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leclsrc · 9 months

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more than anyone ✴︎ cl16

genre: childhood friends to enemies to lovers (a mouthful), smut, humor, Fluffff!!!!, angst

word count: 13.7k

You moved out of Monaco at fourteen with an unrepaired friendship hanging by a thread. Ten years and a whole lifetime later, you’re forced to work with him confront it all over again.

auds here… hi hi hi!!!! HAPPY 4k to us guys!!!!! i am so insanely thankful for all of u and i will make this a longer note when i wake up tomorrow because i have so much to say but have this for now. i hope u like it,i love love love u guys forever also i changed the banner because i wanted to

nsfw warnings under the cut!

18+ because... penetrative sex, semi public sex, praise central, size kink (pretty tame smut in auds world)

You know it’s bad when your assistant-and-friend-aka-friendsistant (her vernacular) Rachel walks in with a free coffee without a quip about how dependent you are on this exact order of coffee (she’s a millennial, so caffeine and lack thereof are in her arsenal of Funny Jokes). You fear you didn’t correctly anticipate just how bad it was going to be when she stays instead of leaving to work on your schedule, combing a few fingers through her fringe and sitting herself on your couch stiffly. Maybe you’re intuitive, maybe you spend too much time with Rachel and you can spot the way she scratches at her eye, maybe both—but it’s bad.

You don’t take a sip from the Starbucks that sits idly on the coaster, opting to watch the latte sweat instead. You do stare, though, at Rachel’s stagnant posture, scrutinizing her every movement. She takes a few deep breaths and drops the bomb.

“David sent me to tell you he has good news. But there is, um. Bad news.” Dread writhes through you at the mention of your manager with bad news, and you clear your throat to compose yourself.

“What’s going on?”

She purses her lips. “He’s on his way over here. Just…” She cocks her head sharply to the glass door of your home office, expression antsy. “Sorry. Wait for him. I can’t tell you anything yet.”

You take a swig from the pity coffee. “Am I getting blacklisted?”

“God, you dumbass, no—” She makes an incredulous noise, but before she can open her mouth to elaborate, your manager walks in with an excited expression on his face, pocketing his Juul to take a seat by your table. His smile is the radiant one of a man over forty with a comical amount of Botox.

“Rachel told me you had”—you stifle the adjective—“news.”

“That I do, yes.” He hums, tracing the edge of your table. “Did you enjoy Paris Fashion Week?”

Beside the brash Frenchmen, God-awful timezone differences and consequent calls at half past three, hungover show attendances, posing for pictures until your ankles blistered, and a temporary diet of black coffee, cigarettes, and stale croissants—sure, it was fun. It was your job to attend anyway, your obligation to shake hands with important people and be photographed in designer clothing and benefit from the PR, but how often could people call work fun?

“Sure.” You take another gulp off your coffee. “It was… fun.”

“Well, since your movie’s doing well,” David pauses and hums, “how do you feel about another few weeks of fun?”

“Like Paris Fashion Week—weeks… this month?” You frown, eyebrows knitting together. Is this a new Vogue thing? You’re not sure how many updates they give the schedule, but you wouldn’t mind too much if you could travel again for a little bit. “So soon after spring? Did Anna want this?”

“Iiiit’s, er, Vogue’s new project. Capsule shows in Europe, coastal and summery. She wanted an exclusive guest list. She asked for you by name,” David says smugly. “Well, she called my office, granted. But to ask for you—”

“Are you fucking serious?” You stand up, and if you hadn’t had some fix of coffee you would’ve gotten dizzy. “David, tell me you’re serious.” Time seems to have suspended itself as you await his answer—which, if affirmative, would be a pretty big deal to you.

“Yeah, I am.” He plays off a grin. “She loved your movie with Greta, and would love to send you to Europe to do PR on a few shows and pair up with some guests on a couple features. Exclusive stuff.”

You sit back down, mouth slack. “Oh, my God. I can’t believe it.” Your eyes dart to Rachel, who’s caught between a smile and an awkward purse of her lips. “Fuck! This is huge, David.”

“Yeah—okay, yeah, it is.” David shifts in his seat and crosses, then uncrosses, his legs, then his arms. He stutters for a second. “Good and bad news, remember?”

You blink a few times. You’d nearly totally forgotten the fact that this good news—and it is overwhelmingly good—comes with a bout of bad news, so bad apparently that it’s noteworthy enough to state alongside this massive deal. But it’s. Fine. It’s whatever. Worst case scenario, you’re going to need to fucking swim to Europe sans oxygen canister.

“So… the shows? Events, and shit?” He watches, waiting for you to signal that you follow. When you nod, he continues, averting his gaze to the face of his Patek. “They’re all in Monaco.”

Wrong.

“Monaco.” You repeat, deadpanning your delivery. It’s not out of the ordinary, the glitz and coast of the city being a perfect venue for high fashion. But Monaco is different for you, vastly different, and you tend to avoid the place to the best of your abilities. “Monaco. Are—you’re sure?”

“Mmm,” he hums in affirmation. “I know, I know you’re not exactly privy to Monaco because, bleh, childhood shit, whatever. But this—like you said, this is huge! And I don’t think we should jeopardize that.” He pulls a piece of paper from the folders tucked in his arm and waves it around.

“Well—yeah, I suppose. I’ll deal with it.”

“Yeah.” He sucks his teeth, eyes gliding over the scenery of L.A. that your window offers. “Okay, that’s it, so. Byeandhaveagoodlunch.” He slams the paper onto your desk, jostling you a little, but as he makes his exeunt, Rachel raises her arm to stop him.

“Is that it, David?” She asks, an edge to her voice.

You pick up the paper as they make hushed, stifled conversation, and find that it’s a call sheet of sorts, listing all the collaborators traveling to Monaco and what or who they’re in charge of, or paired up with, there. Models, athletes, celebrities, influencers—all making TikToks, or appearances, or brand deals, or interviews, or YouTube videos, the whole shebang.

“Yeah,” says David dismissively—nervously? “That’s it.”

You search for your name. “Okay. Um, hey.” Rachel turns to you, trying to catch your eye, which is busy scanning the sheet. “Did, um—did David mention you’re paired up with Charles Leclerc for a feature? Because you are. Paired up with Charles Leclerc for a feature, I mean.”

David sucks his teeth. “Thank you very much for graciously reminding me of that, Rachel.”

Still half-distracted and growing increasingly worried with the exchange happening in front of you, you make haste in your search—eventually, you find your name, printed in plain letters beside one you’ve wished to never read over ever again.

“Wait, my Charles?” You pause and look up, suppressing a yell as your eyes widen, and you blunder over a pathetic self-correction. “I mean—no, sorry—Charles, as in Charles Leclerc? I can’t work with him, you know this!”

“Wh—well, Vogue apparently wanted a really good Monaco-born pair and they seriously lucked out on you two. Also,” Rachel says, adamantly defending herself, “you’re always saying you can work ‘with anyone’!” She raises two comically vigorous air quotes to further her (moot) point.

“I didn’t ev—I never say that,” you lie straight through your teeth, mouth dry. You definitely do. You can place all the exact moments. “I would’ve known if I did. Rach—David—I cannot, absolutely cannot work with Leclerc. He’s my… we…” You shut your eyes and sneak two fingers upward to massage your temple, slowly caving into defeat.

David makes an oh well face and shrugs passively. “Fine. Then it’s either Anna Wintour’s special job that will help the Academy campaign or not meeting the ex-bo—”

“—friend.” You look up to cut him off, eyes narrowed. “Ex-friend.”

“Alright, kid. Suuuure.” David leans against the back wall of your office as Rachel comes to comfort you, her eyes already sympathetic and droopy. It shouldn’t be so bad, right? She asks sweetly, nudging the latte closer to your catatonic figure. You have seen him since, anyway.

With a despondent gaze, you just remain silent, refusing to state the negative aloud, opting to stare at the latte. At your disagreeable silence, Rachel continues, tone anxious: You have seen him since. Right?

You moved out of Monaco at fourteen, right after the school year finished and your father had gotten the opportunity to transfer out. The whole thing would’ve—should’ve, even—been a sentimental affair, full of tears and dramatic caresses of your bedroom wall, whispering thank yous to the city air in French and Italian, but it wasn’t. Months prior, you’d been preparing yourself for this kind of goodbye; but when it came to it, you merely kissed your extended family goodbye and slept en route to the airport, silk sleeping mask pulled taut over your shut eyelids. The only thing you left in the city was a letter written only to Gi and Cha about how much you’d miss them, with your email address scribbled at the bottom for an added touch, in case they felt like sending you longer messages.

“Do you two at least get along?” David asks, noting how genuinely aghast you appear.

“It’s not that simple.” You tap a nail against your desk a few times. “But I think it’ll be fine. I hope, at least. We used to be… good friends? As teenagers.”

You feel like an alien hearing yourself talk about it, talk about him and the whole circumstance a decade later. Your friendship with Charles was the only thing that mattered to your adolescent self, all lemonade stands and long car rides and stealthy conversations about your futures (racing and acting, respectively). It was happiness, in what you consider to be its truest form, it was lovely and real. And it ended abruptly, no goodbyes, no nothing.

“So it’s a no.”

“I’m just saying it’s impossible for me to work with him, and in Monaco no less?!” Your eyes are wild with frustration and anxiety at the prospect of your past whipping you in the face, full-fledged. “I don’t even talk about the guy or the city, how can I spend time with him there?”

“Are you seriously going to junk this amazing fucking opportunity just because of some petty childhood fight?” David’s tone is comparable to that of a dad’s, scolding and horrified, almost. “Look. If you don’t take this, career-wise, it doesn’t mean much. You get paid a shit ton, you’ll survive—you’ll do well. But emotions-wise? Maturity-wise? Be the bigger person and do it—I mean it.”

You stare back at him because you know he’s right. “Maybe it won’t be a big, long feature?” Rachel offers as some advice, some comfort. “If you reject it, his team will know, and so will he.”

And yes, you were fourteen, and yes it was petty and unexplainable even for fourteen—but there was a catalyst to all of this, a reason why the move became easy and forgetting childhood memories became second nature. A reason why you’re selective with who you make contact with from home. A reason why Giada and Charlotte are selective with topics they choose to bring up with you.

So, fuck it, really. That’s how you end up in Monaco, booked for the next three weeks, sharing a studio and public appearances and a 24-hour shoot with the last person you’d ever want to be in a room with. Ten years later—the person still is, and no doubt will always be, Charles Leclerc.

—

“MAMAN!” Charles’ voice was loud, loud, and so incredibly loud. You followed not far behind, legs running at full speed to try and leap onto his lanky figure and wrap an arm around his head to quiet him. It’d been futile: he ended up at the dining table facing his family with a victorious smile on his pink face. He breathed heavy, waiting for everyone to turn their attention to him.

“Charles,” you chimed in warningly, breathing even harder with the effort you had exerted to chase him from the sidewalk to here. “Don’t.”

“Guess who got the lead spot in the recital.” He slowly turned to point at to your angry face, and then bent, rifling through his already messy, grubby knapsack for something that he raised with glee: a headress that read…

“But-ter-cup.” Hervé sounded amused when he looked at your fuming expression. “You?”

“Yes, Papa! Maybe, just maybe,” he sing-songed, using the term wrong yet again, “she got the titular role!” He walked over to you and placed the headress square on your head, beaming.

“There is no titular role in a school recital,” you seethed, burning with embarrassment. Your stellar academic record had apparently granted you incentive to be centre stage during the routine year-end recital, where years were lumped into twos or threes (in your and Charles’ cases, Years 8 and 9) and the student body would dance or sing a variety of teacher-selected music.

In your case, it was Build Me Up, Buttercup, complete with choreography you’d be practicing over the next month and a half. Charles laughed at your pouting expression, didn’t stop laughing even when you’d both sat down and twirled through forkfuls of spaghetti, didn’t stop chuckling even when Lorenzo got the turn to speak and he started talking about how Bringing Up Baby was his movie of the month.

You allowed him to laugh—even laughed yourself at some point—because all day, you’d been absently wondering how you’d break the news about your moving away to him.

—

Charles is not okay. He’d gotten off a red-eye from a short vacation stint, and now he’s back in Monaco, sleepy and a bit jetlagged, being briefed on brand deals and press junkets he has to accomplish by three p.m. today. “On the dot, sharp,” said his assistant, like the two didn’t just mean the same fucking thing. He’s patient, though, smiling through the exhaustion, through the dressing room, the tape around his waist and legs to measure clothes for this fashion… thing.

“A meeting for Ferrari, two TikToks, a vlog for your personal YouTube channel, three stories by noon… oh, and in the next few weeks, you’re going to film a Vogue-sponsored 24 Hours With… with—”

“D’accord, thank you,” he cuts in, already exhausted from the spiel alone. He’s a professional; no matter what people believed or what gossip rags liked to say about him, he maintains a well-kept reputation of being polite and kind to people he works with. Maybe it’s the jetlag, maybe it’s the lack of sleep, maybe it’s the heat outside, but today he just wants to close his eyes and sleep for days.

But the assistant follows, clipboard and Excel sheet and all, still spouting all his media obligations lest he forget (and mark his words, he definitely will). “Sorry,” he says. He’s new, probably assigned as a part of the Vogue team, lanky and tall and nervous looking. “I’m new. I’m Greg.”

Briefly, Charles is left alone to stare at his tired reflection while the assistants reconvene and connect. There’s several of them, each assigned or already committed to a different celebrity. Charles should know more details, but there’s only so much reading of a call sheet he can do before he’s conked out on Ambien; he trusts he’ll be around people much more famous than he is, probably American or English, actors and athletes alike. He’ll figure it out.

Yeah, she’s almost ready. Is Charles here? One of the assistants says, a bright-eyed American. They need to be introduced before 11. Her voice is quiet, quick and hushed, and Charles has to focus to hear what she’s saying. Greg chips in with something he can’t decipher; in response, the American whispers, Yeah, I’ll get her to sign it for you. Bring Charles out in five.

In five, he is indeed being brought out to the lobby of this hotel; the outdoor area is decked out with models, cocktail tables, Vogue signage and a carpet for pictures. It’s even busier inside, wait staff and event coordinators conversing in angry, aggressive French—table settings, mineral water, extra forks are needed. Greg keeps a steady pace transporting Charles through the indoor throng, and at 10:59, Charles is outside, by the pool.

“Um, right, yeah. Okay, uh—wait here. Your partner—not really partner, but like, mate? Fuck, definitely not. Um, partner. She’s on her way heeere…” He checks his phone. “Okay. You caught her name, right?” Charles nods to fend him off. “Okay. So, wait here.”

There are cameras taking pictures of him when Greg departs, some microphones waved his way; in the distance he spots fans waving crazily, sporting Ferrari merch. Charles is doing what he’s told (waiting, maybe posing a bit) when an even bigger crowd appears, surrounding one person; with their arrival, ameras click even faster, and an uproar follows. Greg waves him over, pointing at the person frantically, so Charles smiles, extends a hand, and when the crowd parts—

There you are, in all your glory. Pink dress, hair clipped into a bun, a tanline on your exposed skin, lithe hand coming up to shake his. Your eyes are flat but the lack of expression doesn’t inoculate them from beauty; they remain sparkling and pretty all the same. Cameras snap the interaction, seemingly innocent, seemingly the first.

He fights, he really does, to keep his hands shaking yours. He forces himself not to hug you, press a kiss to your cheek even if that might look friendly, caress a hand across your cheekbone, brush the tendrils of hair out of your eyes. It’s a valiant effort.

A valiant effort that pays off because, as soon as you’re ushered into a room by yourselves, your smile turns into a scoff; your hands are kept to yourself, slipping a pair of sunglasses on, and; underneath them, your eyes begin to roll. “I need a drink,” you huff, not even looking at him.

You’re on two couches opposite each other, in what he assumes to be a foyer to a hotel room that’s much bigger than the one he was in earlier. A-list fame and that. The girl he’d seen earlier scurries off, mumbling something about a martini. Greg, beside him, goes: “Do you need a drink, too?” But he shakes his head.

“Are you voluntarily working for this guy, Greg?” You refer to his assistant by name, offering a sarastic, honeyed smile. You adjust the strap of your dress and he blinks his gaze away.

“Oh, no. I mean—yeah. Kind of. I was assigned to him.”

“It’s okay, I don’t expect you to do it of your own will,” you joke, crossing your legs.

Charles laughs dryly. “Who asked?”

“So he speaks…” You ping off his retort without missing a beat, a sardonic smile playing at your lips.

“In the two minutes we’ve been around each other, you’ve insulted me and my assistant. I’d prefer silence, your highness.”

“Aww, did my joke and asking Greg a question piss you off?” You suck your teeth. “You must be fun at parties.”

“Do you two, um. I don’t want to, like, overstep, but do you know each other?” Charles notices that Greg’s forearm is signed by you and realizes he has no allies here, with an inward grimace. “Or if you don’t, like, are you two just… not in good moods or something?”

The girl comes in then, saying here’s the martini and catering you a sweaty glass with a smile. You offer up the empty space beside you, patting the white leather for her to sit down on. Your eyes meet his again briefly, catty and a bit challenging, before you turn back to the girl. “Sit.”

Maybe Charles spends too much time with Max, because he’s starting to become more and more inclined to getting the last word in lately. “Bossing people around, eh? Fame really does change you.” He offers a smile of his own.

“She’s my assistant, Rachel,” you say sweetly, but your smile is gritty. “We need to check my schedule.”

He wants to slap himself. “Too busy to open your calendar?” Nevermind, he’s a god.

Your sarcastic smile drops. “And what’s on yours? P6 this week, P7 next, DNF after?”

Fuck. The tension is so thick at this point, it’s almost steaming hot. Both the assistants stare at you, waiting for Charles to wedge something in, but he bites himself back. Thankfully, right as the silence just begins to settle like oil on water, the door swings open and one of the coordinators steps in, noisily rattling off the week’s plans and proclaiming you’re both free for the remainder of the day before things pick back up—Schiaparelli show at noon, both of you, front row—tomorrow.

The four of you filter out of the room, and you make a quip about your autograph on Greg’s arm, which grants your assistant some face time with Charles. She turns to him, combing a hand through her hair and furrowing her thick eyebrows. “Hey, I’m Rachel, by the way.”

“Charles.”

“I know,” she says sheepishly. “Listen. I know you two have history, she—we—she’s, um, told me about it before. I don’t know the whole story, and I’m not… like, I’m not saying I do, so I respect it, whatever it is. But I hope you can find it in you to work with her properly. It’s a huge gig for you both. So—yeah, uh. Great job, and good luck.”

She smiles with a nod before exiting the room, leaving Charles alone and stirring with thoughts and memories woken from wild unrest.

—

“Alors,” Charles had said, not turning from his position in front of your vanity mirror. He’d been picking at his face, stopping only when you tsked at him not to. “What is the problem?” His eyes flicked over to you, your lying figure on the bed exhaling little puffs of frustrated air to the ceiling. “Are you missing the recital?”

“Quoi? Non.” You gnawed at your lip, accepting your defeat. You couldn’t lie for much longer, not when you’d been keeping this under wraps for two months. “Listen. Charles.” He nodded, clearly preoccupied with something. “Charles.”

“Hmm?”

“Can you ple—look at me.” Your voice hardened.

He’d noticed it then, the curt cutoff of your voice, the absent look in your eyes. He knows you even through a mirror, even in the low light of your room. “Desolé. This pimple won’t go away.”

“Charles,” you said, groaning but allowing yourself to laugh. “Listen.”

“Okay.” He turned to face you, a spot on his chin red from how long he’d been scratching at it.

You shrugged then, suddenly scared to deal with the realness of it all. You didn’t understand why you felt so torn. “It’s something to do with me,” you said.

“Yeah.”

“I’m moving.” You rubbed at your nose, the cold draft coming in through the window causing you to sniffle. “Out of Monaco.”

A beat. “What?”

You closed your fingers around your necklace, scratching absently at the divots of the pendant. One, two, three little dips in the gold locket, tiny but comforting. “Yeah. In a few months, like, after school. It’s Papa—his job. It’s a whole thing.”

“Europe?” You shook your head. America.

“What… well, what does that mean, then?” His expression didn’t waver but if anything did, it was his eyes—desperate, seeking more answers, wanting them with a guttural, belly-deep desire. You’re his best friend, so if he has to let you go in this life, he at least needs to know everything about the move.

“We’ll keep in touch,” you reassured, kicking your leg to further your point. “You were bound to get busy with karting anyway, so it’s like. Ça revient au même.”

“It isn’t the same,” he said, his voice thin and cracking.

“You’ll be fine.”

“You have a very misguided idea of who I am.”

“Shut up. Come off it,” you laughed, sitting up straighter. “We’ll call everyday, and I’ll meet all the famous people who’ll get me a real acting job, and I’ll come for the holidays or summer or something. Things won’t change. Not that much, at least.”

“Maybe, just maybe.” He pauses. “Will you be here for my birthday, at least?” He’d made a big deal all year of his turning sixteen on the sixteenth.

“Charles,” you sighed.

“No, yeah. I get it.” He looked down, rubbing his thumbs together, like he’s just been hit across the face. He will tell you one day it felt infinitely more painful than that. But at the time he shook his head and looked up at you, reached his pinky to yours, a thin slip of paper around the finger that matched your interlocked one, and didn’t say anything else.

Just: “We’ll be okay.”

—

You could pin a lot of adjectives on Monaco: picturesque, without a doubt; warm, glamorous, but you’d sooner die than pin the word home over it. The city is sprawling even with the little surface area it possesses, and only few things seem familiar. Your lodging is a hotel in Monte-Carlo, a penthouse suite that requires you to travel very little. It feels like a vacation.

And you embody the role of a vacationer very well—the first five, six days of your stay in Monaco went great, mainly appearances that lasted a few hours at most and several junkets to promote Vogue and your latest film, before you were free to do whatever you wished. You’d gone the touristy route already: shopping more times than you could count, trying your immense luck at the casinos, and eating at Michelin-starred restaurants; eventually all the fun blurred into each other and you found solace in naps instead.

Your troubles are not far behind, however, and they finally come after you on Day 7. The event coordinators had informed Rachel, who in turn informed you, that the first of next week’s agenda would be a photographed tour of the Musée Océanographique de Monaco, a grand seaside building right at the edge of the water. Today is, apparently, a day for you to “fraternize with” Charles, which meant you would once again need to put a façade over your less-than-kind appearance toward him.

Those are the concluding words of David’s very firm text, encouraging (read: coercing) you to settle things with Charles into some approximation of civility. You resolve things by calling him to skip over the awkwardness that comes with texting. It takes you all of twenty minutes and twice your body weight in courage to press the green telephone button.

“B’jour,” he goes, his voice quick. French people (he will hate that you called him French, even if it was just in your head; you relish in this) always talk rapidly. After some silence, he clears his throat: “Hello?”

Butterflies—some form of them, whatever—flutter in your stomach. “It’s me.”

He drops formalities and adopts a disinterested voice. “Huh. What do you want?” The butterflies have rotted to death.

“I need to talk to you.”

“To insult me again?” He sounds a little amused even over the phone, a breath of laughter landing in your ear. “Bah, I get it. We are enemies. You have no interest in reconnecting, et cetera. C’est tout ce que tu as à dire? I gotta go.”

Your face warms at his accusatory tone. “Wow, leave it to a guy to be charming, huh?”

“Why should I be charming with you?”

“At least be polite,” you taunt, but your voice lacks its usual edge. On the other line, Charles lets his own defiant tone ebb downward.

At least be polite. It’s the least he can owe you after ten years of forgetting. It wasn’t as if you two had a mutual agreement then, in 2013 when you moved away, to stop becoming friends. For months before you moved out, he completely stopped talking to you, like he’d forgotten you two were even connected, were even friends. What little words you two shared became petty and abrasive, and suddenly Monaco lost its color. The closeness you had with him, which for so long you’d convinced yourself was once-in-a-lifetime, was ripped from you, robbed from you—by him, no less, which hurt all the more. You’d given up on finding out why at some point. You waited for him to reach out. Maybe, you told yourself, just maybe, it would take a few months, a year.

Ten years of radio silence. He owes you that: politeness.

“It doesn’t matter,” you say to nobody in particular, in an effort to segue into the topic of your choosing. “Look, we’re supposed to be friends. In… on camera, at least. It’s disastrous if we look like we, you know, hate each other. We need to be professional.”

“For the cameras,” he says back, solemn.

“Yeah.” You wind a finger through your hair. “Just… for the sake of civility.”

You hear his little hums of consideration. “D’accord,” he says after a few minutes. “Truce, then.”

“Sure.” You smile a little. “I have to go.”

—

You were halfway through your mess of clothes when your mum peeked through your door, her hair held back by a headband. “Call you yet, poppet?”

“Non,” you said, decimating your voice to a monotonous murmur. You looked up from the dress you’d been folding and offer a half-hearted, sardonic smile. “Je t’ai dit qu’il ne le ferait pas.” You were right: he wouldn’t call. What difference did a month make, anyway? This time, though, the usual victory of being right settled into an ugly disappointment in the pit of your stomach.

You wanted so badly to be wrong. To clamber to the telephone, to your Skype, to your cellphone, any of the three, and see his name flashed across the helm or his voice in your ear. Maybe he was dialing your number now, to ask if you wanted to grab dinner after the year-end recital, or to update you on karting, or to tell you Pascale wanted lunch.

She could tell, as all mothers can, that you’d been upset. The knit in your brows that didn’t go away, the bottom lip being chewed, the tight clutch of your fingers over the already-folded dress. She sighed. “I’m sorry, baby.”

“It’s fine.” Your voice came out sharper than you intended and you have to roll it back, recede it, to sound more relaxed, more at ease. “It’s… fine. I’m fine.” She knew better than to pry, closing the door softly to continue packing up the living room.

You heaved a dry sigh to express the nausea that came with his absence. It began a month ago, two days after you first told him about it and poked at the zit on his chin. He’d buried his head in your shoulder until tears seeped into the cotton sleeve of your shirt, and you let him. You felt guilty, after all, for keeping it a secret for so long. You would leave in September, you told him. We have time.

Two days later he walked you home as always, on the “dangerous” side of the street, lanky legs skipping to the tree in front of your house. You pointed at the beginnings of clementines on its dewy branches, smiling, inviting him in, but he remained leaning against the trunk, playing with his mop of hair that covered his forehead.

“Bah, trop dramatique,” you said, poking fun. Lorenzo had showed you both some art house films he studied in class, and with the bout of French cinema, you and Charles had grown obsessed with making fun of overdramatic stills that often included the classic leaning-against-a-surface. “Come on, Mum made bouillabasse, I smell it.”

“We need to talk,” he eked out awkwardly. “I have something important to tell you.”

You dropped your knapsack, leather scratching against the concrete of the steps to the front door as you walked over to him. “Ouais?”

“I…” His lips moved, wobbled, but nothing left, so he shut them and his eyes, like he was considering something. His breathing slowed into one rhythm you find yourself unconsciously matching, just two kids looking at each other in the dusky breeze of Monaco, the orange sun casting shadows over the clementine tree. You closed your hand over his, a tight clamp over his knobby wrist with certainty. “I…”

“Say it.”

“I want to.” His eyes were shut. Exhale. Inhale, open. “I… I’m going… going home.”

You breathed out apprehensively and relaxed. “Oh.” You blinked. “That’s it?”

“Ye—ouais. Yeah. I gotta.” Already he was climbing to the gate, waving a half-hearted goodbye. “Save some for me, oui? Bye.”

“Charles,” you warned after him, voice tinged with concern. “That’s it, promise?” Your hand flexed around air.

“Cross my heart!” The last thing he ever said with any bit of something genuine.

—

You reunite with Charles at a meeting; under the guise of your truce, he makes the barely-necessary small talk. The rest of the staff file out of the restaurant in due time, but you both stay. You ask about Lorenzo and Arthur, leaving out questions you’d rather not listen to him answer, and he tells you they’re both alright. That his mum asks about you sometimes. That makes you smile. He asks if you’re still dating the guy you’d most recently been partnered with in Us Weekly.

“God, no. We never even dated, the… um, tabloids always make shit up.” You purse your lips. “Anyway. Is Lorenzo still in film?” You ask, turning your head a little. You don’t think you’ll ever forget his affinity for cinema.

“Not professionally, but I still sit through hours-long… you know, reviews, and stuff.” He laughs when he sees you laugh, eyes half-closed and meeting the ceiling.

“He introduced me to some of my favorite movies, especially when I got into acting and I was kind of… like, I wanted some inspiration, acting-wise. But not my actual favorite movie.”

“Which is?” He segues into a more personal topic. “Is it still Bambi?”

“Oh, it was, for the longest time!” You almost squeal with excitement. “Not anymore, though. It’s been dethroned, ha ha. I think it’s… I’d say it’s maybe Casablanca now.”

“How American.”

“Shut up.” Your face warms. “It’s so romantic. When he says—when he goes, um. We’ll always have Paris. And then, God—when Ilsa goes, I said I would never leave you—and Rick goes, And you never will… isn’t it so classic? Romance movies nowadays are—I, I, I… I get scripts sent to me that are just so bad, and they’re either too idealistic or too pessimistic, or too indie or too commercial, and.” You sigh. “It’s like nobody gets love right anymore.”

“Us Weekly disagrees,” he says weakly, after a period of silence.

“Stop,” you laugh warningly. “And don’t act like you’re not being paired up with different girls, too.”

For a minute you sit with the realization that you’ve both been keeping tabs on each other all these years, even just a little bit. It’s a bit jarring, it’s a bit warm, it’s a lot confusing. You make a move to ask for the bill but Charles is quicker, opens his mouth to implore your presence.

“Come see me tonight.” He says it like he didn’t mean to, like it escaped him on a whim, a blurted out confession born out of your memories and conversation. His voice is dreamy, faraway. “Earth to…?”

“Wh—sorry. Fuck.” You clear your throat and deduce your next words. “Where?”

“I’ll text you. A club, near your hotel.”

“Yeah… yeah, sure.” You hum an affirming noise.

—

Your name is on the list, though you’re sure it doesn’t matter whether or not it was. No ID is needed, and paps catch a bouncer being dispatched to guide you through the nightclub toward the elevated area with significantly less people. It’s low-lit, smoky, vaguely blue and purple, smelling of flows of alcohol and fresh ice. An Azealia Banks song is playing, pounding through your head.

Tabloids don’t care about nightclubs. They care if you come out drunk or with a smidge of snow under your nose, neither of which have happened to you; entering is fair game, a fun affair, especially in a district like Monte-Carlo. You don’t have any explaining to do, not even to questions like are you clubbing with your professional Vogue collaborator, Charles Leclerc?

The collaborator in question is the first to greet you, getting up and approaching you with a smile so obviously tense. The picture in front of him is like if he’d conjured up a forlorn fantasy of his to life—your hair fell loosely over black lace, a hand pinched around the hem of your dress. “Hey.”

“Hi.”

“So.” He realizes he’s in charge of the socializing, and turns to properly introduce you. “Um, guys, this is my—friend—you already know”—he fusses over your name, which everyone in the world knows, anyway—“and these are my friends. Pierre, Alex, George, Lando, Daniel… you know Joris.” He points to each guy's face as he goes, eliciting a beam every time he gestures.

You wave with a polite smile before you station yourself beside the only one you know: Joris, with whom Charles shares a longtime friendship. He greets you first, with a side hug. “Long time.”

“Yeah, it’s been.” You watch him turn toward the low table, and back around with two shots, offering them to you with haste.

You thank the Lord that he makes quick, dextrous work of it, and before long you’ve downed a glass or three of some strawberry four seasons thing, socializing with the different people around the table. One of them, Lando, talks about your latest film for five whole minutes (“I rated it five stars on Letterboxd. I left a review, if you wanna see”) before he leans close and asks: “Are you his girlfriend?” His is obviously referencing Charles, and you pull back from the proximity to shake your head.

“No,” you holler to emphasize it. “We used to know each other. I grew up here.”

“Oh shit! Native!” He whoops, offering you another glass. This must be your fifth, maybe, fifth G&T or Cosmo or something or other of the night. You take it, drinking as you walk, planning to collect your bag to take with you to the bathroom—another hand takes yours, though, dragging you down the steps. Halfway through, you realize it’s Charles.

“How’s the drink?” He asks, brows straight.

“That’s all you wanted to ask?” You raise your voice above the bass. “Someone needs to teach you fucking… proper small talk.” A laugh involuntarily bubbles past your lips, eyes crinkling.

He laughs, too, despite himself. “Non, I was—I was just asking. We should—I brought you over here to—so we could…” He realizes he’s been talking too fast without getting to the point and pauses, resetting himself with a pinched sigh. “Dance.”

Your heart pulses. Dance? You hear yourself ask. For wh…Why?

“For the sake of the truce.” His voice is light. “We should try being closer.”

“We were close once,” you say, loose. “Did you forget?”

He’s looking right at you, and you’re warm all over. “How could I?”

It feels too real. Not the words—yes the words—but the alcohol, the alcohol is what you’re referring to, and all those shots and drinks suddenly seem not as harmless as they’d seemed earlier. You scan the periphery for the WC sign and try your best not to look deranged on your way there, offering the same pretty smile to recognizing passersby. Behind you, Charles calls out; but you wave him off, heaving dryly.

The restroom is clean because the nightclub is outrageously expensive; you push yourself into the available stall that’s in your direct path and crumple above it. You heave. Heave some more. Nothing comes. The nausea rises and recedes, so you decide to wait it out.

The bathroom door hauls open, bringing with it a few seconds of noise before it swings heavily onto the frame again, sealing the sterile silence. The momentary return of the bass from the dance floor sends your head spinning all over again and you freeze, willing yourself not to wind up hurling your guts into the toilet. It’s a futile effort, though, because you’re feeling nauseated beyond your limit again, and you need water and maybe a salve or something.

“This stall is open,” somebody says, a chipper American voice that grows in volume as it nears you. A gasp follows, and then: “Oh, my God. Are you okay?”

You turn, your face flushed and lips parted. “I’m so sorry. I just—I’ve been nauseous all night.”

“I have water,” she answers, reaching her arm outward, as if seeking it. “Carmen, the water!” A bottle of Evian is thrust into her hand by another girl (Carmen, you presume), and she doesn’t hesitate to bend next to you to feed it into your mouth. She stares for a second, then goes: “On the off chance I’m lucky, and you’re the famous actress, by the way, I just want to say I’m a huge fan of your work.”

Eyes wide, you lock eyes with her and pull away from the water. “Oh, God. Yeah, that’s me. I’m so sorry—this is so humiliating.”

“It’s not—it’s normal,” she assures, nodding. “We’ve all… y’know, puked into a club toilet before.” From the stall doorframe, Carmen nods. “What’d you drink?”

“Fruity stuff,” you recall, eyebrows knitting at the memory. “And shots.”

They both grimace at the same time, knowing the exact feeling, the exact taste, it seems. “Are you heartbroken or something?” Carmen asks; Lily shoots her a look that can only really mean don’t ask the world-famous actress if she’s heartbroken. But you laugh it off, shaking your head.

“No. There’s a guy, though, and he’s… we’re… it’s a lot. I think I thought alcohol would absorb all of it, but… clearly, it did not.” Your lips simmer into a straight line and you’re quiet for a few moments before remembering you’re on a dingy club floor being supported by two nice girls who are strangers. “Anyway! Sorry. I’m clearly, um, delirious.” You get up on semi-wobbly feet, swallowing the nausea as you go.

You walk to the sink, and behind your back, the girl and Carmen share a telepathic exchange (should we ask her to elaborate? Yes! Should we really? Fuck, no.) You rinse your mouth out, washing your hands and focusing on your reflection—your tired eyes, your smudged lip gloss, your fussed-up hair. You turn after rinsing, offering a small smile. “Thank you.”

“It’s nothing,” says the first girl, offering her hand and a tube of lip gloss. “I’m Lily, by the way. And just so you know—I’m so sure that guy has nothing on you.” Carmen, beside her, nods in solidarity, and your heart blooms.

Your smile grows as your hand shakes hers, accepting the lip gloss. “You’re too kind. Thank y—”

“Lil? Baby, are you puking?” Comes a disembodied male voice from the door, ajar ever so slightly. Lily visibly cringes and walks over to the door, pulling it open further. On the other side—the detective of sorts—happens to be Alex, who you’d been introduced to a few hours ago. At the sight of you, his eyes widen with recognition.

“We’re fine. Leave us alone,” replies Lily in a conspiratorial whisper. “Carmen and I have a new friend.” She doesn’t even need to drop your name; your face alone is enough to make people recognize who you are.

Alex, however, refuses to admit defeat. “Try harder next time.” He pumps his eyebrows. “We were introduced earlier.” He looks up and waves to demonstrate his truth; when you smile back, Lily’s jaw drops as she turns to her boyfriend again, aghast.

“What the hell? How?” A pause. “No offense. It’s like. Two levels of fame, right there.”

He makes a pinched face. “She’s Charles’… friend? I don’t—coworker? Something, something. They were both vague about it. Actually, George and I were talking about it, and we both think something is up. With them.”

“Wait—you might be right.” Her eyes are hyperfocused, and her voice drops to a whisper for a second. “Let’s talk about it at the hotel.”

You and Carmen watch their hushed exchange, and eventually Alex leaves you three alone again with a loud goodbye, which allows Lily to rejoin your conversation. “Sorry,” she says with a smile. “That was my boyfriend, Alex. I didn’t know you two were introduced! He told me you knew Charles?”

“Oh.” Your shoulders relax. “Yeah, um. We knew each other as kids, but I moved away and we kind of—we drifted apart, so. I’m here on a business trip, and he’s just welcoming me.” You try to reduce the decade-long mess into a sentence.

“So you’re friends?”

“Yeah.” You feel like vomiting all over again.

—

The sky’s a searing blue at noon, silver clouds lining the horizon. Charles has to press a finger to the high point of his cheek to test if he’s sunburned from the heat, and the cameras catch it; he doesn’t doubt the fans will spin that into something cute later. You’re somewhere else on the property, this big, massive thing of a museum that’s crashed into by the waves.

He remembers Andrea first telling him about this whole arrangement. He and the team had deliberately left out any mention of you, like they could predict the immediate veto. He wonders if you knew, or if you, too, had been surprised when seeing him, a ghost of your past looking into your eyes. He wonders if you, too, are now in this endless emotional turmoil. Inside there’s a photoshoot ongoing, with you but also with some models in varying aquatic-related poses to convey the intent of the building; he’s done his share of pictures already, just needs to sit down with you for an interview.

“And a B-roll of you guys, um, like, walking, like—around?” Greg’s voice invades his head again, the nervous man beside him running through a to-do list like this is boot camp.

You’d left him hanging at the club—he couldn’t blame you though. A truce hardly called for the bringing forth of memories you two are now supposed to have buried beneath you. Memories he buried first. But alcohol had loosened him, and maybe you had, too, your eyes in the vaguely bluish light and your smile.

He wishes to apologize. He makes up some excuse and finds you nursing an Evian by a faraway corner, against a screen of stingrays. Your eyes widen when you see him, in recognition. He waves and then, with a thumb, gestures to the catering outside.

You end up by the water eating one of the caterer’s churros, a recommendation he deems “very special.” (“Have you worked with these caterers before?” “No.”) It’s also his excuse to cheat on his diet and eat a churro or three—chocolate dip included, always. You rave over the taste, smile, enjoy the view. Charles realizes this looks deceivingly like a date, and at the same time realizes he would not stop to correct someone if they assumed so.

“Our truce seems to be working.” You say in-between chews, voice flat but eyes bright.

“It seems so. I owe that to my personality.”

You really laugh at that. “I didn’t know you had one. It’s very fit for someone as unapproachable as I am.”

“Who said that?”

“No, noth—nobody.” You comb a lock of hair behind your ear. “Aw, putain. I’m ruining my lipstick. Pat’s going to kill me. I look awful.” There are no reflective surfaces around you to affirm your statement, but you sound so sure of yourself.

He smiles. He enjoys the illusion, the mask that you two seem to wear, albeit involuntarily. The chocolate syrup he squeezes on your little paper box of churros. The muttered back merci when he’s finished. Your flushed face, eyes darting from the delicacy to the ocean, eyelashes fluttering, lips smiling, curving into a laugh at some random realization. Briefly he imagines what he might tell somebody if they stopped to ask if you were dating.

Some old woman, French accent and short in stature. You two are so cute. Si mignon! And she would ask how you two met. Charles would tell her the story. But that is imagination. He blinks out of it and focuses on the beauty in front of him, so very real.

“No. You are very pretty, you know.” He says then, and it’s taken him all his nerves and then some just to wrangle it out of his mouth and past his lips. Anticipatory, he watches you, waits for your response.

You comb the hair out of your face messily, licking over the cinnamon sugar on your lips; then you smile up at him, turning your head in question. “Sorry,” you laugh, and his heart’s frozen because it’s the prettiest sound he’s ever heard. “What did you say?”

The wind roars in his ears, so Charles barely hears himself when he says, stuttering, “What? Nothing, I said nothing.”

You make a face—confused, suspicious—but all your allegations quell once you bite into another churro, stepping yourself a path along the area. Having blocked off the building, production staff and models are all that populate your surroundings, big headphones and even bigger cameras, rolling around racks of monochrome and Hermés, Birkins to match Loro Pianas. It’s easy to get lost in a crowd—in a city—where everyone looks the same, and knows the other’s name. Perhaps that’s also why, even at fourteen, you were excited to leave, he thinks.

“The coast was always my favorite part about the city.”

He notices. The way your eyes have softened, become more fond than when you’re in the centre of it all, in the bustle. Here it’s busy, but less busy; the distinction, perhaps, matters. Your gaze is not one of distaste, of disdain. It’s nostalgic, homesick, yearning. He supposes he describes this gaze so well because it’s the way he catches himself looking at you over the week.

“I wanted to…” He trails off. “I wanted to talk to you because, ah. I’m sorry. It was foolish of me to put you on the spot last night. I should’ve been more… yeah. I’m sorry. I hope you’re okay.”

You stare at the sea and nod quietly. Instead of responding, you launch a story: “I always…” You’re clearly lost in a different sphere of thought, and you have to fall quiet while finding the right words to say. “I remember, um. In Year 3, we—I came here with my mum. And I was super mad, because I got, like, three mistakes on my Maths paper?” You laugh and he does, too, but more because your storytelling is so effortlessly enthralling and funny and he needs to shut himself up.

“Anyway.” You pace around again, and he follows. “So, I’m mad, and she’s trying to cheer me up, buys me glace and everything, but no. So I go sit myself on a random bench. It must’ve been around here, I think.” You look around and point at an empty area. “There. But it’s—they must’ve ripped it out. Whatever. So yeah, I’m sitting there, and moping, and all of a sudden All You Need is Love by The Beatles comes blaring into the entire area.”

Charles’ eyebrows knit confusedly. “What, the bench area?”

“No—the whole pier, I guess? Like, it was loud, I almost jumped. And then this guy comes in holding this huge—this, um, board? Sign? Poster? And he’s got half the pier in on his whole thing, and I’m totally… it was just… yeah.” You smile. It’s the biggest smile he’s seen on you since you got here and the fact that he’s even around to see it gets him all warm.

“So what happened?”

“It was a flash mob. You know those—yeah, they’re usually insufferable, but that one was a little calmer. Nobody was, you know, dancing and yelling. It was just a bunch of people cheering and all, and the guy was actually proposing to his girlfriend. It was so cute.” You sigh a little, a brief exhale of air, and it turns into a smile. “I’d love that.”

He raises his eyebrows and, despite himself, laughs. “Vraiment?”

You turn to him, ready to defend yourself, mid-laugh. “Heeey. Everyone says they find big, romantic gestures cheesy, but I think deep down, if you trust the person enough, you’ll like it. Maybe not a proposal, though—can you imagine the pressure?” You pause. “But I don’t know. There’s something so nice about just knowing that person loves you so much they think it’s worth it to share it to everyone around you. So even if it’s cheesy, I wouldn’t mind much. You?”

“It’s cheesy for me,” he disagrees, shrugging. “But I see your point.” Truth be told, he didn’t see you as a romantic type—but all he’s ever seen you do lately is work, and even back in childhood, all you ever did was study. He likes learning these little facts, ones you wouldn’t share in interviews—likes knowing you feel comfortable enough to share with him. “Dancing is a bit overboard.”

“Oh, definitely.” You throw your head back to laugh, eyes half-shut and crinkled and reflecting the sun. Would you look the same if he was dancing to The Beatles, proclaiming all the words he hasn’t had the courage to say?

—

Next question is who your first love was—we’re rolling in three…

“First love?” You laughed a little, facing the camera to continue your Screen Test interview with W. The questions had been candid and lovely, but they were about your career, which you answered with familiar ease. First love is different—uncharted, private territory. But you’d realized all this too late, and the director called go, and you let words spill out of you like a bag popped open.

“I want to be funny and witty and say acting, but that would be a lie. Um, my first love was a childhood friend. We lived near each other, our parents were friends, and I… I really did, I liked him a lot. But these—there were so many factors at tension with each other, like me moving away in 2013—that’s, what, six years ago now? And us being young and not really knowing how to communicate. When you’re a teenager, you’re kind of just like, oh, no worries, um, that’ll sort itself out, and then you grow up and look back and realize, these things never do. But I miss him a, a, a… a lot, and I think of him always.” Your smile didn’t reach your eyes when you looked at the camera again. “We learn a lot from childhood loves.”

Cut. Lovely. Just lovely.

“Thank you, Lynn,” you said with a small smile. A pause as silence creeps up onto the room, and then, quieter: “Could we omit that? I—sorry. I could answer anything else. First kiss, or something? I’m sorry, I just. Sorry.” For the first time in five years, you realize, you’ve conjured his memory again.

—

“Okay. What else do you remember?”

“I… do you remember the recital song?”

“Of course I do! The dance is… that’s a different story.” You’d been at Charles’ hotel room earlier to go over some video shoot regulations for a 24 Hours With video you’re doing in a few days. You stayed because—that’s beyond you at this point, and you’d rather not delve into the rationality of it all. You’re content with thinking about how nice this conversation is, a trip down memory lane.

“The dance, mon dieu, the dance.” He smothers a hand over his face, smiles fondly. “You were at the center!”

“Stop. Stop,” you protest, letting laughter settle into quiet. “It’s crazy, you know? How we… like, we share a life. Not—but like, we had a whole childhood together.”

“And nobody knows.” It’s not something you keep a secret on purpose—it’s just that neither of you feel like name-dropping the other. Some stories have surfaced, but none of you have fully commented. Somehow, that’s a good thing for you.

“Do people ask?”

“People ask, yes.” His accent is a reminder of your past—you’d once had the same thick wraparound, the loose reign over English you’ve now grown to master. Now your accent is a lot thinner, to the point where it’s barely perceptible, and if it is, your coworkers and fans call it cute, chic, use it as a jumping off point to ask where you grew up. But in this hotel room, legs folded underneath you and glass of wine in hand, you have no coworkers or fans, it feels like; no one to perceive you but Charles. Charles and his accent, nostalgic and so very his, which you wouldn’t describe as anything but home.

“What do you tell them, then?” Quickly, you add: “The truth, or…?”

“That we knew each other as kids,” he says, smiling absently. “That is the truth, no?”

You cover a smile with the rim of your wine glass, nodding. There’s no revisionist history in that statement, but it hides a lot of the truth, the nitty gritty of it. You know it, he knows it, you both know it. “What would you want me to say?” His voice is soft and thin and imploring, so different from the boisterous voice he uses in public, from the slurred voice you heard in the club. This sounds real. This sounds like a conversation you would’ve had years ago in your childhood bedroom before everything went—

“Nothing, that’s fine.” You cut your own reverie off, clearing your throat. You even laugh, to alleviate the tension, but he sees right through you so many years later. “Unless you’re privy to telling people how we didn’t talk for months before I left.”

He blinks, smothers a palm over his face again, and sighs, eyes meeting yours. “I’m sorry. I don’t—I… I’ve wanted to bring it up.”

“I’m not mad.” It’s a half-lie. “Okay, no—I am, a bit. It just—it would’ve been nice to hear it two weeks ago.”

“I know.” He doesn’t even need to say it, but him saying it sends a low thrum of reassurance in you. Charles has found, in the two weeks of being in your company, that he accomplishes a sense of self—a sense of quiet, a sense of privacy—when he’s alone with you. Perhaps it’s your natural ability to bring out the best in people, to talk and loosen tongues and make everyone around you feel safe. Or, and this is on a likely front, maybe he misses being one of those people.

He pretends he’s back to last week after another club rendezvous left you tipsier than the first time, dropping you off at your hotel room with two hands taut at your shoulders, one pinching a keycard. You’d been muttering something under your breath, stumbling as you went—you weren’t tripping too much, really; he didn’t need to hold you, but he told himself he had to—and leaning against the doorframe of your room, staring at him blankly. When he met your eyes, you said: maybe, just maybe. Just those three words. If he tries to remember right, you’d been smiling, but he was sufficiently tipsy, too, so he could just as well be wrong.

He does remember a few things right. The eyeliner smudged across your lower eye, lipstick smacked to a point where it looked like you wore none, beads of salt by your lip, your hand wrapped around your necklace.

The silence is anything but awkward; still, he resolves to break it. “When you were drunk last week.” He looks up. “You said—you kept saying, maybe, just maybe.”

A laugh escapes you, stilted and a bit nervous. “Oh. That was—yeah, okay.”

“What’s it mean?”

“You seriously don’t remember?” You’re laughing for real now, your hair bobbing with it, eyebrows furrowed to emphasize your confusion. “Oh, my God. Charles, it’s all you ever said in Year… what, 7? I don’t… anyway. But when we were maybe twelve, I…”

Momentarily, you’re stunned by the memories of him—you’d forgotten they were even there. You press a few fingers to your lips and clear your throat. “Sorry. Yeah, I, um—I think you heard it in a movie or read it somewhere, and for ages it was your favorite saying. Maybe, just maybe.”

“I don’t underst—”

“—You were always just saying it,” you cut in, laughing, your voices layering as you discuss the origin of his former favorite term. “No, you really—”

“I don’t—I do not ever remember say—”

“—Well,” you say, “I remember.” He stays silent for a few seconds, the intensity of your stare and the little smile on your face and everything beating down on him. For a split second he thinks of opening his mouth and getting on his knees and telling you everything, all the apologies, all the things unsaid in the months and years you became strangers. He seriously does. The pressure is almost physical, beyond overwhelming.

“I have to go.” You swallow the lump in your throat, disentangle your legs and clamber off the couch, setting the empty glass on his coffee table. “Good?”

“Yeah,” he says, blinking. “Yeah. Take care. Should I drive you?”

“God, no.” You laugh breathily. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He closes the door after you leave, stares at it, as if that will conjure you back to him. It occurs to him, jolts him almost, that he’d almost let slip a quiet utterance of love you as you slipped out. His stomach boils. With thankfulness over not having said it, he wonders—or with regret?

—

“Best friends now, are you?” Lily, Carmen, and Rachel look up to the sound of your voice, their serious faces breaking out into smiles. If you could chart the time you spent here, there are definitely people you’ve spent the most time with—these three are at the top of the list. You hang your coat and drop your Chanel bag on the entryway seat, already picking up on the British noises of Love Island UK from the telly.

“Wait, so she’s hooking up with him?” Lily asks, confused; her train of thought is cut off by your flopping onto the bed. “Hiiii. Where’ve you been?”

Muffled by the bedspread: Charles’ place.

Silence. The television switches off and you hear the precarious preparation of three girls readying themselves for a debrief-or-sobfest of a lifetime, a noise you’ve heard and partaken in countless times over your life. You suddenly feel too watched, too spectated; you break the quiet by looking up, displaying your tear-streaked face.

“Talk to us,” Rachel encourages, her voice raspy with unuse (Love Island will keep one occupied and quiet for hours on end). Three of them are touching you in some way or other, reassuring grips on your hair or shoulders. “Did you two fight?”

And, oh Christ, fight? It’s not like you’re dating. You aren’t even halfway to that (not that you want to be, but that’s a discussion for another time). The idea of a fight with him is so terribly juvenile, so horribly reminiscent of secondary school and Monaco and being together and being friends. You can’t fight with a guy who’s not your boyfriend. You can’t fight with a guy you’re not close to, for Chrissake. You squeeze your tears out of your eyes and breathe hiccups out.

“Do you want gelato?” No, no.

“Love Island?” In a minute.

The truth is, you want both, but you really just want to sort everything out with Charles. It was no use—hating each other was futile, but pretending everything was fine in some pathetic attempt at a “truce” seemed even worse. You just want to talk everything out, even if it excavates feelings you’d once been able to suppress.

“What kind of crush doesn’t disappear after ten years?” You ask through tears. It’s almost funny, but the question comes straight from the heart. “I’ve dated guys, lived across the world, started a whole new life pretending he never—pretending we were—fuck. Pretending he didn’t exist. It was—I’m not lying, it was easy, pretending. But one glimpse—I see him one time and suddenly it feels like all of it was in vain. It’s the same crush I had before, coming back, like it’s never going to leave me alone.”

“Maybe it’s not a crush,” says Lily, slowly.

“So what is it then?” You ask, hopelessly. What is this—this revival of memories? This little feeling, this sense that no matter where he is or what he’s doing, you’ll be just as in tune when you reunite even if it takes a decade? A decade spurred by months of being given the cold shoulder? What kind of magic is that?

She doesn’t answer, because you already know.

—

“Hey Vogue—I’m here with Charles Leclerc, and we’re here to take you along with us on all our little adventures here in Monaco.” Your smile is rehearsed, the perfectly-orchestrated blend of fun and serious, and when the cameraman calls cut, it falls into a more natural resting face. It’s the one Charles turns to and observes for any signs of a grudge.

The day is busy, which is precisely why it was chosen as the film day: three shows in the morning, press junkets for your movie and Charles’ season in the afternoon, and then a gala in the evening, hosted and attended by Anna Wintour herself.

The day’s business is only trumped by its tension, which reaches its crescendo in the janitor’s closet of the fourth floor of your hotel. It’d begun with a fight over the color palette, then a fight over last conversation you shared, then a fight over him fucking up the color palette, and then kissing against the door. Ironically enough, this floor houses a fair number of honeymoon suites.

It’s ironic beause hardly anything about this is or should be romantic—it’s a temporary fix, a pause from the turmoil, his hand squeezing your thigh. He’s gentle but you feel his possessiveness, lingering longer, higher and higher up until he’s playing with the high hem of your skirt. You knot your fingers in his hair, smell the shampoo and hairspray and cologne in the wispy curls there.

He kisses your jaw, then downward, until he’s licking, nipping at your throat. Charles.

“Yeah?” His voice is rough against your pulse point.

“Make it—we gotta—quicker.” Your hands tremble, heart hammering loud and bold in your chest. His voice is sure, gravelly, quiet, and you have to focus on something—so you centre on his hands, up your thighs and slipping under the lace of your skirt, bunching the fabric up around your hips. His hands, big and calloused, fingers resting on your hipbones, on your ass.

He’s hard against your thigh, straining against his jeans. You could cry. “I want more.”

“I know, baby. I know.” The pet name, so new but so natural, sends you into a dopamine rush.

You squirm when he doesn’t let up on his touches, over every inch of your body, groping you. He wants to take his time—he hates that he can’t—and counts on the possibility of a next time. You pull him in for a spit-slick kiss, needy and whimpering, sloppy and tongues knotted. It feels good—fuck, it feels like this was all you were ever made for, his touch.

You buck your hips into the air desperately. “We really—fuck. We don’t have time.” Cameras, a shoot, a video; reminders ring in your head like alarm bells. He nods, goes I know, and you pick up the strain in his voice as he tugs his jeans down just enough to rub his clothed cock under your entrance, hard and drooling through the fabric.

You moan softly. “Please, I can take it,” you breathe. You’ve never been this wet, this worked up, this teased. You need to feel him, be full of him; he presses you flush against the door with a hand at the small of your back to keep it from aching too much, and drops forward as he pushes into you. Your noses brush and he goes deeper, air thick and muffled with little moans and whimpers.

His mouth is against your jaw, thrusting slowly to get you used to the size of him. The angle gets you dizzy, draws a burst of wetness out and gets you clenching around him. You’re flushed and sweaty, moaning. Feels s’good. So good, Charles, so, so good. He fucks harder, the door rattling, dirty talk cooed from his lips to your ear: Yeah? Feels real good? You’re so good for me, baby, come on.

Your needy voice, needier movements, are driving him crazy, getting him to fuck you harder, licking over his lips as he watches you fall apart on his dick. Relax, he slurs. You squeeze around him and moan, wretched and raw. Oh fuck, fuck, fuck. You’re so big. You’re getting his dick wetter and wetter with every thrust, shiny and drooling with cum.

Yeah? He says it so well, the best kind of reassurance. Come on, we don’t have time, baby. Let me feel you cum.

I know— you whine. I’m cumming—it feels too good—

You cum first, thighs shaky around him and lip curling into your teeth. You lean forward, mouth to his shoulder, and bite at the cotton. Fuck, he grunts, and releases then, a groan spilled into your hair. You watch, laughing breathlessly, and feel the world click into something different.

You two will do anything, apparently, but talk this all through.

—

The gala is big and extravagant and you’re seated not with Charles this time, but with a roster of celebrities straight out of an LAX red-eye. Anna is at the table adjacent, andy you were able to talk to her about the experience, though not without leaving out bits with Charles in them.

You’re beside Florence and she’s talking about something, about a new movie she’s working on, and you chip in with jokes and laughs but your smile doesn’t really reach your eyes. You’re still caught in a web of fragile confusion. “I need to excuse myself for a moment,” you say after a while, after you’ve done nothing but smile and push broccoli puree around on your plate.

Consolation comes with isolation, at least tonight, at least right now. You find an empty balcony on the third floor, stare into the black sea. You try and try to remember what life was like three weeks ago, but it’s irrevocable now, the change that’s come since then. You tap the glass of your beer bottle against the marble banister, solid and probably expensive—a match for the rest of the hotel, you realize. It’s starkingly clean and smooth, and white, the kind of things you’d only say about a marble banister when you’re trying to avoid an adult introspection.

Behind you: “Are you okay?”

In response, you say, “We shouldn’t have had sex.”

Charles settles himself into a spot near you, not totally beside but not too far—he, too, holds onto a bottle of beer. There are fancier drinks around, but somehow the dry taste of ale is all that brings you comfort right now. Your gears turn and, without prompt or question, you spill yourself forth.

“It was hard, when you didn’t… when we didn’t talk, and you didn’t ever tell me why, so I didn’t know anything. I keep remembering it, even now, what—ten years later, ha ha, even after… I don’t know, after the fact. We’re supposed to have moved on from shit that happened to us when we were fifteen but I’m finding it to be the hardest thing in the world. It was so… like, I had no trouble saying goodbye to anything else but you. And I’m famous now, my life is a whole thing, a—this whole party, and I’m supposed to… fuck.” You shut your eyes, and you can feel, through the thick fog of embarrassment and delirium, the tears that stain your cheeks. “It’s like. You know when you’re a teenager and you see all of it in movies and TV, this, like, moment where you’re staring at someone from across a room, and you’re smiling and talking to other people and you’re happy because you know in a few hours, you’ll be with that person anyway? At home, rearranging furniture, feeding the dog, eating leftovers? That… I always thought you’d be that person for me. Maybe because you were the only—you know—the only love I ever knew, and now, what. Four? Boyfriends and ten years later, you might expect me to feel differently—hell I expect myself to feel differently, but, unfortunately for you and me, I don’t. Sorry. I’m not—I’m not drunk, or anything.”

He stares at you, his expression soft and unreadable. It feels like it’s just the two of you in the world today, twenty-somethings, ten years later, unearthing all you left buried. “I…” he says, before pausing. “I’m sorry for leaving.”

You nod in response.

“I always thought you would forgive me.” His face is sullen and handsome and your heart seizes. “I wanted to be your person.”

“How could I forgive you without an apology?” Your voice comes out fragile. “I leave in three days. You’ve fu—you’ve… you’ve kissed me, had sex with me, flirted with me. You’ve done everything but that.”

“I did apologize. I don’t think it was enough, but—”

“But you didn’t,” you reply, a jagged response. “You never said anything.”

“I wrote you.” His eyebrows knit. “I wrote you.”

“You wrote me.” You repeat, deadpan. Your head spins with it. “What, a letter?”

“An e-mail. Before your first film came out—2014? A year after you… yeah.” He’s quiet and timid and nervous. “I forced Gi to tell me your address.”

“I didn’t… I wasn’t using that e-mail anymore. I haven’t in years.” You pinch your nose and let the silence settle like fine dust onto the room, an unspoken bomb that explodes over the both of you, raining regret and unsaid words. “I have to go.” You push yourself off the banister, turning already to the doors of the balcony. He stops you before you can step any further, a hand closed over your wrist, rough and warm.

“If you find the message,” he says, “will you read it?”

“I don’t plan to,” you lie. “Goodnight.”

—

From: Charles Perceval Leclerc <[email protected]>

Date: 14 October 2014

To: You

Subject: Urgent!

hey buttercup, I asked Giada for this email address. my bday in 2 days. Will you be home for Xmas this year btw? ill show you some new places that open ed + we can bike around. mum misses u a lot too. parfois je souhaite que tu ne partes pas… not sometimes but always. i think i need to edit this a little let me try ag

From: Charles Perceval Leclerc <[email protected]>

Date: 14 October 2014

To: You

Subject: Buttercup

j’appellerais mais je ne pense pas que tu veuilles répondre. it’s been more than a year since you moved out, in two days i’ll be celebrating my second birthday w/o you. i’ve been karting a lot, things are looking up, just like we always said they would :) just want to say i miss you a lot, and i hope you’re doing good. i would say i hate radio silence but i know it’s my fault all this happened in the first place. i’m sorry i stopped talking to you last year when you were moving away. i was being childish, but the truth is it was the only way i could handle it - by pretending we werent friends at all… i don’t want to make you pity me or anything (ne pense pas que je suis) but yeah you’re my best friend and you always will be. i’m sorry for being a knot head.

i was always scared to tell you but it’s been there since forever: i love you. i should’ve enjoyed your months here instead of leaving you in the air. i know i ignored you but it’s the 1 thing i regret. should’ve done a lot more, i know.. but i didn’t. we have a lot of promises i broke because i was being selfish. i kept the paper ring to remind me. remember that? we had a “playground wedding” when we were 5/6?

tu ne me dois rien - i just want you to give me a chance to make you happy, even if it’s just in the way we’ve always been (as friends). if you write me back i’ll try and fly there. mum is always asking me if we’ve talked yet. if not, that’s ok. i love you all the same and i will love you as you reach your dreams. this will never change.

charles

p.s: est-ce que je te manque?

p.p.s: call me if you can and wish me a happy birthday?

—

“Rachel, I would sooner die than wait another two hours for the tarmac to clear again.” You try to up the firmness in your voice but it fails, only serving to make you sound less angry and more agitated. When all you get in response is a muffled I’m coming! you grumble and hang up the phone. Your plane was delayed all of three times, and the instant it arrives and is scheduled to take off on time, your friendsistant is nowhere to be found.

Lily and Carmen had thrown you a goodbye party the night prior, with sprinklers and music and cocktails, and promised to be on the next flight to L.A. Vogue and David had emailed you for a job done spectacularly, and to watch out for the videos and interviews’ release dates. Twitter is raving about your movie. Everything should be good, and yet, it’s not.

You check your inbox. IM COMJNG LILTIERALLY IM RUNNING THRU AJRPPRT!!!!!! You scoff again, hoping the plane doesn’t somehow take off for the fourth time, and take a seat on the VIP waiting area sofa again, shaking your now-empty chai latte. The room, sectioned off from economy and business, is fairly full.

A woman paces over to you, a bright grin on her face. “Hi. I’m a huge fan.”

“Thank you,” you smile, despite your tiredness.

“This is so embarrassing—but do you happen to have the time?”

“Sure”—you tap your phone open—“half past four.”

“Great,” she says. “Thanks, Buttercup.”

You’re opening your mouth to say you’re welcome, but it catches like cotton in your throat. You watch her depart like nothing happened, a strange feeling settling in your chest. You have barely any time to answer it, because a flight attendant is tapping you on the shoulder, addressing you by name, thankfully. She maintains a tone of professionalism all throughout her announcement that the aircraft under your name will have to evacuate the runway in ten minutes or less.

“I know, I know—I’m just, um. I’m waiting for somebody. She should be near now, though.”

“Tremendous. Merci, Buttercup.”

“Wh—” You stutter, blinking and watching her leave. “What?”

She doesn’t turn, walking to the kiosk to exchange information with her coworkers. You look around the airport, for a camera hidden somewhere maybe. Perhaps you’ve been unknowingly listed in some Impractical Jokers skit.

Rach hurry you text instead, leaning back and hoping you’re in some grandiose delusion. Your phone dings. Omw promise! It reads. Then: Look up buttercup

Your head snaps upward faster than you can register what you’ve just read, matching the opening notes of a song you’ve grown all too familiar with in your lifetime. The opening beat to Build Me Up, Buttercup flows like honey through the room’s intercom and floods it with life.

Mouth agape, you watch as the staff and guests perform the routine you’d learned at fourteen, complete with hops and turns you were too embarrassed to do even then. They’re smiling and whooping themselves and each other as they go, finishing the entire first verse before turning collectively to the entrance of the room. There, in all his glory: Charles, wearing an entirely too-small headdress that reads Buttercup, worn dusty from years of being stored away.

He’s dancing, too, closer to you. You refuse to budge for the express purpose that he dance some more, which he complies with, though not without an eyeroll and an exasperated sigh. Your heart beats with something irregular and warm. You’d told him about this before. He’d listened.

The music settles for a little and the dancers do, too, so he takes the time to raise his sign. Will you forgive me? It reads. No pressure. Except kind of. You laugh, throwing your head back at the gesture, at this entire affair that must have taken some amount of effort to prepare. As the lyric comes on, so does his sign: I need you… more than anyone, darling.

He drops the sign when you approach him, arms crossed over your torso. He removed the headdress and places it gingerly on yours. “I believe that belongs to you.”

And, hyperaware of all the eyes and yet the complete lack of cameras—you’re grateful for it—you finally, finally, finally pull him in for a kiss. You’ve kissed before, done your worst, but still means volumes to the both of you.

In-between kisses and cheers (from voices belonging to Lorenzo, Rachel, Lily—so many familiar ones), he says it again: “I’m sorry. I’ll make it all up to you.”

“You better,” you tease into his lips, smiling. “I know. I love you.” Ten years later—your person still is, and no doubt will always be, Charles Leclerc.

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

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absolutebl · 4 months

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This Week in BL - Top 3 Are HEATING UP

Organized, in each category, by ones I'm enjoying most at the top.

Dec 2023 Wk 2

Ongoing Series - Thai

Honestly, 3 are neck & necking for top position! They are all so good in different ways. But The Sign had me hooting with laughter this week, so it scooped #1.

The Sign (Sat YT) ep 4 of 10 - This show is literally everything (except straight) all at once. It's BL, queer, band of brothers, romcom, erotica, paranormal, fated mates, mystery, suspense, slasher, and horror. It’s the king of genre mash-up chaos. I have no idea what I’m watching but I’m ON this ride. Is it a roller coaster? Is it a haunted house? Is it a twirl & hurl? Is there candy floss? Am I even tall enough? Who tf cares. All through the second scene, I was laughing. It was legit funny. Billy has great comedic timing. Guess he’s not just a pretty face.

Everyone should be watching this. Sure, it's madness but there is genius in it.

Last Twilight (Fri YT) ep 6 of 12 - Yech. August may be one of GMMTV’s least likable characters ever (and that is saying something). Meanwhile, MOAR language play! They spoiling me!

Mhok letting Day go then walking away at the party hurt so bad.

Argh this show is great!

Ep 6 so that kiss was right on schedule. I’m looking forward to the boyfriend eps before doom & pain in the new year. Carry on GMMTV.

Speaking of...

Cherry Magic (Sat YouTube) ep 2 of 12 - Oh they’re great. It’s great. It’s paced oddly, moving quickly through most of the key scenes of the original JBL in these first 2 eps. I think it’s intending to encompass more of the manga series than that one did. Which is good, cause that will get us all the way to The Library Kiss (TM). It's the best kiss in the manga. I also like the sides in this show (better than the JBL version).

My Dear Gangster Oppa (Thurs iQIYI) ep 8fin - What a lovely slightly unhinged little show. Tew, can we talk? Un-ironic suspenders, that takes courage. Also, the revolver was a crazy gun choice.

Final thoughts:

This show is just as ridiculous as its title. About a gaymer who falls in love with one of his in-game teammates, who just happens to be a IRL gangster. A real gangster, the kind that actually kills people regularly. The lead pair is doing their best with a ridiculous story and shoddy script, but I enjoyed it. Although I was grateful it wasn’t very long, what we got was oddly satisfying if, frankly, a little bit silly. Recommended. 8/10

That said, what's important about this BL is not the show, but the production and style. Let me explain... no, too much, let me sum up.

This is a chimera BL. Regarding characters: it has Japan's style otaku + Korea's style gangster + Thailand's style friendship group. It used Thai talent + Korean money (Kakao) & IP (adapted from a manwha) but aired on a Chinese channel globally (iQIYI). I'm delighted by the eclectic insanity of this production and truly doubt that any other genre but BL could ever produce like this. It's like diplomat's BL and it's the great wonder of our age that it happened at all. This BL deserves its place in the history books on production alone, even if that place is only in the footnotes. A remarkable little monster.

For Him (Thurs iQIYI) ep 3 of 10 - The sides are… messy. Using the same actor for the old bf is… odd. But in the end, this show leaves me smiling. Which means, I like it despite myself.

Bake Me Please (Mon Gaga) ep 4 of 6 - It's decent. It’s basically what I wanted Antique Bakery to be when I first watched that way back when (not to mention Bite Me). But there’s been so much BL since then that, for some reason, this is falling flat. I think it’s moving too fast for a Thai series. Although, say what you like, Ohm has to be one of the best soft kissers in the industry. He's just good at mouth tenderness.

Ugh, that doesn't sound right. But you know what I mean.

Twins the series (Fri GaGa) ep 7 of 10 - I love how First is so upset when Sprite starts chatting and being nice to Koh. Sprite is just a sweet easy-going likable boy. I enjoy Sprite as a main character, he’s a bubbly little communicator. And they had a cute kiss.

Pit Babe (Fri iQIYI) ep 5 of 14 - Because there was more Alan and Jeff and they were more key to the plot I was more into this ep. I do compare it to green smoothie down the pants in the Trash Watch.

Cooking Crush (Sun YT) ep 3 of 12 - Look OffGun are truly great. But I’m just not sure we need them in BL anymore. That said, it’s nice to see Off as "the one with the crush" for a change. Also, this show is only good when OffGun are on screen together, otherwise it kinda, well, sucks.

Night Dream (Sat YT) ep 1 of 6 - Cafe setting featuring a cook and a writer. *Seems awfully familiar.* Except these two are exes and this is a reunion romance. It’s stiff and very pulp but not bad (no crap sound effects) and I am a sucker for a reunion romance. That said, Rookie Thailand is not to be trusted, proceed with caution.

Absolute Zero (Weds iQIYI) ep 12fin - I'm grateful this is over. It was tense but for the wrong reasons - sadness and confusion. This final episode was fine, but that’s because it was mostly them being together + flashbacks. Plus all the familiar actor faces of the grown-up friends (hi, Karn my lovely, still stunning I see). But 2 of 12 episodes is not enough for the 10 of suffering and confusion that came before.

In conclusion:

A man is killed on his 10th anniversary resulting in a time paradox, for which the only solution is him never meeting his childhood sweetheart until later in life. Both lovers cycle back to the past at different ages, so that they each become their own 1st & 2nd great loves, but every time it ends in pain, until each also endures 10 years of separation. Finally it gets fixed, but leaves them with multiple memories of time's failures like temporal PTSD, and everyone around them has chronic deja vu. Me? I got both. This is one of those BLs that is high-quality with great acting but poor story. If you like your BL dwelling, maudlin, and tense due to angst and suffering, then you might enjoy this. But I just regret it, 6/10. Recommended only if you like confusing time travel emo pain.

In which case, just watch Tokyo in April is... instead. Give over Thailand, Japan does it better.

Middleman’s Love (Fri YT & iQIYI ep 6 of 8 - While our main couple isn’t working for me... the side couple isn’t working for me either. I really wanted to give LeoTai a chance, this is the 3rd show I’ve seen them in, and still nope. I like Jade a lot more when he’s sad. He’s a much more pleasant screen experience depressed. I would like him to stay hurt for a couple of eps, just so I can enjoy this show a tiny bit more. But then he just goes unhinged again. Argh. I just don’t like it.

My Universe (Sun iQIYI) Pisces of Me ep 17 of 24 - Codependent boyfriends in middle school planning for high school dealing with stuff. Including other boys being into them.

Playboyy (Thurs Gaga) 5 of 14 eps - Dear Playboyy, it's not you, it’s me… I hate you. You’re about as deep (and as palatable) as a shot glass of cum. While I'm sure you’re someone’s kink, you're my weakest link. Goodbye. DNF

Ongoing Series - Not Thai

VIP Only (Taiwan Fri Gaga) ep 5 of 10 - It’s cute but I don’t think BL in this short format is Taiwan’s strength these days. And this is quite slow and dull. Perhaps they should have whacked it down to 6 eps, not 10.

Sahara-sensei to Toki-kun (Japan Fri Gaga) ep 3 of 8 - This is one of those JBLs that I should like on paper but is failing me. The drag bit was ridiculous but handled gently. The kiss was… well… something wasn’t it? It’s all very odd. I like the photographer cutie character.

It's Airing But...

The Whisperer (Sun ????) 10 eps - Thai horror BL that ALSO involves cheating (what joy is mine). I don't think even the perfect single dimple can motivate me to watch. Word is... it's terrible.

7 Days Before Valentine (Weds WeTV) 10 eps - Giving me Luminous Solution vibes. I'm waiting to binge if it's safe.

Beyond The Star (Weds iQIYI) 8 eps - House of Stars meets Boyband. I was NOT impressed with ep 1. Been told I shouldn't bother.

What Did You Eat Yesterday Season 2 AKA Kinou Nani Tabeta? Season 2 (Japan Gaga) 10 eps - I find this series more fun to binge, so I'm waiting until after it completes its run next week.

Dear Kitakyushu (Thai/Japan movie) in theaters in country only, I know nothing about distribution.

Behind the Shadows (Korea movie) this is a historical I was interested in, but I've been told they kill the gay so I'm OUT.

Next Week Looks Like This

Still coming:

12/23 Dead Friend Forever (Thai horror) iQIYI

Original 2023 forthcoming BL master post (see comments, some are inaccurate, NOT KEPT UPDATED). With the end of the year upon us I'll do an "announced for 2023 but never happened list" soon.

THIS WEEK’S BEST MOMENTS

He so pretty.

I forgot how likable TayNew are, and frankly I think New is a better version of this role for me, personally. I like him a lot. He's a conscientious sweetheart. And a good egg. (Cherry Magic)

Ah the rooftop my old friend. (Last Twilight)

I would like to point out that it's no accident the naga's sex dream happened in the shower, he's a water creature after all. (The Sign)

(Last week)

#the sign the series #was very hot this week #this week in bl #bl updates #Last Twilight #Thai BL #cherry magic #my dear gangster oppa #my dear gangster oppa review #for him the series #Bake Me Please #antique bakery #twins the series #cooking crush #offgun #Absolute Zero review #bl reviewed #bl reviews

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bangchansgirlsblog · 5 months

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Sweet Angel 👼

Part one:

Has to re-write this

-🩷

The clock was ticking. Her heart was pounding as she sat outside the principals office. She said a small prayer because she knew the trouble she was in. She knew this was going to be a good day.

“Y/n. The principal is ready to see you,” Candice, the school receptionist, called for her. She gulped and looked over at the lady. She was tall and had a mini skirt on. Her blouse was see through but no body complained because quite frankly everyone enjoyed the view. She was a hottie after all.

“Goodluck,” Candice said before Y/n could even step into the office. She needed it in order to stay calm and stay collective.

Her shaky hands opened the wooden doors and the smell of fresh books and coffee filled her nostrils as she took a step inside.

“Y/n, please take a sit,” His voice was loud but not scary loud more like loud for no reason loud. Y/n never liked the way he yelled. It was always hours of a lecture that she didn’t give two shits about because she knew she was going to get into trouble again but get away with it anyway.

“Goodafternoon Mr.Zang,” she smiled politely before taking a sit and looking straight at him. It was almost like she was taunting him, making him look like some type of clown.

“Alright let’s cut the crap young lady. We’ve called your brothers in,” her whole body went cold. Her breathing picked up its pace and her shaking hands were very visible now.

“You called my brothers?” She asked in disbelief, “but sir-“

“I don’t want to hear it Y/n, we’ve been going through a roller coaster with you and I think it’s time I set my foot down,” He was signing a piece of paper. The room was dark and mostly made of wood. It was a typical principal study and that creeped her out even more.

She was scared. She was terrified because if Chan was on his way he was definitely pissed off. She was definitely going to be in big trouble and she was definitely going to get killed. She was on her second strike. She had already been kicked out of a school before this and if she got suspended again in this school that meant she was one step away from getting expelled again. That alone would put Chan and all the boys in a coma.

Fuck.

She let out a sigh. This wasn't good at all. At all.

She looked up at the clock again to calculate how much time she had to live. 20 minutes. She had 20 minutes to live and she would spend it in this sad room. Not how she expected her last moments to be.

Her stomach was churning and suddenly the lunch she had eaten wasn’t such a good idea because of the nauseous feeling that came over her. The nerves were eating her alive and at a point she thought she was dreaming.

Her short prayers were interrupted by the doors opening. Had it been 20 minutes already?!

"I'm so sorry I'm late," She heard Chan's voice fill the room. She looked over at the door and gulped when she saw him come in with leeknow glaring at her. A lump in her throat started to form.

Leeknow was the scariest out of them all. He was the only man that scared the shit out of her (after Chan ofcourse) she just knew if it was the two of them (Chan and leeknow) it wasn’t a good thing because the both of them together was like losing a finger while cooking your favorite meal…does that make sense?

"It's okay Mr.Bahng, welcome. Please have a sit." Mr.Zang said pointing at both empty sits right next to Y/n. She made sure to scoot a bit further so she wouldn’t be at punching reach from Chan. (She was just taking safety precautions)

"So what seems to be the matter? what did she do this time and how much will it cost me?" Chan chuckled and she knew straight away that that chuckle wasn't real. It wasn't real at all.

"Im sorry we have to go through this again but today we caught Y/n- well you'll see by yourself," he pointed the tv remote at the tv that sat on the opposite side of the room. It was cctv footage. Y/n cursed herself for not knowing that this man was keeping cameras on her 24/7. She felt dumb. The video tape played and showed Y/n with a bottle of vodka passing it around with her friends. They were behind school in the alleyway between the gym and main hall.

Shit.

She gulped again and looked at the floor not daring to look at Chan or leeknow. Her throat was dry at this point. She could hear a frustrated sigh and a 'you better start praying' from Chan.

"Now Ofcourse we don't tolerate any of this behavior," Mr.Zang turned off the tv and sat back in his chair.

"I understand that sir," Chan replied,

"We will have to put her on suspension for 3 days but I do have a question," he looked back and forth between Leeknow and Chan with a worried look on his face.

"Yes Mr.Zang, what is it?" Leeknow asked.

"Who is at home with Y/n? Is it just you guys?" He questioned the boys while adjusting his glasses.

"No sir, she has a nanny that takes care of her sir. It's me and my other brothers that are in charge of her sir,"

"And what about parents?..." he trailed off. Her heart slightly jumped at the thought of her mum and dad. All she could feel was numbness everytime they had to talk about them.

"We don't have any of that sir, her mum and dad died a while back so I was given custody over her sir," Chan replied politely. He too didn’t like to talk about the death of her parents. It ruined his whole mood because he knew it was a soft spot for his little sister.

“Oh I see because Y/n has been acting out lately and with the grades and her attitude she might not make it past 12th grade,"

She glanced over at Chan who was massaging his temples and trying to stay cool while leeknow sat with his hands crossed and his eyebrows furrowed.

"I understand that sir, I'll make sure she gets on her game,"

"Alright I think that's it, young lady I hope you take this time to reflect on your behavior," he pointed at her. God! She hated Mr.Zang. His pin black hair and beady eyes always creeped her out. Even his golden tooth that always seemed to be glowing no matter what. Ugh.

"Trust me she will be reflecting a lot," leeknow said before shaking Mr.Zang’s hand.

They handed them the peace of document for her suspension so they could sign it and once they had finished she got out of her chair and grabbed her bag from the floor and started following behind her two older brothers. They both were talking to eachother whispering back and forth as she walk quietly behind them. The school corridors were quiet and she was glad because if word got out that 2/8 of straykids were in school, that would be hell for her.

The car was parked outside with the driver in the front seat and when they got into the car and all the doors closed Chan started yelling. Yelling really loud. Her body was trembling at this point.

"What the fuck Y/n?!" He started off. she kept quiet and looked at the ground not daring to look him in the eye. "Oh! So now she can't talk huh?! Now she can't talk!"

"This is so disappointing! Yah! Do you know how embarrassing this is?! Getting called out of rehearsal?!" Leeknow added on.

"I can't even look at you right now! You're so stupid! Why can't you think before you act huh?! Why can't you do things without getting into trouble?!" Chan yelled while bawling up his hands in a fist.

"I'm sorry-" she softly said but she was interrupted by his sharp laugh,

"She's sorry! She's sorry she says! You know what I'm sorry for?! You're grounded for life. Locked up in that house for internal life!" Chan scoffed, "No tv, No phone, No tablet, No computer..oh and you know what else? No more free tickets for your friends! You will stay in that house until I see straight A's again understood?!"

“Yes Chan," She nodded her head,

“Also I’m taking you out of the trainee program. Your not debuting anymore-“

“Chan, please don’t. Please Chan that’s the only thing I have-“ tears started to build up in her eyes. Her heart was shattered. Chan knew how important that was for her. He knew how much she was looking forward to being in a girl group.

“I don’t want to hear it. This conversation is over,”

His face was red and he looked scary but she couldn't help it. Why would he do that? He knew that was my most valuable thing going on in her life.

“Chan I’ll-“

"I don't care! I don't fucking care right now! Just stay quiet and don't even talk to me, don't look at me if you can please don't even breathe the same air as me,"

She looked at him with so much hurt but obeyed his wishes. Her heart was heavy but she couldn't blame him. She deserved it.

She kept quiet and continued to look at the floor as they arrived home. Leeknow was trying to calm Chan down as she got out the car and walked into the house. Tears fell from her eyes at a constant speed.

"Hey, what's the matter?" Han asked, he was sat in the living room with one of his friends but he still chose to leave them and come up to her.

"Y/n? You reek of alchohol, where have you been?" He pulled her into a hug. Concern was written all over his face.

“Don’t touch me,” she tried to remove herself from his grip but it was too tight,

“Talk to me please,” he begged.

"I thought I said I don't want to see your face!" Chan's voice boomed in the room. She got out of Han's grip and quickly run up the stairs sobbing.

"Wait- what happened?" Han asked Chan who was now huffing and puffing.

"She's on Suspension,"

"Again?" Han asked confused, "what did she do this time?"

"Bottles of alcohol in her bag," leeknow explained while rubbing his eyes, tired as usual.

"Where does she even get that?"

"I don't know but I'm starting to get worried about her. I think this is her last strike. What are we gonna do?" Leeknow shook his head.

Chan was fed up and it was so clear, "I don't know but right now I don't want to deal with her crap."

"Chan don't say that, you don't mean it," Han said frowning.

"No I do! Han she has been causing hell! I don't know what to do anymore! I might just have to ship her off to boarding school! I can't be dealing with work stress and her stress! I've tried everything, literally everything but she won't change," he snapped at Han.

“Dont yell at me, I don’t mean any harm,” Han frowned feeling abit attacked, “Chan just give her time, she's just a teenager and she just lost her parents,"

"Who's just a teenager?" Felix asked entering the room from the kitchen.

"Felix back me up here, Chan wants to send Y/nnie to boarding-"

"What?! Why? You can't do that Chan?!"

"I didn't say I would and she got suspended Lix, " he run his fingers through his hair before he started to pace back and forth

"Maybe we can put her in classes? To distract her from being bad?" Han suggested.

"Yeah that's a good idea! That way we can monitor her there too. We can even pick her up after practice," Felix agreed

"We'll see but for now she's grounded for life."

#skz imagines #skz comfort #skz x reader #skz angst #skz drabbles #skz fluff #skz stay #skz x y/n #skz x you #stray kids drabbles

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poisonlove · 8 months

Text

It's Fine | j.o

Sorry I'm very sorry

Part 3

"ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR MIND?" I yelled in panic, my eyes anxiously scanning the ride as it slowly ascended along the track. "Stop complaining and enjoy the roller coaster," Jenna replied with a small smile, her eyes shining with adrenaline.

She had the absurd idea of coming to the county fair to try out some new rides. I had never been very comfortable with these attractions, but Jenna was always seeking adventures. My heart was racing, my breath quickening. I was afraid of heights and the thought of being suspended in the air. But Jenna seemed completely at ease.

I took a deep breath, trying to calm my nerves. "Okay, maybe I could give it a try. But just one!" I said, still trying to convince myself.

We continued to wait as the ride reached its highest point. Then, with a sudden jolt, the brakes gave way, and we were catapulted downward. "CRAP!" I exclaimed loudly, my eyes wide with surprise. Instinctively, I placed my hand on Jenna's, hoping to find support to prevent me from falling during the ride. Her slender fingers intertwined with mine in an instant, strengthening the grip of my hold.

In the blink of an eye, the death-defying ride came to a stop.

The safety bar lifted, allowing us to exit, and I thanked the heavens for still being alive. "See? It was fun," Jenna said with a huge smile plastered on her lips. "Fun? I saw my soul leave my body," I muttered distractedly. "You're always such a drama queen," Jenna teased, while fixing her ruffled hair.

My eyes slowly descended to our still intertwined hands. In that moment, a wave of self-awareness washed over me, causing my cheeks to blush intensely. I swallowed hard, feeling suddenly awkward, and with a clumsy gesture, I released our grip.

Jenna made a disappointed face but quickly replaced it with a shy smile.

"You don't know what I'm usually like; you don't know me at all," I exclaimed with irritation, remembering the times Jenna used to tease me.

"Can we move on?" Jenna's voice sounded like a plea. "I've told you several times that I want to change, to be myself," she concluded, looking at me seriously.

I opened my mouth indignantly and sighed heavily. "Mmmh," I grumbled, still not entirely convinced. "I didn't hear that," Jenna said with a small smile on her lips. "Fine... I'll try," I muttered under my breath.

"Well then... I must say that this sweatshirt looks great on you," Jenna complimented, changing the subject.

I had decided to wear a simple gray sweatshirt and a pair of ripped jeans that matched my Adidas sneakers.

"Thanks," I smiled, embarrassed. "You too... I mean... you look beautiful, umm... you looked beautiful this morning too, but that's not the point," I stammered, blushing.

Jenna chuckled softly and tucked a strand of her brown hair behind her ear. "What do you want to do now?" she asked eagerly, looking around at the bustling fairground rides with bright eyes. My eyes fixed on the Ferris wheel, longing to see the city from above and find some quiet in this bustling fair.

"What do you say we take a ride on the Ferris wheel?" I asked timidly, and Jenna smiled to the side. "I knew you wanted to go there, old lady," Jenna teased and nudged me playfully in the side. "But if you want to go on the Ferris wheel, then let's go," she said with enthusiasm.

Jenna timidly, with flushed cheeks, reached for my hand and intertwined our fingers as we walked toward the enormous Ferris wheel. The sensation was overwhelming, and my body seemed torn between the instinct to pull away in fear and the irresistible desire to draw closer due to the sweet feeling this contact was causing.

Jenna's thumb instinctively caressed the back of my hand, sending shivers down my spine. Her nails, light as feathers, glided gently on my skin, creating an electrifying sensation.

Jenna approached the counter with a smile on her lips. "Can I have two tickets for the Ferris wheel, please?" She asked politely.

The person behind the counter handed over the tickets, and Jenna handed over a $10 bill to pay for the ride.

"You don't have to pay for me..." I murmured timidly, feeling indebted.

Jenna looked at me with a small smile on her lips. "I'm inviting, I'm paying."

Our turn arrives, and with tickets in hand, we step onto the Ferris wheel. An awkward silence envelops us as we settle into the cabin. Slowly, the wheel starts moving upward. Unlike roller coasters, the Ferris wheel gives me a unique sense of security and tranquility.

As we ascend, the city unfolds before us, bathed in the warm sunlight. Streets wind like intricate mazes, buildings stand majestically, and golden reflections on the nearby river create a magical atmosphere. The city seems like a different world from up here, and I can't tear my eyes away from this enchanting spectacle.

I hear a strange noise beside me and see Jenna focused on something.

"What are you doing?" I ask in confusion.

"I'm... wait a second," Jenna murmurs softly, concentrating.

My eyes shift downward, and I notice with careful attention that Jenna's skirt has ridden up slightly due to her awkward position. My cheeks flush with red, and I instinctively look away, trying to maintain a certain level of privacy in the cramped Ferris wheel cabin.

Jenna shifts and turns toward me, her eyes shining with pride.

"Look at what I've done!" she says with enthusiasm.

Squinting my eyes, I try to figure out what Jenna has done. My mouth falls open in realization, and I look at Jenna beside me with an expression of reproach.

"You vandalized the ride?" I ask, closely examining the etching Jenna made with a key.

"Stop seeing the negative side," Jenna exclaims, evidently annoyed. "I wanted to be romantic," she murmurs softly.

A small smile spreads across my lips as I observe Jenna's doodle: my initial + J enclosed in a heart.

How can someone so brash be so endearing?

Jenna raises her eyebrows mischievously and smiles genuinely. "Ehmm... don't I deserve a reward?" she asks boldly.

"A reward?" I inquire with confusion.

Jenna rolls her eyes at my words but then smiles shyly. My pupils dilate as I watch Jenna close her eyes and slowly extend her lips, inviting me to kiss.

"I'm waiting," Jenna's statement sounds odd, given the angle of her mouth.

I reflect on how well Jenna has behaved in these past few hours. Blushing, I decide to approach her.

Now, closer to Jenna, I can observe her face more closely. Her closed eyes, awaiting the kiss, are framed by long lashes. As I look at her from such a proximity, I notice the various freckles surrounding her face, giving Jenna a unique and captivating appearance.

The conscience in the back of my head warns me, and hesitating for a moment, I lean in to delicately kiss Jenna's cheek. My action causes Jenna to tense under the touch of my lips on her skin.

She stammers something incomprehensible, her words forming only disjointed sounds, while her cheeks blaze with embarrassment.

"Let's get off!" Jenna yells, jumping up and swiftly exiting the ride as soon as it returns to the ground, as if she needed a sudden escape.

I chuckle tenderly and follow Jenna off the ride.

Jenna rubs her cheeks with her hands and then straightens her back, trying to regain her composure.

"Ehmm... I want cotton candy," Jenna exclaims with a small smile, turning towards me, her eyes gleaming with excitement.

"How do you want it?" I ask, tilting my head to the side, curious.

"Pink, hippo!" she exclaims with a contagious smile on her lips.

***

Several weeks have passed since that exciting encounter at the fair, and things between Jenna and me have evolved in a surprising way.

"Are you really sure about what you're doing?" Sofia asks with concern, looking at me seriously.

"Yes..." I smile timidly.

Jenna has slowly distanced herself from the "popular" group, making up excuses one after another. Of course, she still continues to be a cheerleader, but this time she avoids any contact with her former best friend, Cassie, who has since become the leader of the group.

"I really see a change in her," I murmur with flushed cheeks. "It's... how can I put it," I whisper. "Kind." I bite my lower lip trying to hide a smile.

The physical violence has decreased considerably, but the insults are still there.

"Y/n/n... I just want you to be happy," Sofia states, wrapping an arm around my shoulder. "Because it seems strange to me that she never shows up with you," she murmurs, trying to make me see reason.

This is true... when we were at school, Jenna never stayed with me, not even in class. We exchanged greetings in the hallways, and then she would go talk to her group of friends. Without looking at me.

But I understood; it wasn't easy to come out, and I would be patient all the time.

"Okay, fine... see you later," Sofia gave me a kiss on the cheek and smiled genuinely before heading to the locker rooms.

I smiled to myself as I turned towards the school's exit. But in the distance, I saw Asher, and my blood froze. The brunette smirked maliciously.

"Get her!" he yelled angrily, and panic engulfed me when a pair of arms dragged me towards the bleachers on the football field.

"What do you want! Let me go!" I screamed, feeling uncontrollable fear. "Please," I whispered, tears forming at the corners of my eyes.

The guys threw me to the ground. "What the hell did you do to Jenna, huh? Why did she distance herself from us?" Asher shouted angrily.

"What? What are you talking about?" I asked in confusion, tears streaming down my cheeks.

A powerful slap made me turn my head in the opposite direction. The pulsating pain shot through my face, and a metallic taste filled my mouth as I bled slightly.

"TELL ME!" Asher muttered through his teeth, his voice filled with anger.

Crying uncontrollably, I felt the searing pain on my cheek. Asher looked at me with eyes overflowing with rage and delivered a violent kick to my stomach, causing me to bend forward.

The pain spread through my body like a wave of fire. It was a sharp, burning pain that seemed to steal my breath away. Tears kept flowing, but I desperately tried to hide them as I endured the physical agony I was enduring.

I spat blood on the ground, looking at Asher with fear and anger.

"I don't know what the hell you want... but I suggest you go to hell," I murmured, forcing a bitter smile, feeling the metallic taste of blood in my mouth.

"Damn..." Asher muttered and leaned in to give me another punch.

I closed my eyes, preparing to take the blow when a voice suddenly interrupted the jerk.

"ASHER!" someone yelled.

I turned towards the sound of the voice and saw Jenna walking towards us with a worried look. Jenna was wearing the cheerleader uniform, most likely preparing for practice.

Jenna alternated her gaze between me and Asher before crouching down and looking at me seriously. Her hands gently moved along my face, trying to assess the wounds.

She clenched her teeth when she saw the deep cut on my cheek, her expression full of concern.

"Are you okay?" Jenna whispered softly.

"Yes..." I replied with a small smile.

"What the hell is going on, Jenna?" Asher asked incredulously. "Since when are you hanging out with this loser?" he questioned skeptically.

Jenna sighed loudly. "Since I fell in love with her... okay?" she said irritably. "What... you..." Asher stammered in surprise.

"You heard me; do you have a problem with that?" Jenna challenged.

Asher looked at his friends and, with a quick glance, they decided it was better to leave. "It's not over, Ortega," Asher muttered before walking towards the school's exit.

Jenna sighed and turned to me.

"You didn't have to..." I began.

"No... I had to, it's the right thing to do," Jenna said with a small smile. "But it wasn't necessary..." I said timidly.

Jenna put her hands around my face, making eye contact with me. "It's necessary to be honest with yourself... and I'm bisexual," she whispered softly, smiling.

Jenna leaned in shyly and joined our lips in a tender kiss.

The kiss was sweet and gentle, a celebration of honesty and mutual acceptance. Jenna's lips were warm and inviting, and our contact grew more intense. It was as if we were merging into a single moment of understanding and affection, and all doubts or fears seemed to fade away.

My hands instinctively rested against her hips, feeling the exposed skin under my fingertips.

Jenna smiled genuinely.

Our lips slowly parted, a trickle of saliva connecting our mouths broke gently.

"You can't understand how long I've been waiting for this," Jenna exclaimed contentedly, giving me a small kiss on the lips.

"Me too..." I whispered softly.

"Do you know that you'll probably have trouble with Asher now, right?" I asked, worried.

Jenna pressed our foreheads together, smiling sweetly. "I don't care anymore... to hell with school and all the jerks like Asher..." she confessed in a breath by my lips.

"The only thing that matters to me is you, my little hippo," she exclaimed, stretching her lips into a beautiful and huge smile.

#jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega #jenna ortega x you #jenna ortega x fem!reader #jenna ortega x y/n #enemy to lovers #wednesday fanfic #wednesday addams x reader #miércoles addams #wednesday x you #wednesday addams x you #country fair #ferris wheel

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ami-v-dragnire · 2 years

Photo

“Get Ready With Me” my comic for the @itsstylishzine! A zine dedicated to Aziraphale's fashion. I love their fashion so much and it's a SHAME you don't get to see all the layers. The song Aziraphale gets dressed to is "Everyday" by Buddy Holly, the almost-theme/opening

pic id below cut

[ID: An illustrated comic of Aziraphale getting dressed for the day. The first panel begins the montage with the angel wing mug full of hot coco and Crowley’s sunglasses on a table surround by books. Aziraphale is singing along to Buddy Holly’s, Every day. “Every day, it’s a-getting closer” plays as Aziraphale buttons up their pale blue dress shirt covering the tattoos on their arms, neck, and chest. “Going faster than a roller-coaster” frames close up shots of them linking their cuff links and putting a heart shaped earring on. “Love like yours will surely come my way” follows a frame of them locking their sock braces and buttoning embroidered suspenders/braces. The socks are tartan-patterned and they have visible leg hair. The embroidery features a snake, flaming sword and red flowers. The page ends with the lyrics “A-hey, a-hey-hey.”

The second page begins with a two panelled shot of Aziraphale tying their tartan-patterned bow-tie and then adjusting it while singing “Every day seems a little longer”. This is followed by a frame of buttoning up their waistcoat to the lyrics “Every way, love’s a little stronger.” The waistcoat is worn around the button, lower lapel, and bottom edge areas. The next frame has them pulled down the waistcoat in adjustment. There is double-albert chain and fob attached to the front. “Come what may” plays as they are now wearing their coat and is pulling it down. The song continues “Do you ever long for true love from me”.

The montage ends with a full body shot of Aziraphale fully dressed. They are mid motion of swaying to the music and turning around. Their neck tattoos are visible over the top of their collar. The lining of the jacket is a light jade eye and wing pattern. They stand with a mirror behind them illuminated by a halo with swords.There is a panel of a close up of a gramophone playing the song. The song continues “Every day, it’s a-getting closer, going faster than a roller-coaster, love like yours will surely come my way”. The next panel shows Aziraphale checking their pocket watch whilst directly singing “A-hey, a-hey-hey”. They continue to sing “Love like yours will surely come my way” but get interpreted half way by a car honk. Aziraphale then says “Oh! On the way down!” whilst moving out of frame. They are smiling.

The final page starts with Crowley outside, leaning against the Bentley. They are humming whilst playing on their phone. Their hair is shoulder length and in a half bun. Some of it spills over their face. Aziraphale greets them with “Hello, my dear” which causes them to look up in the second panel and lower their phone. The last panel fills the lower half of the page. Aziraphale is striding in from the left, hand outstretched. Their coat flows behind them exposing the lining. Crowley is leaning up against the car. Aziraphale and Crowley’s hands are gently grasping each other’s. Crowley says “Looking good, angel.” The comic ends. End ID]

#good omens #good omens fanart #good omens comic #ineffable partners #ineffable wives #Ineffable Husbands #Aziraphale #crowley #good omens zine #aziracrow #its stylish zine #av art #ami v art

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drama-glob · 18 hours

Text

We're supposed to get the Stolas and Blitz duet in the next episode, but you can see that Blitz's outfit is different from the one he normally wears when it appears that Stolas and Blitz are finally having the conversation about their relationship; the same outfit in fact that he's wearing in the screenshots of Fizz. So, whatever misadventure may happen before or maybe seeing Fizz for advice winds up being the main adventure (although I know the latest sneak peek GIF had the DHORK agents in it, but maybe it'll actually be for a different episode, who knows :/), Fizz helps however he can with suggestions and so Blitz brings a bag of things to set the mood, hence the candle, only for it to turn into the actual discussion they need to have and things get intense from there. Yep. This is going to be an emotional roller coaster. ;_; ;_; ;_;

*I find Blitz's outfit interesting since he has the bow-tie of Moxxie and the suspenders of Fizz's, two characters Blitz has feelings for as well as they're two demon in loving relationships with someone else. Hmmm. :/

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mangocustard16 · 6 months

Text

Fair Date🎡💗

| synopsis: On a magical "Fair Night," Hoshi and Y/N, explore a dazzling fairground illuminated by colorful lights, embarking on thrilling rides and sweet indulgences. As their evening culminates with a breathtaking Ferris wheel ride, love and courage come together under the starry sky.

| pairing: bf!hoshi x gn!reader

| genre: fluff

| warnings: none

| w.c: 670

| a/n: if i were to promise hoshi a date this is where i'd take him

On a clear and starry night, you and your boyfriend, Hoshi, decided to have a magical date at the local fair. The fairgrounds were a dazzling spectacle, illuminated by a multitude of colorful lights. The moment you entered, you were greeted by a breathtaking display of twinkling fairy lights strung overhead, casting a soft, enchanting glow over the entire fair.

Hoshi gazed around, his eyes wide with wonder. "Wow, this place looks incredible at night," he said, his voice filled with awe. You grinned and took his hand, feeling the warmth of his fingers in yours. "I knew you'd love it. It's like a dream."

As you strolled through the fair, you marveled at the radiant neon signs adorning various game booths, rides, and food stands. The Ferris wheel, in particular, was a sight to behold. Towering high above the fair, it was adorned with a mesmerizing array of multi-colored bulbs, creating a spectacular light show against the dark night sky. Hoshi's initial hesitation about riding it vanished when he saw how captivating it looked. Hoshi pointed up at the Ferris wheel. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but let's go on that. It's so beautiful." You squeezed his hand gently. "Let's save the best for the last."

Your night at the fair continued as you explored more attractions. The roller coaster, a twisting, glowing serpent, beckoned with its thrilling ride through the night. Every ride and attraction seemed to come alive with the radiance of the evening. The carousel's majestic horses were beautifully adorned with shimmering lights, spinning gracefully in a mesmerizing dance. The roller coaster tracks gleamed like streaks of shooting stars as they twisted and turned, providing an exhilarating rush of adrenaline.

As you exited the roller coaster, Hoshi's eyes landed on a brightly lit stall selling delectable treats. "How about we grab some cotton candy?" he suggested. You nodded, your heart soaring with happiness. With fluffy, pastel-colored clouds of spun sugar in hand, you strolled through the fair, savoring the sweet, melt-in-your-mouth goodness. The sugar rush added to the excitement of the night.

As you and Hoshi approached the balloon shooting game, you noticed how the colorful targets were brilliantly illuminated, making it all the more exciting. Hoshi's eyes sparkled with anticipation as he took aim under the shimmering lights, each shot punctuating the air with a burst of color. Hoshi laughed as he aimed for the balloons. "Let me win something for you." Your laughter echoed his. "You've already won my heart, but a stuffed animal wouldn't hurt!"

Your night at the fair was a truly magical experience, made even more enchanting by the dazzling display of lights. With every step, your hearts grew closer, and the world around you seemed to melt away, leaving just the two of you in a world of twinkling wonder.

As you approached the Ferris wheel once again, Hoshi hesitated. The towering structure looked even more imposing up close, its lights reflecting in his uncertain eyes. You touched his cheek gently and met his gaze. "Hoshi, I know it's scary, but the view there will be breathtaking. I promise you won't regret it." Hoshi took a deep breath and nodded, mustering his courage. "Okay, for you, I'll do it."

As you both ascended to the peak of the Ferris wheel, the breathtaking panorama of the fair, awash in a sea of radiant lights, surrounded you. It was as if you were suspended in a starlit sky, your hearts intertwined. Hoshi, though initially fearful, was now enchanted by the scene. He turned to you with a warm smile, his eyes reflecting the colorful lights. "Thank you for convincing me. This is like a fairy tale come to life." You nodded, your heart skipping a beat. "With you, every moment feels like a fairy tale." You leaned in and shared a sweet, lingering kiss as the Ferris wheel held you at the apex of its rotation. The moment was as captivating as the lights around you, a memory that would stay etched in your hearts forever.

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pedritapascal · 8 months

Text

Max Lord Always Gets What He Wants.

Maxwell Lord Always Gets What He Wants

WARNINGS: Explicit Sex; Sex Language; SA; Fingers; Tongue; Nudity; Explicit Details

Pedro Pascal's character - Maxwell Lord aka Max Lord - [ML]

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

Being in a place like this really suits me. I don't know at what point during the phone call last night, while Jimmy was telling me about what was happening on the Indian reservation in Montana, I thought it would be a good idea to just take the first flight out in the morning to get here.

I look around to see the fence lying on the ground, on one side some Crow tribesmen with rifles resting on their shoulders, pistols in their holsters as they ride their Appaloosas or Arabian horses on the other side of the territory once marked only by the precarious wooden and wire fence on the ground, is the richest family in Montana.

The big case here is, where a huge herd of buffalo can be seen in the distance, it's the land of the Crow tribe, and on the other side of the fence where there are three huge, grim-faced men and where I can see some pedestrians arriving on their tricycles, it's the land of Mr. Lord, yes, Maxwell Lord IV, my father's best friend. Not that I ever really spoke to the man, because he was always meeting with Dad talking about riches and lands, our family gatherings on big occasions or closed contracts, always very cordial and kind to me, I can't remember a time when Max didn't frequent our family. And despite this, I still followed him around the salon whenever I had the chance, wasting a minute or two more on the newspapers where pictures of him appeared. Always overbearing in his luxury suits.

- The animals are here now, no matter what you say, they're ours now - Lodge Grass, the tribe's leader, arches an eyebrow, his strong jaw moving and clenching as he chews his tobacco

And then the whole argument starts again, I try to calm it down, the fact is that yes, the animals are from the Lord's farm, and yes, the buffalo even have a cattle brand on their ear listing each one, but they are here on Indian land now. When the men raise their guns, the weather heats up, the thin trickle of sweat running down the back of my neck gives me goosebumps, and this has nothing to do with Montana's 37° heat, the midday sun doing its job along with the arid terrain…

- Hey hey, Mick, put the damn gun down, Lodge is right - I speak with one foot on either side of the divider where the fence is, right on the division of the land, my hands up asking everyone to calm down before they actually pull the trigger and I end up like a sieve in the middle of this semi-desert. - What a great idea, huh?

- Get out of the way, little girl, you shouldn't be here - Mick complains, pointing his gun at Catori, who is very tense on his horse to my right…

- Well, I guess there's not much point in me coming here every weekend to train the horses on the Lord's estate, is there?

- What the hell? - I hear Mick talking as a helicopter approaches us, dust flies around us, I have to put my hand in front of my eyes to keep from going blind, the loud noise of the propellers makes me dizzy, or maybe it's the logo of the Lord family empire that gives me a damn vertigo, strange things happen in my stomach that tightens and retracts as if I were on the long descent of a roller coaster

- What is it, boys? We can solve this in a civilized way - I hear his voice low, hoarse, the sexy sound of it brushes across my skin like a caress giving me goosebumps, even with the sound of the helicopter gradually diminishing, the propellers stopping turning, his voice is still powerful and strong, like a general making himself heard in the middle of war

The farmhands lower their weapons and I watch as the men behind me refuse to lower theirs, still under their horses.

Maxwell is wearing a dark gray three-piece suit, his black dress shoes match the suspenders I could see when the ends of the suit flew off. His gaze is hidden by his sunglasses.

I turn to look in the direction of the white corsair with dark spots

- Don't you see my niece here? - The voice sounds so much closer now, I feel arms wrap around my waist in an innocent hug

- "That's my favorite niece," he whispered so quietly next to my ear as he looked at me over his glasses, that if it weren't for the shiver that went straight down my spine I'd think I'd just imagined the words.

- "Hi Uncle Max," I shrug, feeling my cheeks heat up strangely, and snort at the indignation of my traitorous body wanting to blush. I don't blush

- Mick, let it go, a few head of cattle won't make any difference - Max slings an arm over my shoulder and starts guiding me towards the helicopter, not taking much notice of the situation…

- But Sir Lord - Mick complains - There's hundreds of dollars in there - The man grunts, sounding disgusted

Maxwell Lord says nothing, just looks at the man, stops him in his tracks and continues his confident steps, guiding me. I'm amazed at how easily he gave up so much money and how quickly he solved the problem by helping the indigenous people in the end.

- When are you going to New York? Has your father told you anything about winning a scholarship? I don't know what the options are, but you should move there - he said, not wanting to talk about what had just happened

I didn't ask him how he knew what was going on here, after all he always seems to know everything, and I didn't need to ask him why he came in person to sort it out. I think your friendship with my father is important enough for him to want to guarantee my safety.

- You make it sound as if I have somewhere to live other than under the bridge - I scoff lowly

"It's not just because my father has some money that he did anything for me, he was very firm after my teenage years that I should make my own money, especially when I refused to follow the career path he had planned for me.

Me, a defense lawyer? That would never work, and he thought it was far inferior to his little girl to be studying political science with an emphasis on social welfare.

- Don't be silly girl, I have an apartment there, you can make yourself at home. - As long as you don't mind me stopping by once in a while on business.

At that moment he had his glasses off and I could see those brown eyes shining at me in the warm sun and I forgot what to say

- Let's see - as he stretches out his hand, beckoning me to get on the helicopter with him, I just say no - I'm going to take advantage of being here and get on with my work, I miss my... your horses - I smile, remembering who's really in charge here

- See you soon then - he kisses my hand, puts his glasses back on and disappears into the helicopter…

************************************************************************

Moving to New York was one of the best choices I could have made, I still miss the farm and the horses I used to train, seven months is a long time without riding, without feeling the wind whipping my hair and the horse's breath synchronized with mine, intelligent and sensitive animals those, able to understand me better than any human being, not to mention the always cold climate of New York and the people always in a hurry and who didn't seem to see you…

Max showed up here four times during that time, none of them telling me he was coming, and I didn't really care, he proved to be great company, we ended up watching something or talking about trivial matters, the last time I just watched as he worked, the sleeves of his dress shirt folded up to his elbows, his tense body hunched forward, looking at a pile of papers, his hair still in place even after hours of work, that day he wore a petrol blue vest and my legs felt weak from watching him concentrate, I can still feel the slight dampness between my legs just with the memory...

I shake my head, trying to concentrate on the papers in front of me, the many books spread out in front of me, having chosen political science as my major is killing me...

I stand up a little to stretch, the black baby doll rides up my back as I stretch and reach for a book on the other side of the table

- Ufhh - I hear a loud sigh behind me and I jump up looking over my shoulder with my heart racing from the shock.

- Hey, it's you - I giggle, going over to Max to give him a hug - I got a fright.

- I didn't mean to - he smiles and hugs me back, his chin resting on the top of my head while his hands go around my waist and rest on my hips, stroking with his thick fingers.

- You look tired - I say, noticing the soft dark circles under his brown eyes, today he's just wearing a white shirt, a black suspender that matches his dress pants and Italian shoes, his jacket hanging on the rack in the hallway

- It's been a long week - he goes into the kitchen, ignoring the papers scattered on the counter, all the things I need to study for next week's exam - I'm going to open some wine to relax, will you join me?

He shakes a bottle of Domaine Leflaive Montrachet, I didn't know much about wine, but I knew it wasn't the cheap stuff I sometimes drank at night while studying, it would certainly be one of the most expensive wines in the world, and even though I'd love to share a glass with him, I thought I'd better not risk it

- It's better not - I say laughing, watching as he pours a good amount into a glass and then grabs another from the cupboard that I can barely reach without standing on my tiptoes, he doesn't even have to stretch - Wine has an effect on me very quickly - smiling in a corner and a little miffed at having been...flirtatious, I shrug, looking away and going into the living room to find something to watch.

- Oh, you're not going to do that, are you? - I saw him coming with both of them in his hand, both with two fingers of wine in each

Well, since it was in the glass, I wasn't going to waste it. I sat down and picked up the glass and he sat down next to me and started telling me about his turbulent day. I loved it when he told me about his problems and asked me for advice on how to act in certain situations where he had to deal with emotion, because according to him, he didn't have a heart, he was 100% rational and that's how you won in life...

He loved how much I paid attention to every word he said and with my raised eyebrows I only ignored when he said that this world would eat me alive if I kept being so sweet...

- Little one, ignore what I say about you being sweet, keep it up, bring balance... it's just today that was - he gasps tiredly, leaning back against the sofa, while I finished my second glass of wine...

And I saw how comfortable he was with me, tie loosened, two buttons open, sleeves folded...

Max pulled my legs apart and let me rest on his lap, his big, warm hand sliding down my calf to my knee as we laughed to some movie playing at a very low volume in the background. I wasn't even paying attention anymore.

And with the first sip of the third glass, my legs itched where I felt his skin touching them, I felt hot and wet, my stomach light and my thoughts running like torrents in my head. When I felt his fingers on my lower thigh, I let out a low moan, unable to disguise the way he was touching me, my skin so tingling that it was impossible for him not to have noticed the hairs on my arm that were bristling

- Max - I moaned again when he put my legs on his lap and I felt the huge erection there

I don't know who moved first, who pulled who or how it happened, I just realized that I was straddling his lap, my thighs hugging his hips while I was right on top of his big, bulging erection. His mouth hit mine hungrily and the low moan I heard made me gasp and get even more aroused, my panties practically sticking to my wet pussy as I began to roll slowly onto his lap

Our tongues intertwined as he deepened the kiss, the wet kiss, with teeth and bites, that slow kiss that leaves your legs weak and your heart racing wildly in your chest. Max's hands grabbed my ass and pressed it hard against his cock, making me moan even more into his mouth, fuck yes, I could feel his length right on my clit. My hands on his face, holding him back for fear that he might run away from me, even though I was the one who should have run away...

- We can't, shit this is wrong - I gasped as our mouths parted

He grabbed me by the back of the neck and pulled me into another kiss, silencing my protests. One of his domineering hands went to my waist and guided me back into the movements so that we could rub together.

My hands now in his hair, gripping and squeezing the back of his neck, we looked like two teenagers who had never experienced a hard-on before in their lives.

I pushed his chest so that he lay back on the sofa and I opened the remaining buttons button by button, so lost in my own hard-on that I could barely think, and just feeling was taking an enormous effort. My hands were shaking, I don't know if it was because I was so horny or because I was so tense that it was really happening. That's when I felt his fingers squeezing my ass, making me rub my honeyed pussy, covered only by the thin fabric of my panties, even harder against his hard cock.

No, it definitely wasn't another dream about Maxwell Lord, he was there, touching me eagerly and thirsty for me too...

As much as it hurt between my legs, I really wanted to taste him. I moved away enough to unzip Max's pants, it was a martyrdom and he complained when he no longer felt the heat of my body so close to his.

When I sidestepped your mouth, kissing your cheek, then biting your neck, dragging my tongue across your chest and past one of your nipples, I looked up and saw your naughty, cornered smile.

- "It's so wrong, Max, but I want it so much," I said whimpering, the weight of my conscience trying to bring some sense to my horny thoughts.

- I want it too, little one, I've always wanted it - he caresses my cheek and just that light touch gives me the strength to continue, he lifts his hips when I pull his underpants down a little to release his erection.

His cock is big, so big that my eyes widen in surprise. It must be about 18 centimeters long, with veins and a bulbous head that's red and irritated with lust, the little pearly drop at the tip makes me salivate with desire as if I hadn't sucked a cock in 84 years.

- You're so beautiful here," I say, stretching out my tongue and catching the drop of pre-cum, moaning when I taste it on my tongue.

- That's it, my little whore, I want to see all my cock in that delicious mouth." The thick, husky voice makes me sigh, he gathers all my hair in his fist and guides my head towards the huge head of his cock.

I wrap my mouth around it, taking in every inch, taking care not to scrape my teeth, I feel his strong thighs tense under my fingers, and I look up in time to see his head falling back and his eyes closing, his fingers tighten in my hair and he pushes slowly so that I swallow more.

- Go on, a bit more, swallow all of my cock - he says quietly, as if he can't keep the strength in his voice and God, I love being able to do that to him.

I relax my throat and swallow the remaining centimeters, feeling the head of his cock touch my throat and throb with my tongue

- Oh, fuck. You're so good at sucking me small

I moved up and down, pressing my lips around the veins and dragging my tongue along the underside, his fingers gripped my hair tightly, immobilizing me, and then he fucked my mouth, pumping, making the head of his cock slip into the back of my mouth again and again.

I grabbed his balls and massaged them between my fingers, motivated by the moans and grunts Max let out as he fucked my mouth.

- Oh my God, stop or I'll come - God, I was loving how he was begging me, the mighty Maxwell Lord, begging me?

He kept begging me as he tried to stop me from continuing.

But I squeezed my lips tighter around his length, my tongue swirling around and over the slit at the tip every time I almost pulled it out of my mouth and then swallowed as much as I could.

I could feel his balls throbbing in my fingers, my legs tensed and he thrust one last hard thrust, moaning as he came in my mouth, the thick strands of cum running down my throat, making me smile and suck the tip clean.

When I sat on his leg, I wiped the corners of my mouth with my thumb, saw how his brown eyes were blazing at me and how his chest was rising and falling while his breathing still hadn't returned to normal...

Max settled down with me on his lap again, one hand sliding up my thigh to grab my ass and the other wiping away the tears that had formed in my eyes when I slid his cock into my mouth.

- I thought I'd told you to stop - he says, squeezing my cheeks with his hand and without leaving me time to reply, he kisses me, tasting himself in my mouth and exploring everything with his tongue

I feel a naughty finger passing through my ass and going to the tight bundle of nerves making me a little tense but then he goes down moaning in my mouth when he feels my panties all wet, pulling them aside he runs two fingers through my pussy and sighs biting my bottom lip

- All wet for me, little one, look how you've made my fingers wet - he brings his wet fingers in front of my face before putting them in his mouth and sucking on them, making a Ploc with his lips.

I'm not a silent person, not really, but my brain seems so melted and full of serotonin that I can't think of anything witty to say in reply

- It's very nice here - Max says, grabbing my ass with both hands, his fingers so firm that I know I'll have his fingerprints all over me the next day - But my bed is bigger - he adds as he pulls me onto his lap.

Fuck that's wrong, very, very wrong. But fuck, I'm in love.

- Don't you think it's a bit strange? Us doing this, huh? - I ask, kissing his neck as he carries me towards the master bedroom he always uses when he comes over...

- No, nothing's wrong here - he presses his fingers into my ass and throws me onto the bed, making me squeal with laughter.

I take a moment just to look at Maxwell Lord, he looks like a Greek god of sex and sin, his hair, which has always been in order even after hours of work, is messy, his tie is open and hanging from his strong neck, his white shirt is open, showing the few hairs on his chest and the way to his doom, his forearms with thick, visible veins are bare and the fabric is folded up.

His suspenders are down, falling close to his knees, and his open pants show his black boxer briefs. On his face is the damn corner smile that makes me gasp and squeeze my legs together

Realizing how affected I am by the sight of him still dressed, he makes no effort to take off his clothes. Instead, he climbs onto the big bed on his knees like a lion ready to corner its prey, pushes my knees apart with his hands and stares at me seriously, taking off my baby doll shorts, and then when he grabs the ends of my panties, he tugs hard, tearing the fabric. I take advantage of this and finish taking off the rest so that he can have all of me...

His concentrated eyes focused completely between my legs, his red tongue flicked across my lips and he lowered himself without saying a word, taking a long lick of my soaked slit, from my perineum to my swollen clitoris I could feel the moist touch making me press my fingers into the pillow and close my eyes

- You have such a sweet little pussy - he said, giving it another long lick, making my legs tremble with tension - I'm going to love spending hours here

- Ho-hours? - I ask, choking when I feel his tongue penetrating my entrance and I feel his fingers parting my lips to give him better access - Fuck, Max, I'm not coming...

I grow silent as he runs his tongue up my clitoris in tight, languid circles, sucking and rubbing the nerve endings.

- Shiiiiiu, you're going to take it, I'm going to make you take it - he says with a cocky smile, always overbearing, and I love it - I'm going to give my little whore everything she needs, don't worry little one...

He adds a second finger to the first and goes back to sucking all over my pussy except the point where I need it, he licks and bites my lips, takes his fingers out and then sticks his tongue in as far as he can and then comes back with his fingers, driving me crazy, making me gasp and moan with abandon. The heat between my legs spreads to my belly and down my legs, my head feels heavy and I try to keep my eyes open looking at his handsome face as he pleasures me

Whenever I'm close to cumming, he slows down, making the shivers of orgasm go away and leaving me on the edge of the precipice of wonderful cumming and frustration, frustration that he soon pushes away as he begins his torture all over again.

- Oh shit, I never thought you'd be a patient man - I moan between my teeth when I feel the light blow right on my clit making me shiver and moan

The light slap on my breast came as punishment and then I felt his fingers roll over the nipple and squeeze the hard tip making me even crazier, pushing my hips towards him.

- I'm very patient - he punctuates by slipping a finger into me again, slowly in and out several times - You have no idea how much - a second finger joins the first and the movements speed up making me hopeful that he's finally going to make me come - I've had to wait a few years for this, I'm going to fuck you all night - he mumbles this last part, as if he thinks I'm going to refuse.

It seems so.

Three of his big, thick fingers fuck me and when they're all the way inside me he curves them slightly upwards, touching something very close to what I need. When his tongue touches my clit and I hear the moan of appreciation, I don't need much more than one or two stimulations to finally explode in an orgasm that makes me shudder and scream his name, my eyes shut tightly as my lungs explode with the air I didn't even realize I was holding.

It takes a while to feel his weight on top of me, his hand running down my leg from my calf to my thigh and pulling it towards his hip. I felt the big head of his cock at my entrance and stifled a surprised yelp when it slid all the way in in one hard, fluid movement

- Aah, fuck, don't move - I say panting, pressing my hands that were previously dead on the mattress to his back, trying to hold his body to mine and keep him still.

- "Fuck, you've got a huge cock," I complain, but I can't stop myself from smiling when I feel the lips on my neck - which had been kissing there before - stretching and the breath of his kettle laugh close to my ear.

- I'm not going to move - Max says, lifting his tight lips in concentration, his eyes two small, shiny slits, the wrinkles around his eyes and mouth appearing

- You're so fucking small everywhere, aren't you?

Now it's my turn to laugh. He squeezes my ass hard as if staying still like this is too much of an effort, I kiss his chin, and his neck, run my nails lightly down his back and try to roll over feeling a little wider for his cock and less uncomfortable, when I do it a second time he understands that it's okay and pulls out only halfway and then enters again with a slower movement Breathing hard

- Faster - I'm almost begging as I start to feel ready again, the easy slide of his cock because of how wet I've gotten from the first orgasm.

Max kisses me deeply, his tongue assaulting me in a slow kiss as he thrusts hard and goes all the way inside me, I gasp into his mouth and he swallows all my moans. The sound of our bodies fills the room, the thrusts getting faster and stronger, the hand that was on my ass goes up to my breast, paying attention to my nipples while the other holds him above me

- I'm so close," I say, still listening to his dirty whispers in my ear.

- "Then come for me, lick all over my cock," he murmurs and I almost scream at the shocks I feel when his fingers reach between us and rub my clit.

I feel another wave through my body, this one calm and spreading through all my limbs, without being that crazed explosion, every part seems to heat up, shivering and tensing and then the relief comes like gentle waves of the sea kissing my skin and sliding between my legs. I'm so soft and lost that it takes me a while to realize he's moved away, his sweaty chest no longer touching mine and the fabric of his pants rubbing against my legs.

Max turns me over on my stomach and puts a pillow under my belly. He slams both hands down on my ass, making a loud pop, and shoves his cock into me again without slowing down as before.

I've never been quiet during sex but I can't think of anything to say or do, I can only enjoy the sensation of him so deep inside me. I know he's about to come when his thrusts become frantic and erratic, his fingers press hard into my hips as I meet his movements, he pulls out again cursing and cursing and I feel the hot come hitting my back and ass, I turn to look at him over my shoulder, Max has his head thrown back, his eyes closed and his mouth slightly open, the veins in his forearm are so dilated that I can see the slightly green color, his shirt is open, his chest is heaving and I can still see his pants halfway down his thighs.

With a long sigh, he opens his eyes and smiles at me. With two fingers, he spreads his cum all over my ass and uses them to lightly stroke my asshole, making me tense up a little.

- Relax, little one, we've got all night - he reminds me with his other hand caressing my back, lightly slipping just the tip of his finger into the cluster of muscles and nerves and smiling again as I try not to tense up - Hasn't anyone ever played with you here?

- No, sir, Lord." I nod, smiling, still looking at him over my shoulder.

- Then let's take a shower, today everything you have will be mine. - Stretching out his hand to help me, since I looked weak...

I'd never dared to go into the bathroom of Max's suite, but once I went into his room when he wasn't there just to get another blanket because it was a cold night in New York and I felt like an intruder in that place.

Max always liked a lot of luxury, and his bathroom was no different, a rectangular bathtub that ran from one wall to the other, almost a swimming pool, not that I hadn't had luxury in my life, I had until the moment I took my father to be free, and I'm sure that if I hadn't done that, this night wouldn't be happening.

Max turned on the taps as the bath filled up, and I just watched him as he moved around, still in his clothes, standing in front of the sink, removing his rings, his Swiss watch, he looked at me in the mirror with a smile in his corner as I watched his every move sitting on the edge of the bath, waiting for the moment when my body would actually touch his... he was enjoying seeing the effect he was having on me.

- Come on, little one, I'll help you get in - taking me by the hand to help me

- Hey, but you...?

- Shiiiu, just obey me...

I've never been one to obey anyone, but he had me like under a spell, so I did, I sat in the bath, the water warm, he was still sitting outside, he took my hand, stuck two fingers in my mouth, making them wet.

He took my hand to the middle of my legs...

-When I'm not here, and you touch yourself, do you think of me? - pushing my hand deeper inside me and pulling it back

- "I-I do, sir," I said, biting my lower lip.

-And when you come, do you call my name?

- S- yes... - I moaned low, like a whimper, not sure if I was too shy to confess that I was thinking of him like that, or if my voice failed me because of the hard-on that was taking over my body.

- So now you're going to touch yourself, while I watch you until you come for me, little one...

He stood up, leaned against the sink, crossed his arms at chest height, he looked me up and down, as if he owned me, and that night, he did...

- Go on, you can start... he motioned with his head for me to start for him... and I readily obeyed...

I put one leg on either side of the bath, so that he could see me completely, I leaned my head back a little and left my hands where he put them, I felt the slight shocks on my clit as I moved my fingers up and down, Max just watched me with his lower lip bitten.

- Moan louder for me little one - he ordered

It didn't take much effort at that point, as I started to circle my fingers, I felt a wave of pleasure coming over me, and another orgasm coming as I whispered his name, just like those nights when I wanted him...

Max enjoyed everything to the end and approached the bathtub, I was still gasping from my last orgasm when I saw him finally take off his shirt, leaving it on the floor... and then his pants and underwear.

I adjusted myself in the bath as he got in and pulled me close to him, I felt his hands on the back of my neck and his lips on mine, a long kiss...

I could finally feel his body on mine, the touch of his skin on mine, as we kissed I enjoyed every bit of him with my hands, I squeezed his strong arms, smoothed my hands down his back a little, until I reached his ass, where I squeezed slowly and felt him smile in the middle of the kiss.

- I never thought that behind all your sweetness, you were hiding this horny woman - tucking my hair behind my ear

- Does that bother you?

- No, of course not, it surprised me in fact, in a positive way, I don't think I'd have the patience to teach you things - smiling

- Always overbearing, aren't you Maxwell Lord - squinting - Can I ask you a question?

- Of course...

- You said today that you've waited years for this... what do you mean? You're not going to tell me that since I was 18, like in those novels we read and the guy is just waiting for the girl to come of age and? - he interrupts me

- Buurf - he snorts - Of course not, it was later... actually - he seems to remember when it was - Remember a Thanksgiving about five years ago?

- And how can I forget...

- It was that day, you were already 21, in college, doing law, and in the middle of dinner, while your father was talking about what your life would be like, you stood up and said you'd dropped out of college four months ago

- My father almost had a heart attack that day - I remember with wide eyes

- Yes, the vein in his forehead popped out - Max laughs as he remembers the scene -

That's when I saw you as a woman for the first time... and then when you came with the excuse of training the horses at the stud farm, because you had nowhere to stay, since your father had cut down everything?

- But I really wanted to train the horses... I just wanted to combine the useful with the pleasant

- Did you know that I started visiting that stud farm more after you went there? And I loved watching you from the balcony in the late afternoon while you rode...

I'd never seen you like that, talking about your memories with such sincerity, even more so with me...

- So you mean I was in Max Lord's thoughts? - I try to be overbearing, but he doesn't answer, he just raises an eyebrow at me, pulling me closer to him as he glues his mouth to mine again...

His kiss is slow, but hard, as if he doesn't want to lose any of me there, one of his hands holding me by the back of the neck, under my hair, and the other gluing me to him, down my hips, lifting one of my legs, I feel his thumb passing through my bct, I moan softly into his mouth, he sticks his thumb in quickly before going down a little further, I feel the tension when he starts to caress my ass, and he says into my mouth.

-Just relax

My body trembles, I hold him by the nape of the neck as he thrusts deeper and deeper, letting out low moans still in his mouth...

- Max...

He continues until he's halfway in, and pulls it back out, slowly making his way back in, his mouth descending to my neck, while I felt his tongue licking it, he played with my ass as he wanted...

- It won't be good for you here - he whispered in my ear - Let's go back to bed, so I can fuck your ass…

************************************************************************

Max lay down on top of me, pulled the hair out of my face and kissed me affectionately

- I promise I'll be careful, I just need you to trust me, okay, little one? Brushing his nose against my cheek

I just nodded, I was tense, but I wanted him there so much...

Max put me on my side and lay down behind me, like a little mattress, I felt his bare chest touch my back and his lips kissed the back of my neck, going down to my shoulders, his hand was now searching for my pussy, he opened me up a little to reach my clit, making me wet again, he ran his fingers inside it, taking as much of my libido as he could, and began to caress my ass calmly while still kissing the back of my neck, I felt the head of his huge cock forcing its way in, my body tensed.

- shiiiiii, calm down, if it hurts, just tell me

Him whispering in my ear was just what I needed to relax, my hand gripping the mattress as I felt him invading me, at first I thought it would hurt more, but I was anesthetized and held by Max's huge arms, he kept thrusting halfway in, his hand started holding my neck, taking the air out of me a little, as if he was going to suffocate me, I felt his hot breath in my ear

- You're so tight, baby," he snorted.

I thrust my hips more towards him, causing more of his cock to enter me, I felt him gasp and hold my hips, Max started to pump hard and slow while moaning and whispering in my ear, his hand went down from my hip to my clit where he started to touch me while he pounded faster and faster into my ass, I was in ecstasy, feeling his hips already hitting my ass, and his moans getting louder and louder

- Come for me again little one - as he circled my clit with his fingers - I'm going to come inside your ass now

I'd lost count of how many times Max had made me come so far, but I could feel the next wave coming, and God, him pumping so deep into my ass was really driving me crazy...

I thrust my hips even more as I came, and I called his name loudly MAX... I gasped loudly and heard him moan, straddling me as he pumped his entire cock into my ass, Max moaned loudly and stroked his face through my hair, and I felt him come inside me, his sweaty body glued to mine as our breathing returned to normal, I felt him slowly pull out of me

- You were great, little one - he whispered in my ear - better than in my fantasies...

Max turned me towards him, smoothing my hair out of my face... he smoothed my cheek and kissed my forehead, then went down to my mouth, lay down and pulled me to his chest...

When I woke up Max wasn't in bed with me. If it weren't for the insistent pain in all the right places on my body I might think it was just another one of my torrid dreams about him, but the throbbing pain in my pussy and ass won't let me forget that so quickly

Good Mr. Maxwell Lord, I look forward to your next visit...

PEDRITA PASCAL

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missmungoe · 1 year

Text

Spoilers for chapter 1079! Shanks x Makino, follows this is what the kids call couple goals

Coasters are non-negotiable

“Are you sure that’s all of them?”

She was moving between the pirates on deck, most of them still out cold, while some were slowly coming to, coughing up seawater. Even with Brogy and Dorry’s help, it had taken some effort getting them all out of the sea, but then she had insisted on getting every last one.

Kneeling down beside one of the pirates who’d awoken, Shanks saw him look at her in surprise. It was the guy who’d surrendered their poneglyph rubbings, his confusion evident as he looked from Makino to the crew who’d gathered around her. “W-We’re not dead?”

“You’re in luck,” Yasopp said, his arms crossed where he leaned back against the mast. “Boss wasn’t messing around.”

Seated on the crate beside him, Shanks said nothing, observing her progress as she moved between the pirates, his haki having already assured him that they were all still kicking, but then she’d insisted on checking them herself.

Her voice was pitched too softly for him to hear what she said to them, but he saw their faces, shaped first with confusion, then something akin to wonder, their hands reaching after her instinctively as she moved on, until she finally arrived at their captain where he’d been laid out in the middle of the deck.

He was coming awake, blinking blearily up at the sky. Shanks saw that he was bleeding from his head, and didn’t envy him the headache. He’d heard his haki in its dormant form described as a mild hangover. After a direct hit of the undiluted stuff, Kidd would be nursing the mother of them all.

His crew had noticed him coming to, their voices sobbing with relief. “Captain!!”

“He’s alive!!”

For his part, Kidd didn’t look it, but then he’d looked like a mess before Shanks had stepped in.

He saw his eyes moving, his brow furrowing at the sight of Red Force’s masts, before they settled on Makino where she sat on her knees beside him.

He blinked up at her, before he noticed the rest of their crew where they loomed protectively behind her, and his eyes widened, his reaction as instinctive as his anger as his mangled arm reared back to lash out at her, but Shanks had already seen it, and didn’t move, even as his crew did, but before they could intercept him, the gentle touch of a small hand to his arm had Kidd seizing.

“No need for that,” Makino said, with the inflection Shanks had once heard her use with Luffy when he’d thrown a tantrum, as she lowered the scraps of his arm back down. “You should be taking it easy.”

Sitting up now, Kidd looked like he wasn’t sure where he’d woken up. “Who the hell are you?” he croaked, the seawater in his lungs leaving his voice even rougher than usual, as blood-shot eyes took her in where she sat, pausing on her kerchief and her velvet and silver-threaded cloak, before lowering to Siren on her hip.

A barkeep with considerable experience, Makino was unfazed by the rude address, although the same couldn’t be said for the rest of their crew.

“That’s no way to address our lady!!”

“And after she insisted we save your ass from drowning, too!”

“Boss, do you want us to toss him back in?”

That last question hadn’t been directed at him, Shanks noted wryly, and saw Kidd’s confusion where it pulled at his features.

“No one is going overboard,” Makino said. Then to Kidd, still gawking at her, “But there’ll be no violence in my bar. I’ll also expect you to use coasters on my new counter. Are we clear?”

Half-drowned and beaten within an inch of his life, Kidd just stared at her, before he blurted hoarsely, “What?”

Yasopp leaned in to ask Shanks, “Is he just thick, or did you hit him a little too hard?”

Kidd’s gaze moved from Makino to Shanks, who pointed towards the deckhouse and the door to their galley, above which the sign of their bar hung suspended, the carved siren on her rock swinging gently in the breeze.

Kidd stared at it for a long beat, before looking back at Makino and the crew gathered around her, pausing briefly on Ben where he stood holding the baby, before his gaze finally settled on Shanks, still sitting on the crate, his outward ease betrayed only by the hand resting over the pommel of his sword, but then if he made any sudden moves towards her, he’d be dead before he could finish thinking it.

Smiling, Shanks made sure he knew it, but what he said was, “She’s dead serious about the coasters. I forgot yesterday and she threatened to divorce me. Do I need to remind you who built you that pretty counter, wife?”

“The coasters are non-negotiable,” Makino said demurely, the words directed at all of them, before she turned back to Kidd, whose crew had gathered around him, sobbing with joy, and who still looked like he wasn’t sure where he’d woken up.

“So what will it be, Captain Eustass Kidd,” Makino said, the tilt of her head making the gold rings in her ears catch the light. “Will you have a drink, or will you keep resisting?”

She smiled, her kind eyes curving, and with a gentleness that Shanks felt compelled to point out was far more terrifying than anything he could have managed, said,

“Choose wisely.”

#opspoilers #One Piece 1079 #One Piece chapter 1079 #opfanfic #Shanks #Red-Haired Shanks #Akagami no Shanks #Eustass Kid #Red-Hair Pirates #Shanks x Makino #One Piece Makino #fanfiction #mungoe writes

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beefrobeefcal · 9 months

Note

Ok ok ok… we’ve seen defensive mouse when someone hits on her and talks down on Frankie but what about if someone tried to flirt with Frankie? What would she do? What would Frankie do🤷🏻‍♀️

Oh HOW I LOVE THIS! How would our Mouse react? Thank you, Nonnie, for planting that THOT.

Our fav chubby guy may have a thing or two to learn, but thankfully, he's ready and willing to put in the work.

Beefro 👌🥩💜

--------<3----------

Beefro Proudly Presents:

a Chubby!Frankie one shot

The Catfish & The Mouse: Just Desserts

Pairing: Frankie Morales x Fem!Reader (Mouse!)

Summary: A novel and sweet apology.

Rating: Explicit 18+ (MDNI)

Word Count: 3,163

Content Warning: Smutty smutty smut smut, swearing, name calling, Nasty Lady, Body Insecurity, Oral (F receiving), Licking things off things, food in bed, big mess, coming in pants

Author's Notes: Our Mouse is ready to fight anyone who disrespects her Frankie. But is he willing to do the same? Please suspend your disbelief for a moment and allow confectionary sweets to roam places it never should in the real world.

Not proofed. Enjoy!

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You’d taken Elise for dinner after work to say thank your for driving you all week – your car was in the shop waiting for a new bumper after being hit in a parking lot. Frankie had asked if you wanted to meet at the bar before heading home, so Elise dropped you off after dinner.

“Hey honey, what’re you doin’ sitting here all alone?”, a woman asked Frankie as she sat down next to him, teasing her straw with her teeth.

Frankie looked around to see who she was talking to, assuming it was one of the other men sitting along the bar. He’d gone to his favourite burger joint for dinner prior to the bar and had his fill. He didn’t think anyone would approach him given his big, full tummy was now pressing up against the bar.

When her gaze kept at him, he raised his eyebrows and took a drink of his beer. She was curvy and wore a short, emerald green dress with a plunging neckline that amplified her ample chest and thick thighs. Frankie couldn’t deny that she was attractive, but he wasn’t interested.

“I, uh… I’m just waiting for someone.”, he said politely, his fingers playing with the coaster under his drink.

“You want company while you wait, honey?” She leaned in and put a hand on his knee.

“I… whoa… that’s… uh… I’m good. I’m actually waiting for my girl-FRIEND!”, Frankie said, squeaking the last word as her hand moved dangerously up his thigh.

He gently gripped her wrist and place it on the bar, giving her a nevous grin.

“No need to be shy, honey. I know what a big guy like you wants from a woman, you just gotta ask.”, she crooned with a wink, her voice dripping with sex.

Frankie’s eyes darted around, and he politely said with a nod, “No thanks. I’m good.”

You arrived at the bar and walked in, immediately seeing a beautiful woman talking with Frankie. While you couldn’t hear what was being said by the woman, you knew what was going on based on both of their body languages as you walked up to the bar. She was gorgeous and you were intimidated.

You approached Frankie and pressed a kiss to his cheek. He put his arm around your waist and held you firm, and you looked at the woman and narrowed your eyes at her while she smiled back at you.

“Thank you for keeping my seat warm.”, you said curtly, and nodded for her to move.

“And I thought you were here to take our order. My mistake.”, the woman hissed with a faux-smile, then looked at Frankie, and put a hand on his thigh. “Come find me if you need another seat warmed, big guy.”

Seeing her hand touch him made you take a step towards her and Frankie stood up quickly, seeing where this was going, and hand on your shoulder, pulling you back gently.

You snarled at her, “Touch him again and I’ll break your fing…”

“Oh honey, I’d love to see a little thing like you try it.”, the woman spat back as she stood up, then looked up at Frankie who was standing behind you. “Come on, handsome, you don’t wanna be stuck being a dog catcher. Drop the little bitch and we’ll find somewhere private.”

“Oh, fuck you!”, you snapped, balling up your fist.

Frankie grabbed you by the waist and pulled you back. “Mouse! Come on!”

“Mouse? More like a fucking rat.”, she laughed. She looked to Frankie and said in a sarcastic tone. “Good luck with your rodent problem.”

Your eyes widened as your jaw clenched. You could feel your fists tighten as the woman winked at you and got up from her seat. You could feel your blood boiling in your veins while Frankie kept his grip on you tight; he kissed your head and shushed you.

You watched as the woman sauntered away, feeling uneasy with her words and immediately began to compare yourself to her, making yourself angrier.

“Calm down, Mouse.”, he said softly, kissing your cheek, but your eyes didn’t leave the direction of the woman.

You’re breaths were shallow and short from the rage you felt and Frankie kept his breathing even and calm, trying to get you to follow. He finally let you go when he was satisfied that you had calmed down, and you both sat at the bar. He reached out and put a hand on the small of your back, but you shook him off. Before he could say anything, you spoke in a monotone voice.

“Your new friend was… something. So glad you know how to come to my defense, Frank.”, you sneered through gritted teeth, your eyes remained focused on the bar counter in front of you.

“Mouse,”, Frankie spoke with a sigh, not wanting to dwell on it. “I was just waiting for you, and she showed up. You got here a minute after she sat down. Okay? I told her I wasn’t interested, and I was waiting for you.”

You only hummed in response and raised your eyebrows, and he took it as your cue that this wouldn’t be the end of it.

He took a deep breath before saying as calmly as possible, “Why don’t we head home. I think I’m about done here.”

“Yeah, sure thing. Frank.”, you said in that same tone. He motioned to the bartender for his bill.

The car ride home was silent, minus the sounds of the radio. Just as Frankie turned the truck into your neighbourhood, you finally spoke.

“Why didn’t you say anything to her? Tell her to fuck off and get her hands off you. Or maybe fuck her up for calling me a rat!”, you spoke harshly..

“I’m not fighting with you, baby.”, Frankie responded calmly.

“I’m not trying to fight. I’m asking you a perfectly simple question. You let her rub your thigh and call me a fucking rat. You did dick fuck all and you said jack shit about any of it, you fucking coward.”, you said in a nasty tone.

“Mouse! Come on, knock it off!”, he barked back, then took a deep breath and said quieter, “It’s over. Please, let’s just get home and forget it ever happened.”

“Fuck you, Frank.”, you spat.

“Grow the fuck up, Mouse.”, he yelled back at you.

The hot, frustrated tears were burning your eyes and you didn’t trust your voice to no betray you. He didn’t get it. He could have done anything other than sit there. But he didn’t, and it left you wondering if there was maybe a reason why he didn’t. You felt Frankie look over at you a few times, and you decided to just ask the question that was burning a hole in your brain.

“Do you want me to look like that?”, you asked fighting with your voice to not crack and give away how much this was hurting you, fidgeting with the zipper on your purse.

“Do I… what?”, he groaned, shaking his head. “Mouse… don’t do this.”

“How can I not? She was gorgeous!”, you snapped, “Did you see her tits? Of course, you fucking did. Is that why you didn’t say anything?”

“Mouse! I said knock it off!”, he yelled angrily at you as put the truck in park in your driveway and pulled the keys out of the ignition. “I’m not fucking doing this with you!”

As soon as the words left his mouth and he saw you flinch, he regretted it. He sighed and watched you get out of the truck and slam the door with tears on your face, and it hit him why you were upset; you’d spent a lot of energy lately reminding him that he was attractive and how much you loved him, even going so far as to almost get in a fight with someone at your work event because a guy insulted him. And tonight, he essentially let a random woman insult you and said nothing in your defense. And now, he’d hurt you, his beautiful, feisty, sexy Mouse.

He quickly followed you into the house, trying to catch you, but was only able to watch as you headed down the hallway to your bedroom, slamming the door. Once he heard the shower running, he sighed and sat on the couch. He felt like an idiot, an asshole; he;d become one of those guys who just sat back and watched instead of intervening. He debated on going in and talking to you, trying to figure out how he could fix this, but decided he would need a snack to get in the right head space. Opening the fridge, he saw a something that gave him an idea.

Once showered, you quickly dried off and put on some baggy lounge clothes. Now that your anger was pretty well gone, you were left feeling like an idiot from you taking it out on Frankie. You changed into your sweatshirt and sweatpants, then walked into your bedroom and saw Frankie sitting on your bed with a bottle of chocolate sauce in his hand.

“What the fuck is this?”, you groaned, motioning towards him on the bed.

“I’m sorry.”, he said, trying to give you his best big puppy eyes.

“I really don’t want to talk to you right now, Frankie.”, you sighed, rubbing your face.

At least it’s back to Frankie. He thought to himself, this giving him the courage to continue.

“I am sorry. I don’t ever want you to feel like I’m not on your side, and I know tonight, I fucked up.”, he spoke softly, getting up from the bed and stepping cautiously towards you.

While you didn’t tell him to stop or push him back, you didn’t give him any sign that he was welcome either.

“I guess I figured you had it handled and didn’t need to say anything... and I know I was wrong. I'm so sorry, baby.”

He reached out and took your hand in his, fully expecting you to rip it back, but you didn’t. He took a step closer to you gently pulled you into a hug, and you eventually hugged him back, not being able to resist him any longer.

“What’s with the chocolate sauce?”, you asked into his chest.

“Wanted dessert and I was wondering if you could help me with that.”, he said in a low voice. “Got some chocolate sauce and nothing to put it on… any ideas?”

“Frankie…”, you sighed and pulled back, trying to suppress a smile.

“What?”, he asked with a grin.

“I… I love you… so much… I just feel kinda… not great… right now…”, you said, grimacing and looking up at him.

“How about then you let me show you how sorry I am and what a fucking smoke show you really are. Then dessert.”, he said in a husky voice as le leaned down and kissed you.

He took the small moan you gave as a ‘yes’, and back you to the bed, laying you down.

He knelt at the end of the bed and picked up your foot, pushing your sweatpants up to expose your ankle. He kissed it, placing it on his shoulder, and began to rub his hand over your clothed leg towards your centre.

“I’m so sorry, pretty girl… love how your feel in my hands… body was made for me, Mouse…”, he murmured while maintaining eye contact with you.

You couldn’t help but lay back and be mesmerized by touch. The affection he was handling you with was playing with your heart strings in the best way.

His hands were on your waist, and he raised his eyebrows at you to ask for your approval to remove your pants. You nodded and with one quick movement, your sweatpants were tossed over his shoulder, quickly followed by your panties. He continued to run his hands over your legs, again starting at your ankles then working his way back up, slowly and with the intention to show how much he appreciated you.

He leaned forward between your legs and moved his hands up your torso under your sweatshirt. He gently tugged the shirt over your head and threw it to join your other clothes on the floor.

Laying naked before him while he remained fully clothed had you feeling vulnerable, and you went to cover yourself.

“Look at me, princess. Don’t need to cover anything. Look what you do to me.”, he murmured with a grin as he palmed the bulge in his pants.

His mouth came down on your mouth and he kissed you deeply. He pulled his mouth away and when you moved to trying and recapture his lips with a whine, he hushed you and kissed your jaw, then your neck while he palmed one of your tits with his big hand. He moved down further and captured your nipple in his mouth, sucking and teasing it between his lips, eliciting a moan from you while arching your back into his touch.

“Too fucking good for me… love you so much”, he murmured as he sat up, looking over your body.

“Frankie…”, you whimpered and reached out for him to come back. “Please…”

“I know, princess. I know…”, he cooed, grabbing the chocolate sauce bottle. “You look so fucking tasty, baby.”

Seeing the bottle, your eyes shot open wide. “Frankie! No!”

With a smirk, he opened the bottle and squeezed the contents out on to your torso, and you gasped at the cold substance hitting your skin.

“Jesus Christ! The bedding!”, you yelped, your hands unintentionally touched the sticky sauce.

He threw the empty bottle on the floor and his mouth was on you, sucking and licking, starting with your neck, and you no longer gave a shit about the bedding and the mess he had made on it.

He pulled his chocolate-covered face up to look at you with a wide grin and he pressed his tongue on your sternum, then licked up between your tits and you let out a low whine.

“Look so fucking good, baby… laid out, ready for me to eat you… fucking delicious”, he growled, taking your tit into his mouth again and sucking hard, his tongue flicking your nipple. You keened and your hips bucked up against him.

He moved down to your stomach and began licking the chocolate sauce that had pooled in your belly button.

“Fucking gorgeous… so fucking tasty… perfect for me…”, he mouthed against your toned stomach.

His satisfied groans and grunts sounded deliciously obscene to you; your dripping cunt throbbed and clenched on nothing. Your sticky hands went to his hair, and you panted and moaned. You had no idea that this could be as erotic as it was.

“Frankie… baby…”, you whined. “Please… oh fuck...”

He sat up and took his now chocolate-coated shirt off. You sat up with him and palmed his belly, leaving sticky handprints on him. Your hands went to his belt, but he stopped you.

He shook his head with a grin and guided you back down. “Dessert first.”

He pressed his large body on you and began kissing, licking and nipping his way back down your torso, dragging himself over you, until his mouth is breathing right on your mound. He stops and grins again. “I fuckin’ love you. No one hold a candle to you, princess. Tell me what I can do to prove that to you, baby. Tell me while I get fatter on your pussy for the rest of the night.”

Before you could answer, he licked up your slit, then began to fuck you with his tongue.

“Oh fuck, Frankie!”, you cried out, your hands going to his hair again. “I… oh fuck… I love you… please…“

Frankie replaced his tongue with his finger and kept the pace. He brought his head up to look at you.

“Look at me, princess.”, he coaxed. When you didn’t comply, he said a little firmer, “Come on, princess… look at me, baby… I asked you a question.”

“Please… don’t stop…. don’t stop…”, you panted. You were already close from how wound up you were from Frankie’s attention to your body, and you knew you wouldn’t last long.

“Tell me what I can do to prove I don’t want anyone else… tell me, princess…tell how I can say sorry...”, he said in a deep voice before l putting his mouth on your clit and flicking it with his tongue.

You cried out and panted, your orgasm forcing its way through you, and you moaned, “Fuck… I just… need you… need you… fuck, Frankie…”

He hummed and grunted into your pussy, continuing to finger fuck you and assault your clit through your orgasm, pushing you to talk.

You cried out and writhed, making Frankie hold your hips in place. He kept up his pace and felt your walls start to flutter. He hummed as he sucked and fucked you.

“Frankie… please!... it’s … it’s too much…”, you cried out.

He shook his head then lifted it, “Tell me, princess… please baby.”, he moaned, his own hips trying to grind into the mattress to alleviate his own arousal.

“Fran-oh my god… please! Frankie!... want you to… to get angry… fight for me…”, you whined.

“Fuck… princess… yeah… keep talking…”, he grunted into your pussy, finally finding a satisfying angle to grind his cock into on the bed.

Then he added another finger, and you pulled on his hair.

“Want you… t-to be… fuck, oh god!... be jealous… mark me… make me yours… make it hurt!”, you cried out, then screamed as you came a second time, your cunt clamping down on his fingers and gushing onto his fingers and chin, the onto the bed.

Frankie grunted and panted into your pussy a few more times as his movements slowed.

You both laid on the bed in your sticky mess, panting; you on your back, knees open, and Frankie on his stomach, face first in your pussy.

“Frankie?”, you spoke in a hoarse voice.

“Hmmm?”, he responded, getting up on his elbows to look at you.

“You haven’t come up here yet and fucked me.”

He groaned, and crawled up next to you and kissed you gently. You tasted a bizarrely erotic mix of yourself and chocolate on his tongue.

He pulled back just a bit and whispered with a laugh. “I came in my fucking pants.”

“Oh… that’s… new….”, you said with eyebrows raise, trying to keep from laughing.

It didn’t work as you both fell into a fit of giggles and kisses.

“Can we clean this up tomorrow? Sleep in the guest room tonight?”, you whispered after your giggles had died down.

He chuckled, “Yup… this is a tomorrow problem. I’ll be better prepared for next time.”

“Next time?”, you asked.

“Yeah. The next time I fuck up and feel like coming in my pants.”

You both laughed and headed for the shower.

__________________________

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