.

You’re half-sure someone can hear, but it doesn’t even phase you. Harder, deeper— and you’re collapsing, legs spasming uncontrollably, orgasm so intense it’s on the brink of totally hurting. Tears roll down your sweaty face and he kisses them away, cumming onto your back to wipe off in a few minutes.

“I never even”—you pant, tired—“got to say congratulations.”

“That was more than enough.”

—

Charles is elated when you tell him his family has thrown a party for him the day next. He’s boyish in that way, optimistic and kiddy, the kind of person who’s up at five-thirty to announce their own birthday. 

He drives you both to his childhood home, a route so familiar he could drive with his eyes closed. (“I hope you’re not driving closed-eyed,” you’d warned.)

Even if he could, anyway, he’d rather not. The scenery of Monaco is stunning, ever-changing, and he never tires of it—the buildings, the skies, the trees and shrubbery, stores lining the streets, clean entrances. 

And you—in the passenger seat, humming softly to a song of his choosing. Drives are always better when you’re in the passenger seat.

The turnout is generous: extended family, and several friends from school. There’s bowls of fruit, salad, plates of salmon and racks of lamb, knobs of butter with warm bread. Pascale commands the kitchen—visible in how she leaves it cluttered with bowls, ingredients, whisks still dripping with syrup or batter, spoons licked for tasting. The good kind of clutter.

Lorenzo has also taken reign of the AUX, because it’s 70’s music playing, which is what he’s fond of for family gatherings like these. It’s My Cherie Amour now, Stevie Wonder mellowing across the lawn and into the house.

Charles knows you love the kitchen as much as his mum does, so when you get to the house, he’s not surprised to see you leave him in favor of checking out what damage has been done to your favorite marble countertops. He watches Pascale turn from the gas range, her eyes lit when she sees you, inviting you into an embrace. 

You look like the song playing, pretty and lovely, breeze in the summer. He almost loses himself in thought before his great-aunt Eden places two bony hands on his arms and greets him in feeble Italian.

He flits his eyes away from you, if just briefly, and faces the woman with a smile on his face. “Ciao, zia,” he says, voice buoyant, happy. “You came here to see me, no?”

All five-foot-one of her shakes in disagreement. She wags a finger for extra measure. “No,” she says. “Sono venuto a vedere la tua ragazza.”

His eyes widen. “She’s—” He pauses. He debates telling Eden you’re not actually his girlfriend, that this was a setup to appease Pascale and, by extension, tifosi. But he backtracks.

He shouldn’t, but he gives in, lives out his dreams for a bit. “Ah, she’s over there, zia. Con mamma.” He points to the open door, and to you on the far end of the room inside, holding a spoon. “Beautiful, yes?”

“Molto,” she says proudly. “You marry her?”

Fact: his great-aunt has the worst memory. She forgot Charles’ name twenty times, let alone niche facts like this one. Another fact: she rarely shows up to family events. Maybe now, because it’s a racing thing; but baby showers and funerals, she’s at home. So he indulges a bit more.

“Si, we’re engaged. But—it’s a secret, zia.” He grins. “Non dire a nessuno. Okay?”

“Sei fidanzato?!” She claps once, excited. “Ay, Charles. I waited my whole life for this moment, si?” And she’s wobbling away, still muttering under her breath.

—

“How is my son?” Pascale’s voice is teasing. She sighs happily. “For years I wondered if this would happen. And it really is.”

“Oui, sure is,” you sing-song, laughing a bit awkwardly. “We’re—he’s okay. We’re great. In love.”

“Oh, in love,” she swoons. She leaves you, after fifteen more minutes of detailed discussion, with half a spoonful of vinaigrette to taste-test, departing to check on the guests for a few minutes. In her place arrives Lorenzo, already bearing a shit-eating grin. “Saluuut.”

“Mmm, good to see you, too.” You taste the liquid and add lemon to the bowl. “How’s wedding planning?”

“Think we’ll throw a shower. Is that pretentious?”

“No,” you say, mulling over it. “Sure, a bit. But just don’t make it a whole thing, you’re golden.”

“I see.” He sighs fondly. “You know, many a conversation we’ve had right here at this counter. About anything.”

—

You loosen your school tie, slicing an apple like you so often do, waiting for Charles’ karting practice to end. Pascale had fixed you a bowl of something, Hervé a glass of orange juice. And somebody else would always, without fail, steal your food. A hand swipes two slices form your chopping board and your head whips up.

“Lorenzo!” You stomp your foot. “Stop stealing! That is my apple.”

“You mean the Leclercs’ apple.” He laughs, pops another slice into his mouth, smiling. 

You roll your eyes, shaking your head. The braid beside your head shakes with it as you continue slicing it into perfect quarters. He pipes up again: “How was school?”

“Shit, as usual.” You lower your voice and smile, leaning in. “Pascale scolded me earlier, for saying that word.”

“Did Papa?”

“Obviously not. He fist bumped me.” You share a laugh, both chewing on apple slices now. “Anyway, I aced a math test, had aubergine for lunch… got driven here by Charlotte’s mum.”

“Charlotte?” Lorenzo hums conspiratorially, making a mmmm sound. You look up from the yellow chopping board, furrowing your eyebrows. He persists: “Mmm. Cha-r-lotte.”

“What’s up with Charlotte?” Bit impolitely, you ask, in-between chews.

“I think she likes Charles, a little.” You nod slowly, trying to follow. Charlotte liking Charles. Your Charles. Wait, no. Not your—or nobody’s, really. Just Charles. Yeah.

“What? Bull!” You narrow your eyes. “Says who?”

“Why do you care?”

“Wh—I don’t!” You squeak, caught. “Just… I think I’d know, Lorenzo.” You make a tch noise, crossing your sweater-clad arms. “So—says who?”

“I saw her leering at him during his birthday party.” 

“You’re wrong,” you say, but you don’t really know who you’re convincing. He reaches over for an apple slice, and you move the chopping board out of the way sharply.

“Mon dieu, you’re snappy. Fine, fine. I might be wrong,” he relents, shrugging. He gets up and slides beside you to be able to acquire more slices. “I talked to her during the party, too.”

“Weirdo,” you tease, allowing him to take a few more. “About Charles, yes?

“No, about her brand new dress.”

“You’re the funniest Leclerc brother, I assure you.”

“She told me…” He says, louder this time, shushing you effectively. “She told me she ‘finds Charles cute.’” Air quotes, shrug. “But that they ‘probably won’t’ date.”

“Huh. Did, um. Did she say why?” You play with the tail of your braid, shuffling back and forth on your flats. You don’t know why you’re so fidgety—you aren’t nervous, you don’t think.

“Because…” he says, chewing to allow for a pause. “She said every time she looks for Charles to try and ask for time alone, or on a date, or something, he’s already following you around like some puppy.”

—

You comb your hair into a bun and venture into the patio, having avoided a good chunk of the noon heat. You greet some relatives politely along the way, and receive a hand squeeze from great-aunt Eden. At one of the tables is Charles, beside Joris and another friend, and Giada and Charlotte across them, an empty seat beside the latter.

You seat yourself in it and Giada kisses your cheek. “Hey. Ça va?”

“Fine,” you say, smiling. Then you lower your voice to a whisper. “Do you remember when I told you about my crush on Charlie? For the first time?”

“Yeah,” she whispers back. “Around… 2013.”

“Ouais. And… and it disappeared after that,” you say. “Right?”

“You said it did,” she says. “A year later. When we were sixteen.”

“Right.” You think. Seventeen onwards—you’d never formed a full-fledged crush on Charles. “Okay. It’s nothing. Just a memory. I was just. Yeah, oui.”

“Oui, let’s eat.” The memory fades and so does your running mind. Charles’ eyes meet yours across the table, and suddenly you feel a little less like your thoughts have ripped you open.

—

When you and Charles were younger, you adopted the adage “bitter with the sweet.” Charles will have people believe it was made by the both of you, with philosophical minds stretched so far beyond their years. Well, revisionist history. The truth lay in the Carole King song of the same name you’d heard on the stereo.

Those are the exact words Charles tells Ted when he’s interviewing for the Spain Grand Prix. It’s a hot day and you’re especially doubled down on by the fact that he’s finished ninth. 

You’d been fake-dating for the cameras all weekend. At all costs, you try and avoid interviews, but the damned Drive to Survive producers insist on a soundbite and start following the two of you around everywhere (only to find your conversations sound very weird and niche, and not scandalous or sexy).

Pascale also called—Charles first, and when he didn’t check his phone, you. You spent an hour on the phone just talking about the race. About the penalties and the nasty headlines that followed, and just everything.

“I’m glad you’re there,” she says. “God knows he needs you.”

You end up biking to try and relieve the stress, posing with fans for pictures.

“I’m such a big fan. I stalk Charles’ Insta like, all the time, and it’s crazy how you guys are dating.” A teenaged girl laughs nervously. “Where’d it happen?”

“Texas!” He, again, tries out the bit to appease the fans but you have to extinguish the flames of his blatant lies.

“He’s kidding,” you interject. “It’s just—it just happened, really.”

How does something just happen? Someone told you once, in a Paris bar, that love is like an echo. It’s always there, in the underbelly, underneath it all, and then one day it echoes, like a bass drum or a cymbal. And the echo—the echo is you feeling it. You feel the echo, the all-encompassing echo, even if the love itself’s been there all along.

With Charles, it’s out of the question. You love him. He’s your best friend. You trusted him before you even learned what trust meant, for Chrissake.

How could you not love him? That seemed impossible. The love was there. The love’s always been there and it’ll never go away.

It echoes at half-past-two in Barcelona, when he whips past you on his bike and says on your left. The breeze pulls your hair to the left, covers your face, and when you rake it away he’s stopped to check if he accidentally bumped you in his rush to look cool.

You’re creepily observant; you’ve been told this many times before. What people don’t know is with the observance comes even more questions. Ifs, whys, wheres, whens, hows, God the hows. The questions keep coming because there’s never an answer.

“Are you okay?” He asks. Green eyes glittering like a lake. Smile like the sun. Hair curly at the ends. “Did I hurt you?”

Then you realize. In the matters of love, every question—every single question. Every single one. The answer is Charles.

“Of course not,” you say. And you smile.

—

You almost drop your book in your rush to scurry past the paparazzi. They’re still busy on the two figures (Alex and Lily, you think) on another end of the paddock, which allows you only a few moments to try and evade them.

Others are stationed near the Ferrari hospitality, which means you’re going to need your hideout. Yuki had texted Pierre who had texted Charles who had told you that it was all clear to go there for a few minutes while waiting for the photographers to clear out.

Hurry, Charles is saying. Laughing. His hand’s gentle in yours. You want them there forever. You want to drag the tip of your nail over the barely-perceptible grooves of his fingerprints so he knows how much you need him.

The days post-Spain were spent biking, watching shows, listening to music, eating food. The travel to Canada—long, cold, compression socks. Pascale had called mid-flight to check on her “favorite pair”—you maneuvered yourselves into a much more cuddly position to appease her, and her giddy smile was incentive enough to stay that way for ninety minutes.

You’d been in a weird mental state trying to grapple with your rapidly returning and intensifying feelings for him, which have dawned on you all at once.

But he makes it better. You’re still laughing when you wedge yourselves in, eyes meeting.

And then you’re quiet.

The gaze you share is intense, but almost unsure, like you’re supposed to be looking away anytime now. You step backward shakily, and his hand moves from your waist to the small of your back to keep you from stumbling any further. You’re closer now. But this shouldn’t feel as strange as it does when you two have been in much more scandalous positions before—what’s different?

He’s so close, so so close, his green eyes looking right through you. You lean closer, ready to kiss him like you have before, ready to feel his mouth slot softly over yours, comforting and safe and Charles.

Funnily enough, it’s then that the illusion breaks, his grip loosening and the distance between you increasing. He coughs twice, awkwardly.

“Shit—sorry,” you say profusely, clearly having read the moment wrong. Embarrassment wells up in your system, warming your face. You laugh to diffuse the tension but it barely does anything.

“No, don’t—” He exhales, squeezes the bridge of his nose, trying to find words. “It’s not that I don’t want to kiss you. I do.”

“So kiss me,” you suggest simply, looking around for anything that might stop him. The embarrassment ebbs away, replaced quickly by confusion. 

“I don’t want to kiss you in an AlphaTauri stock room,” he mopes, burying his head in his hands in clear frustration. “An AlphaTauri stock room.” He repeats it in a hushed whisper, disbelief etched all over his pretty face.

“Charles,” you begin, smiling already, the quaint way that makes his knees go weak every time. “You’re acting like you and I haven’t kissed before.” 

“This is different.” He says firmly, looking away lest he lean in involuntarily. He interjects with conviction, not realizing what he’s implying until the implication’s hanging in the air. The longing kills him softly, and he feels if he looks at you a second longer he’ll kiss you anyway.

It’s a wonderfully confusing feeling. You open your mouth to respond but you can’t; your brain tacks itself onto his sentence, the division created between the kisses before now and the kiss that might happen anytime soon.

“H…” you trail off, throat drying. Blinking, you try again, “How different?”

He looks up, eyes conveying all the things his lips never will. This is different. You know it. I love you this time.

The answer is exchanged and accepted wordlessly. You slip out of the room when Pierre tells you it’s okay to, and it’s only then—only then—that Charles’ hand leaves your body. You seem to burn alive with its absence.

It’s a Ferrari 1-2. You snap a thousand pictures with Isa and Carlos holding Carlos’ trophy while Charles is doing interviews, and they invite you to join them for the break. You’re open to it—the win, the good standings, they definitely warrant a celebration for the few weeks’ break. So your original itinerary is Portugal—beaches, coasts, food—but the jet re-charts a route and the flight is cut much shorter because you’re in New York City.

—

Somewhere in Manhattan, a wedding shower is thrown on an outdoor rooftop. “This is one hell of a wedding shower,” you squeal excitedly when you spot him, bringing Lorenzo in for a hug. Your yellow dress flows in the wind. “I thought you guys were going to throw it in Monaco?”

“Yeah, well… why not here, right? It’s beautiful.” He gestures to the skyline, smiling. “Plus, Charles, Arthur, and Mum were already near the country for work, so we got ahead of it. Everyone was happy to fly out.”

“Well, for what it’s worth, I love it.” You beam. “I can’t believe it, either. When’s the final date?”

He opens his mouth to reply, but the wind is knocked out of him by Charles barreling into his arms for a hug. You roll your eyes at the latter’s childish behavior, smiling despite yourself. They part and Charles finds his place beside you, arm snaking around your shoulders. “What a wedding shower!”

“Don’t flatter me, dipshit,” Lorenzo jokes.

“It’s a lovely one.” Lorenzo thanks him. “An amazing shower. You know, it’s a total golden shower!”

You purse your lips. “Charles—”

“A golden shower, mate. Absolutely.”

That garners at least three odd looks and you calmly place a hand on his chest to whisper don’t ever fucking say that again it means something completely different please don’t embarrass me or your brother. 

For all your embarrassment, you make up for it in having the literal time of your life. The food is good, the city view is amazing, the weather is fair and the music—Desafinado now—is amazing. “I could see myself here,” you say offhandedly to Charles, who nods back with a faint smile. He’s half-distracted.

“You look beautiful, by the way,” he says, squinting from the sun in his eyes. “Very.”

You part ways at some point—Pascale whisks him off, no doubt for another long round of questioning about your relationship, and you meander around with a glass of champagne.

You’re halfway through swiping a mini quiche when a hand wraps around your wrist and squeezes to get your attention—Charles’ great-aunt Eden. She speaks only intermittent English, and your Italian fails to carry you through well enough, but you smile and greet her. “Ciao, Eden!”

“Ciao, bella.” She smiles. “Flight was long.”

“Oh, yeah. New York’s far. I might work here someday. I’ll hear results in around two weeks, but I’m hoping for London instead.” You slow your speech.

“When will you two wed?”

“Wed?” Your face warms and you stutter through a giggly mess of a sentence. “Oh, Eden—zia—no, no! We’re just friends.”

“My Charles told me you two are to be married.” You both crane your heads to the right, where Charles is leaning against the terrace railing talking to one of your friends, Matthew, animatedly. He meets your eyes, sees Eden beside you, and seems to connect the dots.

Jokingly, perhaps, he raises his hand and wiggles his empty ring finger. You can’t help but smile as you turn back to the old woman. “Oh, did he, zia?”

“Si, he did.”

“Well, we’re just going to let it happen, then. You’re invited. Front row.” You kiss her cheek and she smiles, wobbling off to drink more wine before any of the adults can stop her.

It’s announced then that the dance floor is open, and many of Pascale’s friends filter through to show off their moves to the 70’s music. You watch, amused, at the display of dexterity to Frankie Valli and Aretha Franklin. You cheer them on, content to watch them against the backdrop of the New York sunset.

When Ain’t No Mountain High Enough plays, the dance floor grows, because nobody can resist the song—not even Charles, apparently, who takes your hand without preamble and takes you, squealing, to the centre.

You sing each of the parts, like you always do when the song comes on. It’s semi-tradition at this point: you take Marvin Gaye’s, Charles takes Tammi Terrell’s. You both exaggerate your dance moves and pretend you’re performing.

His hand’s in yours, winding you around and pulling you close. At some point he starts robot dancing to entertain you. It works—you laugh out loud, your eyes half-shut and faced to the stars above. He could write a poem about this. Or a song.

The song ends and you lean onto his shoulder to take a breather—then the photographer swoops in and takes a picture. “That’s going into the RSVPs!” He says, accent unmistakably American.

“Does he know we’re not the couple here?” You ask.

Do we know we’re not the couple? Charles asks himself.

The night escalates as the “oldies” leave, and Matthew, Joris, and Giada join you both for one last round of drinks again. You’re all standing at the exit making conversation; Lorenzo attends to his friends at the other end of the terrace.

“I feel young again,” Matthew says, liberated by Tito’s vodka. He takes another swig and pulls his coat on.

“You’re twenty-five, calm down,” you joke. “Dodged that bullet.” You’re poking fun at the semi-massive crush you had on Matthew in secondary school, and a laugh passes through the four of you. “Anyway, you three be careful. No driving.”

“Jesus, but really—I haven’t been this drunk since you”—he points at you, laughing—“turned seventeen at that club, Amber? No?”

“Oh, God. Y’know, same.” You fail to notice Charles and Giada share a look. “I remember nothing from that night! Or, like, the first two hours at least.”

“I remember drinking my body weight because of heartbreak,” he jeers. 

“Heartbreak? Were you—were you with anyone?” You ask, confused.

It happens before anyone can stop it. “No, when Charles kissed you. And you kissed him after. Alright, night mates! Lorenzo—merci!”

Oh, fuck, you hear in the back of your now-muddled brain. Giada’s voice.

You open and close your mouth. “Ch—wait, he—what?”

“I—let’s talk here,” Charles flounders, dragging you to a more secluded spot and facing you. The three of your friends exit; Giada waves, apologetic. “When… we were at Amber… and you were absolutely hammered, we kissed. It was twice—just twice. And you didn’t, um. Remember a thing.”

You’re unsure. “In Amber?” You blink, confused. “What do you mean?”

“We… I don’t—I mean, I understand why you don’t remember. We kissed that night.”

“So that’s… Charles… You didn’t tell me.” Your voice quivers, like a wire flicked. “Why didn’t you say it at the time?”

He doesn’t give you an answer. He just looks at the counter, imagines the way your eyebrows furrow, your lips move, eyes glitter. He can’t give you one. He doesn’t want to hurt, disappoint, sadden you. He wants to get on his knees and root you here, so he’ll have all the time in the world to come up with an answer.

“Charles.” But he loves you, and he can at the very least be honest for you. “Look at me.”

“I was scared.” His eyes gravitate to yours.

“Of?”

“It felt stupid, is all. That you didn’t remember, and maybe you did but you were pretending you weren’t. I didn’t—it didn’t—sorry.” He laughs, stutters. “I convinced myself it didn’t mean anything because we didn’t have feelings for each other.” He pauses. “Then.”

“Well,” you say, slow. Eyes stuck to his. “How about now?”

“Now?”

“I love you, now. I mean, isn’t that all this is? Loving? Even if? De—despite of?” 

And this—God. This is how it feels. He’s looking at you and you’re telling him you love him because you do, and finally he’s been over with reassurance.

You love him, too. That way. He trembles with it. His hands are shaky when they lace into yours, like you’re a shrine, a prayer, and he feels like maybe these are the emotions that swirl through the human body when one wins the lottery and gets struck by angry lightning at the same time.

This is it, he thinks. Profound and lovely and an echo of sweet memories. He’s yours. Here in a city unfamiliar to both of you, yet to be conquered, your fingers lace lightly and you smile, smile, smile at each other, as if you’re the last two people on Earth. He’s yours, so foolishly in love with you.

Even far from home, you’re both filled with warmth, with longing. Extended stares, pits of your stomachs welling up with something lovely in between homesickness and nostalgia. Here again, you again, us again—it’ll always be us again, your heart seems to say, surrounded by the same love the same hurt the same sad the same everything, you and me, all the love in the world, all the confusion, we’re here. It’s never over.

Across the terrace, Lorenzo watches. Two figures, laughing, emanating happiness, gentle unkowing love. You two have finally made it here, after what felt like a thousand trials and dreams and stories.

So even if you’re taller, in high heels and a yellow dress—and Charles is broader, in a suit and tie—Lorenzo thinks he can blink and see the two little kids who hosted a tea party in the backyard. He can blink again and see you hugging, eyes shut, his lips pressed to your forehead to convey the intimacy nothing else will do as well. 

“So what now?” You ask. Again with the questions. In your defense—it begs so many follow-up questions. A love so many years in the making—layer after layer after layer—of course it begs all the questions, almost to the point of overwhelming capacity. What’ll we tell Pascale? The fans? The family? Everyone?! 

But one look and he makes it better. His green eyes, bright against the deep black of the skyline. You’ve grown. You’ve done it. You’re here. “We’ll figure it out.” He smiles. “We deserve this kind of ending, don’t you think?”

—

“He has my name.” A tubby finger points to the boy on the greeting card. “That one.”

“And who’s the dog?” Asks the girl beside him, hair wound into a plait. She likes this boy. He’s cute. She plays with the end of her braid and stares, eyes flickering in-between him and the card they’re staring at.

“The name’s right there. They’re best friends.”

“Okay, that’ll be me.”

“So that’s us.”

“Oui.” She smiles. “Charlie and Snoopy.”

–

read an omitted scene here :)

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

[lvlyghost]

Hi I just read your “The Things I Never Said” oneshot and loved it. Can I get a kind of opposite version where Simon wishes to be a dad but the reader never wants to be a mom so she freaks out and gets an abortion with out Simons knowledge and later he somehow finds out? Maybe angst to fluff? Totally ignore this if you dont want to, have a wonderful day/night.

The Things I Wish I Said

Pairings: Simon "Ghost" Riley x F!Reader

Summary: You decide to end things with Simon after what you did.

Word Count: 1.7k

Tw: hurt, comfort, angry simon, angst, implied abortion. Not proofread.Think that's it but lmk if i missed anything!🐸

A/N: here it is! I hope this doesn't disappoint and that it lives up to your expectations 😰🤞🏻 I really enjoyed writing this one and since it's similar to my previous fic decided to name it quite similar. ✨💞

Masterlist✨Masterpost

He doesn't know. You stare at Simon's gargantuan body as he barks orders to the new recruits. Things have been rather... tense lately. And it's all because of you.

Yesterday had taken a toll on you. A big piece of your heart and soul lost forever in that godamn clinic. You can still smell the perfume of the nurse, feel the hands of the doctor as he tried to comfort you. You're deadly pale, tired and numb. That's why you're sitting on the other side of the field, watching the rest of your team training as usual. Nothing changes for them. You on the other hand? Can't even look at Simon in the eyes. Not anymore. The one thing he wanted the most was also the one you were the most reluctant to. It just wasn't you.

You didn't have it in your DNA. To be a mother. To carry a baby in your arms. And not because you're selfish, but you had decided a long time ago that having children was off the table.

Even when everybody would say 'you'll change your mind when you find the one'. Well it was a blatant lie because you found him. You loved Simon. You'd do whatever he asked of you. Just not this. And you hate yourself for it.

You lied to him and didn't mention anything. Didn't tell him you were pregnant with his offspring.

Couldn't even bare to maintain a conversation with him. And he's starting to notice the way your body startles when he reaches out to you. How you avoid his gaze or not kiss him anymore.

"Feeling better?" He questions, strong arms crossed. Simon doesn't fully look down where you sit but side eyes you. He awaits. You're looking out to the field, ignoring his presence as you swallow the lump in your throat.

"Not really, Lieutenant." You simply add, in a hushed tone.

He sighs but doesn't move, starting to lose his patience. He's trying so hard to understand why you're acting like this. He's preoccupied. Anxious. Yet doesn't let it show, remaining stoic as ever.

"Wanna talk about it, Sergeant?" Biting down on your lip and fidgeting with your hands you shake your head. Simon rubs his face, annoyed that whatever the fuck is happening is driving the both of you apart, so he sits down on the bench next to you. "What is it?" He turns his head to you. Arms resting on his knees.

"Simon..." you warn him with a sad tone.

"No. That's an order."

"Sir, we're done here..." One of the recruits shouts from the other side.

"You bloody keep going until I tell you to stop!" He seethes, making you flinch.

Resting your head on your hands, start thinking about the inevitable. About what you're going to do. Your heartbeat racing when you feel his eyes on you again.

"Simon..." you say. "I... I- don't think we should be together right now." It hurts deep inside because all that's left is the rustling of wind and the voices of the soldiers around. You don't turn to see his reaction, probably wouldn't be able to stand it. It's not because you didn't love him. In fact, you loved him more than he could imagine. It's what you did behind his back what's eating you alive. And the best way you can seem to cope with it is to leave him.

Not a sound comes from him for the next few seconds. Until you finally find the courage to look his way. Blue eyes scan your body.

"As you wish, kid." He whispers. You can't see it but he's already spiraling down to a dark place.

The one good thing he had...

-

"I've had enough!" Soap's voice booms in the hallway and then your door bursts open. You shriek, standing up from the bed. "I can't stand it anymore lass. You've gotta talk to him." He says.

"Johnny... we've talked about this." You murmur.

"No. I'm being serious! Ghost is more irritated than usual, he almost punched me for saying he needed to get laid. The bloody hell happened to you both?" His eyebrows furrow. "You need to figure this out, otherwise..."

"It's complicated." You deadpan.

"Well then bloody make it right! Steaming fucking Jesus you two acting like fucking children. Grow the hell up."

You had never seen Johnny this mad.

Of course you were aware of Ghost's attitude since you two broke up. And it's only been three weeks. You've been attending the military counselor since then, it's a sorrowful feeling when you think about Simon, while you talk about him. About what led to the end of your relationship or whatever it was that you two had going on.

"I believe what you went through was hard and painful. But I do think that he deserves an answer." she had insisted. "He needs to know."

It was easier said than done. Every time you thought about going to his room or wherever he'd be you got this uneasy feeling, like he somehow despised you now. That all the soft smiles and gentle caressing that were once just for you had turned into frowns and harsh commands. Dismissing you whenever you showed up to training. Not even making eye contact during debriefs. Walking right past you in the corridor. You can't help but wonder if the baby's eyes would've been more like him or yours.

Stop.

The counselor said it was a type of ptsd and that therapy would help you get through it.

"The first step is to let yourself feel that pain, make amends with it, and then go see him."

"I'll try to talk to him Johnny. I promise." You murmur, jaw clenching.

The mere thought of going to speak to Simon made your hands sweat and your heart beat frantically.

Three days after the conversation with Soap, you stand in front of Simon's bedroom door. Blinking rapidly as your mind races with all the things you ought to say. It's almost one in the morning, unable to sleep you decided the conversation couldn't wait any longer. You couldn't wait anymore. Swallowing down saliva you raise your hand, two soft knocks on the door echoing in the empty hallway and you wait patiently, fumbling with your hands as the anxiety begins to raise.

Simon doesn't open so you knock again two times only to be greeted by more silence and a loud thunder outside in the sky.

A quiet huff leaves your mouth as you turn on your heel and leave. Wandering around the compound with no clear direction. It's dead silent, you're left with your own self destructive thoughts as you walk past the gym. A low thud can be heard from behind the doors so you backtrack and take a glimpse through the window.

Why is he at the gym at this ungodly hour?

Pushing past the door you walk sluggishly, Simon's quick to notice the disturbance, ready to snap at whomever is here to interrupt his midnight routine. It's been like this for weeks now; not being able to sleep. The nightmares that had disappeared for the most part came back with full force.

There's a hollow feeling inside of him ever since you decided to call it quits. He doesn't fucking understand, he's mad. Furious even. Can't help the anger whenever he wakes up and you're not there anymore. Can't bear the sight of you during debriefings and not even looking his way. The way you freeze when he has to order you around.

Had he done anything to make you fearful of him?

He needed to know, he needs answers. He'd ask tomorrow. He swears. Whatever it was. Then he'll walk away.

He stands from where he was about to start the second round of push-ups. Simon's able to recognize your silhouette with the lights off, he just knows you that well. Wherever you were, in a sea full of people he'd know it's you even then.

"Sorry..." you murmur. Simon's looking at you over his left shoulder through the mirror in front of him, you stand a few steps behind him. "I didn't mean to interrupt."

He stays silent. It's now that you come to realize that he isn't wearing the mask, instead lies on the room floor, discarded. "Was looking for you in your room but-"

"Say it." He barks, turning around and stalking towards you. His presence alone making you feel smaller. His brows are knitted, jaw clenched so hard you're sure he'll break his teeth. Simon is massive. Yet, despite all of this you know he'd never lay a finger on you, nor hurt you. "Fucking start talking, kid." The hurt in his voice is palpable. You fumble with your hands, it's getting harder to keep your eyes on his. You do not deserve his love at all. "Because I've been losing my mind ever since you shut me out."

A soft wail escapes your lips, you try to muffle it. Simon hesitates for a second. Wanting nothing more than to hold you in his arms, he awaits.

"I... I- got pregnant." You cried. "And you've always known I never wanted that. I panicked and didn't say a word because it would be more painful or...-" you swallow through incessant tears. "Or so I thought. I decided to get rid of it, Simon. But seeing what's done to us. What I've done... I'm so fucking sorry I don't deserve-"

Suddenly you're engulfed by strong arms and a broad chest as you finally let go and cry rivers of pain and regret. He's murmuring sweet things in your ear that you can't understand die to your deteriorating situation.

"It's okay. It's okay, love. Fucking hell, should've come to me." He growled. "Don't you ever do this to me again, kid. You didn't have to do it alone. Christ."

There's a soft kiss on the top of your head as your cries start to die down and all there's left are soft whimpers.

"I never meant to leave you, but I couldn't be close to you after what I did behind your back." You sniff.

The ever gentle caressing of his thumb on your back never ceases, providing the comfort you so desperately seek.

"S'alright, love. Nothing to be sorry about." He takes a step back keeping you at arms length. "There she is." A little broken but starting to be pieced back together. He gently wipes your cheeks and breathes deep. "I'm here. Always."

#call of duty modern warfare 2 #cod #cod mwii #cod mw2 #cod x reader #cod ghost #cod mw22 #call of duty ghost simon riley #simon riley imagine #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #ghost mw2 #ghost riley #mw2 ghost #ghost imagine #simon riley x you #simon riley #cod simon riley #cod simon ghost riley #john price #john price x reader #cod konig

[sourcherryandsprinkles]

Hii you dont have to do this but can i request a part 3 to ethan x camgirl where they start talking and meet up. Thanks🫶

The ending kind of sucks, but it's already 1.8k and I'm tired of writing this fic so I'm posting anyway

Warnings: 18+, smut, p + v, virgin!Ethan

my taglists are here + you can send requests here at any time

—

What were the odds that you and Ethan both lived in New York? You didn’t attend the same college — he was at Blackmore and you at NYU —, but it was still a damn good coincidence. It was also almost unbelievable that you never bumped into each other when you visited friends at Blackmore.  

After weeks of messaging back and forth — a few late night sexting sessions —, you decided to finally meet in person. It was nerve-wracking and exciting at the same time.  You couldn’t wait to see those sweet dimples and bambi eyes…and kiss the hell out of him. 

When Ethan got to the party, he felt dumb for asking you to meet him there because these frat houses were always jam-packed with people, but you were already on your way. It was too late to change the plans.

He stood in the room, deep brown eyes glancing around at the sea of faces, trying to spot someone who matched the beautiful girl he saw through his screen. What he hadn’t thought of was that looking for someone at a part could be like searching for a needle in a haystack. 

‘’Ethan!’’ Chad called out, walking up to his roommate with a red rub in his left hand. ‘’We’re missing a player for beer-pong, you in?’’ 

Chad must be truly desperate to ask him to be his beer-pong partner because he knew how terrible he was at the game. 

‘’Sorry, but I have to decline,’’ Ethan said. ‘’I’m waiting for someone.’’ 

A teasing smirk curled at Chad’s mouth. ‘’Someone, uh? You mean a girl.’’

Ethan rolled his eyes, fighting the blush on his face. ‘’Shut up.’’ 

The night went on, the frat party roaring with energy, and he finally spotted you in the midst of the crowd. You had on more clothes than he was used to seeing on you, but you still looked gorgeous — you always did. 

He made his way over to you, a shy smile drawing on his face as he got closer. 

You pulled Ethan into a greeting hug, feeling like you were past formal greetings. He saw you stuff your fingers in your cunt as you moaned his name, shaking his hand would feel strange. 

‘’You smell good,’’ Ethan said, your sweet perfume enveloping him, a nice change from the strong weed odor that filled the living area. 

You chuckled. ‘’Thanks.’’ You pulled back and raised your eyes. ‘’I didn’t expect you to be this tall,’’ you remarked in turn, surprised by Ethan’s height. 

Being around you felt surreal to Ethan. He had to pinch himself a few times to make sure he wasn’t in one of his wet dreams. But you were really there, sitting beside him on the couch, your knee brushing his leg every time you laughed. 

‘’You okay?’’ you asked, noticing Ethan shifting in his seat. 

‘’All is good,’’ he lied, his face forcing a smile. 

‘’You sure? We can go and get some air if you want.’’ 

‘’I don’t need air, it’s just— I don’t want you to think I wanted us to meet so I could use you for sex, but my dick has been rock hard since that hug and it’s getting really uncomfortable.’’

You looked down to see the tent in his pants and laughed softly. ‘’Why didn’t you say so?’’

‘’Because it’s embarrassing...’’ he mumbled, wishing the couch would swallow him.

Leaning closer, you said quietly. ‘’Would it be less embarrassing if I said I’ve been dying to leave and have you to myself?’’ 

No other words were spoken. Ethan just stood and you grabbed his arm as he guided you through the bodies of partygoers. He kept his head down and smiled at the ground, the feeling of your hand curling around his bicep sending butterflies in his stomach. If a simple touch ignited this kind of reaction from him, what would happen when your hands will be touching lower on his body?

The walk to Ethan’s dorm felt like a thousand miles away. The chilly night air nipped at your bare legs as you strolled through the dimly lit campus pathways, holding on to his arm the whole way. You couldn't wait to be inside and finally kiss him.

You barely made it inside the building lobby that you had pulled Ethan down by the front of his polo shirt and captured his lips with your own. He gasped against your mouth in surprise, not expecting that kiss, but quickly recovered and kissed back until he was out of breath. 

Grabbing his hand again, you hurriedly took the stairs to the third floor — as instructed —, and watched with amusement Ethan unlocking and shutting the door with a clumsy eagerness. 

‘’Come here, pretty boy,’’ you said, pulling Ethan down and kissing him again, gentle but deep. 

You could kiss him all night and never get tired, but the elephant in the room was nudging at your thigh and you just had to give it some attention. Without disconnecting the kiss, your hand wandered south down Ethan’s body, pausing right over the lump in his jeans. He let out a strangled moan at the contact, and it made you smile into the kiss.

‘’Should we take care of that?’’ you asked, dragging your mouth to his jaw while you rubbed him over his jeans,  touching him where nobody's ever touched him before, where he'd only dreamed of you touching him. 

Ethan’s head tilted back and you only saw it as an opportunity to kiss a line down the side of the neck, adding to the new sensations. You kept on stroking him slow and long until he couldn’t take it anymore, pleading once again. 

He peeled off his jacket, leaving it in a lump on the floor while you did the same with your sweater, leaving you in your lacy bra. You had picked it meticulously, hoping Ethan would be the one to take it off you tonight. 

‘’Fuck, you're gorgeous,’’ he murmured to himself, watching you closely.

You pulled at his polo shirt, and when he raised his arms to discard it, you looked at him appreciatively. He was hiding so many good things underneath those preppy clothes. You ran your hands along his chest, the smooth muscles that spread across his stomach and his chest and his arms. 

‘’You’re not bad either,’’ you replied, triggering a light blush on his cheeks. 

The rest of your clothes came off in a disordered fashion, trying to get naked as fast as possible. Once the goal was reached and everything was on the floor on the chair, you glanced down and smirked, admiring what you had only ever seen through a screen. Big enough to make you feel full, and pink and leaking at the tip.

‘’Looks even better in person than on camera.’’ You wanted to kiss it, but instead wrapped your fist around his cock, slowly going in up and down motions. Moans and pleas fell from his plush lips, causing more pre-cum to leak from the tip. ‘’Please what, baby?’’ you asked, gently caressing the line of his happy trail with your other hand. ‘’Just tell me what you want.’’

‘’I want you.’’

You leaned in to kiss him again, and this time the kiss was hungry as you guided him back to what you assumed was his bed — the letterman jacket on the other bed gave it away. You moved back and brought Ethan down with you as you lied on the typical college boy dark blue sheets. Some curls were falling in his face, reminding you of the shy boy you met months ago during a private session. 

You tucked his hair behind his ear, smiling softly at him. ‘’How do you want me?’’ 

On top. 

Connecting your lips for a quick kiss, you then grabbed a condom — which he had bought for the occasion — and switched positions so you were straddling him. Pushing up on your knees, you gripped the base of his cock and lined him up with your entrance. You could tell that Ethan was nervous, his breathing pattern faster than a few minutes ago. 

‘’It's okay. I got you.’’

You pressed gently, the tip barely sliding in, making Ethan grab the sheets and throw his head back from the overwhelming rush of new sensations. Slowly, you sank down onto him, inch by inch until he was all the way inside of you, and sighed. He felt so much better than you imagined. 

Ethan’s grip on the sheets tightened as a long moan drew from his mouth. ‘’Fuck, that feels good,’’ he whispered, his eyes still shut, scared that if he open them and see you sitting on his cock he’ll burst.

Taking a small pause to adjust, you tilted his face down to yours and leaned down, capturing his lips with your own as your breasts pressed against his chest. His eyes snapped open, only to close again and release the sheets to run his hands everywhere he could reach on your body. 

Once it was comfortable enough, you started moving your hips the same way you often did in your videos. Except this time, it wasn’t a dildo. 

Ethan groaned, squeezing your thigh and moving his other hand to your chest as you moved on top of him. He cupped your breast, and then tentatively squeezed your nipple. It sent a bolt of need through your core, settling right between your legs.

‘’Do that again, baby,’’ you encouraged, and moved your hips again, a long languid movement. ‘’You can be rougher.’’ You gasped, pressing your fingers over his, pinching and twisting your nipple the way you liked. It hurt in the best way. 

You continued moving your hips as Ethan played with your body, his mouth soon replacing his hands on your nipple, causing more mewls to ripple through. 

It wasn't long until Ethan began getting sloppy and whiny, silently letting you know he was close. Virgin men didn't last long — you knew —, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t use your own hand to speed your orgasm instead of making Ethan feel bad for finishing fast. 

You rubbed at your clit until you started to feel that coil tightening in your belly, getting close to the edge and, by some miracle, successfully reached your high closely together, echoes of your pleasure mixing as you clenched around Ethan’s spurting cock and milked him. 

When you were finished, you rolled off him, falling back on the mattress. You should get up and go pee, but Ethan curled up next to you after disposing of the condom, wrapping an arm around your middle and you didn't want to get up yet. He pressed his face against your soft breasts, a beaming smile on his lips as you wrapped your arms around his shoulders, holding him close. 

‘’I’m really happy I spent my dad’s money on that private session.’’

—

Scream taglist: @misfityanii @beautybyfire @iluvscream191 @mariposa555 @bella7866 @o638 @lulubelle14 @luvvtxinityy @frasersgf  @Eddiefrickenmunson @jasperr-the-friendly-ghost @ghostf4cee @thesebitcheslovesosadotcom @wandaswigglywoos @xjennyx2 @jennasslut @thatonesblog  @mikaelsonsstuff @icarly23 @tcddszn  @bt.oliana  @skyesthebomb @a1mzcruml3y @red1culous @iluurmom @popeheywardssecretgf @michaelangdonsslut @byhrxb @kamthecoolest @kattybug @ravenstrueluv @landryslxys @die4niyahhh  @sl4sh3rfuck3r @radiant-whore  @Meadzy21 @luci1fer @nomorespahgetti  @bloodyhw  @depthsofdespairr  @bellysbeach @wilmalovegood @loupiotesworld  @wenvierismycomfort @t-candy  @s-al-em  @darylscvmdumpster  @tommysaxes  @adaydreamaway08 @johannelis2302nely @aqshua @lynbubble  @luiise  @planetkt  @vampyrgoff  @adrluvh @mymultiveres  @miqi-16 @not-liah  @lovenats01 @doestalker @lonelywitchv2 @lausley336  @arinexeisnotworking @halforangecuts @l3ndryz  @ilovelandry  @your-platonic-gay-lover  @Danniackerman  @angelxxrose  @lottiefromsam  @thecrowdedstreetin1944 @cinnamonbun222

All and more taglist: @spiokybirdstarfish @kenqki @liidiaaag @hawkegfs  @gillybear17  @areaderinlove @acornacreacure @black-rose-29 @fudge13 @cece05 @rosie-cameron @Caxddce @laylasbunbunny @gemofthenight @beautyb1ade  @hi-bored-as-fcuk-rn  @lovelyy-moonlight @mellabella101 @vxnity713  @marzipaanz  @bisexualgirlsblog @queenofslytherin889 @thatbxtchesblog @softb-tterfly @ethanlandrycanbreakmyheart  @xyzstar  @graceberman3  @Heartsforneteyamsully  @aerangi  @hallecarey1  @bxbyyyjocelyn @mikeyspinkcup @jackierose902109 @daisydark @laurasdrey @mischieftom @fanatic4niall @peterholland04 @idkwhattonamethisblogs @grxnde-dwt @lexasaurs634 @teeeree13 @notasadgirlipromise @zoeynicolas @thejuleshypothesis @multi-fandom-bi-bitch

#ethan landry #ethan landry x reader #ethan landry imagine #ethan landry x you #scream 6 #scream #scream imagine

[becsabillion4]

take it out on me (carmen berzatto x reader)

so this is my first time posting a fic of mine on tumblr since i was 14 and i'm slightly terrified by the formatting but i posted this on ao3 yesterday and someone told me to post here too (<3) so i hope you all enjoy it as much as i enjoy the thought of getting pounded by carmy in the walk-in

pairing : carmen berzatto x f!reader

summary : Carmy is having a terrible service, and you're sure some time in the walk-in will help him cool off (although it gets hotter in there than you might think).

word count : 4,410

tags: SMUT, rough sex, angry sex, unprotected sex, fingering, creampie, choking, semi-public sex, ending with soft carmy which makes it all okay, 18+ only

note: this is explicit 18+ only and also this is NOT an advert for safe sex, it is merely a fantasy i have been playing with since my own days as a waitress and carmy has helped me to realise it. also i'm obsessed and i know y'all degenerates won't send help so instead i ask that you send me asks so i can write more about this wonderful man

Disorienting. Overwhelming. Stressful, painful, unrelenting. Burning your hand hard enough for it to stick to the pan, hard enough that you know on the way to the sink it’s too late, that you’ll bear the scar of that mistake for the rest of your life. Knives slicing always so close to your skin, living on the point of pain, focus trained so hard on the blade you can’t even blink. Shouting, screaming, the place could be on fire, and you wouldn’t look up from the art you’re creating. Flames licking at your apron. Beautiful.

Kitchens are the prison and the heart of a chef, and the one at The Bear is currently the pride and the bane of your life. Plating up your one billionth focaccia of the evening as Marcus rushes by holding a tray of cannolis aloft, you try to tune out Sydney shouting instructions to the new servers, trying to drill something, anything, into their panicked, under-developed skulls. 

But none of this worries you. What worries you is the ominous, creeping silence from the station to your right, where you know Carmy is cooking up not only the best food you’ve ever tasted, but an internal storm that is going to be unleashed any, second, now-

“Chefs! Where the fuck is my garnish? Tina, are you dead? ‘Cos you need to wake the fuck back up.”

Tina is already by Carmy’s side with the garnish, but the damage is done. She doesn’t bristle at his words, but shoots you a worried look as she slides by, murmuring, “Sorry, Chefs. Behind.”

Since you started working at The Bear six months back, you’ve witnessed a rare few Carmy outbursts, and you know everyone feels the same way when they happen. It’s like the moment you miss a step on familiar stairs, stomach lurching and fear sweeping through your body. Carmy is this kitchen, and his boiling point is the moment things tend to spin out of control. 

And yet, Tina’s reaction is everyone’s; disappointment in herself, instant forgiveness because she knows Carmy is doing everything he can for this team. Last week, after you and Sydney spent the evening getting wasted on her couch, she’d confessed to you how hard Carmy took his notorious opening night failure, and how he’s been struggling to make up for it since then. And it’s been working; his kindness, patience, and passion for elevating those around him have always outshone the occasional harsh word during service.

But this service is just bad. It’s been bad since 5AM, when you got here to take in the delivery and found out that the grapes needed for the welcome broth had somehow been left off of the order. It’s been bad since Marcus ruined three batches of cannolis in a row, and when Sydney tried to touch his shoulder and ask him what was going on, he stormed out. Since Sydney snapped at Richie for singing Taylor Swift badly during family. The hundred little underlying frissons of tension that normally dissipate as soon as service rolls around have congealed today, like oil in balsamic vinegar, rubbing together but refusing to meld into the team you know everyone can be.

And you know Carmy can feel it. His anger is a physical thing beside you, like standing next to a hot pan with too much oil in it and just waiting for it to start spitting at you. Knowing you have to keep stirring it anyway.

“Four top, two steak, one bucatini, one fish,” Sydney rattles off, and everyone responds “Yes, Chef!” a little too loud.

“Can I get some hands for this focaccia,” you shout through the din, pushing the two boards forward, but nobody responds. “Hands, please, get these off my station before I eat ‘em!” you call, trying to bring some levity to the atmosphere before-

“Hands, fuckin’ hands, Chefs, FUCK!” Carmy explodes, appearing by your side so suddenly you almost jump. His hands hover over the foccacia boards like he wants to adjust something on them, fix something, but you know as well as he does that they’re perfect already.

And of course, this just makes things worse.

Carmy properly looks up for the first time, straightening out of the “chef about to have an aneurysm over plating this fish” posture and into his “everyone here is about to get fucked” pose. “These are good to go, why are we not? Jesus. Jesus fucking Christ. Go fuck yourselves-” one of the new waitresses approaches with trembling hands and Carmy pushes the boards at her, disgusted, almost taking them over the edge of the pass, “-all of you, what is the point of any of us being here if nothing is leaving the fucking kitchen!”

“Carm, it’s okay, they’re going out,” you can’t help cutting in, but you should know better than to try to soothe a wild animal. Carmy doesn’t say anything, turns back to plating up his fish, but his beautiful artist’s hands, which you often find yourself trying to draw in the margins of inventory checks, are shaking now. You’ve never seen him this bad. The whole kitchen waits on a knife edge. You glance up, watching the waitress leave with your focaccia, and have a brief but fervent desire to be her as the doors swing her out of this hellhole.

The fish is beautiful as Carmy puts the finishing touches to it. A server steps up to take it as other dishes for the same table coalesce at the front of stations, all elegant, all perfect, all more than worthy of the restaurant’s Michelin star.

Carmy is completely still. Staring. And you know it’s too late.

Plunging his fist down, he crushes the fish into sea-scented pulp. The shells of oysters, hand-selected, crack into broken-mirror shards; the sauce is peppered with shoddy scraps of lobster tail.

It’s still not enough for Carmy, as he picks up the plate and sends it spinning into the back wall, narrowly missing Sweeps’ head. “ Shit, ” Carmy mutters, turning back to his station and searching for more things to destroy. You watch him contemplate the knives, and you can’t stay out of it any longer.

“Carmy. Chef. Carmy,” you say as you reach out to grab his muscled arm, pulling him round to face you. You can feel the tension corded deep under his skin, see the sheen of sweat coating his tattoos. Normally, any skin contact with him sends your brain into overdrive, but you can’t afford to be anything but calm right now.

His eyes are wild, but you watch him steadily, and he watches you straight back. You’re not sure why, but the moment reminds you of how you felt on those rare occasions he invited you and Syd over to brainstorm new recipes in his cramped kitchen. Especially that time Sydney couldn’t make it, and you were midway through describing your idea for a yuzu-infused scallops course to him - “with maybe, like, a garnish of broccoli just absolutely smothered in hollandaise” - when he reached forward, tucked a scrap of hair behind your ear, and the very idea of food whisked straight out of your head - but you still felt hungry. And whilst he’d tried out your broccoli idea over and over again that night, you found yourself blushing every time he passed you a spoon to taste it. 

You never could get that dish right. Every time you thought about it, you couldn’t separate the flavours from the curious look in his eyes, the way he drank in your ideas, absorbed them before he responded, how his eyes tracked every thought that crossed your face.

Now here you are again, staring at that measured, thoughtful man turned savage, and you wonder if you have the guts to do what you’ve been thinking about doing for a while.

“I’m not afraid of you,” you murmur beneath the clatter of plates behind you, just for him. You don’t look away even when you hear something shatter. You move your hand from his arm, up over his shoulder, push your palm into the curve of his neck and hold it there. 

Then you wait, feel his shoulders jumping up and down with his rapid breathing. Wait until he leans into it a little, chasing your solidity, and it’s all the response you need.

“Come with me.” It’s not a question, but he nods anyway.

“Sydney, you got this?” You ask, never taking your eyes from Carmy’s face, worried that if you do, you’ll lose whatever grip you have on him right now.

“Yes, Chef,” she replies, and you feel her edge round the side of Carmy to put another fish on rapid fire. He catches her eye as she passes, and brings his hand up to his chest, rubbing it once in what has become the team’s official way to apologise during service. She responds in kind, and he lets you drag him off the station, past the others shooting him worried looks, straight into the walk-in.

You shut the door carefully, recalling the stories of Carmy’s previous imprisonment. It’s still securely closed, giving you both some calm and privacy to cool off.

Except cooling off is not really what you have in mind.

You turn to see Carmy slumped in the corner, curled in on himself and running his hands through his already-chaotic hair. He stands again suddenly, bracing his hands on the wall behind him as if to remind himself they exist.

“Carmy.”

“Yeah, shit. Sorry, I just need a second. It’s just, I didn’t sleep at all last night. I was thinking about doing something with ceviche, but I couldn’t figure out what fish would work best, and then that sorta spiralled into a panic attack which kept me up whisking eggs for something until three, and then-” You watch his eyes darting over the shelves around him as he talks, and you realise he’s taking stock of what’s there. Even during a full-blown meltdown, he cannot stop working, stop thinking. He starts pacing.

“Carmy,” you say again as you try to catch his eye. He’s staring at some spare T-bones like they’ll explain to him whatever dish he was whisking eggs for last night. Fuck it. You grab his chin, tilt it until he has to look at you.

“D’you know the best way to calm down?”

“Lock yourself in the walk-in for three hours?” He’s trying to relieve some tension, but you have other ideas on how to handle that.

“Sex, Carmy.”

There. You’re terrified that you finally acknowledged it, finally confessed to what you’ve been thinking about for months, but thank God it’s out in the open. You’ve been blushing at his compliments on your food for far too long, ignoring how good he looks in a white tee for even longer. And today has been such a shitshow it can’t possibly get any worse by admitting to this too.

You wait for Carmy to shut it down, laugh it off, maybe even fire you, but he just looks shellshocked. Then again, that is his default look.

“I, um…” He rubs a hand over his forehead, glances up at you almost shyly. “I mean, um. What?”

“Listen, you’re fucking up service. You’re distracted, tired, stressed beyond belief. I want to help you, and I won’t pretend it’s just out of the goodness of my own heart. I’ve been interested in you for a while, Carmy. You can take that or leave it or kick me out of this walk-in if you want, but I’m here. I want to help you work through things, through all this anger. And…I want you to know you can take it out on me. And maybe even feel better at the same time.”

Carmy is flushed, and you’re all out of words. You kind of wish he was still looking at the T-bones.

“We, uh, we can’t.” Carmy leans back on a freezer for support, crossing his arms in a pose you normally associate with him working something out in his head, deciding what a dish is missing or what it needs to take it up a notch. “I mean, not now. Not here, at least. And I don’t know, we work together. I’m your boss. It’s not a good idea.” He reaches a hand round to his back, starts massaging the strain away there. It’s an especially effective position as he doesn’t have to look at you as he does it, as he says, “Sorry.”

You shrug a little, smile. Try to pretend it doesn’t hurt. Keep it professional, or as professional as you can get in a kitchen. “Hey, it was worth a shot. Get some sleep, Chef.”

You turn to go, hoping that stirring and slicing and plating up will shake off the embarrassment currently burning through to your bones.

But you don’t live to regret the offer as Carmy grabs your arm, spins you and shoves you hard enough into the walk-in door that it rattles on its hinges.

“Hey, everything okay in there Chefs?” you hear Marcus call, and it’s a reality check you absolutely don’t want right now. Carmy doesn’t even seem to have heard him, trailing kisses down your neck, collarbone, shoulder as your body arches into the feeling. You’ve had one too many fantasies about this walk-in since you started, but the actual feeling doesn’t begin to touch the dream.

“Yeah, all good Chef!” You manage to reply, but you barely get the ‘Chef’ out before Carmy’s lips slide over yours, pushing, demanding entry as his body keeps you pressed up against the door. Talk about being between a rock and a hard place, is all you have time to think between kisses.

There is no room or time for playing around. Carmy needs this, and you intend to provide, but you’re damn sure getting everything you can out of it just in case it never happens again. One of your hands curls deep into his hair, pulling his head back as your teeth click together in the ferocity of the kiss. You swear you can taste blood, but neither one of you pulls back, the saltiness only urging you on. Your other hand is busy loosening his belt, and you tug it hard to pull the silver prong free of the leather, hard enough that his hips jerk forward into yours and you moan, long and low.

Gravity suddenly spins on its axis as Carmy lifts you, turns and drops you down onto the freezer Fak installed last week. And for once in your life, thank you, Fak. The movement seems to shake Carmy out of it for a second, and he pulls back, hesitates. A hand curves around your cheek, and you can feel an apology coming, see the reticence forming in his eyes. And honestly, fuck that.

You hook fingers through his belt loops, dragging him closer and then using them to tug his trousers down. You’re not gentle as you reach into his underwear, wrap a hand around his cock, and you can tell that’s what he needs as he hisses, his head drifting back.

Removing his hand from your cheek, you guide it slowly down to your neck. His head snaps up, and there’s a darkness, a need, that wasn’t there before as you move your hand slowly, torturously, down his length.

“Hey,” you whisper, reluctant to interrupt the low grunts spilling from him with each of your movements. “I’m not going to break.”

You squeeze his fingers around your throat a little tighter, and it’s this that has him surging forward, messy mouths pressing together again and everything condensing into a rippling, burning, rightness as the fingers of his other hand shove themselves between your legs.

He lingers there for a moment, breaths short and sharp in your ear as he breaks free from your kiss and whispers, “If we had more time, I would clean up the mess you’re making all over my freezer, Chef.”

“My apologies, Chef,” you pant, the sweetness of the apology marred slightly by your fingers tugging hard through his curls. Then you’re pushing up his white shirt at the back, reveling in the heat of him, the muscles straining under your touch. “What’s my punishment?”

Carmy hesitates, then withdraws his fingers from you slowly, and it feels like the calm before the storm. One hand is still pressed loosely around your neck as he brings the other up to your face, runs the edge of his still-wet fingers over your lips. Asking or demanding, you don’t know, but you’re happy to comply. His pupils are blown so wide you can barely see the blue behind them, and when you slide your mouth over his fingers, taste yourself on him, he closes them in momentary bliss. And it’s so beautiful to see that you can’t resist pulling him in to share.

A Michelin-star chef with one of the most sophisticated palates on the planet. A renowned food critic once wrote of him, “In my next life, I’d like to be just one of the taste buds in Carmen Berzatto’s mouth.” And here he is, savouring you, tongue searching out every corner of your mouth as if he wants to figure out each and every component of your taste. Add the recipe of you to his menu, and make it every night.

You’re both done waiting, and the clock is ticking. You can faintly hear Sydney calling orders through the wall, although she sounds steadier now. You don’t know whether anyone out there knows what you’re doing, but a rampaging elephant couldn’t stop Sydney when she’s on a roll.

Carmy pulls you closer to the freezer’s edge, jeans and underwear falling to his ankles and suddenly he is right there, and-

“Oh, fuck,” is all you can say as he pushes forward in one swift, animal movement. And oh, pain flickers down your spine as he slides almost free of you and thrusts back, relentless, and this is exactly what you signed up for.

“ Fuck ,” he echoes, hand sliding down your neck to settle over your racing heart. “Fuck, you…I don’t know how you do this to me,” he pants, and you try to keep your moaning down so you can hear as words spill from him, “When you come in with your hair down before a shift, when you - ah - when you borrow my knife and I see you using it all service, when you let me light your fuckin’ cigarette for you. Shit. You drive me crazy on purpose, and you wanna know what the worst part is?”

You can’t breathe, let alone answer him.

“The worst part is I eat that shit up every time, ” he snarls, punctuating every word with a short, sharp thrust.

This is the animal you saw tonight, spitting curses, destroying his own food, all sharp edges and uncompromising will. Grunting as he bottoms out inside you, fingers clenched around your upper thigh hard enough to bruise, littering bites over your neck as if your colleagues aren’t an unlocked door away.

But the animal isn’t the end of Carmen Berzatto. There is more to him than the bear, and you intend to remind him of that before you’re through.

“Look around you,” you pant as he thrusts again, harder, sweeter, and you have to get this out before you tip over the edge. So you risk bringing the hand you were using to support yourself forward to turn his chin towards the walk-in’s walls, to beyond them, to the restaurant hard at work and the satisfied diners metres away who have no idea what’s going on in here, and fuck if that doesn’t make it all the more delicious. “Look what you made. Look who you are.” You watch his flushed face, hope he understands the praise, but you can’t hold on anymore to see your words land.

“You’re fuckin’ unbelievable, Carmy,” is all you manage to choke out as every muscle in your body lights up, tenses and releases in a flood so strong you wonder if you’ll ever surface, and if you even want to.

Carmy fucks forward into you twice more, and his head drops onto your shoulder as he groans, shudders, relaxes fully for what may be the first time in his life.

You stroke a hand over his head, pull him closer. You’re not quite sure when this stopped being a no-holds-barred quickie and became a quiet, intense embrace, but it feels right. All the desperation, the keyed-up energy, is gone from him. And if he never wants anything more than that, even though the idea is more than a little disappointing, you can take consolation from the fact that you at least managed to stop a raging Carmy in his tracks.

Although it is a little quiet.

“Carmy?” You ask, hesitant to break the silence. Thankfully, it still sounds like it’s all bustle outside. You wonder how long you’ve been in here, and try not to think about how you’re going to emerge with any shred of dignity intact.

Carmy pulls back, and you can’t define the look on his face, but it worries you. His eyes shine slightly, and his gaze skips across your face, down your body, not holding your stare.

“Are you okay?” You ask, praying this isn’t about to get really awkward really quick. The man’s still inside you, for Christ’s sake.

“Yeah. I, um, I should be asking you that.” Carmy’s hands skim down your sides, fingers pressing in randomly as if to check for bruises. He tilts his head to look under your chin, as if to check he hasn’t caused any permanent damage to your neck. “Jesus. Are you alright? I’m sorry, that was rough.”

“I’m totally fine.” You don’t know what to do to reassure him, so opt for two big thumbs up. “See? Voice working and everything.”

Carmy chuckles unevenly, takes a careful step back, and you try not to consider how empty you feel and how cold and slippery the freezer now is underneath you. You hop off, catching yourself on the side when you realise just how shaky your legs are. When you glance up at Carmy, he’s just staring at you, which is, frankly, unnerving.

“Do I look that bad?” you ask, pulling your hair out of what’s left of a ponytail to start again.

“No. No, I’m just…I’m just taking you in.” The raw honesty in his eyes pins you in place for a moment. But of course, Richie shouts “ Cousin!” before you can read into it too much.

There is a moment of panicked dressing and clean-up, a nod to each other to confirm you both look relatively sane and not totally fucked (even though you doubt it), and then a collective deep breath as you push open the door of the walk-in.

You don’t catch anyone’s eye for a second as you head to your station, Carmy’s presence like an open flame behind you.

“Corner. Corner. Behind, sorry Chefs,” you call as you slide back into place. Two quick glances calm you; one at the clock - seventeen minutes - and one at Sydney, who doesn’t look like she’s about to throw up and only has three tickets in front of her. You spare a final one for Fak in his position by the door, who you are positive would be grinning gleefully if he, or anyone else in the kitchen, knew what just went down in the walk-in.

“What do you need, Syd?” you ask, picking up the familiar back-and-forth of the kitchen again with some relief.

Carmy is quiet, focused, for the last half hour of service, but you can’t keep your mind clear. As soon as last orders are sent out, you slink to the back for a cigarette, hoping the smoke will at least wipe out your brain fog. It does the exact opposite. When you let me light your fuckin’ cigarette for you. You exhale, waving the smoke away as the words churn through your brain. I eat that shit up every time.

“Hey,” you hear, and you’re almost thankful to speak to the real him just to distract yourself from thinking about earlier.

“Hey.” You offer him a smoke, and he takes it, sinking onto the step next to you. The brush of his leg against yours is a lot more comforting than you expect it to be, relaxing a secretly worried part of you.

He takes a long drag, the kind of drag you only take when it’s been a shitshow of a day. “I just want to say I’m-”

“Sorry? It’s okay. It doesn’t have to happen again,” you finish for him. It hurts less that way.

“What? No.” He looks at you until you reluctantly meet his gaze. “Not for that. I’m not sorry about that.” He lets that hang there for a second, holds your eye. “But I’m sorry for losing my shit earlier. Nobody deserves to be around that, and…I want you to know I’m working on it. I wanna be…I wanna be good at this.” It’s a stilted apology as he thinks through every line, and it feels all the more sincere for it.

“That’s okay. I know. We all know.” You reach a hand out to touch his arm, and after a second, he lowers his head to rest on his knee, although his face is still turned towards you. You see his eyes flicker from your hand on his arm to your face.

“Although that wasn’t exactly how I expected that to go by the way,” he says after a moment.

You don’t try to pretend you don’t know what he’s referring to. “What, in the walk-in?”

“Oh, no, I’ve thought about it in the walk-in.” You ignore a pulse of feeling at his casual confession, at the idea that he’s thought about you. “I just didn’t imagine it so…heated, I guess.” Carmy raises his head again, traces a finger along your hand where it rests on his arm until you shiver. “Not that I didn’t enjoy it.”

You hesitate for a second before replying. Before extending the branch. “Well, I’m sure there’ll be other times, Chef.”

His eyes flick up to meet yours, and it’s your turn to watch his thoughts flickering there, watch as the fog clears, the idea forms, and he says, “Yeah. Next time.”

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

wow guys thank you for reading i pray through the act of writing this that my jeremy allen white obsession will calm the fuck down, but i fear i've made it worse

if you'd like to keep up with me on ao3, you can find me here and please do send me any comments or feedback or prompt ideas, i would love to hear them <33 thank you!!

#becsabillion #carmen berzatto #carmen berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto x you #carmen berzatto x ofc #carmy the bear #the bear #fanfic #fanfiction #smut #carmen berzatto smut #jeremy allen white #the bear fanfiction

[httpsserene]

i've been looking for weeks and months but can't find a single x male reader fic/au/etc... could u spare sum for the boys too😭🤲

ɪ ᴄᴀʀᴇ ᴡ/ ᴍᴠ33

📖ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: max is over at daniel’s where they're supposed to be doing whatever best buds do. but somehow, the topic of his father comes up, and it brings max to a…realization of sorts. it also causes the two of you to argue, and for several discoveries to be made in the early morning hours; some of the depressing-kind, and some of the heartwarming-and-life-changing-kind. 📖ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ:  angst and fluff (hurt/comfort). argument. jos verstappen's a+ parenting. no beta we die like alphatauri's engines. 📖ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 4k words 📖ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: max verstappen x male!reader (race not specified) 📖ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: oneshot 📖ꜱᴏᴜɴᴅᴛʀᴀᴄᴋ: ivy • frank ocean

ᴘʀᴇꜰᴀᴄᴇ:  i *usually* don’t write for male readers (as a cis woman idk i think it’s sus? idk, but maybe it’s not since i do support and love mxm ships, so maybe that’s hypocritical?)....but since it is my first request and max’s birthday (when i started writing this) i figured i could spare sum for da boys :)))) i scrolled through the tag and most of it was f1 x platonic!male!reader which is lowkey depressing, the boys deserve to simp wholeheartedly with us girlies ✊🏽  i hope “the boys” enjoy this and it makes the f1 x male!reader life a lil better! (you also didn’t specify who you wanted, so i went with max bc of his birthday) big shout out to the best kitties in the world, jimmy and sassy, for being great sports in this fic ☠️ they were wonderful setting devices!  this is not an accurate description of max’s relationship with his father. we all don’t know what’s going on there, but it did become a wonderful plot point. so, it’ll probably be the only thing jos the boss is good for besides being max’s sperm-donor 🙂.

want to be added to my taglist? or my f1 kinktober taglist? send me a message !

prompts from @forestryprompts and @dumplingsjinson

it’s 3:23 AM, and you’re brutally jarred out of your sleep by your phone ringing. you’re disoriented–still in that sleepy “where the fuck am i” stage–and don’t quite catch the first phone call. a few seconds pass by without another call, and you’re convinced you hallucinated. usually, there’s only two reasons for you to be disturbed in the middle of the night. number one, when sassy “accidentally” presses all ten pounds of her body weight into your spleen with one paw; and number two; when max returns from partying, a late flight, or streaming. glancing around, you guess sassy is the bengal curled up on max’s side of the bed, gravitating to where his scent is the strongest as max is over at daniel’s; missing her favorite parent. and you guess that jimmy’s the heat source curled against your feet under the duvet, as that’s his favorite spot to sleep and his favorite place to prey on your toes. you lay straight back, head resting on your pillow and shrug, dismissing it as a problem for the morning.

then another call starts ringing through. now, you’re awake enough to start processing the important information. you always set your phone on dnd when going to bed, and there’s only a few numbers that are set to bypass it during sleep. this ringtone in particular, identifies the caller as max, which is peculiar. max doesn’t disturb your sleep unless absolutely necessary, he already feels guilty enough for doing so when traveling. with that thought, you reach for the phone with a reaction time you’d only relate to your boyfriend’s occupation. 

you breathe out, “maxy, baby? are you okay? did something happen?”

a panicked and slightly desperate giggle slips out of the receiver, “heyyyy, it’s daniel, actually–”

“daniel?” you softly exclaim, sitting up in bed, worriedly continuing, “where’s max? did something happen? is he okay–”

“well,” daniel starts, “i wouldn’t say he’s ‘okay’, so to speak–” 

“oh my god! what does that mean, daniel? i’m coming over right now give me like, fifteen minutes–” you say rushedly, already leaping out of the bed. jimmy yowls in shock of being disturbed, panically darting out of the duvet, and sassy shoots up–airplane ears activated and all. 

daniel cuts you off, “NO! uh, no! i’m actually already on the way back to yours with him right now! he’s like- kinda drunk- tipsy i guess, one would say uh- but–”

“are you driving, daniel? if-if you’ve drank you should’ve let him sleep over, or called me to come get him if he’s being a menace!”

“no, uh-” daniel starts whispering, “we’re in an uber. ma- i mean- your boyfriend is kind of out of it, and not in a drunk way.”

“what the fuck,” you bite out, switching to hold the phone to your ear with your shoulder, as you pull on a pair of sweatpants (max’s) over your boxers, “does that mean, daniel?!”

“so, like,” daniel whispers even quieter, “hypothetically, we started talking about ma- sorry, his- wonderful childhood, and i guess me saying that seeing his father stabbing a mechanic with a fork isn't a normal thing to experience, kind of sent him into a spiral.”

“oh, fuck” you pause, while pulling one of max’s championship hoodies on. 

“yeah, that’s pretty much what i’d say,” daniel sighs, “but, then um, he tried to like rationalize it to me? like, he’d bring up different crazy memories, and i’d be like ‘no, mate, that’s not normal either,’ and everytime he’d bring up a positive interaction with his dad, he realized it correlated to how well he performed, and he kind of um-shut down.”

“oh. fuck.” you repeat. sassy, in a rare show of solidarity, winds between your legs and mews gently at you as if she’s letting you know that she’s here. “um, well,” you say, running a stressed hand through your hair, “you should be on max’s list to come up to the apartment, but i’ll call down to give them a heads up. text me when you get here, please?”

“will do,” daniel perks up, “i’m sorry by the way. i should’ve left it alone, or distracted him away from the topic. but you know how he gets, probably better than me.” 

now it’s your turn to let a depressing chuckle escape, “probably not, dan. i’ve known him for fourteen years and dated him for five of those, and he hasn’t done more than agree that his dad ‘isn’t perfect’” you wave your hand through the air, brushing the train of thought away, “anyways, i can get the spare room ready for you, so you don’t have to uber back?”

daniel nervously laughs, “forgive me for saying this, but i don’t really want to be present for whatever conversation is going to happen. or have to pretend like i’m unaware of anything. max would do his best to avoid me for as long as he can if he knew i was around, and i don’t want to risk that…after what happened when i left red bull.”

“yeah, you’re right. don’t forget to text me when you get here,” you state.

daniel’s text comes through when you’ve just gathered the ibuprofen and water bottles. you thumbs-up the message, and go to sit in the living room to wait for a knock on the door.  you plop down on the couch and your leg bounces anxiously. jimmy gracefully hops up into your lap, and he must be an emotional support cat because he sits down on that leg, and leans into your torso butting his head into your chest asking for pets. you indulge him, a shaky laugh erupting, “thanks, jimmy,” and you lean down to press a few kisses to his cheeks. silence overcomes the room, and then three knocks break the still air in the apartment, and both you and jimmy jump off the couch and race to the entryway. you push jimmy behind you with a foot as you open the door, knowing damn well he’ll sneak into the hallway if given a chance. 

max stumbles through the doorway first. his eyes are bloodshot with a cold and unseeing look glazed over them, red-rimmed and looking so distraught at tonight’s realization, that your heart aches for him. you wish you could take his pain away, or at least carry some of it for him. his hair is sticking out in different directions like he was anxiously tugging at it, but the most surprising observation is the tear tracks on his cheeks. max doesn’t cry, like at all. 

well, that’s not exactly true. he’s one of the men that says crying is “strong” and not a sign of weakness when you cry and even encourages you to cry it out on his chest. but, when it’s himself, he refuses to cry until everything gets too much. he’ll come up to you and sit or stand pressed right up against you, grabs at and plays with your hand to let you know that he needs comfort, before he looks at you and softly asks with a cracking voice if he can have a hug. you always set aside what you’re doing as quickly as you can, because you’re not going to let an opportunity of caring for max in a rare vulnerable time pass, and pull him into your chest. even though he’s broader than you, he appears to shrink himself within your arms, and presses his face into your shoulder while he cries. his tears are always silent, but his body is loud; he shakes, and his hands grab at whatever you’re wearing in fists like he’s afraid that you’d slip out of his grasp.

anyways, you’ve never known him to really cry with other people. with a soft, “max…” you reach out to him, but he brushes right past your hand and goes straight for the bedroom. jimmy trots after him, and sassy falls into step from whatever pocket she was hiding in. you freeze, shocked at his behavior while also understanding, he’s had a life-changing realization that he’s never allowed himself to address. you feel guilty that you're jealous of the fact that he had it with daniel. 

daniel clears his throat, still standing outside the doorway, “...you know he doesn’t mean to ignore you like that, right?”

you nod, “when did he start crying?”

“he held it together until we got into the uber, i think. he was turned towards the window the whole time and refused to look at me. i didn’t notice he cried until we got out.”

“are you sure you don’t want to stay the night? it’s late, dan. or at least let me get you the uber back” you offer again with a questioning look.

daniel refuses both options, “nah, don’t worry about it. i’ll make max take me to lunch one day to pay me back. i’d say good luck but that seems redundant. be gentle with him, alright?”

you sigh, “i’ll be gentle, dan. can’t say the same for him,” daniel’s face saddens more, “get home safe alright, dan? text me when you get there.”

“of, course,” daniel nods, “goodnight.”

you watch him walk into the elevator before closing the door. you turn the lock, and step forward until you can rest your forehead onto the cool wood. eventually, you push off the door and turn around to grab the water and ibuprofen from the settee and make your way to the bedroom. max is sitting at the foot of the bed, elbows on his knees and his head resting in his hands.

pausing, you place the water and meds on the nightstand first, then you sit next to him and lightly place your hand on his upper back, attempting to rub between his shoulder blades to provide comfort. max shrugs your hand off. you pause, blinking a few times trying to discover the best course of action. you decide to ignore the second blatant dismissal of the night, and pull his hand off his face and push him to sit up straight. you forcefully straddle his lap, ignoring his grumbles, and grab his face, thumbs resting on his cheeks and directing him to look straight at you. 

“max, you’ve got to communicate with me here. i was terrified, when daniel called me! you refuse to talk about your dad with me, which is fine, okay? but you have to talk to somebody. whether it’s me, daniel, a therapist, christian, or even fucking helmut marko—you need to talk to someone. you’ve repressed this shit your whole life, and when whatever film you had over your eyes when looking at your father slipped away, you shut down completely? that can’t happen again! i don’t want it to happen again…daniel sounded completely fucking terrified—like he was afraid he broke you or something. and if you’re scaring me right now with how-h-how out of it you look, i can’t imagine what it was like for him,” you finish, taking a few deep breaths. max doesn’t say anything, just stares at you blankly. 

you make a distressed groan, both hands releasing max’s face to rub at your eyes and drag down your cheeks. doing so, you continue talking, “max. you don’t even have to talk, baby, not to me at least. i don’t care if you journal, if you meditate, if you go goddamn axe throwing; but, you need to see a professional. cause, how your brain is coping, and how you’re rationalizing it isn’t good. you aren’t the problem, nothing you could’ve done differently would have made your dad change; you are not the problem, max, he is. okay? i’ve known you for fourteen years, and not once have i pressured the topic after you said that ‘you’re fine,’ but, you have to at least promise me that you’ll start doing something.”

max parts his lips, thinking about what to say, as you fully sit on his lap. you look at him with wide eyes filled with worry—with care— and you’re anxiously playing with the hairs on the nape of your neck. 

“i don’t want to talk about it.”

“that’s not an option,” you state, with a furrowed brow, “can you at least tell me what caused the breakdown?”

and, that’s what gets get’s max going. his cheeks flush, and his eyes darken, and he starts talking with a firmer voice.

“it wasn’t a breakdown, first of all. i was just overwhelmed and overreacting. it’s nothing serious, like you’re pretending it is. i don’t need this—this false worry, showing up all of sudden when you know how the relationship between my father and i has been for all of the time we’ve known each other.”

you pull away, retreating off his lap and stand in front of him with your arms crossed over your chest. 

“false worry?? that’s what you think this is,” you start with an exasperated tone, “max, ‘for all the time we’ve known each other’ all you’ve done is deflect from my questions about you two, or tell me that everything is fine when it’s clearly not! and i gave you the space you wanted, because i was afraid that you’d stop talking to me, that you’d stop trusting me. but now, as your boyfriend, i can’t let it go unaddressed anymore!”

“you already did for fourteen years! it shouldn’t be that difficult for you to keep ignoring it.”

“because you asked me to, max! you didn’t want to talk about it then, and you need to talk about it now! i don’t give a fuck if you don’t want to share it with me, but it needs to be with somebody!”

“i already told you I didn’t want to talk about it, yet you keep insisting!” 

“that’s because i fucking care about you!” 

“well, did i ask for you to care about me?”

you’re stunned silent. the room is filled with heavy breaths from the two of you. this might be the most serious argument you’ve had, in awhile, or ever. 

it’s the third blatant dismissal of the night, and you’re calling it quits, daniel did tell you to be gentle, and if you keep going like this you’re word choice will become less gentle.

“you’re right,” you exhale, relaxing your clenched jaw, “you didn’t ask for me to care. and you shouldn’t have to ask for anybody to care. and, for some ‘unbelievable’ reason, i do happen to actually care,” you finish, your words dripping with exhaustion and defeat.

you walk around to the side of the bed, grabbing a pillow off the top and point at the nightstand, “the ibuprofen and water are for you. at least, finish one bottle before you go to bed, please.” you start walking towards the closet. 

“wait,” max calls out, finally standing up with a confused look in his eyes, “why’d you grab a pillow?”

you grab a blanket out of the closet, and sigh, “i’m sleeping on the couch.”

“what? no-no you’re not,” max stutters out, disbelieving.

“uh, yes i am.”

“what, no! no, schatje, i’m sorry, please come to bed,” max utters out, looking absolutely heartbroken. 

“i’m going to sleep on the couch, max,” you repeat, “if i go to bed, i won’t be able to not talk about it, and we’re clearly going to talk in circles about it. both of us are tired, frustrated, and mad, and we’re going to end up even angrier, so i’m going to sleep on the couch.”

max, crossing the room quickly, grabs at your waist with his large hands, and pleads, “if you’ve made up your mind about it, you can at least take the bed, i’ll sleep on the couch, schat.”

you, grab his hands off your waist, having to fight him a little bit for it (you may be a man, but your man is a professional athlete, you’ll be outmatched any day) and press them into his chest, “you’re still pretty drunk, max. i’ll let you take the bed so you can be comfortable, you seem like you’re going to have a pretty bad hangover, i can smell the alcohol on you still.”

max looks upset, but eventually concedes. you press your lips to his cheek, “i’ll see you in the morning, babe. then, with clearer minds we can talk, ‘kay?”

sassy baps jimmy on the face before nuzzling in between max’s legs, while jimmy makes to follow you out as you shut the door gently.

situating yourself on the couch, you squeeze your eyes shut. usually you’d be hugging max’s arm to your chest but tonight, jimmy is benevolent enough to leave his usual spot at your feet to fill in for max. even with the comfort the bengal’s purring body provides, you know you’re only in for a fitful night of sleep.

you wake up a few hours later, your body not able to keep you under for long you guess, as the early morning sun has barely started lightening the room. you take a minute to get your bearings, not used to waking up on the couch (in the past when you have accidentally fallen asleep on the couch, you magically wake up in bed laying on top of your boyfriend, how weird), and jimmy is no longer laying with you. he’s with max, who’s sitting on his floor below you, with his back facing you.

you rub at your eyes and whisper, “max?” he startles, and turns around to face you. his eyes have fresh bags underneath, his hair is still slightly damp from a shower, and you can tell he hasn’t gotten any sleep. even though you got a couple hours of shut-eye, the matching bags under your eyes prove that your sleep was restless.

“hey,” he whispers back sheepishly, “i know you told me to go to bed, but i couldn’t fall asleep. i only came out here a few minutes ago though, and i was just going to wait until you woke up in the morning.”

you sit up straight, and pull max onto the couch with you, “max, what? you could’ve at least layed down on the other couch, and not sit on the–”

max cuts you off.

“i just…couldn’t go to bed alone tonight, okay? i still feel raw–i think is the word for it. i’m exhausted and cried out, and the only person who can make me feel better is you right now. so i was just going to sit here, and be next to you, without disturbing you like you wanted, because being in your general vicinity already makes me feel better, even if you're mad at me.”

your mouth is left gaping, and you feel guilty now, your chest aches. leaving max at a time where he was vulnerable, even if you were right down the hallway–

“and, don’t feel bad about your decision to sleep out here. you decided that space was the best course of action for you, and you are probably right, because i was ready to argue with you,” max continues rambling, “honestly, you sleeping out here made me realize that i never want you to be angry with me like that, ever again. at first, i was scared that if i opened up about my relationship with my dad you would think i’m weak, or that you'd judge me for it, or that you’d leave me. but when i was in the shower earlier, i got really…scared.”

he pauses, taking a few deep breaths and you don’t make to interrupt him.

“i got scared because i thought you left me right now. that you lied to me about sleeping on the couch, and you were actually planning to leave. and, obviously you did not, you are still here right now but, it made me realize that i do need to talk to you. and that the reason i thought you were leaving was because of how i thought i scared you away with my issues. but i realize now, that the way i’ll scare you away is by not talking about my issues,” he turns to look at you with an earnest expression.

“so, if you are okay with it, i will talk to you. about everything, even though it may take me some time to work up the courage. i am uncomfortable with talking to a…professional, but i will, if you truly think it will help me. but i do not want to risk the chance that my refusal to communicate costs me a lifetime with you,” he ends.”

you stare at him blankly, and max begins to fidget at your silence. you lean forward and pull him into a hug, tears gathering in your eyes. he nestles his head in the crook of your neck, and presses gentle kisses into your skin. 

“max, all i want is for you to talk to me about it. i want to share the burden you feel, and understand you better than the back of my hand. most of all, i hope having somebody who understands you to that depth makes you feel lighter, and validates your emotions.”

max says something, but it’s muffled by your body.

“what was that, baby?”

max pulls away to look at you with bashful eyes and pinkened cheeks, “you know i can’t imagine my life without you.”

“likewise,” you respond, just as meek.

“no, really. i've fallen in love with you,” he continues.

“max, you told me you loved me years ago,” you say laughingly.

“no, like, i’ve fallen in love with you again. everytime i think i can’t fall any deeper, you manage to prove me wrong,” he says intensely.

you pout at him, hands coming up to feel at your heated cheeks, “oh, max! stop, you’re going to make me cry. that’s the sweetest thing you’ve ever said to me. i fall in love with you again, everytime you finish a race, and come home to me. that you chose me as the man you want to see after a tiring race weekend, regardless of the outcome. 

max smiles all teeth, “there’s no other person i want to share my highs and lows with. well, hopefully more highs than lows. i have the ring for you already, but i at least need to win eight championships before i retire so you’re able to marry a record-breaking champion. i am proposing to you this year though, i cannot wait any longer.”

you stare at him unseeing for a minute, and he looks awfully confused for a man who just announced his plans to give you his last name. 

“max,” you start shakingly, “what do you mean you already have the ring?”

max’s carefree expression drops, and becomes pale, “what are you talking about? i never said anything about a ring–”

“you literally just did?! the part before you said you were proposing to me this year, and before becoming an eight-time world–”

max claps, cutting you off while standing up. he offers you his hand, “alright! we should go to bed now, right? together, yes that’s a great idea.”

taglist: @saintslewis @cherry2stems

© httpsserene 2023

#f1 #formula 1 #max verstappen #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen x black!reader #max verstappen x you #max verstappen imagine #f1 x male!reader #max verstappen x male!reader #f1 x black!reader #f1 x y/n #f1 x you #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #max verstappen fluff #red bull f1 #daniel ricciardo #daniel ricciardo x reader #daniel ricciardo imagine #max verstappen fanfic #formula 1 x black!reader #formula 1 x male!reader #platonic!male!reader #formula 1 x platonic male!reader #f1 x male reader #max verstappen scenario #⋆⭒˚｡⋆. series special: formula 1 #serene’s chapters. #reader's suggestions. #♡ ༘*.ﾟ love interest: mv.

[forjongseong]

first mate // jay (ENHYPEN)

pairing: quartermaster!jay x firstmate!fem!reader

genre: pirates!au, smut (minors dni) // warning: profanity, mentions of death, unprotected sex // wc: ~2.3k

summary: After the passing of the Captain, you had to mourn in your own way. Your ship's Quartermaster, Jay, showed his concern for you, and it tugged your heart in a way that you never thought could happen.

author’s note: you didn't think that I would look at Jay's wet pictures and just leave them be, right? of course I had to make a fic out of it.

my immediate reaction was that the HALF concept pictures were perfect for my fic on my sfw acc, but then I figured I should just leave that fic alone and just write something new. so here it is!

no song inspiration either for this. just a little wordplay towards the end. hope you like it! and do let me know if you prefer longer fics like the archer and his queen, or shorter ones like this and free fall

taglist (please send an ask or DM if you want to be added or removed!) @end-hyphen @hee-pster @maggstar @shinkenprincess-oh @nyanggk @yoursjaeyun @thots4hee @bucketofhiros @dimplejaehyuncutie @mochimchimo @jongseonglogy @rosesbxrry @excusememissiloveyou

The light of the moon was reflected against the deep blue sea, providing enough for the ship’s crew to see everything that was taking place. The flames on the lit candles were fighting against the soft breeze of the night, and every time a candle was blown off, the Quartermaster stood up to light it again.

“You know that is not your job to do, mate,” Jake said, putting his jug of rum down beside him.

Jay shrugged. “I’m not gonna wait for any of you to do it.”

The other two boys snickered at each other before they continued playing their self-made board game, using peanut shells and actual shells as bets. Heeseung, while waiting for his turn, stretched his neck and spotted a figure leaning over the deck above the captain’s cabin.

“She’s staring at the water again,” Heeseung commented.

Sunghoon and Jake lifted their heads to take a good look before redirecting their focus to the board game. Jay merely sighed after the men resumed playing.

“It’s only been a week since her father’s death,” Jay replied. “She probably needs some time.”

“We do need to vote for a new captain, though,” Sunghoon chimed in. “Given that she has served as First Mate for our late captain for years, I think she’d be fit to lead.”

Jake eyed Jay wearily before looking at Sunghoon. “You really just said that in front of the Quartermaster.”

Jay scoffed and waved his hand. “I’m not looking for a promotion.”

Heeseung cleared his throat. “Well, I think you’d make a great captain too. Which is why we need to vote. The crew is divided at this moment.”

“Maybe you should have a talk with her,” Jake continued. “You know, since you are second in command.”

Jay took a last sip of his ale before wincing and nodding, gulping his drink down. “I’ll do it later.”

After a couple more games and half-drunken conversations, the three men returned to their cabins after helping Jay clean up. Jay then noticed that you were still standing in the same place, but this time closer to the edge. He decided to have the talk with you right then and there.

With light footsteps, he walked up the stairs. As he approached your figure, he called out for you.

“Miss Wood…”

His voice trailed off after he witnessed you jumping off the ship, leaving your shoes and your jacket behind. After the loud splash, Jay blinked twice and had his jaw hanging before he came to his senses. He rushed and peered over, squinting his eyes to look for you.

“Miss Wood!”

He waited for you to emerge out of the water. Five seconds. Ten seconds. Then he lost count and got restless, so he decided to jump after you. He had to adjust his sight to the darkness of the water and the saltwater burned his eyes, but he spotted your white nightgown and immediately swam to you, grabbing you by your waist before swimming upwards to the surface.

“Miss Wood!” Jay coughed, wiping his face with one hand to get a good look at you.

“What the fuck are you doing?!”

You yanked Jay’s arm away from your body and steadily floated away from him. Jay looked at you in confusion.

“Miss, I know it’s hard, but there’s so much more to live for. Your crew needs you!”

“Shut up, you idiot! Stop yelling!” You angrily splashed water on Jay’s face before brushing your hair back. “You’re gonna wake up the crew.”

“I-I don’t understand,” Jay began to stutter.

“I just wanted to take a dive to clear my thoughts,” you explained.

“But you were under the water for so long…”

“It was barely a minute! You don’t think I can’t hold my breath for long? Seriously…”

The annoyance in your voice was starting to make Jay uneasy, so he let the water slowly drift him away from you. You looked up at the ship, looking around for your crew.

“I’ll go get someone,” Jay said. “Unless you still want to clear your thoughts?”

You squinted at Jay, and he swore he could hear you growl. He then made a loud whistle as he bit his lower lip, and within seconds, two men were already lowering ropes for you both. After they helped you up to the main deck, you quickly ordered them to go back to their chambers, but Jay felt so bad that he kept tailing you to the captain’s cabin.

“What do you want now, Jay?” You asked as you opened the door without even looking back, sensing his presence.

“I just wanted to make sure you returned to your cabin safely.”

You turned around and looked at Jay, then looked at the main deck which was literally not even fifty steps away. He then realized how stupid he sounded, so he just bowed for no reason before turning around and leaving you. You retreated to the captain’s cabin and began cleaning yourself up.

Moments later, you heard a knock on the door. You had no plans to sleep soon, so you decided to entertain whoever the buffoon was, bothering you so late in the night. When you opened the door, of course, you found Jay standing in front of you.

What you just noticed, though, was how good he looked with his face clean, his hair still half-wet and slicked back, and his sheer clothing that barely hid his chest and biceps.

While you were lost in your thoughts, Jay was thinking the exact same thing. He never noticed how beautiful you looked without all the garments necessary for a pirate. Your hair was let down, and the black nightgown that you changed into was also made of a similar sheer fabric that barely hid your curves. He even thought that the small scar along your right cheekbone was cute.

Cute? That was an adjective Jay never would have thought to use to describe you.

“Since you’re still awake,” Jay broke the silence. You blinked and redirected your gaze to his face. “I think I need to speak to you about our ship’s crew and their roles.”

You knew the conversation was going to take long, so without saying a word you stepped aside as you pulled the door open for Jay, letting him in. When he entered the cabin, he found that it was neat and clean, and it smelled like flowers and incense.

He wondered if that was how you smelled too.

“The crew was wondering when we will hold the vote, Miss Wood,” Jay began, shaking his head as he tried his best to focus.

“You can drop the honorifics,” you said. “It’s not like my father is still around.”

Jay hesitated for a while before he cleared his throat. “Right,” he licked his lips. “Y/N.”

You smirked to yourself as you cleared out the desk and had him sit across from you, and you did not know exactly how it happened, but you ended up having a lengthy and deep conversation with him. It started with him asking more personal questions regarding the captain, and as you answered him you began to open up and started asking him similar questions.

After a while, you reached for your pocket watch to check the time, and when you were putting it back your hand slipped. The pocket watch almost fell to the floor if you did not quickly reach for it out of reflex, but Jay did too, so now his hand was covering yours.

Again, you never noticed how thick his fingers were. Or how veiny his hands were. Or how soft his skin was.

“It’s getting late,” you sighed, pretending to be nonchalant. You stood up and the sleeve of your nightgown slipped off your shoulder. If you did not pull it back up quickly, Jay would have seen more of your chest.

Jay stood up after you and walked slowly behind you, obviously reluctant to leave the room. You sensed that he was dragging his feet, so when you held the door open you stepped only slightly aside to make way for him. While he was passing you, you did not know what came over you, but you reached for his arm and tugged his shirt.

“Jay,” you said, barely a whisper. You could not find the exact words to voice out what was in your head.

Luckily, Jay did not need words for him to understand you.

He reached for the door and pulled it away from you, carefully pushing you to the side just for him to close the door shut. He moved closer until you backed up against the door, and when you felt his hand on your waist your breath hitched.

Jay placed one hand over your head before he leaned in to kiss you, and the way your body reacted to his lips on yours was almost embarrassing. You almost melted to the wooden floor if he wasn’t holding you up, and you brought your hands up to his face to pull him closer.

You whimpered when you felt him place his leg between yours, making it impossible not to grind your crotch against his thigh. His hand that was on your waist slid downwards, bunching up the edge of your nightgown until his skin grazed yours. You continued to kiss him passionately, letting him take the lead as his tongue danced with yours, and once in a while, you would moan softly into his mouth to signal the pleasure that he was clearly giving you.

Jay lifted you up, making you wrap your legs around his waist as he carefully made his way to the center of the cabin. You pulled away from the kiss to look at the bed, and Jay understood immediately. After laying you down on the bed, you quickly pulled your nightgown down to reveal your breasts, and Jay chuckled at your enthusiasm, taking his time as he took off his top and his pants.

As he stood naked in front of you, you did not even realize that you were biting your lip. Your eyes were focused on his crotch, and to save you from the embarrassment of staring too long, he began hovering over you and covering your face with kisses.

“You need to take this off completely so we can be even,” he whispered into your ear.

The tip of your fingers grazed the back of his neck as you leaned in to answer him. “Then you pull it off.”

Jay nestled his face in the crook of your neck and began kissing you there, gradually getting more aggressive until he was sucking and biting your skin. He tugged your nightgown down to your knees and you kicked them away. Immediately after, you spread your legs and pulled his body closer, and you felt the tip of his cock come in contact with your wet slit.

“Fuck,” you breathed, your hands resting on Jay’s shoulders.

“I’ve barely touched you,” Jay snickered.

You let one of your hands travel downwards, grabbing his shaft. He groaned loudly and almost collapsed on top of you, and you giggled at the sudden change of his demeanor.

“Enough teasing,” you purred, stroking his length. “Let’s just fuck.”

You aligned his cock with your entrance, coating the tip with your arousal. Jay’s biceps flexed as he tried to contain his reactions, but when he entered you, you could hear his shaky breath beside your ear. You moaned in pleasure as he bottomed out, bringing your hands back up to his shoulders. You lightly tapped him, and he began grinding his hips at a pace that was not too slow but not exactly fast either. You found it intriguing since you always viewed him as someone rough, but he held you with so much care that you had no choice but to melt in his touch.

With every stroke he made, your body moved with him. Your skin shivered wherever he touched you, and whenever he kissed you, it felt like you were wrapped in a type of warmth you had never felt before. The sounds that left your lips were like music to his ears, and as he increased his speed his hand grasped your thigh, holding your leg in place. You could almost see yourself reaching your high, but he rendered you speechless, and all you could do was frantically scratch his back with every thrust.

Eventually, your hands found their way back to his face and you pulled him into a kiss once you climaxed, softly moaning into his mouth. His thrusts slowed down, but once you stopped whimpering, he began speeding up again. Your eyes began to water from the overstimulation, but after a couple more strokes he pulled out and spilled his seed over your stomach.

Jay collapsed beside you, brushing his hair back with his fingers and wiping the sweat on his forehead with the back of his hand. You looked at him as he panted, catching his own breath. Once he did, he looked at you and you smiled.

“Not bad,” you commented, hovering over him and straddling him for one second to leave a quick peck on his lips. He reciprocated your kiss and spanked your ass before you hopped off and walked away to retrieve your nightgown.

“So, if the crew end up voting me as the new captain,” you said as you got dressed, “does that mean I get to choose a new first mate?”

Jay shrugged, still lying down on your bed in all his naked glory. “If they choose me, will you still be my first mate?”

You looked at each other in question for a couple of seconds before Jay started laughing. You rolled your eyes and walked away to grab yourself a drink, trying to ignore the fact that what you did tonight with Jay had completely changed the meaning of the words ‘first mate’.

-END-

© forjongseong 2023, all rights reserved

!!! do not copy, translate, or repost any of my work to any other platform.

#writtenbynana #fic: first mate #enhypen #jay #enhypen jay #jay enhypen #enhypen smut #jay smut #enhypen jay smut #jay enhypen smut #enhypen hard hours #jay hard hours #jongseong #jongseong smut #jongseong park #park jongseong #enhypen pirate au #enhypen x reader #jay x reader #jongseong x reader

[howtodolife]

LATE NIGHT SUBTLETIES AND A MILLION MORE CONTROVERSIES

Summary: Reader wakes up at night and doesn't find jungkook beside her but instead in the kitchen, cooking.

Fem!reader × Jungkook

Warnings/Tags: pure fluff, hurt/comfort, insecurity, mentions of stretchmarks, manhandling (A bit?), oc is nervous and restless, she's so in love it makes her jittery and overwhelmed 😭, jk being an absolute sweetheart, REASSURANCE, bit suggestive in the middle but nothing happens, they're so in love it hurts 😭😭💗 (pls tell me if you find any more warnings, I'll add them!)

Writer's note: why is it so hard to write kiss scenes‼️?? it's my second fic, It originally started as a pure fluff imagine but I couldn't help it and made it a bit sad, so now it fits into the hurt/comfort trope more 😭😭 I'm not very happy with how it turned out because it feels kinda personal and I pondered not posting it but here I am. I hope you guys like it! Also it gets better in the end👍😭

"It must be midnight," you thought to yourself as your eyes drifted open, adjusting to the darkness around you. You reached out to the other side of the bed, hoping to find security and warmth, hoping to find Jungkook—the one you sought for love and a sense of belonging. Surprisingly, all you could find was an empty mattress and bedsheets, as well as pillows cold from being unused. Quickly getting up, panic flooded in for a short moment. "Jungkook," you called out, receiving no answer. You walked to the living room, eyes searching for him, and that was when Jungkook caught your sight. He was in the kitchen, cooking god-knows-what with his back turned toward you. The room had a purplish hue due to the dimmed lights, and the atmosphere felt cold with the AC blasting at full temperature. Jungkook turned toward you, hearing your footsteps, giving you a slight smile that had a hint of slyness. You walked closer to him. You felt Jungkook's hand snake around your waist, and then strong tattooed arms lifting you up onto the cold marble countertop. You squirmed due to the sudden movement, gripping onto his shoulders for stability. "Oh my god," you exclaimed, earning Jungkook a chuckle. You rolled your eyes at him. "Hey, c'mon, it's fun!"

"Sure", you retorted. "Besides, why are you making ramen at 2:46 a.m", you mentioned, hitting his head lightly.

"I'm insomniac", stated Jungkook matter of factly. "Also I was bored since it's late and had nothing better to do, so naturally i decided to cook"

I tilted my head at him and hummed in response. He looked beyond beautiful right now. Sharing these little moments together felt so domestic yet special; I'd trade anything for them. Jungkook gave me a quick glance before I felt one of his hands on my thigh, pulling me closer to him so that he could place kisses all over my face and neck. I grinned at that, placing my hands in his hair.

"You're never going to give me a warning, are you?", you asked, raising your eyebrow at him.

He chuckled "And miss out on these reactions? Nah, I'm good".

You wrapped your arms and legs around him, taking his presence in as much as you could. You would never get enough of it, of him. You wanted to stare into his brown bambi eyes forever, and even that wouldn't be enough time. You felt his hand travelling up and down your legs, Jungkook could feel the dents made by the stretchmarks on your legs here and there. You tensed a bit as you felt the warmth of his hand lingering there a bit more longer than the other areas, afraid he might judge you or find them weird but it was evident in his eyes that he couldn't care less. Jungkook's face reflected nothing but the feelings of love, respect and infatuation he felt for you. You felt the cold metal of his rings on your thighs as the grip of his hand strengthened, his head shifting closer to you. You breathed in his scent, shifting slightly closer to him. You gulped nervously, trying to calm your nerves down, heart beating loud in your chest at Jungkook being so close to you, the amount of intimacy you were sharing. You'd experienced it a countless number of times, but it still made you feel all restless and timid. "You can touch me, y'know", he chuckled, and then you lost it. Completely.

"God, I KNOW, its just that the feelings I have for you is so overwhelming and intense plus I don't know what the fuck to do with them. Sometimes I wanna jump off a building because of these and I'm always scared if I say or do something wrong or weird. It just holds me back from doing so much. I have so much love for you and it's unreal and crazy but you'll never get to know it because guess what, I'm too fucking embarrassed to do anything", you rambled and put your hand in your head, feeling upset, guilty and a bit disappointed.

You felt him grab your wrists and pull your hands from your face, holding them. He seemed to be taking in the whole of what you said and understand it in depth instead if coming up with a sudden reply. He scooted his head closer to you, as if trying to emphasize what he was about to say "nothing you do comes off as weird or out of place to me, understand? I love you, I love you, I love YOU, I can't stress this enough. You can never make me tired or upset with you, I love all of your little habits and mannerisms and i'll memorise all of them to take care of you and make you feel safe and wanted. Also, holy shit, that's a lot to carry all at once, Y/N. I don't want you to feel so pressurised and stressed with me, love. I'll do my best to not let these feeling get to you. Besides, I can recognize how much you love me by all your little gestures and the things you say" You felt him grab your chin and turn your attention towards him. "I love you, okay? Don't doubt that". You felt his lips brush against yours, making your heart jump, it was the gentlest of kisses, without the desire for something another. It intensified slowly, his hands grabbing your waist, pulling you even closer, making you his body press against yours. Although it was without the anticipation of anything other than this moment you were sharing, not with his hands under your shirt or tangled up in your bra straps. It was one filled with love and innocence, one that was unwavering. You suddenly felt his lips part from yours, a move unlikely for him to do. But then it dawned on you - the food. He reached for the spatula in a sudden movement, trying to do something to make the food edible, at least, though it didnt look like anything could be done.

"Fuck, no, no no. Not the goddamn ramen. I really don't want to eat it burnt, ah" Jungkook conceded.

He held his head in his hands, sighing in a defeated manner. You felt bad for him, though you couldn't help but burst out laughing. He narrowed his eyes at you.

"What, you asshole. There's nothing funny about this".

You raised you hands as if to signify that you were not at fault. "Hey, it's your fault. You should've been more careful and not shifted your attention elsewhere."

"Okay well, nobody told you to wake up at 3 AM to come here and distract me, it's all your fault" Jungkook accused.

You let out a sigh, jumping down from the counter "Just order in food and we'll clean up the mess together"

"Absolutely not, your "cleaning up" never ends well. I'm just left out here all by my own" he teased, fake crying.

You gasped in a dramatic way, half-joking, half-bickering."That's so mean, you absolute shithead. I would clean it up just to spite you and prove you wrong, but y'know what? I'm too tired. Good 4 me though, I'm saved from work" You shrugged.

"Just admit you can't do it" he retorted, putting the dishes in the sink, smiling the whole time.

"Not in my life, never."

#bts #bts angst #bts army #bts drabble #bts fanfic #bts ff #bts fluff #bts headcanons #bts imagines #bts jungkook #jungkook x reader #jungkook fanfic #jungkook smut #jeon jungkook x reader #jungkook fluff #jungkook #jungkook imagine #jungkook hurt/comfort #jungkook drabble #jungkook imagines

[bloodynereid]

hey, i loved the fic u wrote for the request i sent, it was absolutely brilliant

i was hoping you could write another where the band finds that karen is dating a female reader and maybe what their reactions would be like?

lol that would be awesome 🫶😋

Radiance

pairing: karen sirko x fem! gf reader

a/n: hii! i absolutely love ur requests. I hope you enjoy this even if it isn't as long as the last fic u requested. karen sirko is the loml and she deserves more fics!!

tw: period typical homophobia mentions (fuck that but it needed to be added cause of ✨plot✨), swearing, kissing, billy being an asshole (as per usual lmao), drinking

description: the band reacts to finding out you're karen's girlfriend and it goes better than expected.

she's so pretty ahhhh... okay moving onto the main story now.

You were standing next to the bar as you listened to your girlfriend’s band with a smile on your face as you took a sip of water. You were here as a surprise since she had been recording for the past week and you had barely seen each other. You were mesmerized by how stunning she looked on that stage. So immersed with music that it seemed like it was her lifeblood.

After a few more of the band's songs, they retired off stage. And you carefully moved through the crowd towards the backstage doors, where already a large amount of groupies were huddled around.

“Hey Mark!

“Y/N I didn’t know you were coming tonight.”

“Just came to see an old friend.”

“Karen is going to be very happy to see you.” He sent you a little wink and a smile as he let you through the doors. The security guard had become a friend of yours after Karen introduced you to him after a show. He may look like a giant but he was truly a teddy bear and… a huge supporter of your relationship with Karen.

“Uh hi?” The frontman of the band, Billy greeted you as you walked through the doors. “Can I help you with something?”

“I was actually just-”

“Y/N!! Oh my god hi!” The familiar British voice echoed through the room making you turn towards your girlfriend as she enveloped you in a hug. “What are you doing here? I thought you had a planning session tonight.”

“They canceled last minute and I wanted to see you.” You let her out of the hug as she slung an arm around you.

“Aww aren’t you a big softie?”

“Well you have been pestering me to come to one of your shows.”

“That I have. Oh right, Y/N meet Billy. Billy meet Y/N, my best friend.” You offered your hand and widened your smile slightly, even as your heart clenched at the mention of ‘best friend’ but it was always better to be safe than sorry. 

“Nice to meet you.” He shook your hand and took a drag of his cigarette before walking off with a grunt.

“Wow he really is as much of an asshole as you said he was.”

“Don’t mind him. Are you ready to go?”

“You aren’t going to stay with the band for a little longer?”

“No, that's okay. How about we go to your house?”

“Sounds like a plan.” You both exited through the back doors and made your way to your red Camaro. Ready to finally spend some time alone with the woman you love.

“Hey where did Karen go off to?” Graham asked as he walked into the back room, only to find the rest of the band (minus Karen) drinking, smoking or writing.

“I don’t know man, she disappeared like 20 minutes ago with this really pretty girl.” Warren said as he took another drag from his cigarette.

“Right. She’s been doing this a lot lately, hasn’t she?”

“Huh?” Warren asked.

“Disappearing off to god knows where.”

“Maybe she got a boyfriend.”

Graham: At the time we had no idea Karen was into girls but there were obvious signs that we were just too stupid to miss.

Camila: Oh I knew of course, I mean I introduced Y/N and Karen in the first place.

Graham: I don’t think we found out until the night of Camila and Billy’s housewarming party.

“Are you sure she wants me to be here?”

“Yes, now shush and help me fix this bloody jacket.” You let out a chuckle as you repositioned the parcels on your arm and carefully lifted Karen’s hair before fixing the jacket.

“Are we the only ones here?”

“Karen! Y/N, you came!”

“That I did.”

“Actually you arriving early is perfect for me. Can you help put some tablecloths outside? You should add some rocks on them so they don’t fly off.”

“No problem, you coming?”

“Be there in a second, love.” Karen smiled and gave a quick peck on the lips before disappearing into the backyard.

“So you two seem to be doing well.” Camila said as she wiggled her eyebrows mischievously.

“Yeah we are. Oh right, I wanted to give you these.” You handed Camila the carefully packaged gifts. She tore through the tissue paper after undoing the ribbon and audibly gasped.

“You didn’t.”

“Well I know you were looking for a perfume and since everything is so expensive these days I called in a favor from a friend.”

“But this is like gold.”

“Yeah well I owe you.”

“Aww Y/N.” She enveloped you in a hug that you quickly reciprocated as Billy walked into the room.

“Hey I can’t find- oh hi.”

“Hi, good to see you again.”

“Yeah sorry about being a bit of an asshole last time.”

“You’re good. I understand how tiring that must have all been.”

“Yeah umm Cami do you know where I can find those streamers?”

“They should be in the kitchen cupboard.”

“Great thank you darling.”

“I can’t believe you got me a Dior perfume!”

“Wait there’s more. I ended up making a few extras of the children’s clothes from my client so I thought I could bring some for Julia. If they don’t fit her I’m sure-” That was before you were engulfed by yet another Camila hug.

“Thank you. God I’m so happy Karen found you.”

“I think that credit all goes to you.”

A few hours later the party was in full swing and you were sitting next to Karen sipping on a beer as you chatted with Warren about some of your favorite designers. The man had great taste in clothes. Sometime during that conversation Karen had slipped an arm around your waist making you lean your head on her shoulder.

Warren: Y/N and Karen? Yeah I don’t remember that party vividly. I don’t know… I think I kind of knew they were together by the way they acted and hey, I wasn’t one to judge. Plus Y/N was great to talk to, we became pretty good friends.

Throughout the course of the night, you both drank very little. So when time came to sit at the piano and sing you were more than happy to observe your incredibly talented girlfriend. You had come to stand next to Cami as she cradled Julia in her arms, trying to get her back to sleep.

“May I hold her for a moment?” She nodded and as the band continued singing you caught Karen’s twinkling eyes as you carefully cradled the little girl in your arms. She sent you a soft smile and scrunched up her nose slightly, which was your little non-verbal signal that meant ‘I love you’. You scrunched your nose back and sent her an air kiss.

As the rest of the guests trickled out you found yourself on the couch with the rest of the band trading stories and anecdotes. You cuddled up next to Karen and Eddie as you animatedly told the story of how you met Karen through Camila, with Karen chiming in at random parts.

“So yeah we kind of kept meeting up a few times after that and suddenly one of those times she kiss- oh fuck.” Even the small amount of alcohol that you had consumed had loosened your tongue to the point where you had just spilled the biggest secret of them all.

“You know we don’t care right? I mean I thought you guys were together ever since I saw you two.” Eddie said from beside you as you readjusted your position.

“Yeah look I have a few friends who also like women. People who care about that shit are idiots and assholes.”

“Here here.” Graham said as he clinked his glass with Daisy, whilst Camila and Billy both just sent you reassuring smiles.

“Plus you both are really hot.”

“Warren!” Everyone exclaimed and Karen sent a pillow to his head.

After a few more minutes of chatting, you and Karen decided to make your way to your car. You opened up the driver's seat and clutched the wheel in anxiousness.

“You’re not mad?” You asked as Karen got in and looked at you quizzically.

“How could I be mad? I have a wonderful girlfriend and now I know how good it feels to say that in the open. I could never be mad at you. I think I love you too much for that, darling.” She swiped away the tears that were starting to form on the corners of your eyes and gave you a reassuring smile.

“I love you so so much.” You answered before gently taking her face in your hands and softly pressing your lips together as the stars twinkled above you and the streetlight shined on your faces.

i really have to write more for Karen this was fun. as always requests are open and if anyone wants to chat feel free to send me a message or an ask ly <3

#daisy jones and the six #billy dunne #graham dunne #karen sirko #daisy jones #camila dunne #warren rojas #warren rhodes #eddie roundtree #taylor jenkins reid #amazon prime #daisy jones and the six imagine #djats fanfic #djats #daisy jones and the six x reader #karen sirko x reader #karen karen #karen sirko one shot #suki waterhouse #karen sirko imagine #karen karen x reader

[xobrattymoonxo]

Kenma, Akaashi, Kuroo and Bokuto x Reader

TW: Non con, fisting, anal, double penetration (Front and back), knife play, blood, carving into skin, If i missed anything please let me know!

AN: Unedited for the most part. Sorry It's been a while guys! I was writing a jjk fic but then I just thought of this and wanted to write it dhbvshdv

Word count: 3.8K

Y/n ran through the house slipping on the rug. She tripped a little but was able to gain her footing again as she ran once more. She saw the door in her vision as she picked up her pace. As she was unlocking all the locks, she was pulled back by her left shoulder. She was slammed into the ground as the man laughed. 

“You can’t outrun me.” He said with a devious smirk. 

Y/n’s first reaction was to start screaming. The man with black and blonde hair covered her mouth. Y/n instantly bit down hard on his hand drawing blood. 

“Ow you bitch!” He yelled.  

“Kenma, are you okay?

“No, that stupid bitch bit me!” He yelled at the black haired man. 

“Fuck.” The black haired man sees Y/n getting up and rushing for the front door. “Y/n, if you know what’s good for you you will stop right now.” He said in a stern voice.  

“It’s too late to give up now, Akaashi!” She yelled as she began to unlock the seven locks on the door. Akaashi rushed to her side as she turned with all her force and punched him in the nose. He fell backwards with a bloody nose/. Kenma rushed up to her other side as she used a swift kick to hit him in the balls.

“Fuck!” He yelled as he fell down holding his crotch. 

Y/n unlocked the last lock as she ripped the door open. She began to run down the long driveway of the private house on the outskirts of Tokyo. Around the house was nothing but trees, but she figured if she ran through the forest she would be safe from Kuroo and Bokuto, who were probably on their way home. 

Y/n started to run through the forest as she heard a car pull in the driveway. She turned back to see Bokuto rush to the front door. Akaashi was standing on the porch holding his nose as he pointed to the forest where Y/n was. 

She turned as fast as she could on her feet and ran for her life. She knew if she went back to the house, she’d be screwed, maybe even dead. 

It wasn’t long after Bokuto had begun his hunt, like she was a deer and he was the hungry mountain lion. He ran at full speed as she kept running. 

It wasn’t always like this, Y/n actually used to work at the 24 hour convenience store. Kenma had come into her store many times to buy energy drinks around 2 or 3 am. It was just Kenma at first, harmless soft Kenma. Until he started to bring in his friend, Kuroo. Kuroo started to stalk Y/n, figuring out she was a university student at Tokyo U. Their friend Akaashi happened to go there as well. He started off casually following her around for Kenma… and then for Kuroo. He then began to take photos, stalking her more intensely. He learned her schedule, he learned everything about her and he claimed it was all for them.

One Friday night, Kenma went into the convenience store with Kuroo. 

“Hey Y/n.” He said monotone as usual. “I am having a party this weekend at my place. Figured I’d invite you since I always see you around.” 

“When is it? I most likely will be working so I probably won’t be abe to make it.” She said upset. 

“Monday.”

“Oh, I have classes on Tuesdays, I shouldn’t.” 

“C’mon Y/n!” Kuroo said, “Have some fun! We always see you here. You must not even sleep at this point.” 

“I sleep a couple hours after I get off at 6.” She laughed. “But maybe.” 

“Say you’ll come, please?” Kenma asked. 

She couldn’t resist Kenma. 

“Okay… What time should I get there?” 

“8pm, Oak Tree Rd, 175. See you next week, beautiful.” Kuroo smiled at her.  

She smiled as the two walked out the front door. 

Timeskip to Monday…. 

Y/n grabbed her bag and checked herself in the mirror again. She smiled as she looked at her black clubbing dress. She never had a chance to wear it as she always worked.  

Y/n began to walk outside to her apartment lobby. She looked at the time and saw it was 7:24pm. She began to walk. The party was only 34 minutes away, ust on the other side of her work. 

Y/n arrived at a house, there was no noise coming from the house. She walked up to the door really slowly. She knocked on the front door.  

“Hey Beautiful! You made it!” Kuroo said as he opened the door.  

“Um… I thought it was a party.” She tried covering up her chest a bit. 

“It actually starts at 9:30pm. We just wanted you to meet our close friends first.” Kuroo said. 

“Oh makes sense I guess.” She murmured.  

“Come in.” Kuroo stepped aside for Y/n to walk inside. She looked around the mansion astonished. “Nice, huh?”

“Hey Y/n.” Kenma said. “Glad you could make it.” 

“Hi Kenma.” She looked around the large room with 3 couches in it. There was a large projector style tv on the wall. 

“Hi I am Bokuto!” A man with silver and black roots said. 

“Hey, I am Akaashi.” The black haired man said from behind Bokuto. 

“These are our best friends.” Kuroo said. 

“It’s nice to meet you guys. I’m Y/n.” She said. 

“Come have a seat.” Bokuto motions her in between him and Akaashi.  

“So tell us about yourself, Y/n.”Akaashi smiled. 

“I go to Tokyo U. I work at a convenience store. I met Kenma and Kuroo from said convenience store. That’s about it.” She said with a nervous laugh. 

“You go to Tokyo U? I do as well.” Akaashi pretended not to know. 

“Oh what do you study?” Y/n asked.

“Editing and creative writing.” Akaashi said. “And you?” 

“I’m in med school. Hoping to be a Neurologist one day.” 

“Wow you must really never sleep then.” Kuroo said. 

“I study and do homework at work.” She laughed.

“Impressive.” Kenma said. 

“How about you three?” Y/n asked the rest of the guys in the room. 

“I’m a professional Volleyball player for MSBY.” Bokuto spoke up. 

“I work for the Japan Volleyball Association in the sports promotion division.” Kuroo added.  

“I’m the CEO of my own company and a streamer.” Kenma said.

 “Oh wow.” Y/n said. 

Just then the doorbell rang.  

“Looks like the party arrived early.” Kuroo said as he walked out of the room. 

Y/n stood up and walked to the kitchen to get a drink.

“Hey sexy, did it hurt?” A man said from behind Y/n. 

“If you ask if it hurt when I fell from Heaven, I’ll scream right now.” She said,  The guy laughed. 

“I’m Atsumu. What’s yer name, Angel?” 

“Please leave our guest alone, Atsumu. She’s not looking for you to dick her down, I promise.” Kuroo said from behind Y/n. 

Y/n sighed in relief as she turned around. Kuroo passed her a red solo cup full of Vodka. She took one sip and made a face at him.  

“What is this? It’s disgusting.” She said as Kuroo laughed as he took it back and chugged down the cup's contents. 

“Let’s make you something mixed then.” Atsumu rolled his eyes as he walked away from the two. Bokuto came into the kitchen and bumped into Y/n making her turn as Kuroo slipped something into her drink. He dumped coke on top of the rum in her cup and passed it back to her. The pill vanished into nothing as she took her first sip. Kuroo looked at Bokuto with a wink as he walked away. In 15 to 20 minutes their plan would take course. 

The two talked as Akaashi came up to them. Some time passed as Kuroo checked his watch. 

“Hey guys, I am not feeling too hot. Do you know what time it is?” Y/n asked, feeling herself fade out of consciousness. 

“It’s 10:30 pm, Y/n.” 

Y/n blinked and suddenly she was on the balcony with Bokuto’s hands on her waist. 

“Wha-what time is it?” She slurred, reaching up to grab her head in hopes to calm her throbbing headache.

“1:45am baby, why?”

“What?” She felt herself grow dizzy as she fell into Bokuto’s chest. 

“Are you okay? I should take you home. Sit for a second let me get some water.” He placed her down on a chair as he walked back into the room. He texted the others “Code red.” 

He slipped two roofies from his pocket and into the bottle of water. He took one sip before doing so so it wouldn’t be suspicious. 

“Here Y/n.” He passed her the water bottle as she began to chug it back. “Let’s just wait here a few minutes so the world stops spinning for you.”

She gave him a thumbs up as she continued to drink. The more she drank the dizzier she felt.  

“Bo….I don’t- I don’t feel good at all.” She tried to stand up as she fell into his chest once again. “Help me.” She whispered as she felt her eyes grow heavy and her body go limp. 

Bokuto smiled at the limp drugged up body in his arms as he picked her up and carried her into the bedroom. He placed her on the bed carefully. Kuroo busted open the door and looked at the scene before him. 

“Thank god, What was code red about?” He asked Bokuto. 

“She became conscious again. I gave her a couple more roofies and knocked her out.” 

“Well she’s going to feel like shit when she wakes up.” Akkashi said from behind Kuroo. “Kenma is clearing out the party now.” “Good, that means it will be easier for us to get her out.” 

“How are we doing that again?” Bokuto asked. 

“Kenma got me to park in the garage so we could throw her in the trunk.” Kuroo said. 

“Okay. Let me go be our eyes and ears downstairs.” Akaashi said as he left. 

Bokuto looked at the unconscious Y/n on the bed and smiled. 

“She’s almost ours, Kuroo.” Bokuto said with a smile. 

“She is, Bo.” 

A few minutes later Akaashi walked back into the room. 

“All clear.” Akaashi said to the guys. Bokuto lifted her unconscious body off the bed. He began to carry her bridal style down the stairs.  

Bokuto walked into the garage as Kuroo popped open the trunk. He lightly places Y/n’s unconscious body in the trunk. 

“Let’s head out. It’s a long drive to the cabin.” Kenma said from the door behind them.  

Bokuto and Akaashi got into the back seat. The four headed out. 

It wasn’t too long before Bokuto began to get antsy. 

“Are we almost there? I want to be there! How much longer?” Bokuto’s legs started to shake.

“Bokuto-san, we will get there soon, don’t worry.” Akaashi said as he put a hand on his knee.

“I want to hold her though.” Bokuto huffed.  

“How much longer, Kenma?” Akaashi asked.  

“About 20 minutes.” Kenma said. 

“Awww but I want to be there now!” Bokuto whined again. 

"Bo, how are you this excited for someone you haven’t met before tonight?” Kuroo asked with a laugh. 

“Kaashi has told me all about her, he shows me her pictures too. Sometimes he shows me the videos he takes for you guys. She is so pretty and beautiful and she's just so perfect for us!” 

“Seems like someones in love.” Kuroo laughed again. 

The car was full of Bokuto and Kuroo talking about their favorite things about Y/n. 

Kuroo pulled up into the parking lot of a two story house surrounded by trees. Bokuto practically jumped out of the car. He ripped open the trunk to see a still passed out Y/n laying there surrounded by pillows.  

Bokuto lifted up her unconscious body and carried her to the door where Kenma was unlocking it. 

“There's a door to the basement in the pantry.” Kenma said as he motioned for them to go inside…. 

Y/n woke up with a splitting headache. She couldn’t remember much from the party, or how she even got home. She went to move her hands to rub her eyes, but something was restricting her hands. She looked up and saw her hands tied to the above bed post. She began to feel her heart beat increase, she pulled down on her arms and began to panic. 

“She's awake!” A voice yelled from across the room. 

“Perfect.” 

“What’s going on?” Y/n asked, confused. “Where am I? Who are you?” Her voice began to shake. 

“Y/n! It’s just us!” Bokuto exclaimed. “You’re safe here, okay?” Bokuto sat on the side of the bed. He placed his hands on her bare stomach. 

“Where are my clothes?!?” Y/n was freaking out as she noticed she was only in her lingerie. 

“Your dress was so tight, we thought we’d let your body breathe baby.” Kuroo said from behind Bokuto. 

Kenma walked in the room with Akaashi as Y/n tried to pull away from Bokuto’s hands. 

Bokuto’s hands trailed up Y/n’s side. 

“Baby, don’t pull away.” Bokuto said. 

Kuroo reached around Bokuto and started to untie Y/n’s hands. 

Y/n was quick to pull away from Bokuto and pulled her knees into her as she braced herself into the Headboard against the wall. 

“Baby, don’t back away.” Bokuto sighed as his hair deflated. He reached his hand out to touch her again. 

“Don’t touch me!” She screamed. 

Bokuto was taken aback by her shouting. He looked at Akaashi. 

    “Y/n, I know you’re scared, but there's no need to shout at us.” Akaashi said calmly. He moved over to the edge of the bed and reached for her. 

Y/n slapped Akaashi’s hand away. 

“I said don’t touch me!” She screamed again. 

Akaashi looked back at Kuroo and Kenma. Kuroo pushed past the two of them and grabbed Y/n by the ankles. He pulled her down the bed. She began kicking and screaming as Kuroo raised his hand to slap her across the face. She reached up and grabbed her cheek as she cried. 

“You are going to act like a brat, I’ll treat you like one.” Kuroo said. 

He was quick to place his hand on her throat as he began to apply pressure. She reached up and tried to pry Kuroo’s big hands off her throat. 

“Kuroo, careful.” Kenma warned. 

“She’s being an ungrateful bitch.” He spat back. He ripped down her underwear as he shoved two fingers inside of her pussy. 

“Kuroo! I wanted to be the first one to fuck her.” Bokuto whined. 

“Then get over here before I change my mind.” Kuroo said. 

4 ½ months later… 

That's how they got into their current situation, y/n running for her life through the woods in nothing but Bokuto’s shirt and underwear.  

Y/n was giving everything she had into running away. She heard footsteps catching up to her. She tried her best to speed up as she felt a hand on her shoulder. She was pulled back and thrown to the ground. 

“Fuck! Let me go!” She screamed.  

“Baby, calm down! You’re just confused.” Bokuto’s voice cooed at her. He picked her up as Kuroo arrived at the scene. 

“Stupid bitch thought she could escape.” Kuroo laughed. “Here.” He passed Bokuto a pair of Handcuffs. 

“No please! No! I just want to go home!” Y/n cried. 

“You were home.” Kuroo snapped. 

Bokuto and Kuroo fought and put the handcuffs on Y/n’s wrists. She was crying and thrashing her wrists as Bokuto carried her back bridal style.  

“Bring her back down stairs. I have a surprise for her.” Kenma said manically. 

“On it.” Kuroo said as he led Bokuto through the house.  

Akaashi went behind them and began to lock up the front door again. Kenma walked past him and into the kitchen and grabbed a large knife. 

“Woah what’s that for Kenma?” Akaashi asked.  

“You’ll see.” He smiled a devilish smile.

The two walked down the stairs where Bokuto and Kuroo had tied Y/n down to the bed.  

“Kuroo.” Kenma spoke. “Do you want to go first?” He asked, holding out the knife. 

“You deserve it. She did bite you after all.” Kuroo said. Bokuto just finished tying a rag in her mouth. 

Kenma grabbed the shirt on her as he sliced it off in one quick motion. He was quick to repeat the process to her underwear too. 

“Woah Kenma, careful you don’t cut her.” Bokuto said. 

“Where’s the fun in that?” Kenma smirked once again. 

Kenma pressed the tip of the knife into her soft thigh. He began to apply pressure as Y/n began to cry harder. Kuroo grabbed hold of her ankles as she tried to kick him off. 

Kenma pressed hard into her skin as he carved two letter K’s into her left thigh. He passed the knife over to Akaashi. Akaashi smiled as he pressed the knife down into her right thigh. He carved out AK before passing it to Kuroo. Akaashi and Kenma held down one leg each. Kuroo took his own sweet time to carve on the left side KT. He passed over the knife to Bokuto who looked a little uneasy. 

“Cmon Bo, you can do it.” Kuroo encouraged him. 

“It’s hurting her though.” Bokuto said all sad. 

“She hurt us Bo, she tried to leave us. We gave her everything and she repays us by leaving? This is just a reminder to her she's ours.” Kuroo said. 

Bokuto smiled as he looked down at her right thigh. He carved out a BK as he smiled. The blood was running down her leg.  Bokuto tossed the knife aside as he pulled his shirt off. 

“Seeing her like this…. Is making me feel some way…” He said with a devious smirk.  

Bokuto began to get naked in front of the other guys as Kuroo laughed. 

“Looks like Bo got turned on after all.” Kuroo said. 

Kuroo took his shirt off as Akaashi placed his hand on Kuroo’s shoulder.  

“What are you doing?” He asked him. 

“There’s enough room for all of us after all, remember?” 

Kenma smiled as he began to strip down too. Akaashi didn’t take long to follow through. 

The guys all turned to face Bokuto as they heard a loud muffled groan leave Y/n’s mouth.  Bokuto had shoved himself inside Y/n’s pussy dry. He began to frantically pump inside her. 

“Woah Bokuto, wait for us will you?” Akaashi said with a laugh. “Who’s taking what?” 

“I call dibs on her mouth.” Kenma said as he climbed onto the bed.  

“I’ll take her ass if you are okay to share with Bokuto this time Kasshi?” Kuroo asked. 

Akaashi nodded as he Approached the bed. 

“Bo, can you turn her on her side. I want to make space in her tight little asshole for me.” Kuroo smiled. 

Bokuto smiled back as he moved her on her side. Kuroo grabbed the lube from the bedside table. He opened it up and dropped a few drops on Y/n’s tiny butthole. He began to rub it in slowly as she begged for them to stop. 

“Kenma, shut her up before I do.” Akaashi said. 

Kenma laughed as he climbed to the top of the bed. Bokuto pulled her down a bit as Kenma got above her. 

“You bite me now, I’ll slice you up. Got it?” She shook her head in agreement. Kenma quickly shoved his member down her throat. He grabbed the back of her head and forced her to take all of him. It was Akaashi’s turn to join the fun. He put lube on his member as he lined it up next to Bokuto’s. Y/n was unable to do anything as her hands were still tied up. Kuroo now had 3 fingers shoved up Y/n’s asshole. 

“Bokuto, can you shift a little. I want to join you inside so we can all cum together.” Akaashi said. 

As Akaashi was forcing himself inside as Kuroo pulled his fingers out. Kuroo opened up the bottle of lube again and dumped it all over his hand. Kuroo smiled to himself as he slowly started to work his large fist into Y/n.  She cried out as Kuroo and Akaashi fully pushed in at the same time.  

“Fuck! Do that again.” Kenma moaned as she gasped and moaned out around his cock.  

Kuroo laughed as he pulled his hand almost all the way out, then quickly slammed it in at full speed once again. 

“Yeah fuck just like that.” Kenma moaned. 

“Fuck!” Bokuto and Akaashi yelled in sync. 

“Feels good huh?” He smirked. 

“Keep going,”Bokuto said. “She’s getting tighter with every thrust.”

The two in her pussy picked up the pace as Kuroo remained fisting her ass.  

“I’m close.” Akaashi moaned. 

“Fuck me too.” Kenma said. 

“Just cum inside her. I’ll buy some plan B tomorrow.” Kuroo said. 

Just like that, Akaashi and Bokuto shot hot ropes of cum inside Y/n. Kenma wasn’t too far behind as lets his hot load out down her throat. 

Kuroo pulled his fist out as he replaced it with his cock. 

“Fuck, she’s so stretched out.” He said.  

“I want to try fisting her too!” Bokuto whined. 

“Take her pussy. Her ass is mine.” Kuroo said. 

Bokuto looked down at her cum dripping pussy. He shrugged his shoulders as he began to force his massive fist inside her.  

“Stop! Please! It hurts!” She cried out.  

“You deserve this. This isn’t for your pleasure, it’s for ours.” He said as his fist slowly slipped all the way inside. 

Kuroo groaned out as he felt Bokuto’s fist through the thin wall. 

“Fuck Bo, I can feel you on the otherside.” Kuroo moaned. 

“I can see my fist in her stomach!” Bokuto exclaimed excitedly.  

Kuroo was quick to release hot strings of cum inside her ass.

“Fuck that was to good.” Kuroo breathed out.

Y/n laid there crying silently as she begged for it to be over. 

“Well that’s not fair to Kenma or Akaashi, now is it?” Kuroo smirked.  

“Please- please no.” 

“Cmon, let’s not play favorites, okay?” Bokuto said. 

Akaashi grabbed the lube as he lined up to her front entrance and Kenma at the back entrance. 

Y/n was screaming in pain as the two who had finished sat back and watched. 

It wasn’t until hours later they all stopped. Constantly fucking her between their fists and their cocks. She was laying there, completely fucked out when they finally stopped. She was covered in cum and it was dripping from all three of her holes. There was even some blood in other places then her thighs.  

“Let’s get washed up. Let her rest for a little bit.” Akaashi said. 

“We shouldn’t leave her out. I don’t trust her on her own anymore.” Kenma added. 

“Bring the dog carrier.” Kuroo said. 

#tw dark fic #tw noncon #haikyuu smut #yandere haikyuu #haikyuu dark content #haikyuu noncon #haikyuu yandere #kenma smut #kuroo smut #bokuto smut #akaashi smut

[kyuzu-ficreviews101]

NCT DREAM RENJUN FIC RECS!!!

Okay so!!! I'll be doing a fic recommendation post for nct dream!!! Going to continue adding as time passes! For now, here are my favs! Ignore how all of this is Renjun, I swear I'll read for the others JAHJJS

※ - Mark (마크) !

※ - Renjun (런쥔) ! Rest by @sungbeam Walls, Brawls, & Sudden Rainfalls by @jishyucks Missed you by @i-luvsang You’re a Bad Idea (I Like Bad Ideas) by @chicksung 9:48pm by @rrxnjun [ 7:12 pm ] by @dreamijournal Lover by @tzuyusluv Renjun bf texts by @phoxphenex Tortured Artist by @junmymuse [ 2:03pm ] by @dreaml4unch Bf! Renjun Headcanons by @armysantiny Bf! Renjun Headcanons (2) by @justalildumpling

※ - Jeno (제노) !

※ - Haechan (해찬) ! Take my breath by @hyuckwrlds 9:02pm by @isabelleonabicycle 10:45pm by @qianinterprises Coming home by @daegall The beginning of an end by @jaehunnyy

※ - Jaemin (재민) !

※ - Chenle (천러) !

※ - Jisung (지성) ! In a world where there’s no one but us by @navyhyuck [9:24pm] by @alicanta77

※ - 7 DREAM (7드림) ! Ofc we start with Late-night headcanons by @armysantiny Nct dream as boyfriends by @binniecorre Nct dream as boyfriend moments by @woozten-x Break up prank with nct dream (texts) by @hannie-dul-set Nct dream reaction (Periods) by @chenle-dressed-in-black Making out (ft. Haechan, Jaemin) by @7aechan Each and every fic by @j0hnj4ej3n Each and every fic by @rrxnjun

P.s: The tag #one of my favs 🤍 and #127 / 10 on my blog are for my favorite fics! And my writing blog is @boba-at-323 so this is just a shameless promo hehe

#nct dream #nct 127 #nct u #nct #lee mark #lee minhyung #mark #minhyung #huang renjun #renjun #lee jeno #jeno #lee haechan #lee donghyuck #haechan #donghyuck #na jaemin #jaemin #zhong chenle #chenle #park jisung #jisung #fic rec #fic rec list #fanfiction recommendation #nct fanfic recommendations #nct fic recs #jade reads 😼💚

[straylightdream]

𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐠 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

full stray kids list

feedback and reblog with tags are greatly appreciate when you read one of my fics!

@straylightdream — all rights reserved. reposting/modifying of any fic, reaction, or piece of original writing posted on this blog is not allowed. Translations not allowed.

~

contains smut: ♡

ｃｏｎｎｅｃｔｉｎｇ ｓｅｒｉｅｓ

ssfw - college au

ilysb (i’m gonna love you) - coming soon

between the lines ♡

arranged marriage au

↳ After being used a nothing more then a pawn to gain the upper hand on Chan. They’re left in a strained marriage and only one way out.

outta my head ♡

neighbors au / fuckboy chan

↳ He’s a lives next door and is someone who sleeps around often. You’re a nurse who is struggling to get enough sleep because of his night time activities.

illicit affair ♡

modern royal au / star-crossed lovers

↳ He was Prince and soon to be King, and she was his a royal assistant who looked after him. Thing between them have changed as they cross a line that they probably shouldn’t of crossed.

somebody else ♡

featuring: bang chan x f.reader, lee know x f.reader

friends to lovers au

↳  She loved him more then anything or anyone in all the galaxy. From the moment they met he was suddenly her everything.

give yourself a try ♡

fake dating au

↳ She had to attend her estrange fathers wedding, and didn’t want to go alone. Chan offers to go as her fake boyfriend so she doesn’t have to face the wedding alone.

where were you ♡

exes to lovers / fuckboy chan

↳  They were high school sweethearts and Chan let his ego get the best of him. He her high and dry without a second thought.

golden hour ♡

featuring: bang chan x f.reader x hwang hyunjin

↳  The three of them had fallen into a habit for sharing a bed and cuddling. What happens when feelings get involved?

almost losing you ♡

monster hunter au

↳ Loving him was never easy and you wished that someone else could of stolen your heart. Someone who is wasn’t too afraid of breaking your heart.

about last night ♡

↳ you have been playing a game of cat and mouse for too long. Things come to head when you dance with someone while he watches.

i think I like you ♡ (ssfw)

friends to lover, mutual pining, college au

↳ I’ll be right here waiting for us.

not in the same way ♡

friends with benefits

↳ things get messy with feelings get involved with casual sex.

I wanna be yours ♡

roommates / friends to lovers / blind date

↳ “If you keep pacing you’re going to burn a hole in the title,” Minho said standing in the doorway.

Stopping in your tracks you looked up at Minho with wide eyes, “is it too late to cancel?”

crying over you

established relationship

↳ even after a bad fight he’ll still come to you to protect you during a thunderstorm.

its not living

friends to lovers

↳ after years of being friends you talk about what the future holds for you.

champagne & wax ♡

↳ after two years together you decide to spice things up.

death by a thousand cuts ♡ (my lover)

↳  one bad fight leads to you breaking up. What happens when you can’t stay away from the one person you truly love.

run to you ♡

friends to lovers

↳ after running away from an abusive ex there is only one person you know you’ll truly feel safe with. 

what am I missing? ♡

feat: 3racha

↳ in your mid to late twenties you’re left wondering if you missed your sexual awakening. With a the help of friends you start to really find yourself.

rose-colored boy ♡

↳ Life never goes as planned, when you were younger you always imagined as reaches your mid twenties you would be married with kids. Instead you’re stuck at home helping take care of your sick grandmother and still desperately searching for her fathers approval. The only thing in your life that makes you feel normal is Chan.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬

be my mistake ♡

featuring: bang chan x f.reader, changbin x f.reader

roommate / friends to lovers au

status: 40% done

↳ It started out as a simple crush and led to so much more. Unexpected feelings come to a head when when you learn you mean so much more to your roommates then you ever expected

#bang chan #bang smut #bang chan fanfiction #stray kids #stray kids fanfiction #bc ml #bang chan masterlist #BCML

[choism]

Bad Roomates | k.hj & j.wy [REUPLOADED]

Roommates!WooJoong x male!Reader

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: male!reader, member x member, polyamorous, blowjobs, color system, slight degradation, wooyoung is a brat, hongjoong is cocky, switch!hongjoong, bottom!wooyoung, top!reader

A/N: Hello all! This is a request for my dear friend @peachytangerines! Both him and I noticed that there is little to no male reader or gender neutral smut out there, especially for Ateez so I have decided to write my first male reader piece! It's also my first threesome piece lol. As I become more comfortable in my gender identity, and in my own sexuality I have decided to open up requests for male reader so I hope you enjoy! As always if you catch any mistakes please do not hesitate to send me an ask <3

THIS FIC IS NOT STOLEN BUT REUPLOADED FROM MY TERMINATED BLOG @/huiranghaes!

Fuck this.

Fuck everything, fuck Wooyoung, fuck Hongjoong. Fuck. Everything.

Why are you cursing at everything?  Wooyoung of course. Just earlier you were cussing out Wooyoung for stealing your food, again. Every week something goes missing. Ramen, chips, a whole tub of butter, you name it, it’s gone in a week. Labeling nothing helps, not even continuously yelling at him works. The asshole does whatever he wants.

What’s worse is that this has only been happening a month, before that he has been the perfect roommate, and Hongjoong too, until he started acting up as well. Just two weeks ago Hongjoong has started to get on your nerves on top of everything. Constantly blasting whatever he is working on at the latest hours of the night. Leaving his clothes everywhere. The clothes part may be normal of him actually, but as of late he has been leaving them in the living room and the hallway.

Other than all these things, their behavior has been strange too. Wooyoung has been way more flirty than usual, and more crude. Blatantly talking about his sex life, even making jokes towards you. Usually you would overlook it but for some reason its really getting to you. Hongjoong has been more touchy than usual too. He is usually one for minimal physical affection, but when relaxing in the living area he has to be near you, even have a hand on you or a finger.

Despite the strange behavior, you couldn’t stand it, you were at your limit, and finally you called both of them into the living room to sort everything out. Wooyoung, as if sensing the exact reason he called you in, had a stupid grin on his face. Of course he would get off on being yelled at, you weren’t surprised in the slightest. Hongjoong, however, was calm. You couldn’t tell if he knew what was coming because he had a blank face.

“Alright, what is the deal with you two?” You ask, clenching your teeth. Wooyoung takes a knowing glance at Hongjoong but you miss it, and Hongjoong starts, “What are you talking about?” There is a tone in his voice that you catch that tells you he is purposely playing dumb.

“I know damn well that you know what I am talking about. Wooyoung?” You look over to the man and he just shrugs, acting just as clueless as the man next to him. You can feel your ears heat up with anger. You figured Wooyoung would deny it, he is just a brat by nature it’s normal for him. But Hongjoong too? You swear you’re seeing red. 

Wooyoung does his best to hold back his smirk, he is really trying to hold in his emotions so he can drag out your reaction but he just can’t help himself. You’re kind of hot when you’re mad he thinks to himself. You catch his smirk, and you finally sense a shift in the air. “What’s so funny Woo?” You question him. He saunters up to you, and you see Hongjoong’s expression crack a bit, but immediately go back to unbothered. The brunette circles around behind you and places his hands on your hips, bringing his mouth up to your ear.

You startle under his touch, not expecting him to touch you so boldly like this. Wooyoung flirts, makes sexual comments, anything to get under people’s skin, but he usually doesn’t touch someone unless it’s one of his friends. You shiver, feeling his hot breath on your neck. “Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed.” He whispers in your ear, and as if it’s a cue, Hongjoong comes over as well.

“Noticed what? You being more of a brat than usual?” You scoff. They are both so close and you can feel your face heating up. Surely what was once an air of sterness has now faded into sexual tension. You wouldn’t let them overcome you, however. Hongjoong speaks up, “Y/n….Can’t you see? Even I’ve been more touchy than usual.” There is a slight whine to his voice, something more needy. Then you feel it. Wooyoung’s hard clothed cock brushing up against your ass. “I didn’t think I would ever have to be this forward with you, don’t you want us Y/N?” You have to admit, you’re really caught off guard.

Of course, there have been times while living with the both of them that you have thought about one or the other, sometimes both, in a sexual light. Who wouldn’t? Wooyoung just drips sex appeal, and Hongjoong has his moments too, especially when he is in work mode. You’ve always thought about fucking them, but you never indulged those thoughts as you didn’t think either of them would want to do anything. But now here you are, your two hot roommates teasing you, just begging to be fucked.

“I….” You trail off, thinking of what to say. You can’t let them take over, take control. “Of course Woo. Don’t you want me, babyboy?” You finally hear his breath hitch at the nickname. Finally, some control over him. You reach behind your self and grab his hip, pushing him further into you, and you take hold of Hongjoong’s hand, smoothing your thumb over the back of his fingers. “Is this why the two of you were acting like nuisances? You just wanted me to fuck you?”

Wooyoung is rubbing against your ass a bit more roughly, and you can feel your cock growing in your pants. The thought of the both of them thinking about you like this for months makes your head spin. Hongjoong pouts, “Of course we want you to, we have been planning this for a while.” You bring your hand up to his face and you brush your thumb across his lips, Hongjoong closing his eyes and falling into your touch. 

“Then I’ll give you what you want, but I have conditions.” Wooyoung pulls away and joins Hongjoong’s side, both of them ready to listen intently. Hongjoong grabs a hold of Wooyoung’s hand unconsciously and the younger man gives it a squeeze. “Firstly, you will only address me as sir, anything other than that isn’t allowed.” Shyly Wooyoung breathes out a small “Yes sir.” and Hongjoong does the same, but with a bit more confidence. Wooyoung can’t help but let his smile escape once again, excitement taking over and ideas running through his head. “Secondly, I am in charge, especially considering what you two put me through this past month.” They both nod, but judging by the look on Wooyoung’s face, you suspect he won’t listen that much.

“And finally, let’s use a color system, green for good, yellow for slow down, and red for stop, is that all good?” Hongjoong speaks first, “It sounds perfect to me.” And Wooyoung nods indicating he feels the same. Without saying anything you walk towards your bedroom and they follow behind obediently. “Then let’s start shall we? Wooyoung, get undressed, everything except your underwear.” Hongjoong looks at you with expectant eyes as Wooyoung undresses himself hastily. “Not yet Joongie, I have something special for you.” His eyes glimmer and a mischievous smile spreads across his face.

When you look back Wooyoung is finally undressed, his cock visibly straining against his black briefs. You walk up to him and kiss down his neck, brush your fingers over the waistband. “You were the worst one, so you get to waist longer, now be a good boy and go sit on the chair over there.” He lets out a whine and grabs your wrist but you pull away. “But-” “Chair. Now.” He mumbles out a yes sir and takes a seat, looking at Hongjoong he pouts and the older man sticks his tongue out jokingly. 

You walk over to Hongjoong and push him onto the bed, leaning over him and unbuttoning his shirt. He goes to touch you but you stop him. “Ah ah, only I get to touch for now.” Hongjoong whines a bit but he doesn’t question you, letting you take off his shirt and toss it aside. You work at his belt and pull his pants off too, taking his underwear off along with them and his cock springing free. Hongjoong wasn’t very big but he had some girth to him. His tip is already glistening with precum, and his veins are popping out around his abdomen. You run your hand from his chest to his pubic bone, stopping just above his length.

“Okay Wooyoung, come here.” Wooyoung eagerly gets up and walks over to you, and as you stand up and back away from the man underneath you, Wooyoung very openly looks down at your crotch, and eyes your cock visibly straining against your own pants. He looks up into your eyes. “Yes sir?” He asks impatiently, waiting for your orders. “I want you to suck off Hongjoong while I get ready. Wooyoung looks over to his older friend, eyeing his cock then looking into his eyes. Joong bites his lip at the thought of Wooyoung sucking his cock.

“Yes sir.” Wooyoung responds, walking over to the edge of the bed and lowering his knees to the floor in between the red heads legs. Hongjoong lifts his torso up so he is sitting upright, looking down at the crown of Wooyoung’s head. You take this time to undress yourself and gather some items. “And Wooyoung, don’t let him finish, if he cums you get the punishment.” He holds back a groan but simply nods his head, lifting his hands up to Hongjoong’s cock and stroking his length, getting a feel for what he likes. Hongjoong throws his head back in pleasure, and lustfully stares down into the younger man’s eyes.

Wooyoung takes his tip into his mouth, sucking gently and stroking his thumb along the veins, using his other hands to cups his balls and apply light pressure. Hongjoong has been pent up for so long that he can already feel the heat growing in his abdomen but he doesn’t hold back his moans. He is curious to see how Wooyoung would get punished so he allows himself to revel in the pleasure.

Wooyoung takes him into his mouth fully now, running his tongue along the bottom of his cock and letting spit bubble and pool at the sides of his mouth as his pace quickens. He thinks he can get Hongjoong to the edge, he wants to see him on the edge. Hongjoong looks fucked out already, and it just encourages the brunette to move faster, squeezing and massing his balls tighter, and hollowing out his cheeks. Hongjoong’s moans grow louder as he feels himself get closer to his orgasm, at this rate he knows he won’t be able to hold it.

Wooyoung moves the hand holding Hongjoong’s balls to his thigh, digging his nails in as he let’s Hongjoong throat fuck him, Hongjoong’s hand flying to his hair to push him down further. All the while you are nearly done, Fully undressed and your cock slapping against your stomach as you grab some lube and some rope. Wooyoung knows he doesn’t have very long before Hongjoong cums and as he is about to pull back Hongjoong grips his hair harder keeping him in place. The brunette tries to make noises of protest, probably proclaiming that he is cheating but the vibrations just send Hongjoong over the edge, letting his load coat the younger ones throat.

The younger man swallows every drop and pulls back, “That was cheating, you can’t do that!” He yells but Hongjoong just laughs. You walk back over to the bed, setting down your items. “I didn’t say Hongjoong couldn’t hold your head, therefore you get the punishment Woo.” All he does is whine loudly, but secretly he wants to be punished. You know this of course, Wooyoung likes being degraded, yelled at, anything that pushes someone’s buttons and he faces the consequences he loves, but you have something else planned for him.

“Go sit on the chair again.” You demand and he does as you say. You pull off Wooyoung's underwear and let his cock free. Wooyoung’s dick is a lot bigger and girthier than Joong’s, and a lot angrier. Just like his arms, veins decorate his cock and his abdomen. You take the rope you procured off the bed, and tie Wooyoung’s arms to the chair. His cock twitches at the sensation of being tied up. You bend down and place a soft kiss against his lips and ask him, “Color?” He whines out, “Green.” You grip his cock for a second, just to tease him and he moans out loudly, finally being touched for the first time, but just as quickly as you grabbed him you let go. “Now you get to watch me fuck Joongie.” You whisper in his ear and he grumbles. He wants to be fucked first, he already worked so much.

You make your way to the bed and lift a leg over Hongjoong, your cock directly in front of his face. “Spit.” Hongjoong spits on your cock and you lube yourself up naturally, spreading it around. “On all fours, do you want to be stretched first?” Hongjoong whimpers out, “Yes sir, please fuck me with your fingers.” He moves into the position and you pick up the lube, dripping some onto your fingers, and onto his hole. You circle his rim with your single digit, teasing him a bit before slowly pushing in. You avoid his prostate for the time being, just wanting to stretch him and work him back up to hardness. You’ve decided that Hongjoong gets to cum twice, but Wooyoung only once.

Hongjoong’s cock grows back to full length as you insert another finger, the feeling of you fucking his hole making him groan and writhe. It isn’t long before you insert a third digit, and start brushing against his prostate. His moans start to get louder and you can even hear Wooyoung whining, thrust his hips in an attempt to feel anything. You bring your other hand down onto Hongjoong’s ass, leaving a red mark and earning a loud yelp from the small man. “Are you ready for my cock?” He doesn’t say anything immediately, only focusing on your fingers hitting his prostate over and over. You hit his ass once again, “I asked you a question, slut.” Hongjoong whimpers, “Y-yes sir!” He yelps.

You remove your fingers and Hongjoong bite his lip at the empty sensation. You get up and walk over to Wooyoung, dragging the chair over to the edge of the bed. “Move your face over to where Wooyoung is, he needs a front row seat.” Hongjoong crawls over to the edge of the bed, Dangling his head over the edge, directly above Wooyoung’s angry cock. You move behind Hongjoong and line yourself up, spilling lube onto yourself and onto his fluttering hole. He whines as you press your tip into his hole, only filling in halfway to let him get used to the girth. 

The redhead has to bite his lip as you bottom out finally, filling him up. He feels so tight around you, so wet. You groan out before slowly rocking your hips back, starting at a slow pace so he can get used to you. Hongjoong is so close to Wooyoung’s cock that the younger man can feel his hot breath on it. You slowly build your pace, and feel your orgasm growing closer, seeing the way Wooyoung looks everytime Joong gets close to his cock is driving you crazy. “Hongjoong, suck Wooyung’s cock for me baby.” He does as you say, letting his tongue fall out, and licking and sucking on his tip sloppily. You can tell that Wooyoung is already close from watching you and Hongjoong fuck around, but you aren’t going to let him finish easily.

You pick up the pace, fucking into Hongjoong harder and forcing him to choke around Wooyoung’s cock. Both the men let out whines, tears even pricking at wooyoung’s eyes from the pleasure, the ropes feeling tight around his wrists as he thrashes about, wanting to grab Hongjoong and make him take in his cock further. “Joong please…. Take in more. I can't take it.” Wooyoung begs but the redhead knows better than to do what he asks, he only takes orders from you. You are slamming into Hongjoong at this point, your orgasm only moments away, Hongjoong’s as well. With just a few more strokes you finish inside of him and bring your hand down to his throbbing cock and he finishes as well, rope after rope of cum falling onto the bed and your hand. You can tell that Wooyoung is right at the edge too. “Hongjoong pull away.” He pulls away with a popping sound, and after a few seconds pass Wooyoung starts moaning again, tears in his eyes. He spills onto Hongjoong’s face with loud moans. You laugh, proud of yourself for effectively ruining his orgasm. One last rope of cum lands onto Joong’s face and Wooyoung comes down from his high.

You slowly pull out of Hongjoong’s now aching hole and he whines at the feeling. You go to your bathroom to grab a couple of wet washcloths to clean all of you up. When you come back you hand one to Hongjoong and go to wooyoung, untying his ropes and cleaning him up. “That was mean.” He huffs. You can clearly tell that he loved it though. “That’s what you get for being a brat. Play nice next time and we will see how I treat you.” A mischievous smile covers his face, “Next time?” His eyebrow wiggles and you just roll your eyes. You throw the washcloth at his chest. “Clean up you heathen.”

“I would love for there to be a next time.” Hongjong says brightly, cleaning Wooyoung’s cum off of his face in the mirror on your nightstand. “I would too.” You say, kissing Hongjoong on the forehead.

© Choism 2023. do not repost or translate.

#ateez x reader #ateez x male reader #male reader #ateez smut #kim hongjoong smut #hongjoong smut #hongjoong x reader #hongjoong x male reader #jung wooyoung smut #wooyoung smut #wooyoung x reader #wooyoung x male reader #woojoong #woojoong smut #wooyoung x hongjoong #wooyoung x hongjoong smut #hongjoong x wooyoung #hongjoong x wooyoung smut

[ivymarquis]

Intro + Masterlist

Hi! I’m Ivy and I have been known to write things on occasion. 

27 | Sapphic | Lover of dark content

I have a penchant for writing about scary men (+ women!), and am not opposed to writing smutty and/or dark content. Because of that, this blog is strictly 18+.

Minors + ageless blogs will be blocked

Dark content **is** placed under a cut for those of you who don’t wish to see it!!

Requests are currently ||open for snippets|| (pls check ((rules)) and ((F-List)) before sending requests!

Masterlist Key:

⚠️= Dark | ✨= Smut | ❗❗= Angst | ⚪ = Consensual |  ⚫ = Dub Con | 🔴 = Non Con | ✔️ = Completed Series | ⭕ = WIP Series

**UTD as of 6/5/23; Check the “my writing” tag to see if Ive posted anything that hasn’t been added to the list yet :)

Kinktober 2023 masterlist here!

OVERWATCH

Unspecified male OW!character x Reader

Heat Stroke He was a furnace and a cuddle monster- a trait you’d greatly appreciated when you’d started sleeping (as in, literally sleeping) with him in the winter. Now? The temperatures were rising and his grip was borderline suffocating at night.

Gabriel Reyes/Reaper

Gabriel throat fucking Reader   ✨⚪ Free use throat fucking kink

Kinktober Day 6 (2018)  ✨⚪ Daddy | Corset

Kinktober Day 7 (2018) ✨⚫ Praise Kink | Aphrodisiacs

Kinktober Day 10 (2018)  ✨⚪ Wax Play | Hair Pulling

Incubus!Reaper Gabriel has something to tell you. Hopefully he doesn’t have a secret wife.

Gabriel Reyes vs 2-year-old toddler Gabriel underestimates the power of a nap

Daddy kink headcanon Tis what it says on the tin. Reyes’ reaction to their s/o having a daddy kink

Reaper teaching his S/O how to kiss Tis what it says on the tin

Moira O’Deorain

Kinktober Day 2 (2018)  ✨⚪ Medical Play | Begging

Kinktober Day 11 (2018)  ✨⚪ Aphyxiation | Object Insertion

Moira with an affectionate S/O Headcanons of Moira with an S/O who enjoys showing random affection

Looks Can Be Deceiving  ✨⚪ Moira thinks you’d look adorable squealing underneath her.

Birdy   ⚠️✨🔴 Moira’s in rut and has plans for you.

Daddy Part of your self-appointed job as Moira’s girlfriend was to annoy her on occasion.

Us  ❗❗ You can’t overlook this.

Chocolate Kisses  ✨⚪ You agree to go on a date with Moira

Problem Solving  ✨⚪ You take control when Moira gets too stressed out.

Jack Morrison/Soldier 76** ** F!Reader fics written prior to announcement of Jack’s sexuality

Daddy kink headcanon Tis what it says on the tin. Jack’s reaction to their s/o having a daddy kink

Brat Tamer!76  ✨⚪ You weren’t acting out because you’d missed him. Definitely

Sleeping Dogs Lie  ⚠️✨🔴 Jack just wants to make you happy

Movie Night  ✨⚪ Jack starts seeing a new mother and develops some new kinks as a result.

Hang Ups  ✨⚪ Jack moves past his hang ups.

Stealth  ⚠️✨🔴 You’re not nearly as stealthy as you think you are.

Cole Cassidy** ** Older fics refer to Jesse McCree, pre name change

Kinktober Day 1 (2018)  ✨⚪ Smiles/Laughter | Deep Throating

Demon!Hanzo x Werewolf!McCree x F! Reader  ✨⚫ You decide to summon a demon and there are some… unintended consequences

Nap Time It’s just a fact that boobs make the best pillows

Gratitude  ✨⚪ Jesse shows his gratitude to his sweetpea getting a tattoo themed after him

Welcome Home, Baby  ✨⚪ Jesse comes home

Daddy kink headcanon Tis what it says on the tin. Cassidy’s reaction to their s/o having a daddy kink

Trying for a baby with his wife headcanons Tis what it says on the tin

Genji Shimada

Late Bloomer (I) (II)  ✨⚪✔️ Genji’s precious beta is actually an omega- one whose heat hits her like a freight train.

Dragon!Genji x Reader  ✨⚪ You’re ready to carry your lover’s eggs

Bother  ✨⚪ You figured Genji wouldn’t care for a second if your cousin was visiting. As it turned out, he cared very much.

Stay  ✨⚪ Genji hasn’t been with anyone since his near death experience. Then you join blackwatch.

Playground You and Genji go to a playground

Kitten Play  ✨⚪ Being a well respected professional in your work life is fine and all, but there’s comfort in handing the reins over to someone else.

Genji w/ S/O who struggles with penetration  ✨⚪ Tis what it says on the tin

Idol Genji has his own way of wishing you good luck for your concerts- This has unintended consequences.

Hanzo Shimada

Demon!Hanzo x Werewolf!McCree x F! Reader  ✨⚫ You decide to summon a demon and there are some… unintended consequences

Daddy kink headcanon Tis what it says on the tin. Hanzo’s reaction to their s/o having a daddy kink

Sugar  ⚠️ You just got cold feet is all

Incorrigible  ✨⚪ You’re an incorrigible tease when you want to be.

Hanzo x Reader  ✨⚪ You let Hanzo tie you up like a thanksgiving turkey

Candy Hanzo has some concerns about all the reader's candy

Trying for a baby with his wife headcanons Tis what it says on the tin

Sombra

Kinktober Day 3 (2018)  ✨⚪ Sensory Deprivation | Edgeplay

Aleksandra Zaryanova

Zarya + Chubby!Reader Self love is important, but can be hard

Akande Ogundimu

Phone Etiquette Akande knows how to make a boring business call much more interesting.

See Something You Like? You notice when Akande starts timing his workouts to match with yours.

Wilhelm Reinhardt

Sugar Daddy!Reinhardt Headcanons of sugar daddy Reinhardt

Lucio Correia dos Santos

Trying for a baby with his wife headcanons Tis what it says on the tin

Far Cry 5

Jacob Seed

Apex Predator (I) ⚠️⭕ The Deputy has a secret, and Jacob makes it his mission to bring her to heel

What You Want  (I) (II) (III) ⚠️✨🔴»⚫ ✔️ Jacob learns the deputy is his mate and sets out to subdue her

Quality Over Quantity (I) (II)  ✨⚪✔️ Jacob ensures the continuation of the Chosen’s line

Happy  ✨⚪ She was content with her place in the middle of the pack. Then Jacob took notice of her.

All Good Things He's been sweet on her ever since she propositioned him back in Missouri

Better Late than Never Pushing 50, Jacob had figured years ago his dreams of a wife and kids weren’t happening

Unrequited ❗❗ Not sure I’ll ever actually finish this- Jacob is in love with the deputy, but marries one of the women in the cult after the deputy marries John

Kinktober Day 4 (2018) ✨⚪ Spanking | Spit Roasting

Kinktober Day 8 (2018)  ✨⚪ Hate Fucking/Angry Sex | Fisting

Illness The Deputy gets sick in the cages

Can’t Sleep Jacob's insomnia is not new- when the Reader can't sleep, he offers a potential solution

Good With Kids John gives commentary on Jacob's baby-handling skills

“You smell like wet dog” Fluffy one-off where Reader informs Jacob he needs a bath.

Love Language Tis what it says on the tin

Favorite Kinks Tis what it says on the tin

John Seed

Baptism of Blood  ⚠️ John finally has a willing soul to cleanse

Kinktober Day 5 (2018)  ⚠️✨⚪ Sadism/Masochism | Blood/Gore

Love Language Tis what it says on the tin

Favorite Kinks Tis what it says on the tin

Joseph Seed

Love Language Tis what it says on the tin

Favorite Kinks Tis what it says on the tin

Faith Seed

Love Language Tis what it says on the tin

Favorite Kinks Tis what it says on the tin

Eli Palmer

Kinktober Day 4 (2018) ✨⚪   Spanking | Spit Roasting

Kinktober Day 9 (2018)  ✨⚪ Titfucking | Lingerie

Call Of Duty

Simon Ghost Riley

Simon’s Spotify Playlist Don’t ask me for anyone else’s lol. He’s the only one who gets one.

Spoiled  ✨⚪ Spoiled the thought flashes across his head. Course it doesn’t help that he’s utterly whipped. He’ll give you anything you ask for just because you want it.

Bonded ❗❗ You and Simon are caught off guard during a mission

SS: Overstim Tis what it says on the tin

John Price

Blind Date John goes on a blind date. It goes well

John Soap MacTavish

Steel Magnolia Soap falls head over heels for the base’s fire breathing preceptor

Character Study: Honey

Kyle Gaz Garrick

Under My Skin Your situationship uncomplicates itself on a rainy night

König

SS: Pregnancy Risk Not only does König not care that it's not safe to finish inside- that's kinda the point.

Platonic Reader + 141

The B.A.G. Coalition You accidentally spill the beans on why Graves can’t get a date

#cod x reader #overwatch x reader #far cry 5 x reader #x reader #my writing

[drunkjaked]

BIRTHDAY BOY ft lee heeseung

pairing: bf!hee x fem!reader

smut (mdni) + 2824 words

WARNINGS: alcohol consumption, tipsy hee and tipsy reader, sort of dom!hee i can’t really tell, mutual masturbation, slight overstim, reader is a good girl !!!, random mark lee (idk why this is a warning i adore him), ig also random kim chaewon and huh yunjin, i think that’s it ..

thank u so much to heeseung for being born today and giving me an excuse to write this fic thank you so so so much you are so selfless and do so much for me thank you happy birthday i love you #21 i hope you take a shot today you deserve it !!!

Heeseung watches you apply the last of your mascara in the mirror, sitting on the edge of Yunjin’s bed with his bottom lip pulled between his teeth – and now, finally happy enough with how your makeup (and outfit) came out, you take a step back to admire your reflection before turning to face the birthday boy. 

“Is it too late to cancel?” 

“You were totally pumped about the party, like, an hour ago.” You frown, linking your arms around his neck. 

His hand sits near the top of your thigh, toying with the hem of your dress. “That was before you put this on.” 

“I can take it off if you want.”

Heeseung’s eyes leave your tits with some reluctance, raising to meet your gaze. “Really?” He gasps, his voice thick with excitement. 

You copy his tone when you say, no. 

His lips quirk up into a small smile as he pulls you down onto his lap, a hand holding your neck as he leans in to kiss you. You taste the bitter remnants of a vodka shot on his tongue when it moves against yours, humming into his mouth when he tightens his hold on your neck. His other hand leaves your waist, finding the strap of your dress and tugging at it a little, pulling away just enough to say, please, against your lips. 

“Later, baby.” You tell him, leaning back a little to look at him, unable to hold in the little laugh that forces its way out at the way he’s frowning. “Have you always been so impatient?”

With his hand in yours, Heeseung lets you pull him down the stairs to the living room where Jay, Jake, and Sunghoon all stand by the speaker bickering with one another over which playlist to put on, and Yunjin lays on the couch napping resting her eyes before the party starts. 

Insisting that there’s better lighting in the hall, a now awake, Yunjin leads the way and can’t fight a smile at the sight of you and Heeseung together – not missing the chance to remind the two of you that you should be thankful to her. “If it wasn’t for me, I mean, you probably would have found each other anyway because you were both friends with Jay but I.. I di-” 

Heeseung cuts her off. “Just take the pictures.” A little smirk forms on his face as he places his hand over the curve of your ass, grabbing at it and angling your back a little more towards the camera for everyone to see.

“At least one good one, Hee, come on.” You groan, trying to move his hand. “We don’t have any nice pictures together.” 

“We have plenty of nice pictures together, we just took some last night.” 

A wave of heat rushes over you as you hide your face in his chest, the sounds of your friends chuckling at what he said from the living room only mortifying you further. His arm wraps around your shoulders as he presses a sweet kiss to the top of your head. “I’m sorry, baby.” He mumbles, fighting for his life trying to hold back his own laughter at your reaction. 

When you manage to recover, Heeseung lifts his hand to a respectful height on your waist, beaming at the camera like you’d asked him to, and he doesn’t even fuss when you and Yunjin pass the phone back and forth so you can have a look at the photos, scrolling through the ones already taken and deciding that the two of you should stand a tiny bit closer. 

Your boyfriend is gracious enough to grant you more than just one nice photo, and you can’t help but feel a little bit sick with love when you notice that in most of them, he’s smiling down at you. But of course, Heeseung being Heeseung, there’s no escaping the pictures he asks Yunjin to take with his hand on your ass. And your tits – though if you’d known this would be the last time he’d so much as look in your direction all night, you might’ve begged for more photos. 

Three rounds of rock, paper, scissors, and an almost inconsolable Jake later, Sunghoon’s phone plays On That Time throughout the house, and Kim Chaewon is pouring Grey Goose into your mouth straight from the bottle while Mark Lee films it with a blinding flash and a series of ayyys – you’re thankful when she decides it’s time for you to tap out, and you grin into the camera before the video ends. 

From across the room, you watch as Heeseung plays beer pong with a crowd of people - you recognise from around campus - cheering every time he sinks the ball. 

And you feel your eye twitch when the girl who sits behind you in your stats class whines about how she’s so bad, looking up at him and batting her lashes as she asks him to teach her. You let out a breath you didn’t even realise you were holding when he shakes his head. And you clench your jaw when he winks at her, just making out the way he says, I’ll go easy on you. 

Noticing your irritation, Mark drags you away from the scene of the crime, elbowing through the crowd in the living room to an empty corner. “You okay?” 

You shrug in response, not wanting to unload on a relatively new friend.

“He’s the man of the hour, it’ll die down soon and you guys can .. whatever, don’t worry about it.” He tells you, offering you his cup to take a sip from. 

Much to your disappointment, he was wrong, and the two of you danced around (perhaps a little closer than you should have been) for what felt like ten years (but was probably only an hour) before you excuse yourself to look for Yunjin. 

Desperate to catch your boyfriend’s attention, you ask her and Chaewon to help you find something else to wear. And even though it takes longer than expected, the two girls sit on the bed with their jaws on the floor at the sight of you in a purple set that she was yet to wear. 

“I don’t think you’ll be wearing that for very long when he sees you.” 

Unfortunately, being wrong seems to be the trend amongst your friends as Heeseung only looks at you for a split second before resuming the conversation he’s having on the couch with.. the girl from earlier. He doesn’t even acknowledge you when you sit in his lap, only wrapping his arm around your waist as he continues to talk about his major.

You shift a little in your seat, leaving a kiss on his neck before sucking the spot – an action that finally makes him talk to you. “Not now, YN.” He says, moving his neck away from you. This is enough to force you to blink away tears and you’re just thankful that Yunjin’s bedroom is empty when you go back up there. 

In an effort to make yourself feel better, as you sit on her bed with your knees to your chest, you tell yourself that you’re only crying because you’ve had a little to drink and not because your boyfriend hates you. Or is acting like he hates you. 

You don’t look up when you hear the door open and you thank whatever higher power will listen that whoever it was decided not to stay, quickly closing it again. Though the alone time doesn’t last as the door opens once again. 

“Baby?” Your boyfriend’s voice is soft when he speaks but you’re far too embarrassed to respond. “Hey, what’s the matter?” The door clicks shut behind him and you feel the bed dip next to you when he sits down, his arm wrapping around your shoulders. Heeseung doesn’t say anything for a while, humming a song that you like and using his thumb to rub circles on your arm. “Do you wanna talk about it or do you just wanna sit for a bit?” He eventually asks. 

When you look up at him his brows are furrowed and he watches you with wide eyes. “You left me alone all night.” You mumble. 

“You looked like you were in good hands with Mark earlier, I didn’t wanna interrupt.” Heeseung clears his throat a little before shifting in his seat, hating himself a little for the way his cock hardens at the sight of his crying girlfriend. “Come to think of it, the two of you looked pretty cosy in the living room.”

“I’m surprised you noticed.” 

Heeseung sighs, scratching at the back of his neck. “I’m here now, you’ve got me as long as you want me.” 

“I got changed and everything, Yunjin lended me this stupid outfit,” Which admittedly is very cute. “And you wouldn’t even look at me.” 

“Well, I had to punish you somehow.” 

“Punish me?”

He nods, fingers toying with the strap on your dress. “You used to be such a good girl for me, what happened?” 

“I still am.” 

“Would a good girl grind on another guy at the birthday party she threw for her boyfriend?”

“I didn’t grind on him.” 

He squints at you, and you’re certain he knows you didn’t. Because you didn’t. But the look on his face tells you otherwise, and you’re not sure what more you can say. “You were ignoring me.” You offer uselessly.

“You wanted attention so bad you used another guy to make me jealous,” he pauses. “On my birthday?” 

“I’m sorry.” You try, voice coming out in a pathetic murmur as you wipe a tear from your cheek with the back of your hand. 

Heeseung tuts, pulling you onto his lap. “Not gonna cut it, princess.” His hand slips under your skirt, resting at the top of your thigh. “When did you take your panties off?”

“When I got changed.”

“Hmm.” He nods. “For Mark?” 

“For you.” You refrain from rolling your eyes at him, desperate to stay in his good books. “You know that.” 

He smiles as he echoes you. “I know that.” A grin splitting across his lips at the way you practically gasp when his fingers ghost over your pussy, dragging your wetness towards your clit. And despite how good it feels, you shake your head. 

“Wanna make you feel good.”

“Yeah?” 

You grab his wrist, pulling his hand away from your legs and bring it to your face instead, nodding as you pull his thumb between your lips.

He helps you undo his fly and can’t help but chuckle at the way you grin when you move his underwear and his cock slaps his stomach. Eyes locked on your hand as you wrap your fingers around it, thick and hard, his slit oozing precum already – your thumb touching him as if drawn by a magnet, spreading it around his tip before stroking him gently

“Spit on it.” He mumbles, groaning a little when you do, watching as it slips down his skin, over his veins and pooling at his base. It’s slick in your hand as you make sure to cover the whole thing, wrapping your hand around it once again, grip tighter than before as you jerk him off near his head just the way he likes, more than pleased with yourself at the loud moan he lets out.

He can’t draw his eyes away from the sight, from the way the sheer size of his shaft makes your hand look so small around him. The knot forming in his stomach causes his nose to scrunch up and his pretty lips move to utter a curse. “Such a good girl.” His voice comes out in a whisper and his eyes snap to look up at you, your hole clenching around nothing under his gaze.

If Heeseung could manage to stay still, the eye contact might’ve intimidated you a little – but his hips keep bucking up into your fist as he loses composure, a sight that leaves your cunt leaking. A sight that leaves you so wet that when he reaches between your thighs his ring finger slips in with no resistance, a shuddered breath falling from your lips as your grip on him falters slightly. 

It stings a little when he adds his middle finger, his thick digits stretching you out as he curls them towards your belly button. His eyes are lidded as he looks down at the sight before him and it’s a little hard to concentrate on anything other than the way his Adam’s apple bobs in his throat. 

“Did I tell you to stop?” 

You mumble an apology around his thumb as you continue your movements, a whine falling from your lips at the feeling of him grazing your walls, a moan coming out when he presses on your clit with his thumb. He takes his thumb from your mouth and puts his hand on your waist to keep you steady as you squirm in his lap, your eyes screwing shut when the tip of his finger brushes against your g-spot. 

The look on your face is mesmerising and he feels his tummy flutter as he watches you, the way your jaw falls slack and your hand comes up to grab at his shoulder and–fuck, he’s so lucky to have you like this. To have you at all.

He can tell you’re close from the way your hand loosens on his cock and your strokes lose their rhythm, sporadic now, almost as if you have to remind yourself to do it. That and the way that the only word you can get to leave your mouth is his name – which he’d never complain about. If anything the whole thing only brings him closer too, his thighs tensing under you and his stomach contracting beneath his shirt. 

The knot in your stomach is unbearably tight as you claw at his back, your hips stuttering while you ride his fingers, and your mind too hazy to process the fact that you’re cumming until Heeseung brings his coated fingers to your mouth, biting on his lip as you suck them clean. 

“Beautiful.” He mumbles, sucking a breath through his teeth when you start stroking him again, obviously a little tired now given how slowly you move your hand, chest rising dramatically as you huff to catch your breath. 

“Sorry about the mess.” You whisper when you look down, a part of his black pants now sticky and wet with your arousal. 

There’s a pretty smile on his face when you look back at him, shrugging a little as he says, you know I like it. And he smiles even wider at the way you cover your face, embarrassed. “You’re so cute, baby.” He chuckles, stopping short when you swipe his tip with your thumb again. 

His hand is so much bigger than yours when he covers it, helping you finish him off, writhing under you as you wrap your other hand around his base, covering the whole thing. With a couple more tugs at his shaft and a cry of your name, his head falls forward and his cock twitches in your hold when he cums, white and hot between your spread legs.

Your body jerks a little at the feeli—Shit, you gasp as some of it spills into your clenching hole, and he can’t tear his eyes away from it, so pretty, so messy, all because of him. A shiver creeps up your spine when he pulls you closer, the head of his cock grazing your cunt, spreading the mess all over you. 

Heeseung can’t help the soft sigh that slips past his lips as he pushes into you, still so tight he can barely get his tip inside, but you’re so hot, so wet. And with no time to recover from your orgasm you collapse into him, your head falling into the crook of his neck. “Too much.” You whimper into his skin. 

He presses a soft kiss to the top of your head, his arms coming around you to hold your body in place. “Be a good girl and take it.” He mumbles, moaning as he fills you all the way to the hilt, grinning at the way you shiver and grind down on him.

His hips rock against yours as slow as he can manage, he’s never taken you like this, never used his cock to fuck his cum into you, and he feels like a fool now that he knows how good it feels. 

“Hee, please, too much.” You cry out, halting your movements and nestling your face in his neck. 

And he almost feels glad when he hears you say it, feeling overwhelmed himself. “I know, baby,” he speaks into your hair, leaving a kiss. “I know. Let’s just stay like this for a bit, hmm?”

Letting out a yawn, you nod your head. “Happy birthday, baby.”

©drunkjaked (2022) ALL RIGHTS RESERVED,

perm taglist: @chaersworld @5xiang @sunghoonmybeloved @yunskies

masterlist | other heeseung fics

thank u sm for reading, i hope u enjoyed ,,, feel free to lmk ur thoughts 💕💕💕 appreciate it :)))

one time for the birthday bitch love u my darling hee !

#lee heeseung smut #lee heeseung hard hours #enhypen smut #enha smut #enhypen hard hours #enha hard hours #lee heeseung x reader #enhypen x reader #lee heeseung au #enhypen au #drunkjaked: bb

[sashi-ya]

𝐀𝐭 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭. 𝙼𝚎𝚍 𝚜𝚝𝚞𝚍𝚎𝚗𝚝! 𝙸𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚍𝚊 𝚄𝚛𝚢𝚞 𝚡 𝚏! 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

✦ I was chatting with my sis @the-witch-of-one-piece and a sudden idea came up because of those pics of young uryu always being carried around in arms and sleeping. So, I had to write a little scenario inspired on such scenes! Uryu is about to become a doctor and exhaustion hits him and reader is there to take care of him while he rests at least for a night... 💖 thank u to val val for the idea of the exams making him tired. i love u boo! 💖 ✦ tw: Uryu is at least 26 y/o in the fic. Based in the last chapter of the manga. totally sft. if you want more of this story, just ask for it. I'd love to give him a little bit more of love since there isn't much around here.

“Hey, Ishida-kun… are you ok?” you ask;  His slanted eyes become tiny as he can’t keep them open. “Huh? Oh yes, yes…” he mouths, with exhausted dark circles shining through the edge of his modern eyeglasses.

All of you look at him with a little concern. He didn’t want to miss the movie night you organized, but finals week is coming closer… and he is about to become a doctor.

You smile sweetly, as he forced himself to sit properly. It isn’t that late, but the warm cushions of your couch and the lights turned off for a movie, are lulling him to a so needed rest.

As the movie progresses, and, of course he couldn’t find it interesting, his lids close once and for all. The soft snoring by your side caught your attention, making you look at him with the corner of your eye. You didn’t want the guys, especially Ichigo and Renji to pick on him.

Little by little, you move closer to his body. That close, that if he were to loose balance he would fall on you. You don’t mind him falling asleep, much less on your shoulder.

And indeed, a few minutes after, his temple finally slide towards the crook of your neck. You could smell the scent of his freshly washed hair; you could see the way his eyebrow slightly twitches, and his cute cheek pressed against your arm.

You notice, also, the way his glasses seem to be bothering him. So, in silence, and absolutely delicately you take them off. “Inoue-san, please put these over the coffee table” you whisper to your sweet ginger friend.

As delicate as you, she took them in her hands and giving you a sincere smile, she turns around to hug his beloved, soon to be husband, to keep watching the tv screen. You could tell that look wasn’t simply because of how Uryu was cutely sleeping, but also because she knew something else.

Halfway there, the movie isn’t finished yet and he hasn’t moved a single millimetre from his initial position. However, you notice his arms hugging himself in clear signs of feeling cold. So, you ask Rukia to pass you one of the blankets you have on a basket next to the tv set.

She slides over Renji -who couldn’t help himself but slap her ass, making Ichigo to laugh like an idiot- and grabs it.

Of course, before giving it to you, she makes sure to pinch both guys cheeks with eyes promising to beat their asses outside.

You giggle, moving Uryu more towards you. Him, who usually avoids any type of physical contact, gets comfortable on you -more than what you could expect he would someday-. His left arm passes over your belly, and the cold tip of his pointy nose buries on your collar bone.

You froze for a moment, with the blanket on your hand and your eyes widened. Rukia does the same, while a smirk invades her face impossible to stop from showing. You blink, you don’t want nobody else to see such scene… especially your reaction. And quickly cover him -and you-

You skin reacts to the touch of his lips on your neck. He isn’t kissing you, but it feels almost as if he was. His black hair covers half of his cheeks, and the brilliance of the screen in front of you, dances in different colours, casting shadows on his sharp mandible.

You are sure this is the first time you see him without glasses, and for the same matter, peacefully sleeping… so close to you… on you. Almost as if he was hugging you.

At first you looked at him from time to time, but then, your eyes weren’t able to stick off his façade. From the way his eyelashes almost reached the apples of his cheeks, from the pale skin that barely shows a hint of his collar bone down his grey t-shirt.

You bite your lower lip, ignoring the rest of the world. You couldn’t resist his proximity… you simply can’t.

“Aight, let me help you. I will take him home” Ichigo says, coming closer to you, pulling you out of your reverie in which you wake him up and kiss him until the next morning.

“Kurosaki-kun, no… let him sleep” Orihime says, pulling from Ichigo’s arm to stop him from shaking his friend to wake him up.

Renji and Rukia have already understand exactly the reasons why Orihime stopped his lover from waking Uryu up. But the strawberry boy needed further explanation…

“Don’t worry, Kurosaki-kun. Let him sleep a little longer, he can stay home tonight” you whisper, you don’t want to wake him up. Nor him going away from you.

“But he-“ the substitute Shinigami wants to insist, when Rukia jumps to slap his neck. “Ichigo you are so slow, God. Let the poor guy sleep! Let’s go”

Nobody knows if he finally understood, but, in any case he started running after Kuchiki who has picked a fight with him.

As they leave, Orihime is the last one to go out. She makes sure the blanket covers both of you properly, and without saying much she smiles at you while taking her hand to her mouth. “Good night, (Name) ~” she says, closing the door of your apartment with utmost care not to make any sound.

And there you are. In complete dark, with your crush sleeping right over your shoulder, looking at a cushion that had been left abandoned in the middle of the floor. The soft argentum shine of the moon, filtering through the big glass door of your living room, being the only source of light… besides the shine of your eyes. Even if he doesn’t know, he is making you, for at least some time, the happiest person alive. And maybe, just by tonight, you chose to dream with the idea he is completely yours…

You get caught into the endless cycle of his chest slowly rising and going down, and after debating yourself for at least half an hour, you finally tuck some strands of hair behind his ear. Uryu finds himself so relaxed, he doesn’t even notice your hand touching his delicate face. He feels at ease.  

And, even if your stomach would be full of butterflies, exhaustion finally hits you… or perhaps it is that, when you are next to the person you love, the one that’s meant to be, you feel a peace that lets every guard fall off… that let your body feel so secure.

Your head slowly falls to the side, resting on top of his. And a soft smile invades your lips as you finally fall asleep…

A prying eye finally opens. A blue one, that kinda sees everything behind a blurry filter. A mischievous smirk, very little, appears on his lips. He has indeed fallen asleep, but he is slightly awaken now.

Should he excuse himself and go back to his place? Or should he stay? He could, for at least tonight, allow himself to rest on the arms of his secret crush… right? And what we do asleep couldn’t be judged…

Uryu’s arms snake around your waist, pulling you towards his chest, being him the one to hold you now. Fixing the blanket so it totally covers your body, he caresses your cheek with his fingers.  

There will be plenty of time to think of excuses by the time the sun is up, but for now, let’s go back to sleep…

✦ taglist: @stygianoir

#ishida uryuu #uryu ishida #ishida uryū #ishida uryu x reader #uryu x reader #bleach x reader #bleach uryu #bleach #bleach anime #bleach x reader fanfic #bleach fanfic #sashi ya #bleach tybw #kurosaki ichigo #inoue orihime #renji abarai #rukia kuchiki

[thewolvesof1998]

Hiii Wolf 💕💕💕

Sending you 5 my friend!

🌈💝🤍🤲💌

Hi Saturn my love!! <3

🌈is there a fic that you worked *really fucking hard on* that no one would ever know? maybe a scene/theme you struggled with?

god this was such a hard one because of the 'no one would ever know' because the hardest would be the rodeo stuff in Alright, Cowboy, Go Get 'Em but I think people would know that because I've talked about it but I can't think of anything else so it will have to do.

💝what is a fic that got a different response than you were expecting?

The crazy reaction I got for my Christmas fic They don’t know (your name is already mine). It got so much love, I didn't think it would get so well received so quickly!

🤍what's one fic of yours you think people didn't "get"?

I answered that here

🤲what do YOU get out of writing?

I love expressing myself creatively, I love telling stories, I suppose it just brings me joy.

💌share something with us about an up-and-coming work (WIP) that has you excited!

Chapter Four of They don’t know (your name is already mine) -my Christmas fic (okay I know it's late but this last chapter has been a bitch and the writing spoons have been sparse.) but I'm excited for the Christmas fluff and the Albert/Ravi that is sprinkled in:

The first thing Buck notices as he wakes is the hand in his, tightly gripping it, it’s so warm and makes his palm a little sweaty. He opens his eyes and instantly closes them against the bright light. He opens them again, this time slowly squinting until he adjusts to the light and the room comes into focus; the white walls and blue blanket. It takes him a moment to place where he is, a hospital room, memories of last night sluggish and like a puzzle missing key pieces, he remembers driving and the sound of screeching metal and…and Eddie. Buck’s gaze searches for him, he’s not far, curled up in a chair next to Buck’s bed, neck at an awkward angle that he’s sure to feel for the rest of the day, dark bags under his eyes and his hand tightly gripping Buck’s even in sleep.  Buck watches his husband -he’s still not used to using that word, Husband, he thinks he could use it for fifty years and it will always bring that same joyous feeling when the officant called them husbands- sleep for a few minutes until he gets impatient, he squeezes Eddie’s hands, “Eds wake up.” Eddie snaps awake, “I’m up, what-Buck!” He lends forward, “You’re awake,” Buck attempts to roll his eyes at Eddie stating the obvious but the motion sends a spike of pain through his skull, he winces, “You’re in pain, let me get the nurse,” Eddie says standing up, hand beginning to slide of his but Buck tightens his hold on it. 

Thanks for your asks!!! <3<3<3

#9-1-1 #buddie #eddie diaz #evan buckley #wolf gets mail #wolf answers #buddie fic #thewolvesof1998 writes #fic: they don't know (my name is already yours)