#I’ll probably still check it when I get around to posting

[wafflefries13]

The Consequence of Late Night Calls

Summary: You've been friends with Katsuki for years, and you've always thought it's been just that - friends. But when you get a late-night call, it might just change things.

AN: Last repost! The original post got eaten by Tumblr. I'm still really proud of this one. I wrote it back when I was first starting to publish fanfic and I like how it turned out.

Warnings: College au, drinking, language

The call shocked you out of a deep but impromptu sleep. You jerked up from the noise, a page of lecture notes sticking to your check. It fluttered back to the desk covered in its own mess of loose leaf documents, used textbooks that cost more than a weekend trip to Disney World, and a laptop missing three of its letter keys. 

You dragged your tongue against your teeth, trying to get rid of the cotton feel coating the inside of your mouth. Rubbing stars into your tired eyes, you wondered when exactly you had fallen asleep. Was it somewhere near memorizing the latin terminology for court rhetoric or around reading the case file and trial records you were going to be tested over on Monday? Deciding wondering was basically pointless, considering you had pretty  much forgotten all of it anyway, you pawed blindly around for your phone. 

“Hello?” You answered, eyes still closed, although it probably came out and more of a mumbled groan than anything else.  

“(Y/NNNNNNNNN)!” 

You pulled the phone away from your ear, wincing at the sudden loud noise. Blinking bleerally, you looked down at your phone. You had taken the caller ID picture a year ago, at a sorority Halloween party you barely remembered aside from the copious amounts of alcohol consumed followed by an ill-advised scavenger hunt that ended with a call to the police and the dean’s car somehow ending up in the agriculture department’s greenhouse crowded with Jack-O-lanterns. It was a profile shot of Bakugou Katsuki, his mouth opened in a mid-yell scowl, as was his standard expression, and eyebrows furrowed in annoyance. One hand extended to try and block the camera, the other clutching a brown bottle. He was wearing a fantasy barbarian king costume, chest bare to show off the taut muscles he worked so hard for all of high school to get. When he’d shown up in it, or, rather, when Kirishima had dragged him along in his own dragonborn costume, you couldn’t believe he still had it. You remembered sitting in your basement in 9th grade, pricking your fingers with a sewing needle as you and the rest of your newly formed D&D group, Bakugou and Kirishima included, spent way too much time and effort into creating your costumes. 

Rubbing at the bridge of your nose in a vain attempt to chase away the headache you could already feel forming, you brought the phone back to your ear. You could hear the low thump of bass heavy music in the background. 

“Hi, Suki,” You said, trying not to sound condescending, but it came out like that anyway. 

“Hey!” He said sharply. The rest of his reply was slurred smooth. “I told you not to call me that.” 

You smirked. “It’s cute.” 

“It’s embarrassing! ‘M not cute.” 

“No, you’re calling me at-” You pulled the phone away again to check the time. “Katsuki, it’s like two in the morning, what the hell?” 

You heard someone shout something on the other side of the line that Katsuki mumbled a reply to. To you he said, “Was thinking about you.” 

You felt yourself blush despite yourself. “You were thinking about me?” 

There was a clunk and a bump. You could imagine him falling against a wall and sliding down to sit until the room stopped spinning. “Yeah. I don’t like it.” 

You ignored the jab in your heart. “Well, thanks.” 

“It keeps happening. I’ll just be, like, doing stuff, and then I just think, ‘What would (Y/N) think of that?’ ‘I wonder what (Y/N)’s doing right now.’ ‘(Y/N) would know what to do now. She’s so smart. And her hands look so soft. And her eyes are so pretty.’” He was quiet for a second. “It’s annoying. I can’t stop thinking about you. And it’s worse when you’re here.” There was a shuffling as you heard him try to stand up then give up again. “Why aren’t you here? I want you here.” 

You were wide awake now. You clenched and unclenched your hand, trying to process the information your obviously drunk friend had just confessed. Your stomach churned in a mix of anticipation, anxiety, and straight up butterflies. 

What the hell did all of that mean? Well, of course you knew what it meant, or you knew what it meant when spoken by a sober person of sound mind and body. But there was no way, you tried to rationalize, that The Bakugou Katsuki, the guy you’d known since freshman year of high school when he’d punched a guy who had flipped up your uniform skirt on the first day, the guy who had surprised just about everyone in home economics when he busted out a three tiered cake like it was no one’s business, the guy whos ego was big enough to have its own gravitational pull, was confessing his feelings to you in a drunk rant at two in the morning. 

“Katsuki,” You said in a soft voice. “I-” 

There was a retching sound from the other end of the line. Katsuki coughed, tried to say something, then threw up again. “Aw, fuck.” 

That headache was back with avengence now. You sighed, looking for your keys. “Katsuki, where are you?” 

“Uhh, on campus? At the Kappa Alpha Betta Whatever house. There’s a party. Why aren’t you here?” 

“You know I hate all the Greek life bs. Stay where you are, okay? I’m coming to get you. You’re completely wasted.” 

“‘M not. I can handle what I drink.” There was another pause before he wretched again. 

“Did you just throw up again?” 

“...No.” 

“Cool. I’ll be there in ten.” 

You didn’t wait for him to respond before hanging it. You didn’t think your heart could take it if he kept going on like he had been. Grabbing your keys and heading out of your crowded studio apartment, you hopped in your car to go save your drunk friend from making any other ill advised decisions that night. 

You realized that you were probably over thinking the whole phone call as you drove through deserted streets. You couldn’t help it, it was a bad habit you had formed as a kid that now  made you obsess over court documents and testimonies in class. But now, instead of helping, it was picking you apart. What did Katsuki’s tone imply when he was talking to you just now? Could you trust the tone of an inebriated person? What did he mean when he said he thought about you a lot? You’d known each other for years now, being involved in almost all the same activities. Wouldn’t it be natural to think about someone you spent so much time with? But you’d known Kirishima for just as long, not to mention the rest of the self-named “Baku-Squad.” You’d never gotten a late night drunk call from any of them. Heck, Katsuki had known Izuku way longer than he had known you, and you were pretty dang sure Katsuki had never called him going on and on about how he always thought about him. 

Stopping at a red light, you pressed your forehead into the soft faux-leather of your steering wheel, willing your thoughts to calm down and just come to a rational conclusion already. Expect, you know, a rational conclusion that wasn’t that the guy you had carried a torch for for almost as long as you had known him might actually have feelings for you back. 

You turned on to the street lined with sororities and fraternities across from the main campus. You had to slam on your breaks almost immediately to avoid running over a tipsy, giggling co-ed who was stumbling out into the road. She didn’t even look up at you. 

You didn’t know exactly which house Katsuki was stranded at, considering you could see at least three different parties all going on at first glance. His “Kappa Alpha Betta Whatever” wasn’t very helpful, either, considering all the Greek letters adorning the houses blended together in your mind at some point. And you really didn’t want to tramp through a bunch of different houses tonight. 

Thankfully, you were saved the trouble when you saw Kirishima’s 1969 Chevrolet Chevelle park half off the curb in front of one of the houses. You’d know that car anywhere. Kirishima had dragged your group to various scrap yards and auto-repair stores all summer after he got his license, the first of you all to do so, in an effort to fix up the worn down Chevelle that he’d bought for a hundred bucks and a turkey sandwich. 

You parked on the other side of the street then jogged across to the house that was practically vibrating with heavy music and Greek life energy. Stepping over a semi-conscious frat boy laying in the doorway, you scanned around the house for any sign of Katsuki’s pomeranian-puff-ball hair. 

You spotted Denki lounging on a couch, a lampshade on his head and a tangle of phone chargers clutched in his fist. His hand sparked every now and then as he used his quirk to recharge the collection of phones. 

You lifted up the edge of the lampshade. “Hey there, Pikachu.” 

“Heeeeeey~” He said, giving you a thumbs up. You could already tell he was too far gone, although you didn’t know if it was from drinking or the over use of his quirk. 

“(Y/N)!” You heard a voice call behind you. A body fell heavily against your back. Sero wrapped his arms around you in a backwards hug. “Where you been? We missed you!” 

“Studying. I’m boring, remember? I’m looking for Katsuki, you seen him around?” 

Sero snickered. “Bakugou, huh? He’s been looking for you for a long time, right, Denki?” 

“Heeeeeey~” 

You swallowed hard. “And what’s that supposed to mean?” 

Sero snickered again, flopping on the couch next to Denki. “Can’t tell. Part of the bro code. And he said he’d kill me.” 

“That does sound like Katsuki.” 

Sero covered his eyes with his arm, head leaning back. With a wide smile, he waved his hand in the vague direction to the back door. “I think he’s out by the pool or something.” 

You waved bye. “Thanks, I’ll go check it out. You guys take care of yourselves, okay?” 

“Look at ‘em go,” Sero said to Denki as you left. “You think they’ll have a spring wedding?” 

“Heeeeeey~” 

*~~~~* 

You managed to weave your way through the crowd of bodies clogging the house to finally spill out into the back yard. You had no idea how people were able to stay this energized this late into the night with this many other people around. You remembered once being stuck at another party, early on in your college days. When it became super clear you didn’t want to be there, overwhelmed by the noise, the crush of bodies, and the suffocation of social enterprise, Katsuki had dragged Kirishima over to you, planting him in front of you as your ‘extrovert shield.’  He’d stayed with you behind the boisterous redhead for the rest of the night. 

You wondered if Katsuki remembered doing that, if he remembered any of the small nice gestures he did for you over the years. And now, with his call, with what Sero said, with your over analyzing brain, you were dissecting every interaction you could remember. Was the time he opened a door for you a signal? Was the reason he would ask to study with you for chemistry, when he was way better in practically every subject than you, just so he could be close to you? Were the times he had given you his jacket when you were cold meant to be a more intimate moment? 

God, you were going to go crazy. 

Walking around the pool, you finally spotted the hot-headed blond. He was sitting slouched over on the end of one of the reclining pool chairs, forearms braced on his knees.  You almost called out to him, stopping cold when you saw the girl behind him. She had draped herself over his back, chin rested in the crook of his neck, one had massaging his shoulder, the other conspicuously sneaking under the hem of his shirt to rub circles on his abs. 

You clenched and unclenched your hands, worry gnawing at you as a headache at the back of your skull. Had something changed between the time he had called you and now? Had there been nothing there to change at all? Had you been misreading this situation the whole time? 

Katsuki looked up, his permanently affixed scowl even deeper. The second his jewel-red eyes met yours, you felt your heart skip a beat. He jumped to his feet so fast the girl behind him fell back against the chair. He tried marching over to you, which was made only slightly less intimidating by the drunk sway to his step. 

You didn’t remember him being so tall. You’d just seen him this afternoon. There was a flushed blush across his face, adding a surprising softness. Were his arms always that strong looking? Were his eyes that piercing? Was his jaw that strong? 

“You came,” He said, voice rough as whiskey soaking into gravel. 

You spread your hands. “Well, you said my name three times, so, here I am!” You laughed nervously, trying to ignore how his gaze pinned you down. 

He took another step towards you, hand reading up. “(Y/N), I-” 

His cheeks turned from pink to green. Lurching to the side, he vomited into the pool. You tried to help him back up, hunched over and trying to catch his breath. The crowd of people around you groaned in disgust before rolling in to sarcastic applause. Katsuki flipped them off. 

“Alright, Suki,” You said, rubbing his back. “Let’s get you back home.” 

He grumbled, leaning his full weight against you. You almost stumbled and fell with the sudden shift of balance. Katsuki slid his arm around your waist, hand firmly grasping your hip, as if he was the one trying to prevent you from a drunken stumble. His fingers felt like fire through your clothes. 

You decided to go around the house instead of trying to push your way through it. Soon you were making your way across the street. It took some maneuvering to unlock and open the passenger door. You practically dropped Katsuki in where his head fell back with a groan. You grabbed his seat belt and stretched across him to fasten it. It wasn’t until he started petting your hair that your realized your position of half-way laying across his lap. You jerked back, some of your hair getting caught in his fingers. He made a disappointed sound at the loss of it. 

You slid back into the driver's seat, trembling hands gripping the steering wheel tightly. You had to take a few steadying breaths before you were ready to start the car. Pulling out of the neighborhood, you glanced over at Katsuki. His eye brows were furrowed, eyes closed, mouth pulled in a small frown. 

God, he looked adorable. 

You hit the break harder than you meant to at the light. Adorable? Where the hell did that thought come from? He’d probably be furious if he knew you ever thought that. 

But…

You risked another look at him. When he let his face relax like this, you could see the slight chub that still clung to his cheeks. Another thing he would hate to know that you thought was how much you loved the softness that it leant him. It was cute. 

Almost without your realizing it, you lifted your hand. You were overcome with the sudden urge to poke his cheek. A car horn blared behind you when your finger was less than an inch from his face. You let out an undignified squeak, hands slamming back to the wheel. Katsuki grumbled and turned in the seat, head resting against the window. You could feel the blush burning up your face. 

A few minutes later, you pulled back to the apartment complex. You both lived in the same building, Katsuki directly below your own unit. And now you were overthinking his reason for not living on campus. 

When you opened the passenger door, Katsuki almost fell out. You jerked forward to catch him then dragged him out. He half woke up, as feeble on his legs as a newborn horse. 

You lugged him through the lobby. He was muttering under his breath, but most of the words you could make out were curses. Not unusual for him. You pressed the button for the elevator repeatedly. It just blinked back at you. You sighed in frustration. They had been doing maintenance on your building all week, but now might have been the absolute worst time to do the elevator. 

You shook Katsuki’s shoulder a little bit. His head jostled like a bobble-head. “Suki, I’m gonna need your help here for a minute.” 

His head lolled forward, forehead coming down to press to yours. In a quiet voice, he whispered, “I’d do anything for you.” 

You shoved him upright, face burning. “Then walk up the damn stairs yourself!” 

Despite that, you still ended up half-carrying him up four flights of stairs. You were uncomfortably sweaty when you reached the door to Katsuki’s apartment. The two of you had traded copies of your apartment keys when you had moved in. “In case something happens to your dumb ass and I need to come save you,” He had said. He would frequently stop by, usually when you were hours deep into an all-nighter. He’d bring his laptop and work on whatever 12 page essay way due on your bed while you poured over case reports. You’d sit in silence, just together, sharing the same space, content with nothing more than knowing the other was nearby. Or he’d bring you real food to make sure you weren’t just eating ramen all the time. In turn, you’d pull him out for game night with the squad, make sure he’d actually call his mother once in a while, and lend an ear to his semi-nightly rants on whoever he decided to hate that night. 

You fumbled with the keys, jamming the key in the lock then pushing it open with your shoulder that wasn’t currently occupied by a half-asleep, full-drunk boy who had at least 50 pounds and ten inches on you. 

There was always an expectation with the rooms of single college boys. Greasy pizza boxes, empty bottles of booze displayed like expensive decor, at least one poster of a half-naked girl somewhere, probably a basket of clothes that should have been washed weeks ago. And while you knew plenty of guys who fit that description, Katsuki defied expectation. His apartment was always immaculate. His shoes were lined neatly by the door, a calendar above his desk  color-coded with assignment due dates, bed made. Katsuki may give off the persona of a punk, but you knew he was a straight-laced nerd through and through.  

With the last of your strength, you lugged him across the room, dropping him on his bed. With a groan, you stretched your arms up until you heard a satisfying pop in your back. Hands on your hips, you watched as Katsuki moaned, burying his face in his pillow and pulling his feet up from the floor. You sat on the end of the bed, tugging his feet to you to unlace his shoes. You let them fall haphazardly to the floor, too tired to care about his level of neatness.  

You grabbed a bucket from his hall closet, putting it next to the head of his bed for when he inevitably woke up vomiting in the morning. Checking his bathroom, you put a couple of painkillers and a glass of water on the nightstand with a post-it note saying “Drink Me.” 

Brushing your hands off, you looked around and checked your work. Satisfied that he wouldn’t kill himself between now and when you would inevitably check on him in the morning, you decided it was finally time to head back upstairs and get some well deserved sleep. 

But… 

You turned back at the door. Katsuki was splayed like a starfish, gently snoring with his mouth wide open. You also noticed his blushing red fluffy cheeks. 

You tapped the door knob a few times before sighing in surrender to temptation and turnin back. You knelt down next to the bed. For a moment, you just watched him sleep. He looked so peaceful now. You reached out. Your index finger sunk into his cheek like it was a marshmallow. You couldn’t believe you had never done this before. God, he really was adorable. 

Your thoughts were abruptly cut off as Katsuki’s hand shot up and grabbed your wrist with an iron grip. With a shriek, you tried to scramble backwards. Katsuki lazily opened his eyes, not at all bothered by your struggles. With seemingly no effort on his part, he tugged you forward. Off balance, you fell into his chest. Katsuki wrapped his arms around you in a bear hug, slinging a leg over yours, trapping you on the bed. 

“Katsuki!” You hissed. You squirmed in his hold, not getting any extra room. He just hummed, nuzzling into the crook of your neck. You were pretty sure your face was hot enough to start a fire. “Katsuki, let me go!” 

“No,” He mumbled. His voice rumbled against your skin sending shivers through your whole body. 

“Katsuki!” 

“You can’t leave. If you leave, you won’t come back.” 

You stopped struggling. “What are you talking about?” 

He squeezed you tighter. “I’m loud. I get angry real easy. I fight a lot. And you…” He trailed off, his breath catching and rattling in his chest. “You’re so much better than me. You’re nice and smart and talented and pretty and caring and… and…” You could feel the hot tears landing on your skin. He was starting to shake. His grip had loosened enough for you to get out, but instead you brought your arms up and pulled him in closer. “If I let you go, you’ll see how much better you are than me. And you’ll leave. You’ll leave me because you’re better and you deserve so much better. But I’m a selfish bastard and I just want you for myself because I love you so damn much.” 

Your heart dropped into your stomach. You wiggled your hand up, threading your hand into his hair and tilting his head to look up at you. 

“I love you too,” You said softly. “And I’m not going anywhere.” 

Katsuki crushed you to his chest, letting out another loud sob. You could feel hot tears pressing against your eyes. You had no idea Katsuki felt this way about anything; about you, about himself, about your relationship. 

But one thing you knew for sure: You loved Bakugou Katsuki. 

~~~

The first thing Katsuki noticed when he woke up was the head ache. His head felt like he had a railroad spike jammed through his temples. God, what did he do last night? There was the party at Kappa Alpha Betta Whatever house. It’d been fine for a while, hanging out with the guys, playing beer pong, winning some extra cash from freshman in poker (where did he put that money anyway?). And then…

And then someone had said your name. He’d heard it across the room, an amazing feat in and of itself, but his ears were trained for any news of you. He’d jerked up right when he heard it, missing his shot at the beer pong table. He gladly took his drink and went prowling through the house. Who had said your name? Were you here? Were you coming?  

It might have been selfish, he knew how much you hated loud crowds, but damn it, he wanted you here. He remembered the last Greek life party you had been at. He’d lost you at some point between getting into an argument with that damn Deku and pulling Denki down from a keg stand. He’d finally found you huddled into some back corner, looking like a rabbit about to dart from a hungry fox (he wouldn’t mind being that fox, honestly, he could eat you right up.) You’d lost the color in your face, hands shaking as you clutched your red Solo cup almost hard enough for your nails to pierce the plastic. 

He snatched Kirishima by his collar as he carved a path through the room. He planted the extroverted red-head in front of you, creating an extrovert shield between himself and the love of his life you. He’d spent the rest of the night talking to you. Nothing special, he couldn’t even really remember what about. But he did remember the relaxed slope of your shoulders, the spark in your eyes, the smile that played on your lips at whatever lame joke he had just made. 

Back in the present (or last night, whatever), he was still stalking through the halls looking for whoever had mentioned you. He heard it again, the tail end of your name, coming from the living room. 

“-(/N) never had it so good.” There he was, lounging along the bottom stairs with a smug look on his face as he regaled the small crowd he had attracted. Katsuki recognized him as one of those legacy kids, the one who showed up to the first day of orientation in a sleek black Bugatti and took up three parking spaces, talked in almost every one of his classes when he even bothered to show up, and was, without a doubt at every party on or off campus. 

And now he was telling a story about you. What were you ever doing with an asshole like him? 

“You would never guess it from how she dresses, you know,” The guy continued, lazily waving his half-empty beer bottle. “But she is stacked.” 

Katsuki tensed up, his heart jumping into his throat. He pushed aside the crowd until he stood right in front of the bragger on the stairs. “What did you just say?” He asked through clenched teeth. “You're talking about (Y/N) (L/N), right?” 

He lazily swept his gaze up, grinning wide when he saw Katsuki. “Yeah, (Y/N)? You know, she comes across as a frigid bitch, but let me tell you, she’s an incredible lay.” Katsuki’s vision went red. The crowd started to subtly shuffle away, feeling the cold change in atmosphere. “Not much besides that, honestly. Thank god her tits and ass are amazing, cause her face sure wasn’t doing it for me. Super boring, too, heard she’s failing her classes. Oh, well. Hey, I could use a side-piece when I’m running my own firm, you know?” 

The asshole never saw it coming. In the span of a heart beat, Katsuki had grabbed his designer jacket and hoisted him off the stairs, pinning him to the wall so his feet kicked to try and reach the ground. 

“You listen to me, asshole,” Katsuki hissed. “You never talk about (Y/N) again. You never look at her, you never talk to your shit-stain friends about her, you sure as fuck never tell another lie about her, or so help me, you’ll get to find out what color your liver is.” 

Katsuki was half-way sure the jerk had pissed his pants. He dropped him in a heap, landing in the puddle of spilled beer on the floor. He brushed his hand off on his jeans, eager to get whatever germs the gossip had off him.  

He was almost out of ear shot when he heard the rich kid spit and say, “Fine. She’s probably crawling with it if you’re dicking her down.” 

The kid’s head made a dent in the wall as he richoched back from the impact of Katsuki’s punch. He would easily have a black eye and a broken nose, the chipped tooth would just be a  bonus. 

Katsuki’s head was fuzzy with rage, stalked through the house, bee-lining it to the nearest source of inebriation. How dare he? How fucking dare that absolute ass-wipe ever even think of saying such horrible things about you? He wasn’t even worth knowing your name, much less saying it. Not to mention the fact he must be blind to think you were anything less than stunning. Ever since he had known you, you had been nothing but kind and smart and caring and funny and…

“Baku-bro, you doing okay?” 

Katsuki didn’t realize how tight he was holding his fists until he relaxed. His nails had made half-moon indents in his palms, his knuckles brushed red from the punch. 

Kirishima had his mouth pulled down in that stupid puppy dog pout. “I’m fine,” Katsuki brushed him off. He grabbed a beer out of an iced cooler, twisting off the cap in a single motion and chugging half the bottle. 

“Well, that’s good, cause I don’t think Tim Flood is making it out of here without a few stitches.” 

“Good.” Katsuki finished the beer and chucked it into a recycle bin. He grabbed another and stalked out of the room. Everything felt too hot, too tight. His head was pounding. If you were here, you’d get a bag of ice and press it against his forehead. You’d probably call him an idiot for getting into another fight, that he needed to learn how to manage his temper better. He’d call you a dumbass but let you lead him away somewhere dark and quiet, away from all the other more insufferable dumbasses. You’d find some pain killers, get him some water, because that’s just the kind of caring person you were. Maybe you’d bring him upstairs, lead him to an unoccupied bedroom. The two of you would sit together on the bed, maybe just a little too close. You’d hand him the water, his hand would brush against yours. You’d look down, shy, blushing cutely. He’d lean forward, thread his hand through your incredibly soft hair, angle your face up to him. Your plush lips would part slightly and he’d lean forward and - 

“Are you sure you’re good?” Kirishima asked, abruptly cutting off Katsuki’s impromptu fantasy. “Cause you don’t look so good.” Katsuki bit his tongue. “Is it because of what that guy said about (Y/N)?” Katsuki whipped around, glaring daggers. Kirishima smiled and put his hands up in mock surrender. “Hey, bro, it’s okay! No one believed him, anyway.” 

Katsuki scoffed, taking a swig of the beer. “(Y/N)’s too good for him anyway.” 

“I bet you think (Y/N)’s too good for everyone here, right?” 

“The hell is that supposed to mean?” 

“It means you need to hurry up and tell (Y/N) you like her!” Sero shouted, jumping in out of nowhere. 

Katsuki dropped his bottle, Kirishima catching it just in time, and grabbed Sero by the front of his shirt and lifted him up. Sero just grinned his stupid, wide grin. 

“Come on, Katsuki,” Denki said, slinging an arm around Katsuki’s shoulders. “We all know you’ve had a thing for (Y/N) since high school. Why don’t you just put us all out of our misery and tell her already?!” 

Katsuki felt his face heat up. “I don’t- I haven’t - Fuck you!”  Katsuki couldn’t remember why he was friends with these three idiots as they all burst out into laughter.

 He snatched his bottle back and pushed through the crowd. He needed some air. He heard Sero yell after him, “You have to tell her eventually!” 

And… That was mostly it. Katsuki’s memories of last night sort of started to trail off after that. He knew that he drank, he drank a lot. At some point he ended up by the pool. And maybe he’d called someone? Oh, hell, he hoped he hadn’t called someone. 

His eyes snapped open at the soft groan. There you were, just inches away from his face, fast asleep and tucked in his arms. You were pressed close, breasts pushing against his chest, legs tangled with his, one hand clutching his shirt. Your lips were parted ever so slightly, breathing heavy and even. 

And you were so fucking close. 

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. His arms tightened around you and he tensed. How the hell did this happen? Did you actually come to the party last night? When, and why? What had called you down there-? 

Oh. Oh, the call! He had called you last night? Some time in his drunken haze he must have figured out to bypass the timed lock he had put on it specifically to avoid calling people with a too-honest tongue. But had you…?  Nervously, he looked down. He sighed in relief. You were both still dressed. At least that was one mistake he knew he hadn’t made. 

Alright, that was one problem. Now, on to the next one: How was he going to get out of here without waking you up? Craning his head around, he checked out the room. Wait, this was his room. He was in his apartment! A picture of last night started to form in his mind. He’d called you, blabbering God knows what, and then you’d been a good person (why were you such a good person?) and had come to get him, to make sure he was okay. And then what? He’d somehow seduced you into his bed? No, it was more likely you had stayed to make sure he didn’t choke on his own vomit, maybe sat on the bed because it was the middle of the night and you were exhausted, and then… This. 

Okay, okay, no, this was fine, he could fix this. He could slip out, let you keep sleeping. He’d make some breakfast in the kitchen and then you’d wake up, wander in rubbing the sleep from your eyes in that cute way you did when you pulled an all-nighter studying. He’d chastise you for lugging his drunk ass up here, for being out so late at night. You’d wave him off, compliment his cooking, tell him to take better care of himself, and then smile up at him with that blindingly beautiful smile and sparkling eyes. 

“Morning.” Katsuki yelped at your greeting. He stared, wide-eyed, down at you, as you look back up at him lazily with those sparkling eyes. “It’s kinda hard to breathe here.” He realized then just how tight he was holding you. He jerked backward, his shout of surprise cut off as he fell off the bed. He rubbed his sore hip, looking up when he heard your giggle. You were leaning over the bed, smiling shyly when he caught you staring. 

He gulped hard, feeling his face burning up. “Hi.” 

You tucked a loose threat of hair behind your ear. “Hi.” 

He should say something. He needed to say something. God, why wasn’t he saying something? 

“I-“ Katsuki stopped with an incomplete thought in his mouth. He suddenly felt uncomfortably hot, his stomach clenching and throat going dry. Your face dropped as you lunged forward, dragging a bucket in front of him (where did that even come from?). He surged forward, clenching the sides of the bucket in a white knuckled grip, and threw up. 

You slid off the bed and knelt next to him. You rubbed small circles in his back, whispering small comforts as he coughed up bile and alcohol and who knows what else. You reached over behind him and grabbed a glass of water from his nightstand. 

“Here,” You said. “Rinse and spit. Don’t swallow or gargle, it’ll just mess with your gag reflex.” Rubbing the spike of pain growing in his forehead, he did what you said. When he caught his breath, he accepted the pain killers you had and dry swallowed them. You really had prepared for everything, huh? 

Katsuki shoved the bucket away with his foot, leaning back against the bed. “Fuck…” 

You hummed in response and scooted to sit next to him. “So,” You said. 

“So,” He said back. 

“I don’t suppose you remember much from last night?” 

He clenched his jaw, mouth going dryer than it already was, if that was possible. He tried to laugh, but it sounded forced and strained, even to him. “Hey, we’re both still wearing pants, right?” You didn’t laugh back. 

“So that’s a no then?” The seriousness with which you said that made him pause. 

“I, uh, think I called you?” 

“MmHmm. You didn’t sound too great, so I came to pull you out.” 

“Huh. Thanks for that.” 

“Yup.” You paused for a second. “Do you remember… anything else you said?” 

Fuck. 

“Uhh, I owe you breakfast?” 

You looked away. “Is there anything you maybe told Sero that you wouldn’t want him to tell me?” 

Double fuck. 

“If this is about Halloween last year, Mina was the one who brought the Ouija board.” He smirked at you, waiting for you to laugh with him. Instead you didn’t even look up, staring a hole in the carpet with the intensity of your gaze. 

You let out a sigh through your nose, pushing off your knees to stand. “I’m gonna head out,” You said, rubbing the back of your head and still not looking at him. 

Katsuki jumped up, immediately regretting as his head began swimming. “(Y/N), wait-“ He cut himself off with another surge of nausea and lurched towards the bucket. 

“Katsuki,” You said, sounding frustrated. “Look, I…” You sighed, running a hand through your hair and turning back to him. “We’ve known each other for a long time now, right? And for all the time I’ve known you, you’ve been stubborn and pig-headed and aggressive and just, you know, you. But still, in all that time, despite everything, I still…” You pressed your lips, looking for the right words. “I’m happy when I’m around you, Katsuki. I feel at ease, I feel protected, I feel like I can be better at anything. And I’ve thought about this a lot, so much that it makes my head spin and my heart hurt, but through all the trouble I still think it’s worth it. Because at the end of the day it means I still get to be with you and sometimes I just feel like that’s enough, but now I…” Your lip was trembling, tears gathering at the corners of your eyes. Katsuki wanted nothing more than to take a big step forward and wrap you in the biggest, tightest hug of your life. Finally, you sighed in defeat. “But if you can’t say it, if the One and Only Katsuki Bakugou can’t say it, then how the hell can I?” 

Your voice broke on the last word. Katsuki was so stunned and suddenly pinned with guilt that he couldn’t move when you spun on your heels and rushed out of his apartment. 

Oh, fuck. 

~~~

“Idiot,” You murmured to yourself as you fled up the apartment stairs, furiously wiping at your eyes to get rid of the oncoming tears. “Idiot, idiot, idiot.” By the time you reached your apartment and slammed the door behind you, you weren’t sure if you were talking about Katsuki or yourself. 

You felt sick. Anxiety gnawed at your mind like a starving coyote. Had you really just confessed your feelings to Katsuki? Had you really just confessed your feelings to Katsuki like that? Would he ever speak to you again? Would things just become too awkward that you’d be edged out of your friend group? They had known Katsuki much longer than they had known you, after all. God, what if he was calling Kirishima right now and telling him about the disaster of a morning, after you had taken advantage of his blitz out state and slept in the same bed with him? 

Well, no. Kirishima was probably still knocked  out from his own night of heavy imbibing. Not to mention that even he, the most kind-hearted and patient person you knew, would have to draw a line at listening to Katsuki rant while dealing with a massive hangover. 

And no, Katsuki wouldn’t do that to you. Despite his rough deminor, his abrasive personality, and his profane tongue, Katsuki was actually a sweetheart deep down. Maybe really deep down, but still. He wouldn’t be so intentionally cruel, even if you told him that you shared all of his baby pictures of him playing in his All Might onesie online. 

So then why were you still huddled on a heap on the floor, back pressed against the front door, crying? Why was this pit of loneliness blooming in your chest?  

You yelped at the sudden banging on the door. Who could be here so early in the morning? You had paid rent this month, right? You sniffed, rubbing your eyes and smoothing out your clothes. You hoped your cheeks weren’t the blotchy red they got whenever you were upset. You took a deep breath to steady your voice for whoever was outside. 

Opening the door, you looked up at a wide-eyed Katsuki, panting hard with determination set on his face. You groaned internally. 

“Katsuki,” You began,” About what I said, I’m sorr-” 

Without waiting for you to finish, Katsuki surged forward. You tried to take a step backward, almost falling, but he caught you, a strong grip on your shoulders. Without waiting for you to get your bearings, Katsuki leaned in, smashing his lips against yours. 

It wasn’t a graceful kiss, all clashing teeth and urgency rather than romance. His eyes were screwed closed. He stayed pressed against you, not moving, grip so tight on your upper arms you thought there might be a mark later. 

Just as suddenly as he had come forward, he jerked back, but kept his hold on you. You both breathed heavily, eyes locked. Your mind whirled, a hundred voices shouting at the same time. For once, you decided to ignore them and let your body do what it wanted. 

You reached up, wrapping your arms around Katsuki’s neck and pulled him back in. This kiss was controlled, soft and sweet. His hands dropped from your shoulders to wrap around your waist. He pressed in harder, adding desperation in the kiss, as if he thought you would vanish any second. When you both pulled away this time, he leaned his forehead against yours, noses bumping into each other, sharing the same breath. 

His voice was rough. “Sorry,” He said. “I had to brush my teeth first.” 

#bnha #my hero academia #my hero academia x reader #bakugo katsuki #katsuki bakugou x reader #reader insert #fanfic #bakugo x reader #wafflefriesfic

[bbreaddog]

.

#personal #someone commented early today how they keep checking if jatp pirate au fic is updated and it never is #and I just 🥲 #I wish my writing partner for this still wanted to work on this #alas #I’m doing my best on my own #and I have one friend who’s willing to help out when they can #but we are both so busy all the time #I’m so tempted to post the chapters that are already done #but I’m honouring my writing partner’s wishes to just post everything all at once #so that readers don’t get too excited about it being back #bc this is supposed to be the end of it #😔😮‍💨 #posting something would get me more motivated to finish it tho #I’m also torn about like… I mean I should probably talk to them about this but… are they still co-creator for the last few chapters #if I’m the only one who worked on them? #is that weird and rude if I just didn’t check the cro-creator box for the chapters that I wrote myself #gah #I’ll probably still check it when I get around to posting #but just #😩 why is everything so hard #I have so much love for this story #and now there’s proof that someone out there also has just as much love for it too #and I wanna post these chapters already #even just the ones we’ve written together #so I can finish off the ones that I haven’t finished myself yet #please #please please please #but we’ve already discussed it #so… perhaps I shall create my own fic for these chapters

[ecoamerica]

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The recording is now available on ecoAmerica's YouTube channel for viewers to be inspired by student climate leaders! Join Aishah-Nyeta Brown & Jerome Foster II and be inspired by student climate leaders as we recognize the High School Student finalists. Watch now to find out which student received the $25,000 grand prize and top recognition!

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[aemondsbabe]

Give Me an O!

summary: billy walks in on you in a bit of a compromising situation, and you finally go after what you want

pairing: billy hargrove x cheerleader!reader

warnings: mature/explicit, 18+ (minors dni!), no use of y/n, afab reader, reader is very flexible, minor injury it's fine, piv sex, unprotected sex oopsy daisy, public sex technically, hand over mouth, fingering, breast/nipple play if you blink, dirty talk, reader's hair is long enough that she can have a ponytail but no other physical descriptors are used, billy is a himbo, steve harrington cameo

word count: 5k

a/n: finally getting around to a request from @sweetshifter! thank you for the idea bby & i hope ya enjoy! also, my first time writing for stranger things! yay! images in the header are for aesthetic purposes only!

likes, comments, & reblogs are very appreciated but never required!

gif creds to @unwanted-animal

🖤 my masterlist

🌟add yourself to my taglist to be notified when i post new fics!

“You sure you don’t want me to stay with you?” Your best friend asks as she slings her gym bag over her shoulder, “I don’t mind staying a couple minutes.”

“Nah,” you shrug, still panting a little from practice as you lean to the side with a little sigh, stretching down toward your leg, “You go on, I’ll catch you tomorrow.”

“Alright, cool,” she chirps, glossy lips flicking up into that sincere, beaming smile that had become her signature, “Bye!” She calls over her shoulder as she turns, white tennis shoes thumping against the shiny wooden floor as your name echoes around the gym. 

“Bye, Chrissy!” You reply with a smile, glancing up as the heavy metal doors at the side of the room click closed, leaving you alone for the time being. 

With a tired huff, you check your watch, one that matched Chrissy’s exactly – gold with a baby pink face. You’d gotten them at the mall last summer, a joint birthday present. 

4:34pm.

A sigh leaves your lips as you lunge forward, hands planted firmly on your hips as you try to ignore the slight burn in your thigh. So, that’s… like, forty-five minutes until basketball practice starts, you think, eyes pointed up at the white metal ceiling as you do mental math, trying to figure out exactly how long you’ll have to work on your stretches. 

Deciding to give yourself a few more minutes before calling it a day, you breathe out steadily through your pursed lips as you switch sides and lunge forward again, savoring the light burn in your calf. After a fifteen second count, you move onto your hands and knees, needing to stretch out your back. 

You hum softly under your breath, one hand planted firmly against the blue tumbling mat beneath you as the other reaches back and grabs onto one of your ankles, your limbs forming a graceful arch above you. A small grunt leaves you as you pull your leg up as high as you can, before dropping it down and reaching back with your other hand to do the other side. Mid-pose, you swear you hear one of the gym doors click open, the one out to the hallway with the locker rooms and various storage closets judging by the direction, but you’re so focused on holding your pose, you honestly can’t be sure. 

Huffing, you decide to just ignore it – Probably just the janitor or something, you think, keeping your eyes focused, once again, on the white metal ceiling as you roll over onto your back. 

Breathing steadily, you let your eyes slip closed as you press both legs together before slowly lifting them up, using your hands and elbows to support your back as you lift onto your shoulders. Wincing slightly at the twinge of pain from your left one, you work through it, trying to keep your breath steady. As your green and gold cheer skirt pools at your waist, you silently pray that if it is a janitor, that it’s at least not the creepy one.

Slowly but surely, you work both legs up and over your head until the tips of your white sneakers press into the mat, your arms planted firmly onto the floor for support. 

One Mississippi, two Mississippi, three Mississippi, you count silently, breathing a little shakily as you focus on balancing… and on ignoring your shoulder. 

Suddenly, a loud wolf-whistle cuts through the silence of the gym, punctuated by a few slow claps and the heavy footsteps of someone walking across the wooden gym floor. 

“Aah!” You squeak as you topple to the side, concentration thoroughly broken. Huffing, you prop yourself up on one elbow as your head snaps up, eyes already narrowed into an irritated glare. Upon seeing who it is, you can’t help but sneer.

“Can I help you, Hargrove?” You sigh, exasperated, rolling your eyes as you angle both legs out in a side split, determined to get through your stretches even with the added annoyance of Billy’s presence.

“Just admiring the view, princess,” he drawls, blue eyes trailing up the length of each of your spread legs in a way that makes your cheeks flush, “You’re real good at that, aren’t you?” He questions, plump lips quirked up into that signature, flirtatious smirk. 

“Good at what?” You ask, brows furrowing as you bend over to the left, easily grasping the toe of your tennis shoe as the muscles in your legs stretch into a taut, familiar ache. 

He chuckles at that, hands on his hips as he studies you, the spicy, woodsy smell of his cologne filling the space around you. He cocks his head to the side, pearly white teeth flashing every few seconds as he chews a piece of gum. 

“Stretching,” he all but purrs, golden curls blowing slightly from the large fans that hum loudly on the ceiling. His tongue darts out to wet his lips as he ogles at you, watching carefully as you bend to the right, “I bet it’d be really easy to just fold you up like a pretzel, huh, sweets?” 

With a sigh, you finally let yourself relax for a moment and tilt your head up to look at the boy as you lean back on your hands, your ponytail swishing across your shoulder blades as you do. 

“In your dreams, Billy,” you murmur, trying to keep the expression on your face plaid, wholly uninterested, which is easier said than done. 

You don’t like Billy, and you’re very quick to correct anyone who says you do, even if it is just friendly teasing. But, well, there’s something about him that just draws people into his orbit – charisma combined with a certain mystique. You knew from talking to the girls in the locker room that he was a lady’s man, and a player, but from how they all talked about him, there appeared to be something more there, some hidden layer that no one had been able to crack yet. He’s different from the other boys in Hawkins, no small town charm to hide behind. 

Plus, come on, he’s gorgeous. You might not be Billy’s biggest fan but you have eyes. 

“Damn right, in my dreams,” he murmurs, pulling you from your thoughts as he draws out every syllable of your name in a low, husky tone, familiar smirk playing at his lips like always. 

Cocking your head, you narrow your eyes as you peer up at him, “Aren’t you going out with Amber now?”

“Wouldn’t exactly call it going out…,” he answers as he bends down on one knee to retie the laces of his shoe, shooting you a little wink as he does so. 

“Does Amber know that?”

He pauses at that, a little huff of laughter bubbling up from his chest as he fixes you with a grin that is much too self-satisfied for your liking. “Now, princess,” he starts slowly, blue eyes narrowing at you playfully as he rests a forearm across his knee, “Why do you care so much about what I’m doing with Amber?”

“She’s my friend, Billy,” you say, sitting up a little more, the chill from the AC units making the hairs at the nape of your neck stand on end. 

“So, it’s definitely not because you’re, I dunno, jealous or anything?”

“No!” You cringe inwardly as you say it, too quick and too defensive and just what the blue eyed boy had been hoping for, judging by the smug grin plastered on his face. 

This is how it’s been between the two of you for months now, ever since his stupid Camaro had rumbled into the school’s parking lot way back in August. Since then, it’s been a whirlwind of teasing jokes, sitting through History class after History class as you feel those blue eyes practically boring a hole in the back of your head, and somehow mustering up the willpower to dodge his advances. 

In the nearly three months since his arrival, Billy had managed to charm his way through at least a handful of girls, maybe more depending on which rumors you listen to, but you are determined not to fall for it, not to be just another notch on his bedpost. 

Which would be a lot easier if he’d leave you the hell alone. 

Flustered, you pull your knees up, tucking your chin over top of them as your arms wrap around your calves, silently rolling your eyes as Billy drops to the blue tumbling mat, rolling onto his back with a satisfied sigh, making it clear to you that he was here to stay. 

“Why’re you here so early, anyway?” You question, glancing at your watch once more, “Basketball practice isn’t for, like, another half hour.” 

“Had to drop my stupid step-sister off at some trash arcade,” he grunts, annoyed, “Didn’t wanna waste the gas to go all the way home, plus…,” he pauses, tilting his head to the side to slyly grin at you once more, “I figured I might get here early enough to catch the end of cheer practice.” 

“Creep,” you scoff, much more playfully than you’d intended to. 

The two of you fall into a, surprisingly, comfortable beat of silence. You let your eyes trail over Billy as his own droop shut, one arm propped behind his head as he lazes on the gym mat, jaw clenching every so often as he works the gum in his mouth. You start at his feet, taking in the faded black canvas material of his Converse before you let your eyes roam up his long, tanned, muscular legs. Finally, you reach the familiar dark green shade of his school-branded shorts and your eyes wander up the expanse of his stomach and chest, covered by the grey t-shirt he wears, the familiar eyes of Hawkins High’s tiger mascot staring blankly into your own. 

You nearly gasp as your eyes trail up to his face again, only to find his steely eyes already looking at you, a knowing smirk etched into his face as you feel the apples of your cheeks flush. 

“It’s rude to stare, princess,” Billy drawls, catching you red handed.

“And it’s not rude to perv on me stretching?” 

“Never said it wasn’t,” he shrugs with a little chuckle, sitting up and resting one forearm on a bent knee. You merely roll your eyes as he studies you for a second, the blush on your cheeks deepening enough that you can feel the slight tingle of blood rushing under the surface. 

“Whatever,” you sigh, shaking your head as you stretch your legs out in front of you again. You stretch forward again, letting out a breath as you grab at your ankles and try to ignore the way Billy sits up, propping his forearm up on a bent knee. 

“Could you, like, put your legs behind your head and all that?” 

“Probably,” you say with a little eye roll. 

“Will you?”

“Not for you!” 

The two of you carry on like that for a moment longer — you working through various stretches and familiar yoga poses as Billy seems overly curious about each one, questioning if you can twist into all kinds of poses. 

“Can you do a handstand and do the splits?” He questions, grinning when you groan in frustration, eyes trailing up your long legs to the bottom of your short cheer skirt. 

With a huff, you stand with one hand on your hip, the other pinching at the bridge of your nose as Billy’s incessant questions throw you off the silent count in your head again.

“Did you want something or are you just trying fuck me over?” 

“Mmm, close, princess,” the blond teases, earning another glare from you. Playfully, he holds his hands up in surrender, “You’re single, aren’t you?” He asks, smirking triumphantly at the way you balk.

“I’m not talking about this with you, Hargrove.”

His smirk widens when you don’t deny it, blue eyes darkening as they travel over the length of your body once more. “Look, all I’m saying is that the guys talk in the locker room and… well, I can’t help but notice that your pretty name just doesn’t come up.”

“Maybe I have better things to do than put out for you assholes,” you smirk, quickly stretching out your problem shoulder before kneeling back on the tumbling mat, meaning to finish up with a couple quick pushups.

Undeterred, Billy merely matches your smirk with one of his own, watching as you kneel next to him. “Just come with me to Harrington’s Halloween party next weekend, sweetness,” he offers, his voice a low rumble, “Come on, a couple hours, some drinks. Hell, I’ll even dress up with you, whatever you want.”

“Hmm,” you hum, taking a second to tighten your ponytail as you shoot him a playful little smile, “Whatever I want, huh?” 

“Name it,” he says lowly, watching appreciatively as you get on all fours. 

“Okay, how about…,” you stall, drawing out your words as you extend your legs behind you, grunting softly as your shoulder zings with pain once more, “Willie and Indiana Jo– Ah!” You cut yourself off, exclaiming in pain as you land with a small thud on the mat, wincing. 

“Whoa, hey,” Billy says softly, scrambling onto his knees, brows furrowed as he gingerly helps you roll over onto your back, “You okay?”

You nod, glancing away with a little embarrassed huff as you rub at your shoulder. “Yeah, it’s nothing. I just probably sprained it earlier during practice or something.”

“Lemme take a look at it,” he says, offering a hand to help you up.

Not expecting such chivalrous behavior from Hargrove of all people, you only nod dumbly and let him pull you up off the mat, chest heaving.

“Here,” he murmurs, gently nudging at your arm until you turn your back to him. You can hear the tumbling mat crinkle as he steps closer to you, the warmth from his chest practically radiating through his t-shirt as the spicy musk of his cologne seems to envelope you once again. 

“You better not be using this as an excuse to feel me up,” you warn, albeit playfully, pulling your ponytail over the opposite shoulder. 

“In your dreams,” he teases, goosebumps peppering your skin from the low way he says your name and from the gentle brush of his fingers over the back of your arm as they trail their way up to your shoulder. 

He’s silent for a moment, carefully pressing warm, slightly rough fingers against your skin, watching until you wince just slightly when he pokes at your shoulder blade. “That’s where it hurts?” 

“Mhm,” you nod, lips parting ever so slightly as he kneads around the area. You can practically feel him smirking when you sigh a moment later, his fingers working perfectly over the sore muscle as his other hand anchors itself at your hip, “You’re… actually, like, really good at this,” you murmur with a little laugh, needing to find some way to break the silence. 

“My mom is – was, she was a masseuse, back when we lived in Cali,” Billy explains, leaning in closer, his lips all but brushing against your ear as he speaks softly, like he’s telling you some deep, dark secret, “I might’ve looked at one or two of her books.” 

“Really?” You ask, brows furrowing as you turn your head to look at him over your shoulder.

“Sue me, I was thirteen and they had nudes in ‘em,” he chuckles, biting into his bottom lip when your breathy laugh morphs into a moan when he presses just right against your shoulder. The fingers of his other hand tighten on your hip as he pulls you back against him, his lips just barely grazing over the crook of your neck, “But I still picked up a thing or two.”

“Clearly,” you breathe, brows tugging together as you tilt your head to the side, an open invitation. The blond doesn’t need any more convincing and you let your eyes flutter shut as his lips descend upon your neck, pressing hot kisses against the sensitive skin. 

The rise and fall of your chest grows shallow as the two of you seem to lose yourselves; you gasp as the hand on your hip trails down over your thigh, until Billy can drag the tips of his fingers beneath the white and gold hem of your pleated skirt just as the hand on your shoulder begins slowly moving around your ribs, to your front. Despite the AC units humming away, you can’t help but feel flush as he presses himself against you, already half-hard against the small of your back. 

With a gasp, you jerk away from him at the sound of a door opening and closing in the hallway, muffled voices and laughter filtering in through the closed doors of the gym. 

“Dammit,” Billy mumbles behind you as he quickly glances at the clock hanging above one of the exits, sighing disappointedly when he sees the time – fifteen minutes until practice. 

Deciding to finally give in to the wants you’ve been harboring for months, you grab one of his hands and playfully bite your lip, nodding to one of the sets of gym doors, “Follow me.” 

Smirking, he follows behind you as you quickly make your way to the doors, both of you pausing for a second to make sure the coast is clear before you bolt down the hallway. A second later, you’re pushing Billy through a door into a random classroom.

“This is the old Health room,” you explain, gasping as he turns and presses you against the old door, the metal of it cool against your back as you quickly scan over the empty room, dim other than the early evening light spilling in through the thin slats of the blinds, “No one ever comes in here.”

“Uh huh, fascinating,” he nods, turning his head to spit his gum into a small trash can by the door, before eagerly pressing his lips to yours. He smirks into the kiss as you mewl, his lips parting to quickly swallow the sweet sounds you make.  

Always one to give as good as you get, your lips move against his just as fervently, both of your hands trailing up underneath his t-shirt as you rub over his stomach, muscles taut under your touch. His tongue slips into your mouth in the same second he presses against you, his thin gym shorts doing nothing to conceal the hardness of his length as it presses against your lower stomach. 

You arch into his touch as his hands cup your breasts through your uniform, a low growl rumbling through his chest as you rake your nails over his chest and down his stomach. Boldly, you reach down and palm at his cock, savoring the surprised grunt he lets out before you quickly nudge your hand down the front of his shorts and into his boxers. 

“Shit,” he breathes, one hand still kneading at your breast as the other skates back up your thigh, his forehead resting against yours. Biting your lip, you watch through hooded eyes as you experimentally stroke over his cock, marveling at how hard he already is, like velvet over steel. 

Just as you feel him twitch in your grasp, the blond pulls away from you with a teasing grin and presses one last kiss against your lips before tapping the back of your thighs, urging you to jump. 

“Fuck, there you go,” Billy rasps, fingers digging into the curve of your ass as you clamber up into his arms, your shoulder only barely smarting as you wrap your arms around his neck. “I gotcha,” his muscular biceps flex as he quickly walks a few feet from the door and deposits on you on top of the, thankfully barren, teacher’s desk pushed haphazardly into the corner. 

“Billy,” you sigh, the sound being practically pushed from your lungs as he presses himself back between your thighs, cheer skirt rumbled around your waist as he all but folds you in half – your hands cling to his shirt desperately, one leg wrapped securely around his hip as the other ends up slung nearly over his shoulder.

“Yeah, princess?” He taunts with a wolfish grin, smirking at the way the muscles of your thigh twitch as his fingers move toward your pussy, hardly hidden beneath your boyshorts. You all but levitate off the desk as two of his fingers swipe over your slit, the apples of your cheeks flushing when he chuckles triumphantly, the thin cotton doing nothing to hide how wet you are. “Finally gonna give me what I want?”

You can feel your ponytail bobbing wildly at the crown of your head when you nod, a whiny moan blooming from your lips when he moves his fingers in tight circles against your clit, the flimsy material of your underwear quickly dampening against his touch. 

“Yeah, yeah, Billy,” your hands tremble as you pull at his t-shirt, desperate for what you’ve been wanting for so long, “C’mon, please!”

“Easy, tiger,” he laughs, tongue running over his bottom lip as he easily tugs his shirt over his head, your own hands scrambling to push down your boyshorts. Taking mercy on you yet again, he helps you, eagerly tugging the white cotton down your legs. He damn near tears them in two as he pushes your underwear over one sneaker, letting them dangle from your ankle. 

“Holy shit,” he breathes, crowding against you again as you lean back on the desk, propped up on your elbows. You stare up at him, lips parted, as he all but folds you in half, warm hands pressing against the backs of your thighs, “Fucking leaking and I’ve barely touched you.”

“Oh!” You hiss, trying your hardest to keep your voice down, head thudding back against the desk as Billy quickly tugs his shorts down, just enough to get his cock out, and teasingly runs it through your folds, “Billy, oh my God, just do it!” You all but beg, teeth biting into your bottom lip at the wet sounds of him moving against you, deafeningly loud in the otherwise quiet room. 

Were you anywhere else, Billy would have absolutely no qualms about teasing you to within an inch of your life – payback for playing cat and mouse with him for almost three months straight. Lucky for you, he’s just as nervous at the thought of getting caught with his pants down as you are, shuddering to think what Neil would do if he got expelled over this. 

With a barely contained growl, he pushes into you, his cock sliding easily to the hilt with how wet you are. Your back arches off the desk as he slides home, stretching you beautifully as he fills you completely.

“Oh – oh my God,” you breathe as he stills, giving you a few seconds to adjust. Your hands scramble over the smooth top of the desk before you grab onto his wrists as his hands hook behind your knees. 

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he groans – the way he grumbles your name makes your walls clench around his length, punching another grunt from his chest as he starts shallowly thrusting against you, grinding his hips against yours. 

The two of you dissolve into a flurry of breathy mewls and sighs, each of you desperately trying to keep quiet as the muffled sounds of skin against skin and the dull creaking of the desk fill the room. Your eyelids flutter as you watch Billy above you, golden curls bouncing with each of his thrusts as a light sheen of sweat covers his tanned chest. 

Grunting lowly, he presses harder against the backs of your thighs, practically pressing your kneecaps against the desk below you, blue eyes sparkling as you easily follow his movements. With the small change in angles, the head of his cock thrusts perfectly against that sensitive spot within you, and he grins triumphantly as you tremble beneath him. 

“That the spot, princess?” He questions, smirking when you nod your head with a little broken squeak, “Fuck, I can’t wait to get you in a bed – bet you can bend in all kinds of pretty ways, huh?”

“Y-Yeah, yeah, Billy,” you agree, willing to agree to just about anything as long as he keeps moving. You can hardly contain the moans spilling from your lips as he works you higher and higher, the adrenaline from the possibility of getting caught as well as the rush of finally having him making you rush toward your end faster than you normally would. 

Breathing heavily as your pussy clenches at his cock, he lets go of one of your thighs and shoves your shirt up, unceremoniously taking your bra with it. You bite at the back of one hand as he teases at your breasts, using one hand to pinch and pull at one nipple before moving to the other as he stares down at you with half-lidded eyes, brows furrowed in concentration. 

“O-Oh, my – fuck, I’m –” You moan brokenly, squirming beneath him as you feel yourself nearing the edge, teeth biting desperately into your bottom lip as you claw at his forearm and waist. 

Cockily licking over his lips, Billy leans forward as he grinds against you, his hips putting pressure on your clit as he covers your mouth with one hand, propping himself up against the desk with an elbow as his other still grasps at the back of your knee. 

You squeeze him tightly as the tail end of his happy trail rubs deliciously over you, giving you just enough stimulation to throw you over the edge. 

“Yeah, princess,” he encourages, grunting with nearly every thrust into you as he feels you clenching around him, pushing him further and further toward his own edge as he clenches his jaw, determined to hang on as long as possible. 

After only a few more thrusts, he quickly pulls out with a small groan. “Fuck, fuck,” he pants, chest heaving as he strokes his cock, painting your lower belly with stripes of his release.

Both of you still for a moment, breathing heavily as you each come down. Half expecting Billy to simply get dressed again and leave, you’re surprised when he softly kisses you, more relaxed this time, as his warm breath fans over your cheek. Dazedly, you kiss him back, your lips moving together unhurriedly as you card your fingers through the sweat-damp curls at the nape of his neck. 

After a moment, you part and your lips quirk up into a shy smile as he moves back half a step, giving you enough room to sit up. 

“Oh, uh,” you breathe, looking down when you feel his cum cooling against your skin. Glancing around the room, you pout a little when you don’t see any tissues or paper towels, “There’s paper towels in the locker room?” You offer, looking over at Billy, watching as he quickly tugs his shorts back into place. 

“I got it,” he says with a small smirk and before you have time to question what he means, he quickly tugs your underwear off your ankle and uses them to wipe at your skin, grinning meanly when you look up at him with wide eyes.

“Jackass!” You exclaim, laughing softly despite yourself, “That’s the only pair I have with me!”

“Nothing wrong with going commando, sweetness,” he says with a wink, chuckling when you wrinkle your nose at the thought while you pull your bra and shirt back into place, “Come back to my place and I’ll was ‘em for you, my parents don’t get back until late, anyway.” 

“You just want a round two,” you laugh, hopping off the desk and straightening out your skirt the best you can before running your hands over your hair, trying to smooth out your ponytail. 

“Told you I was gonna fold you up all pretty,” Billy smirks, crowding against you yet again once he tugs his shirt back on and lightly grasping at your jaw, “Something tells me you won’t have a problem with that either.”

“That’s presumptuous, don’t you think?” 

“Sure, yeah, I dunno what that means, princess,” he says, grinning when you laugh, your hands pressed against his chest as he quickly tucks your boyshorts into the waistband of his shorts, “Just come back to my place, hm?”

“What about basketball practice? Jason hates when people ditch.”

“You really think I give a shit about what Carver wants?” Billy laughs, taking one of your hands in his as he makes his way toward the door.

“Okay, okay, fine,” you finally agree, rolling your eyes playfully as you let him pull you out into the hall.

“And come with me to the Halloween party?”

“You have quite a list of demands, Hargrove.”

“Hey,” he says with a little shrug, glancing at you as you walk side by side toward the locker rooms, “That’s what you get for teasing me.”

You merely giggle as the two of you round a corner, nearly freezing and nervously glancing over at Billy when you come across Steve, chest heaving as he leans over a water fountain. 

Standing straight, he wipes at his lips with the back of his hand, narrowing his eyes at Billy, watching as he quickly scoops up his duffle bag from where he’d tossed it down earlier in the hallway. “Dude, why’re you leaving? You’re almost, like, half an hour late for practice.”

“Yeah, well, tell Carver something came up,” the blond boy huffs dismissively before taking your hand once more. You shoot a bashful smile at Steve, blushing as you and Billy walk toward the doors out to the parking lot. 

Behind you, Steve takes a minute to connect the dots, brows furrowing as he plants his hands on his hips. After a second, his eyes widen and he shakes his head. 

“Come on, at school?” He calls down the hallway, shaking his head as you and Billy laugh, “Fucking animals, man.”

gen tags: @helloworldiamnotarobot @drakonflames @marysucks-blog @watercolorskyy @valeskafics @iamaegontargaryenwife0 @aemshaircare @1997babyyyy @lovellies @little-moonbeam-666 @blackswxnn @wickedfrsgrl @echos-muses @imawhorecrux @avidreader73 @marvelescape @rae-11 @ms-morningstarr @chaotic-fangirl-blog @grsveeth0m @twglitching @hb8301 @delulumhaggy @burntliquorlips @fan-goddess @cl-0-vr @kittendoll05 @beautbuck @eponaartemisa @trshngyn @brettlovessuckingcocks @alerisc @moonriseoverkyoto @wolfdressedinlace @do-double-g @kennafild @cruelworldlana @mheraxes @eternallyvenus @chaotic-fangirl-blog @simp-hub-bro @badxbabyyy @venchi-cremino

(tags are based on your answers to my google form; if you were mistakenly tagged, please contact me & update your answers on the form! thank you!)

#my writing #billy hargrove #billy hargrove x reader #billy hargrove fanfiction #billy hargrove fanfic #billy hargrove fic #billy hargrove smut #stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fic #stranger things smut #dacre montgomery #fanfiction #fanfic #fic #smut

[schrodingerscougar]

Part two for this one. I'm sorry for the cliffhanger in the first part. The illustration is from the amazing @ave661 .

--

Four months. That’s how much time it took Simon to get out of that hazy fugue state. He didn’t really remember what he had gone through during that time, his brain switched to autopilot after the breakup. He often wondered why it affected him this much when he didn’t even love you. You were just someone he spent time with, someone he tried to play house with for a short while to feel normal.

Still, now as he lay on his bed, watching the ceiling fan rotate to stir up the hot air in the room, he couldn’t stop thinking about you. He even found himself opening a social media app to search for your name from a fake account he had set up a long time ago, and he was shocked to see the most recent photo of you. It was impossible to miss the unmistakable shape of a baby bump under your shirt, and based on its size, you got pregnant long months ago.

When he was finally allowed to go home for a short while, Simon went to see you. He knew he had hurt you, he knew you were probably still mad at him, but he had to know if it was his child. It only happened one time. One night when he tried to fix things by giving you what you wanted, hoping sex could make him see you in another light. Maybe he would finally want you the way you always wanted him to want you. But it didn’t work, and it was after that night he made the final decision to end things with you.

“What do you want?” you asked him when you opened the door.

Simon nodded as he bit the inside of his cheek. This cold welcome was fair enough, he deserved this kind of treatment. Normally, he would have left you alone. But normally, you would have told him you were pregnant.

So he silently pointed at your belly and waited for you to realize what he wanted. He knew you weren't dumb, the pieces would fall into place in a second. And sure enough, you let out a sigh then opened the door wider to let him in.

“Why didn't you tell me?” he asked you as he stood in the kitchen next to you with his arms crossed.

You were busy making him a cup of tea, but you took the time to silently shrug. When he let out a heavy sigh, you looked over at him and said, “I didn't think you'd care, Si. Simple as that.”

You were right. He didn't care. Even now that he was looking at you, his eyes occasionally moving to the bump that hid his own blood, his mind was somewhere else. He was a soldier, he knew how to take responsibility for his actions. You getting pregnant was his fault too. He couldn't just ignore the problem.

“I’ll pay child support,” he assured you.

“No need.”

Simon reached out to put a hand on the base of your neck, but you quickly pushed his hand away before he could touch your skin. “You don’t have to do this alone.”

You inhaled through your nose and held your breath in for a few seconds before finally exhaling. “So what? You’re gonna be around and help us? Take her to a doctor’s appointment or for a stroll around the block?” When you saw him looking down at his shoes, you couldn’t help but snort. “Thought so,” you said.

“I’ll better get going. If you change your mind, you know where to find me.”

Months flew by, but Simon barely noticed. He was on a mission again far from home, risking his life as usual. You never called and he didn’t force it. He accepted that he would have to live with the guilt of making this happen. Since you didn’t want to accept child support, he opened a bank account where he stored that money, hoping that one day he could give it to you or his daughter when she became old enough.

One day he checked your social media accounts like he had done a few times before, just to see how you were. This is when he saw the post in which you announced the arrival of your baby girl. He didn’t make a big deal out of it at first. She was born and she would probably ask about her father one day. If he was still alive then, he would gladly give her a toned down explanation. If not… Well, he left everything to her in his will.

Eventually he began to save the photos of his daughter and he often found himself looking at them. She was adorable, some of her features resembling his own. Her big brown eyes were definitely his; the color and the shape were both so familiar to him.

No one from the team knew about this part of his life. He had never told anyone, because why would he? They were close, they were his brothers, but you and your daughter were carefully guarded secrets in his life. Simon knew the real reason why he never talked about you; he was afraid of the judgmental looks and words.

Two months later, when he entered his apartment again after another round of deployment, Simon didn't really know what to do with himself. He ended up looking at his daughter's photos more and more often and eventually he made up his mind to give her a visit. It had absolutely nothing to do with you. He was doing this for the little girl.

You weren't welcoming but, once again, he couldn't blame you. “I just want to see my daughter,” he said softly, hoping the two of you could avoid fighting.

For long moments you were cautiously watching him, as if you were trying to decide if he could be trusted or not. But then your eyes fell on the big teddy bear he was holding with one hand and you let out a sigh of defeat.

On the way to the nursery, you didn't talk at all. The silence didn't bother him, but still he would have appreciated some words about the little girl he was about to meet. Was he allowed to pick her up? Did she like to be held? How was she? Did she have stomach ache often? Were she teething?

“Be quick,” you warned him when you stopped by her crib.

Simon let out a sigh. “Come on, don't be like that.”

You just rolled your eyes at him before taking a step back to lean your shoulder against the doorframe, arms folded over your chest, eyes watching his every move like a hawk. He found it a little too much, he hated that you didn't trust him. Sure, he hadn't given you many reasons to trust him, but for the sake of your daughter you should have tried.

With a sigh, he rested an elbow on the side of the crib and reached out to touch the baby as gently as he could with his other hand. His own flesh and blood. It was amazing, really. Without asking for permission, he picked her up and couldn't help but smile when the baby smiled at him.

Now that he was holding her close to his body, placing soft kisses on her head every so often, Simon couldn't deny that he already loved his daughter. There was an invisible string between them, something that brought her closer to him that anyone has ever been.

The baby giggled suddenly and it brought an even wider smile to Simon’s face. He could only hope you would let him see her as often as he could visit, but something told him it wouldn't be easy to convince you.

“She likes you,” you suddenly noted.

He put down the little girl then turned to you. “The feeling's mutual.” A faint smile appeared on your lips. “Can I see her some other time?” You nodded. “Thank you. If I can help with anything, just give me a call or send a message. I'll get back to you as soon as I can,” he offered.

You been to walk out of the room and he quietly followed you, waiting for you to say something. He didn't really know what he was expecting to hear, but he had a feeling you were holding back something. And sure enough, after a few minutes of silence you began to talk, scolding him for not even bothering to send at least a text to ask about her before suddenly showing up.

“I'm sorry. I didn't think you'd read them.”

“I'm mad at you, that's true,” you agreed.

Simon leaned against the doorframe as he watched you pace in the living room like a caged animal. He remembered those nights he had spent thinking about on deployment, the moment he saw that photo of you, and he realized that maybe he was missing you.

But how could he miss someone he didn't even love? Or had he developed feelings for you, feelings he tried to hide even from himself? It was way too confusing for him, and he didn't like to be confused. It was a weakness on the field and in his civilian life.

“I should go. If you need anything–”

You came to a halt, turned to him and nodded. “I know where to find you. But can I ask you something?” Simon motioned you to go on. “Why now? Why did you become interested in her all of a sudden?”

He let out a thoughtful hum as he put his hand on the back of his neck. “I saw the photos, how much she looks like me, and… I don't know.” You took a few steps closer to him, but you still kept a comfortable distance. “I've been saving money for her. I want to give you access to that bank account.”

“I don't need your money,” you were quick to say.

“It's for her. Please, accept it.”

You became mad at him, accusing him of assuming you couldn't take care of your daughter you'd been raising on your own from day one. He knew there was no point in defending himself, you were too lost in the hate you felt for him. So he just waited there in silence, letting you finish your speech.

Then, the moment you seemingly finished, he closed the gap between the two of you. He didn't know what he was doing, he just followed his instinct when he leaned down and kissed you. This was probably the first time he truly enjoyed kissing you, and it helped a lot that you were quick to return it.

Maybe this was why he wanted to come here today. To fix things. To try to get a family he'd been craving ever since he lost his own.

(part three)

#ghost #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #call of duty #simon riley #mw2 #mw3 #modern warfare #simon riley x reader

[leclsrc]

it’s never over ✴︎ cl16

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

word count: 12.9k  

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

nsfw warnings under the cut!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

“Who told you about that nickname?”

“Lorenzo.”

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

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

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

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

“It’s fine.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

“Mum—”

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

“Um.”

“Because… I’ve been…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You can.”

“No.”

“Fine. Next best thing then.”

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

“Pretend you’re dating.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Charles balks. “How did you even—”

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

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

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

You both nod, hyperfocused. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Got the IT team to fortify my account.” 

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

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

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

—

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

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

“How’s uni?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You can tell me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

“I was thinking more seafood.”  

“Tuna? Make ‘em little tacos.”

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

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

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

“It is not not okay.”

“So it’s…” You pause. “Okay.”

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

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

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

—

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

“We need to talk.”

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

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

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

“Tais-toi. It’s for her own good.” 

“So you’re going to pretend to date.”

 “Ouais.” 

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

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

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

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

“So how about her birthday?”

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

“Nervous?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sure.”

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

“Dream on. On y va?”

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

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

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

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

“It’s seven,” you beam. “Dumbass.”

“Again with the competitive streak.” memory

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

“No you’re just a—hi, hi, hello!”

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

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

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

“Texas,” Charles says at the same time.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh.”

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

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

“… crazy about her forever.”

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You.”

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

“If you don’t want to—”

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

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

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

“First.” He looks away.

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

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

“Put me down, loser!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That was more than enough.”

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

“Did Papa?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Why do you care?”

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

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

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

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

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

“No, about her brand new dress.”

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then you’re quiet.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

You purse your lips. “Charles—”

“A golden shower, mate. Absolutely.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“When will you two wed?”

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

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

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

“Si, he did.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Of?”

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

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

“Now?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

“Okay, that’ll be me.”

“So that’s us.”

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

–

read an omitted scene here :)

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

[princessbrunette]

calling toxicex!rafe when you’re home alone and scared and he takes it as an opportunity to play hero and try and win you back ˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

‧₊ ᵎᵎ 🍨 ⋅ ˚👛

one thing about rafe, if you call him he’s gonna pick up instantly.

“yeah?” he tries not to sound too excited.

“okay i hate that i have to do this, and don’t get any ideas but — i’m really scared right now ‘cos i swear i heard a sound outside my window n’i’m home alone and i just need you to come over and check just incase. please rafe i don’t know who else to call.” your poor little voice is quivering, all panicked and concerned and he can’t help but feel a sense of overwhelming pride. you were still his, even if you denied it.

“alright, you know i got you. stay put, yeah? i’ll be over there as fast as i can. you gonna be okay for another ten minutes?” he drawls, swinging his keys round his finger as he happily swaggers out the front door to his truck.

“mm… i think so. just hurry, please?” you let your guard down for a second, none of the usual sass or brattiness that you’d give him post-breakup to show him how well you’re doing without him — just pure vulnerability and fear, and he fucking loved it.

he shows up as quickly as possible, casually arriving at your door— making you jump when he knocks. he hears you fearful whimper through the door and bites back a smirk. “its me, kid. let me in.”

you have a moment of weakness when you swing the door open. maybe it’s the relief, or the way he’s standing there in a hoodie and sweat-shorts looking so cozy and unlike himself— but your eyes fill with tears, and you throw your arms around him. “oh god, i was so scared.” you sniffle and he beams, rubbing at your back.

“you’re fine, c’mon baby.” he hums, lifting you below your ass and walking you inside.

“rafe.” you groan at the cross of boundary, knowing that was too much affection for an ex.

“yeah yeah.” he puts you down and shuts your door. “so where’s this intruder, huh? or did you make that up to get me over here.” he teases, his hand staying on your back as you walk through to the living room.

“i swear i heard twigs snapping outside the window, it sounded like a person.” you pout and he snickers, shaking his head.

“probably the wind. or— or a raccoon or some shit.” he stuffs his hands into his pockets, watching you sit down on the couch. he stays standing, not sure what to do with himself. you physically relax at his words, realising how silly you’d been.

“yeah… i guess you’re right actually.” you sigh, before your eyes glance up at him. he suspected you felt okay enough to kick him out, and he couldn’t have that — so he jumps back into action.

“i don’t know, actually — you - you know, there’s some maniacs out there, right? maybe someone was watching you.” his mouth turns downward as he shrugs casually, watching the way your brows furrow.

“what? really?” that vulnerable voice was back. right where he wanted you. he nods, a faux concerned frown on his face as he scratches at his cheek casually, slowly rounding to sit down next to you on the couch.

“mm, yeah… yeah i think it’s… probably best i stay the night, right? safety in numbers and shit.” he drawls, voice low and raspy now that he was so close. your eyes flutter, wanting so badly not to give in — but the thought of staying the night alone was spooking you out, so you indulged yourself.

“…okay.” you agree unsurely, mirroring his nod without realising.

“yeah? you know i’ll protect you.”

‧₊ ᵎᵎ 🍨 ⋅ ˚👛

#anon #rafe cameron prompt #toxicex!rafe

[ecoamerica]

Watch the American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 now: https://youtu.be/bWiW4Rp8vF0?feature=shared

The American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 broadcast recording is now available on ecoAmerica's YouTube channel for viewers to be inspired by active climate leaders. Watch to find out which finalist received the $50,000 grand prize! Hosted by Vanessa Hauc and featuring Bill McKibben and Katharine Hayhoe!

#ACLA24 #ACLA24Leaders #youtube #youtube video #climate leaders #climate solutions #climate action #climate and environment #climate #climate change #climate and health #climate blog #climate justice #climate news #weather and climate #environmental news #environment #environmental awareness #environment and health #environmental #environmental issues #environmental justice #environment protection #environmental health #Youtube

[rukunas]

angsty?? deku sucks here (sorry don’t kill me)

“So?” His hands clasp together, steepled in anticipation. “What did that extra get you? Flowers? Chocolates?”

“Nothing.”

“Come on.” Dynamight smirks. “I need to know so I can get my girl something better.”

You scoff as you place the bouquet of fresh red roses in a vase on his desk, courtesy of his new model girlfriend. The note, marked with a perfect lipstick stain, taunts you. “Is it a competition?”

“When it’s with Deku?” Dynamight flashes his canines. “Yes.”

“You’ll win either way. I wasn’t lying. He didn’t get me anything.” You do your best to keep the vitriol out of your voice, but there’s still a sharpness hidden in your tone.

Bakugo catches it, smile disappearing and his brows pinching together in an uncharacteristic concerned frown. “Oh… That case from the Commission is probably kicking his ass right now.”

“Yeah.” You shrug stiffly. “Enjoy the flowers.”

You feel like a bitch. Dynamight is right— you’ve seen how much Izuku has been working, spending late nights at his office, traveling abroad, meeting with some big officials in the government. You even told him to not worry for Valentine’s Day.

So, why were you mad? You had no right. And yet, you thought…

Buzz.

Your phone: Sorry baby, will make it back late 2nite :(( Don’t wait up on me

Well. It didn’t matter what you thought.

The day seems everlasting, annoyingly so. You would know— having to watch each of your coworkers get their own little presents and cards throughout the day. It would be just as bad if you went home and swiped through your phone all day, watching couple after couple post about their date plans. Fuck it, you’ll just stay back in the office and work ahead, it’s not like you have anything else to do.

“The fuck are you still doing here?” A gruff voice echoes from the hall.

“Why are you here?” You shot back, eyeing the hero who leans against your door frame. You recall when you first started working for Bakugo as his assistant, nervous to even look at him in the eye. Now, you openly glare at him. “Your date is at 8. It was hard as hell to get that reservation, you better not waste it.”

“She’s busy, said it in the note. Where’s your date?”

“He’s busy.”

He hums lowly before looking away, staring at the clutter on your desk. Precious hero figurines that you’ve been collecting for years are propped up in poses, along with a picture of you and Izuku. It was from so long ago, you barely remember the memory.

“Would you—” He starts.

“Can I—”

Silence takes over as the two of you interrupt one another.

“Sorry. You go.” You gesture at him to continue.

“Come with me. For dinner.”

“Me?”

Maybe it’s an illusion, but you swear the tips of his ear go pink. “You said it yourself. I can’t miss that reservation. And you said you don’t have plans…”

“Okay.”

“Seriously?” He sounds surprised. It makes your lips curl upward, followed by a breathless laugh.

“Why would I say no to free dinner?”

“I never said I was paying.”

“Oh, shut up, Katsuki.” It was not an illusion, you conclude, watching as his cheeks turn the same color pink as his ears. It takes you a moment to realize you said his given name.

“Alright. I’ll start the car.” He turns to walk out. “Check your desk before you go.”

“Huh?” Too late— he’s disappeared around the corridor.

Suspiciously, you scan your desk. Maybe he left some form that needed your signature? A PR proposal? But nothing seems to be out of order…

Wait. You pause, breath catching as you find the one thing that definitely was not there before. The Limited Edition All-Might Golden Figurine—the figure that was one of the ten ever made, and one that you’ve always dreamt of getting your hands on— stands boldly at your desk. You don’t know how you missed it, not knowing when it was placed there. You feel warmth bloom at your chest, knowing the one person who’d given it to you.

With hands still shaking in excitement and awe, you send out a text: I love you and I love the gift! Thanks baby!!

You find yourself grinning from ear to ear as you pack your things into your bag and put on your jacket. As you do so, your phone buzzes. A happy sigh flutters from your lips as you rummage through your purse to grab it. You knew he’d get you something! He wouldn’t have forgotten Valentine’s Day! And he’s gotten you the best gift you have ever gotten—

?? What gift?

You roll your eyes at his faux cluelessness, moving to take a picture of the figurine. But, as you do, you catch the note stuck to the bottom of it.

The handwriting isn’t Izuku’s. Though, you recognize it immediately.

Happy Valentine’s Day. I hope I won.

#incoming tag spam #bakugo x reader #katsuki bakugo #bakugou x reader #katsuki x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #katsuki bakugou x reader #bakugo angst #katsuki bakugou #katsuki #bakugo #mha #mha bakugo

[occamstfs]

To The Ground Floor

Heyo- Saw this next picture and just had to use it so here’s a businessman to dumb sub twunk TF! 

If anyone wants to suggest a prompt for my 1K follower post here’s the link- https://forms.gle/NE66kaH4KJxkhgPk9

Probably be wrapping it up/posting a poll soon! -Occam

I don’t know what my company was thinking when they scheduled our conference in Tenerife. It would be one thing if it was a retreat or team vacation, but it is nearly impossible to get any real work done with all these tourists stomping around and getting in my way. I was set to make it early to our morning meeting, as I always do, before this twat forced his way in before I could get to the close door button. He surely noticed since he glared at me before returning to focus on the only thing that seems to matter to him, his vanity.

In retrospect I should have kept my mouth shut, but I couldn’t help but scoff as he started to take a picture of his reflection in the door. It was immature, but when dealing with this crowd of influencers or whatever these childish twits has put me off my usually stoic demeanor. He immediately responded with aggression, “You laughin’ mate? You lot all think you’re so much better than us eh?” He scowls once more at me and to his credit, I do think myself superior to him. Not afraid to say it either.

I open my mouth to shoot some clever insult at him but before I can the delinquent fully spits at me! Where does he get off! The elevator chimes as it stops at the sixth floor. I grab my handkerchief to wipe the spit off my dress shoes as I hear him run off, shouting “you’ll get yours ya git!” I look up to see the small of his back showing beneath his trailing coat and mesh top. I can’t help but stare as he runs, asshole he may be but, god, he is hot isn’t he?

I cough as I can’t believe I thought that! He’s absolute filth! Parading himself around dressed like that on a work day, my word! I don’t notice that there is no longer a handkerchief in my hand as I reach to wipe the spit off my shoes with my now empty hand. As I finally wrest my eyes from his pert body I notice that the villain pushed every button in the elevator. So help me god if I’m late to my meeting I will find him and- well, there’s not much I can do. I’m not exactly the peak specimen, unlike, uh him I suppose.

The doors click closed and begin to take me to the fifth floor. I consider hopping off to take the stairs but I’m sure he’ll be there waiting for me. I go to check my rolex when I notice I’m not wearing it? I would never go to a meeting without it though? My mind grows foggy as I thoughtlessly wipe the spit still on my hand on my suit. God it’s a little warm in this elevator isn’t it. I sniff the air and find that it still smells of that jerk. His cologne must’ve been something intense.

I continue to whiff the air before realizing that it is clearly not perfume but his natural body odor, blushing as I grow slightly jealous at his scent. I find my mind drifting as I think what a man he must be to smell so, mm. The only word I can think is, virile? Ugh, I need to get to work, this is going to set me back. The doors clink open to the fifth floor as the heat only continues to grow. Why am I wearing such a thick suit jacket anyway? It is so fucking hot on this island. I absolutely hate it here. I’ll just take it off for the rest of the elevator ride. Yeah, that couldn’t hurt right? My eyes glaze over as I think of his coat trailing off his head as he ran down the hallway and I bite my lip.

God that hot fucker. My jacket falls to the floor and before I can catch it it’s as if it was never there. I grunt as I think once more of my upcoming meeting. Surely they won’t judge right? My mind shuffles as I don’t even try to understand what has happened to my jacket. The fogginess in my head swiftly finds a form though as I see his smug smirk in my mind. Fuck I- I need to fuck him, or be fucked or? I grunt once more, my voice noticeably more dull. I try to fan my shirt open as the heat grows worse and I find myself growing hornier by the second. The elevator is already on the way to the fourth floor without my notice. I give up fanning my shirt and instead just open the buttons when I am suddenly met with something I cannot reconcile. When the fuck did I get, such, fuckable pecs? I press a finger into my own chest and start to drool as I see the depth of my muscle. I see my brown nipples grow and try to wipe the pooling drool from my mouth as I think how much my body looks like that uh, that twit? No that uh, that hot fucker?  I feel like I’m losing my mind. Or, losing myself? Uh..

The doors open and close on floor four as I struggle to think of absolutely anything but that, uh, stud. My own chest jutting out forces me to think of his own hearty pecs. The powerful curves of his body stretching his fishnet top, ugh. I see the biceps now on my own arms and struggle to not flex them thinking of that staring at himself in the elevator’s reflective wall and posing. I stare at the abs pushing out of my torso and think of his cinched waist peeking out from those sagging pants. God why didn’t I just try to fuck him then oohh.. Or no, Why didn’t I give myself to him..I moan as I loosen my belt, trying to allow my growing erection some air, instead giving my cock and ass more space to expand.

God his fuckable ass was impossible to miss even through those jeans. I bite my lip once more trying to stop myself from moaning as the doors open to the third floor. No one is there to see or hear me as my pants drop to the floor and disappear as if they were never there. As if I would wear pleated pants ever I think blushing. My cock begins to grow to fill my boxers. Or no hee hee- Surely I’m not wearing boxers right haha, giggling as I look down and see the clear imprint of my erection in my tight spandex. Mikey would never let me wear something so unattractive as boxers~

I feel an itch in my crotch as I think of Mikey once more, not hesitating to wonder how I could possibly know his name. Nor why he brings me such intense, feelings. It’s just, I’m so lucky to have him! Ah- I might lose control if I keep thinking about him, I need to keep it together for my uh, meeting? I shove my hand into my crotch to deal with whatever that itch is when I find it’s not my still growing cock, but a jungle of pubes that have begun to grow down there. I feel my fingers drag through them, now covered in sweat as the pubes begin to push themselves above my waistline. 

I giggle to myself as I see the thick black hair inch its way to create a perfect treasure trail up my stomach. I’ve gotta keep it looking good for Mikey after all! I play with the lengthening hair in my crotch, giggling to myself, as the elevator makes its landing on the second floor. I raise my sweaty hand to smell it as some prude stares in disbelief in the elevator lobby. I smile coily at him as he narrows his eyes in shock. He almost looks a little familiar but I’d certainly not waste any of my time on him haha!

He decides not to get on for some reason, not that I care as I look at my sharpening reflection. I play with my chest feeling the ebb and flow of my strength as I start to smell my own scent fill the elevator. I notice my feet are now bare on the dirty elevator’s floor. Ah, I hope Mikey won’t be upset if my feet are gross, smiling to myself as I think of him chewing me out. I feel a similar forest begin to grow in my pits as the elevator stops unceremoniously on the first floor before making its way to the ground floor.

I rub my hands all over on my now almost completely unclothed body as I feel my spandex shrink and tighten into a yellow speedo. My hands glide smoothly around the muscular curves, only ever getting caught on my tangled pubes as I giggle to myself. Wasn’t there something I had to do when I got to the ground floor? I raise my arm to bask in my scent as the elevator finally delivers me to my destination, and who could be standing there but Mikey!

“Mikey!” I shout at him! He looks so happy to see me, before responding, “well you’re looking great aren’t ya love.” He pushes and prods me as if he’s inspecting me as I proudly stand there giving him the doe eyes he demands. He smirks as he pulls me out of the elevator and plants his lips on mine. I can barely help but come right there as I feel my cock stretch at my speedo. I moan but keep it together, feeling his pursed lips grow into a smirk before he pulls away and laughs. 

I tilt my head at him before he speaks once more, “you remember what you’re supposed to be doing right now right, pet?” My face grows warm with blush, surely betraying my cluelessness as I struggle to remember. I had a meeting or? No, Haha As if! I, I could never work a stupid office job~ I try to look as coy as possible, inviting him to jog my memory. His eyes grow dark, not from aggression, but a hunger welling within him as he answers, “I need ya to get those posh wankers and bring them to me eh, doll? Need to them to submit yeh?”

My smile grows wide as my mind fills with excitement for this task. I’m gonna be so good and Mikey will be so proud of me! None of those boring businessmen will be able to resist me hehe! I begin to make my way out to the beach looking for any salarymen looking especially susceptible to my charms. I strut around, my body on display to everyone, monkeysuit suckers and other horny tourists alike. As if any of them have something more important going on hee hee! Soon they’ll all realize there is nothing more important than pleasuring Mikey!

#male tf #mental change #top to bottom #masculinization #dumber #male transformation

[bunnycobie]

best friend's brother - choi san

pairing: choi san x f!reader summary: when your night with your crush doesn't go to plan, you find comfort in the person you'd least expect genre: smut, some fluff, some angst word count: 3k content/tw: nonidol characters, college au, san has a sister named mina (not meant to be mina from twice), other random idol names are used, fingering, unprotected sex, drunk sex (don’t do this in real life) a/n: this may be a cringefest bc it was my first fic

18+ minors dni (masterlist)

you tap on jimin’s instagram story for an update on where he might be. he’s in a car with his friends, most likely on his way here. replaying the post over and over, you don’t realize how long you’ve been staring at his smile until you’re hit on the leg with a pillow, snapping you back into reality.

“are you even listening to me?” mina snaps. you grin and sit up against the pillows on her bed.

today is mina’s birthday, and she decided to throw a party at her house tonight. but even though she invited tons of people, she only cares about one guest. so much so, that she’s cycled through five different outfits just to look as good as possible.

“you look hot.” you say jokingly, grabbing and hugging the pillow she just threw at you. “jin is going to notice you, quit overthinking it.”

mina groans. “why aren’t they here yet?”

“they’re on their way right now, they’ll probably be here soon. can we please go now?” you whine. the party started almost an hour ago, but you’ve been waiting for your friend to finish getting ready.

“i just need a few more minutes. go ahead, i’ll find you later.” she says, looking in the mirror as she puts on a pair of earrings.

as you leave the room, your ears are instantly flooded with music despite the party only being downstairs. you head towards the bathroom and step inside to check your hair and makeup in the mirror.

you and mina invited jimin and jin to the party, and it’s the only thing you two have thought about all week. mina and jin are practically a thing at this point, but you can’t say the same for you and jimin. you’re always too nervous to hold a conversation with him. it’s nothing a little liquid courage can’t fix, though. you hope.

there’s a knock on the bathroom door. you open it expecting it to be mina. instead, you’re greeted by a large frame with silky black hair.

of course, it’s mina’s brother san.

despite being a player on campus, he’s really sweet and protective over you. presumably because you’re his sister’s friend. still, he’s always been respectful and never tried to make a move on you.

but you’ve definitely caught him staring once or twice, and youd be lying if you said you didn’t do the same.

“oh, hi y/n.” he examines your outfit, making you feel self-conscious. “i started to think i’d never see you guys come out of that room.”

“sorry,” you smile awkwardly, walking around him into the hallway. “she’s nervous about jin.”

“jin’s coming?”

“yeah, and jimin”. you reply.

san’s posture straightens. “so you actually like him?”

“i never said that.” you protest.

“i hear you guys all the time. you aren’t really discreet about it.” he smiles.

you can’t help but notice his dimples every time he does that. your relationship with him has only ever been platonic, but you’re almost always dumbfounded by his appearance.

“i mean, maybe. i can’t really tell if he feels the same way though.” you say, fidgeting with your hands.

san leans against the wall. “i wouldn’t waste my time on him,”.

“what? what do you mean?”

“i don’t like him. it doesn’t matter though; you can do better than him.”

who the hell does he think he is?

“you don’t even know him. why should i care what you think?” you say, furrowing your brows.

in reality, san knows jimin more than you’d thin. they’ve never been friends, but he’s spent enough time around him to know that he’s not worth dating.

san is well aware of his position in your life, but he still cares and doesn’t want to see you hurt. your words stung a little, but he wouldn’t let you know that.

san grins and lets out a soft chuckle that pisses you off a little.

mina’s bedroom door opens and she steps out in yet another outfit choice.

“it took you an hour to come up with that?” san says teasingly, gesturing to mina’s outfit.

mina’s eyes widen. “is it actually that bad?” she gaps.

“he’s joking.” you smile, despite the anger you felt a few seconds ago. “you look cute, can we go now?” you asked, grabbing mina’s hand and pulling her towards the stairs.

not only would she have actually changed her outfit again, but you would’ve done anything to get out of that situation. you’re an adult and can date whoever you want. why is san treating you like you’re his sister... or his girlfriend?

as you walk away with mina, you glance over your shoulder to see san still looking at you, except this time he’s more serious.

the party was open invitation, but you’re still surprised by the number of people that actually showed. you and mina grab two beers from the kitchen.

you feel a tug on your arm. “they’re over there!”. she points to jin and jimin sitting on a sofa with drinks and talking.

your stomach knots at the sight of jimin and you start to feel flustered. he looks so good you start to second guess your outfit just as much as mina did hers. you chug your drink, hoping the alcohol will set in soon.

mina laughs at your nervousness. “are you ready?”

“i think so –”

“hey guys!” mina yells over the music, interrupting you.

your heart drops even further than it already did.

jmin and jin look over as you and mina make your way to them. mina sits next to Jin, leaving you with no choice but to sit next to jimin on the opposite end. you were hoping Mina would be with you to ease the awkwardness, but that plan is instantly thrown out the window.

jimin turns his body towards you, and you start to wish you’d planned things to talk about.

“hey, you look nice.” he smiles.

“thank you.” you respond shyly. somehow you feel even more self-conscious despite the compliment.

“i haven’t seen you in class lately.” you mention, hoping your awkwardness doesn’t show.

“oh. i’ve been kind of focused on my music lately. i’m actually considering switching majors.” he says.

he continues speaking but as you glance around your attention is caught by san across the room.

he’s looking directly at you, while a girl is holding his arm and laughing. he’s pretending to listen, but he’s watching you and jimin. you can’t seem to break the eye contact, as if your eyes are glued to him.

you realize you’re mid conversation and shift your focus back on jimin, who’s still talking about himself.

“i think that’s great.” you smile at him, unknowing of what he spent the last 30 seconds talking about.

“y/n, can I borrow you for a sec?” mina leans forward into your gaze.

you nod. “sorry, one second.” you excuse yourself from the conversation and follow mina as she pulls you aside.

“jin and i are going to my room; are you gonna be fine on your own?” she asks lowly.

“what? you’re sleeping with jin already?” you exclaim.

mina shushes you and looks around the room as if anyone could’ve heard you over the music.

“i don’t know, probably.” she says, grinning like an idiot.

“i’ll be fine. be safe.” you smile.

she nods and waves over jin, and he follows her upstairs

you make your way over to where you previously were but realize jimin is gone. you scan the room for him but can’t find him. you start to regret letting mina go and feel awkward all over again. you look around for a familiar face and see san, still talking to the same girl and clearly uninterested. you find chaewon and yunjin and join them for a while.

almost two hours pass while you’re busy getting drunk and dancing.

mina comes back with jin, but you’ve been so caught up that you forgot about them and jimin.

“hey.” you almost cringe realizing what they might have just finished doing.

mina grins and rolls her eyes. “where’s jimin?”

you shrug. “he left after you guys did”

“that’s weird,” jin says.

“i’ll go look for him.”

you scan downstairs one more time, but he’s still nowhere to be seen. you realize the party extended to the patio and open the door to check outside.

you find him, but you’re practically frozen in place when you do. he’s sitting next to a pretty blonde girl, kissing and feeling her up. you start to feel sick. you know that the two of you weren’t exclusive, but you still had hope there would be something between you. you’ve been obsessed with him for months and the one night you decided to make a move, the universe betrays you. the embarrassment starts to set in when you realize practically everyone knew about your crush as well.

you can’t watch any longer, and head back inside. you don’t feel like looking for mina. you don’t want to ruin her birthday by forcing her to comfort you. you’re too ashamed to admit what happened, anyways. you’re too drunk to walk or drive home, so you go to mina’s bedroom to wait for the rest of the night.

you open the door to her bedroom but the unmade bed reminds you of what just happened in it. and as disgusting as you feel, you’d rather not fall asleep on a bed full of sweat and god knows what else.

standing in the hallway, you start to feel the frustration set in and tears begin to well in your eyes.

you hear heavy footsteps on the stairs and immediately wipe your tears.

you don’t know whether to be grateful or upset over the fact that it’s san. as soon as you see his face, you’re reminded of the situation from earlier. and the last thing you want is to hear an “i-told-you-so”.

“what’s wrong?” he says, noticing your expression.

“nothing.” you reply, trying to contain yourself.

“why were you crying then?” he approaches you, practically trapping you in between him and the wall.

“i’m just tired.” you lie, looking down hoping to avoid eye contact.

“don’t lie to me,” san says, lifting your chin.

“did he do something to you?” he’s more intimate this time, and you realize you won’t get anywhere by hiding the truth.

“you were right.” you admit, removing his hand from your face. you start to feel the shame overwhelm you again

san sighs and looks around the hallway to make sure you were alone.

“are you happy?” you continued.

“of course i’m not happy,” san says, offended by the accusation. “you’ve had too much to drink. let’s just get you to bed, okay?”

you know he didn’t do anything wrong. none of this was his fault. to be fair, he did warn you. you weren’t mad at san, but you were overwhelmed and didn’t know what else to do. so, you took it out on him.

“you’ve been watching me like a creep all night waiting for something to go wrong. now you want to pretend you feel bad and take care of me?” you snap.

san sucks his teeth and grabs your wrist. pulling you to his bedroom, he shuts the door behind him and leans against it.

“can you calm down?” he asks in annoyance, folding his arms.

you start pacing out of frustration, trying to keep yourself from breaking down.

“he’s not worth crying over, y/n. I told you that you could do better than him.” he says, pulling you back to him. he snakes one hand around your waist and starts wiping your tears with the other.

something about his presence makes you feel safe. he makes you feel like you could cry if you needed to, but how could you when you’re around him? the realization that your body is pressed against his starts to set in.

you always knew san was good-looking, but something about the way he’s letting you be vulnerable with him makes him so much more attractive. he looked unreal, yet somehow, he was standing right in front of you.

you must have been staring for a while because his expression darkens. his thumb that was just wiping your tears starts to brush softly over your lips. you feel like you’re going to pass out from the way he’s staring at your face, studying you.

san’s lips press against yours and his arms wrap around your waist. you reach over his wide shoulders and around his neck as he pulls your body closer to his. each kiss begins deepen, with small moans escaping your throat. and as passionate as they are, his lips are still so soft and careful with yours.

san’s lips move from yours to your neck, and he’s holding you as if you’d slip away once he lets go.

you can feel warmth pooling in between your legs, making your legs go numb. he sweeps you up and moves his focus back to your lips as he carries you to his bed. laying you on your back, he hovers over you between your legs, slipping his tongue into your mouth.

you let out a moan as reassurance for him to continue, so he slides his hand under your top. he squeezes and massages your breast, causing you to let out whines involuntarily.

“does that feel good?” he groans against your neck. you can feel him smiling against you, giving you chills in the best way possible.

you manage to let out a soft whiny “yes.”.

“i’m gonna make you feel so much better.” he promises. he plants a soft kiss against your collarbone before shifting his hand between your legs.

he circles his thumb against the outside of your panties, feeling the damp spots he caused. each feeling of him hitting your clit makes your breath hitch.

“fuck.” he groans. “my baby is so good and wet for me.” he moans, teasing you with his fingers.

you prop yourself up on your elbows, your forehead against his.

“could you please?” you plead softly.

“could I what? use your words, baby.” he teases, pushing more pressure onto your clit.

“fingers, please.” you babble, your head falling back from the sensitivity.

“you want me to fuck you with my fingers?” san smirks.

“mm-hmm.” you whine.

san pulls your panties to the side and pushes his thick finger in slowly, earning a whimper from you.

he can feel his cock growing feeling the warmth of you, wishing it was inside of you instead. the sound of his fingers slipping inside of you are audible from the wetness.

san can feel himself swelling up and leaking from the anticipation, but he wants to take his time with you. he loves the sight of you moaning and whining under his control with your head held back.

he pulls your head in by the back of your neck and snakes his tongue in your mouth while curling his fingers to reach your gspot. his tongue is warm and wet, and you feel yourself getting dizzy and falling apart.

“i’m gonna cum.” you manage to breathe out.

“wait a little longer for me,” san says, pulling his fingers out of your heat and kissing you before standing up.

he pulls his shirt off revealing his bare chest and smooth, toned skin. he’s practically sweating from the anticipation, making his abs and biceps look even more glossy. he looks like a greek god.

unzipping his pants and removing the rest of his clothes, his swollen cock reveals itself, already wet and leaking from the tip.

he pushes you back down and lets you wrap your legs around his waist.

rubbing his tip against your sensitive clit, he inserts himself, making you gasp. the feeling you felt from his finger was almost nothing compared to the size of him inside of you.

he groans at the feeling of you wrapped around and squeezing him and wastes no time before speeding up his pace. your moans can’t help but get louder, and he has to cover your mouth with his just in case someone may hear you whine.

he moves fast yet softly as if he doesn’t want to hurt you. still, the feeling of him inside of you is enough to make your eyes water. you feel your sensitivity from being edged earlier come back, and you’re close to your high all over again.

“i wish i could do this with you forever” he moans.

his pace starts to get sloppy, letting you know he’s close to finishing. you feel a wave of ecstasy take over your body as san releases inside of you, leaving you dripping. the two of you moan over the feeling of finishing on each other.

san collapses next to you as you both catch your breath. he gets up and slips on clothes to leave the room. you lay in confusion for a minute until he comes back with a warm towel.

he cleans you up and gives you one of his clean t-shirts to wear to sleep. you try to hide your smile from the thought of him being so sweet to you. when you put the shirt on, he falls in love at the sight of it being so big on you. he’s not super tall, but his muscles are enough to warrant his shirts being huge. san wraps his arms around you and gives you another kiss, but this time it feels more loving than the rest.

“do you feel better now?” he asks, embracing you.

you’d forgotten about what led to this in the first place. but you didn’t care enough to remember because you were in love with someone else now.

#choi san #choi san x reader #san ateez #ateez smut #jimin angst #bts jimin #ateez fluff #ateez angst #mingi smut #seonghwa smut #hongjoong smut #yunho smut #jongho smut #yeosang smut #wooyoung smut #ateez fanfic #choi san fanfic

[a-small-writer-in-a-big-world]

Your Friendly Neighbor

Pairing: John “Soap” Mactavish x introvert!reader

Warnings: slight angst, fluff, horrible Scottish (I tried), Soap mainly goes by John

Words: 3k

Synopsis: Soap comes home from leave and realizes he has a new neighbor…

Based off this post by @fortunatelyuniquepeach check it out. basically just Soap with an introverted/shy/maybe social anxiety reader

You are currently reading part one

Soap didn’t particularly like going back home when he was on leave. 

Nothing was wrong with the neighborhood he lived in, in fact, it was picture perfect compared to the shit he’s seen in the countries he’s been deployed to. The neighbors were nice to him whenever he was home, especially since it was a very small neighborhood with only a handful of people living in it, rent was affordable and the place wasn’t falling apart, and the neighborhood was quite beautiful as well as quiet. 

For most people, this was their dream place of living. A good neighborhood to bring up a family and perhaps get away from the everyday stress that was life; being surrounded by kind people and the ability to walk to a few local pubs without issue, sounded like it was straight out of a fairytale. A lot of people would kill to live in a place like this.

Soap hated it.

He didn’t hate the people who lived around him, don’t mistake him, but the lack of movement and noise cut through him more than any bullet could. He was used to the chaos of a battlefield, used to the violence of war that killed men without mercy and the constant bloodshed that surrounded him. 

The apple pie life just wasn’t who he was anymore.

He always told himself that he didn’t belong in the calm and quiet life of normalcy and believed that it wasn’t for him either, not after what he’s seen. He belonged on the battlefield, covered in someone else’s blood.

“John, you’ve been working out here all morning!” Ms. Brown, one of Soap’s elderly neighbors who watched his flat for him when he was gone, scolded him as she stepped out on her porch. “You just got back.”

“I’m almost done.” Soap smiled up at her as he wiped the sweat from his brow. 

He was dirty from the sweat and grass covering him from having mowed her entire lawn the moment he had put his things down in his flat. He had been too worked up and wired from work still but her lawn needed to be done, so instead of taking the rest he needed, he went to work.

“I’ll get your money.” Ms. Brown said and he quickly shook his head.

“S’alright-”

Ms. Brown was gone before he could even finish his sentence and he couldn’t help but frown as he realized that he was going to be forced to accept money he didn’t want. He could never try to justify “stealing” money from an old woman even after he decided to become an impromptu landscaper.

He sighed, wiping the sweat off his face with his shirt before he pulled the lawnmower into the garage. He tried his hardest to clean himself up while sweeping the grass off the pathway, but the cut blades stuck to him like glue no matter how many times he tried to shake off his clothes or smack it off his hands.

Soap would’ve used the hose to wash himself, and nearly did, if he hadn’t been distracted by a car driving by. Normally he wouldn’t have thought anything of it but the car turned into the driveway of the flat that was right next to his, the one that hadn’t had anyone living in it the entire time he's lived in his flat.

He had a new neighbor.

He was expecting someone much older than you, since almost the entire neighborhood was made up of the elderly, but when you stepped out of the car he couldn’t help but stare at you with wide eyes.

You were young, probably the same age as him, and quite good looking, though he was just more focused on the fact that someone had moved in beside him and he didn’t even know. 

You were oblivious to him as you walked to the back of your car and opened the trunk. You began to pull out groceries, stacking as many of them on your arms as you can, and dropped them on your doorstep. You were trying to make it one trip, but there were just too many and before Soap had even realized it, he was crossing the street. Before he knew it he was standing behind you.

“When’d ye move in?” He greeted you a little loudly.

You nearly dropped the groceries in your hands as you stared at him with wide eyes. You took him in, looking at the sweat and grease stains covering his clothes along with the mass amounts of grass stuck to him, including in the shaggy mohawk that sat on top of his head.

You looked uncertain and caught off guard especially as he leaned closer to you.

He couldn’t help it. He was too curious for his own good and up this close he could see how beautiful you really were. He tried not to stare, he could see you glancing away from him awkwardly as if you were trying to find a way out of the sudden conversation you were put in, but he was strangely enamored by you.

You opened your mouth a few times trying to find the right words to say as he waited patiently for you to say something.

“...Last week?” You answered in a soft tone as you stared at him.

“Oh, well I’m yer neighbor right next to ya.” He gestured to the other flat. “We share a wall, I just got back this mornin’, must’ve been after you left.”

You nodded as he continued to explain how he could’ve missed you this morning, though you weren’t catching most of it. In fact, you were having a hard time understanding what exactly he was saying and you could only catch a few words here and there, making it so you had to piece together what he was saying.

You stood there and shifted on your feet as you glanced at your flat a few times.

The more he spoke, the more confused you looked but Soap was too caught up in talking to you that he didn’t notice. What he did notice however, was that you were starting to struggle to hold the groceries in your hands so he immediately turned his attention to it.

“Need help?” He offered, gesturing to the groceries in your hands. “Here.”

Before you could really even protest, he took the groceries in your hands, and the rest in your car, and walked towards your front door without struggle. He picked up the ones that you had placed down by the door as well, not at all bothered by the weight of the straps against his skin as he waited for you to let him.

“Do ya like the neighborhood?” He wondered as you came up and unlocked the front door to your flat. 

“It’s nice.” You stepped inside your apartment. “Everyone’s friendly.”

You went to take the groceries back from him but Soap instead stepped inside with a flash of a smile, leaving you staring at him completely dumbfounded. You weren’t particularly looking for a chat, especially when you were still in the moving process.

Soap glanced at all of the boxes still stacked in your flat and the disarray of items strewn across every surface. He didn’t really pay much attention to it as he wandered into the kitchen and set the groceries down on the counters, waiting for you as he took in your flat.

Standing inside your kitchen gave him a strange feeling, a better strange feeling, than his entire flat ever could. Maybe it was because he hadn’t really stepped inside his flat or maybe it was because yours looked far more lived in than his. There was personality, your personality, everywhere and he could just imagine you piddling around making a lot more noise than he ever could by himself.

You’d make lunch and maybe sit in the living room, maybe even put something on the telly while you do it, filling up the empty space with life. How often would you do laundry and does your washer squeak the same way his does when he puts a load in it?

He wasn’t sure why the thought of you doing normal things in your own flat made him feel warm on the inside but he quickly pushed it away when you stepped into the kitchen. 

“I’m sorry about the mess…” You trailed off as you gestured to the many boxes stacked in the kitchen. 

“Movin’s a hassle.” He dismissed you, completely unbothered and in fact feeling more happy about it than anything else.

Soap expected you to say something but you didn’t. He watched as you stood in front of him while you fidgeted with your keys between your fingers while you awkwardly avoided eye contact with him. The silence dragged on and expected you to do something about it, to start unloading your groceries to where they needed to be but you shifted on your feet as if you were debating on doing it.

He watched you for a moment, not really understanding why you were being so quiet when he finally came to his senses.

The fact that Ms. Brown had failed to mention to him this morning that you had moved in, said enough about how much you spoke to the neighbors so of course you were going to be a little awkward when he had basically barged inside you home to help you, in good faith, when you most likely had just wanted to be alone.

He couldn’t help the slight burning feeling he felt across the back of his neck before he ran a hand through his shaggy mohawk.

“I’m John, by the way.” He outstretched his hand for you to take with a warm smile. “Forgot to introduce myself when I was helping ya.”

You introduced yourself and very hesitantly took his hand to shake. He didn’t squeeze or shake very hard despite the fact that having your softer hand against his making him involuntarily smile as a shiver nearly ran up his spine. 

He definitely didn’t want to scare you off now or make things worse between the two of you when you were going to be neighbors for the foreseeable future. He wasn’t too worried however, if he could make Ghost forgive him for the many times he did the same thing, then he could make it up to you.

“I got excited, ya know? Seeing that I had a new neighbor and forgot that not everyone’s as chatty as me.”

“It’s okay…thank you for helping with the groceries.”

Soap nodded and stopped himself from saying anything else so he could give you the peace you wanted. He went to make his way out of the kitchen, about to give you a goodbye, when his boot connected with a bucket full of water that sat in front of the sink.

His eyebrows knitted together when he looked down to see that there were a bunch of damp towels also sitting on the floor by the sink as well. He crouched down to see that the pipe was in fact broken with a large crack in it.

“I’ve been meaning to call somebody.” You said but Soap tutted and shook his head.

“Ah, no, let me. I’ll pop over, get my tools and fix ya up.” He turned to look at you with a grin without even thinking about it. “Free of charge.”

You chewed on your lip and looked as if you wanted to protest but you didn’t, which made him smile even more.

He rushed over to his flat in no time, unsure of why he was really this eager to help you out, and grabbed his tools. Before you knew it, he was underneath your sink fixing the pipe as if this was his job rather than the heinous shit he has done over the years. 

There was a smile stuck on his face as you put your groceries away while he worked. He wasn’t sure why, even as he chatted your ear off about the neighborhood, not expecting you to reply but not wanting to end the conversation with you. 

The little hums of interest and short replies from you were enough for him to keep him going. He couldn’t help but be reminded of Ghost but you were much different, a lot warmer and less rough around the edges which was more inviting than his lieutenant but not any less interesting to speak to. There was so much he wanted to know about you, so much he wanted to ask but he stopped himself because he didn’t want to overwhelm you.

“Got any friends here yet?” He wondered and peered at you from under the sink.

“I haven’t really had the time.” You looked a little unsure, maybe even embarrassed as you avoided looking at him.

“Well I’ll be around for a little while, so we’ve got plenty of time.”

You stared at him with knitted eyebrows and opened your mouth to say something as he checked to make sure the patch job held up even though he was confident it would. He ran the water in the sink and frowned when it was ice cold against his fingers, sending you a quick disapproving glance as if you had neglected to tell him about it.

“Gonna freeze yourself to death with that.” He shook his head and made his way to the water heater.

“You really don’t have to-”

“You’re off your head for thinking I’ll leave you without hot water.”

Soap was quick with fixing up your water heater and made sure to make it as hot as possible without racking up your bills. Seeing the grateful and relieved look in your eyes when tested the water made his chest warm with pride.

He would’ve stayed to chat your ear off more, he didn’t want this to be the only time he saw you or got to speak with you. He hoped that you wouldn’t close yourself off in your flat or only give him short polite answers if he ever caught you outside, he didn’t want that.

He wanted much more from you, a lot more than just being neighbors who occasionally waved at each other and that was it.

“My work here’s done.” He hid his disappointment behind a wink that made you swallow hard. “For now.”

“Thank you so much.” You gave him a small, but genuine smile that had him staring at your lips for a little longer than he should. “How much do I owe you?”

“Nothin’.”

“I can’t not pay you.”

Soap chuckled and shook his head. There was no way in hell he would ever think to take your money, no matter how pretty you looked when you gave him a pleading look as if you wanted to burn your hard earned cash on something like this. He could tell that you weren’t going to take no as an answer but he was prepared for something like that.

He hummed and asked for a piece of paper and a pen. When you gave him something, he quickly scribbled his number down on it and gave it to you, stifling a laugh when you looked up at him surprised.

“If ya really want to pay me, call me when ya need help or when ya want to chat.” He offered and you stared intensely at the piece of paper. “No sense in keeping yourself lonely ‘specially here, Ms. Brown won’t let ya.”

“Thank you, John.” You smiled again.

Soap wasn’t sure why hearing his name come out of your mouth made him feel…different. He didn’t throw his call sign around in this neighborhood, that’s what everyone here knew him as, and yet the moment the name slipped off your tongue it was like he had been pulled back into reality.

Suddenly he was all too aware of the fact that he hadn’t given himself a break since he got back. Exhaustion pulled on his muscles and on his mind, there was nothing buzzing inside of his mind that told him he had to keep working.

It made him tense up. He didn’t like that, he didn’t want to stop moving, he had to do something or else he was sure he would fall apart at the seams.

“I’ll see you around, hen.” He kept a smile on his face, hiding the knots in his stomach.

Before long he was standing in the middle of his living room, unsure of what to do. 

There was too much quiet in his flat that the noise inside of his head completely took over his senses. It was consuming him every second he stared at the floor while he fidgeted with his fingers as if the stimulation would provide some sort of comfort. 

It choked him, making it harder to breathe as he found himself stuck frozen in his own flat as if something had locked him there to torture him until he would eventually find himself too exhausted to even think anymore. He couldn’t even go into his room to get his journal to write down the endless thoughts running through his mind, the dark and disgusting thoughts that made him feel like a wolf among sheep.

He needed something, anything to keep him from spiraling and yet-

A crash from the other side of the wall and the sound of you cursing to yourself abruptly brought him out of his head.

He blinked a few times, the tension leaving his body as he left out a few deep breaths which filled his lungs with air that seemed to go into his veins and cleanse him of whatever dirtiness that had filled them. 

You made another noise and he looked at your shared wall, imagining that you were most likely unpacking again. You must’ve dropped something and he hoped that it was nothing valuable but he couldn’t have been more grateful for the fact that you had made some kind of noise. 

In fact, the more you moved around in your flat, your footsteps muffled as you walked around, the more at ease he felt because it filled up that dreaded quiet he had come to hate so much. 

He’s not sure how long he stayed there just listening to you, but he was sure he looked like an idiot with the soft smile he had on his face.

Being home didn’t seem too bad anymore.

Link to part 2

A/N: Not my best work but that's okay. This might turn into a mini series? Might make it a three parter who knows. First time really writing for Soap so I'm sorry if he seems a little off character, hopefully I'll get better at him <3

Tags: @cathnoneofyourbusiness @lillianastuff @sofasoap

#john soap mactavish x reader #soap mactavish x you #soap mactavish x reader #soap x you #soap x reader #john soap mactavish #soap mactavish #soap mw2 #mw2 soap #cod soap #soap cod #john soap mctavish x you #john soap mctavish #john soap mctavish x reader

[cgnab]

FILMING.

pairings: hyung.line x fem!reader

warnings: nsfw(mdni!!) , filming , fingering , daddy kink , mommy kink , sub!binnie , dom!minho , begging .

author: two posts in one day ˙Ⱉ˙ ?!! also don’t ask why chan’s feels longer '◡' .

BANGCHAN . 방찬

“ look how wet you are—have you been playing with yourself ? “

he says as he’s sliding his dick into your entrance . He suggested filming both of you while you’re fucking so he could watch them when he’s away .

he inserts the tip inside you making you whine , wanting to have him fully inside .

“ channie—daddy want you inside me please!! “

“ there there , baby . I’ll fuck you as much as you want— “

he then slides his whole dick inside you slowly as to not make you feel any pain .

“ ah , ah you’re so tight baby , so good for me— “

he starts fucking you faster making you moan more into the mattress .

“Da—daddy!! So big , so big!! Ah— “

“ am I making you feel good baby? Want me to fuck you deeper huh? “

He starts fucking you faster , making you feel like cumming hard . But he suddenly stops just before you cum .

“ daddy—daddy , I was gonna c-cum . “

“I know baby , but don’t you wanna put a show for the camera huh? I’ll make you cum as much as you want baby . “

LEE MINHO . 이민호

“Yah , stop squirming around— “

he slaps your ass , so hard . he displayed the camera on an angle so it shows how good his cock with disappear into your cunt .

“ looks like my bunny want to get it hard huh? “

you were trying not to get out a moan instead of answering him .

he then slaps your ass hard , “ are you that cockdrunk that you can’t answer? “

“ m-min—move please!! “

“ oh I’m not going to baby , looks like you need to beg more . “

He then starts thrusting slowly , teasing you .

“ min!! Pleasepleasepleaseplease— “

he starts thrusting faster than before fucking you deeper , his tip hitting your cervix .

“ do you wanna cum—ah , do you? my little bunny . gonna cum inside you and fill ya up—fuck . “

SEO CHANGBIN . 서창빈

“ Bunny you’re riding me so good—ah! “

he tried to reach for your hips , but all he earned was a slap on his hand .

“ No no , no touching until I say baby . “

he really wants to touch you , he just wants to flip you onto the mattress and fuck you like a rabbit in heat .

“ ma-mommy!! g-gonna cum—gonna inside you mama!! “

then all of a sudden you stop riding him .

“ no bunny you won’t cum until I do , alright buns?? “

“ b-but ma— “

“ ah uh , no talking back to mama , let me cum first ok? “

you then take the camera to make him hold it , he’d probably forget to hold it still and focus on you riding him faster .

HWANG HYUNJIN . 황현진

“ fuck baby , clenching on me so hard—ah “

“ j-jinnie , wanna cum—wanna cum on your cock jinnie!! “

he holds your hips harder , then starts to fuck onto you harder .

“ you feel so good—shit!! I might cum a-anytime . “

you could feel yourself dripping from how much he has been fucking onto you , your things stained by your cum .

“h-hyun—daddy!! Daddy gonna cum on your cock please please!! “

He could feel himself cum right now .

“ W-whatcha say baby—I’m your daddy?? Yea—fucking into you good fuck— “

After a few thrusts you feel yourself cum on him so hard . “ f—fuck baby , cummin-cumming omg— “

after a few sloppy thrusts of his you could feel him cumming inside you , filling you good .

“ oh shit-looks like we got the camera dirty baby , looks like we should do it again— “

(≧σ≦)₊˚✩Hello!! its Nana!! Hope you liked this fic hehe :3 if you’re planning on following me , please don’t be a minor!! Bc my blog is mainly 18+ , check my other posts if you’d like !! Sending a dms or a request in my inbox motivates me to write more!!

© CGNAB , 2024 ★

#stray kids #stray kids imagine #stray kids smut #stray kids x reader #skz #skz imagine #skz smut #skz x reader #bangchan #bangchan imagine #bangchan smut #bangchan x reader #lee Minho #lee Minho imagine #lee Minho smut #lee Minho x reader #Seo Changbin #Seo Changbin imagine #Seo Changbin smut #Seo Changbin x reader #Hwang Hyunjin #Hwang Hyunjin imagine #Hwang Hyunjin smut #Hwang Hyunjin x reader

[fairytsuk1]

looking glass | (s)

apart of the meet cute: gone wrong series, click here for more!

pairing: shoto todoroki x reader

words: 5.7k

prompt: "moving into a new apartment and realizing they can see directly into their neighbor’s window"

warnings: strangers to lovers, masturbation, mild pervert!todoroki, voyeurism, exhibitionism, fingering, kitchen sex, unprotected sex, alcohol

Shoto had decided to move. He had to get away from it all, and his only option post-college was to find an apartment where he could heal from all his trauma in peace. The moving-in process had been grand, Midoriya had come by, and he was always such a great friend. Even some ex-classmates had come by, with welcoming gifts or a helping hand. Even Bakugou had paid a visit with Kirishima, and the distance was starting to seem not so bad now that he was settled into his one-bedroom apartment.

Things were looking up! Job security, a new place, and lots of people to meet. It even felt a bit exciting. A new chapter.

“So you’re single?”

The apartment complex had its pitfalls, namely the single women that had spotted an attractive bachelor on their radar and were quick to bomb-rush him with questions. Was he single? Was he set to be married? Married in the past? Looking for that special someone?

An older woman, Miyako, had come with onigiri and many questions. Some bordered on creepy, but Todoroki had difficult time saying “go away” to people who didn’t deserve it. He’d come a long way from his teenage years; he had to be better now.

“I’m just going about life right now, er; I’ll let you know?”

Miyako looked thrilled to have caught Shoto’s attention, but it was beginning to feel embarrassing when he only wanted to take out the trash.

“Oh, that’s great! Believe me, my husband is always gone, so if I never need… help, I know how to find you!”

It seemed a bit distasteful that she’d tried lowering her eyes and rubbing her lips together as if he’d get with a married woman. Gosh, imagine the drama. Todoroki took a look around, and most people were leaving for work. He probably shouldn’t be seen with this lady like this.

“Yeah, I’m not exactly handy, though. Uhm, I hope it all works out,” and Todoroki's taking the tray from her hands, “and thank you for the onigiri.”

She follows his steps as he moves backward, “Oh, but are you sure you don’t need anything else?”

An angelic voice floats out from behind him. It’s the smoothest voice he’s ever heard.

“I’m sure he’s fine, Miyako!”

He was thankful someone had come to put this cougar to rest, but as he turned towards the sound of the voice… he thought he could hear bells in the distance. Have you always been living here? Are you a guardian angel striking a pose on Earth? Why hadn’t he gotten to see you earlier?

“Oh, I’m just checking up on him!” 

She dares to pinch his cheek, and he can feel it grow warm under her manicured nails, “isn’t he so cute?”

“Soooo cute,” and you offer a small wave, “Hi there.”

He doesn’t take your lack of a compliment to heart, waving back and noting your name. It was pretty, and it fits you perfectly. So did the suit you were wearing, the blazer buttoned to accentuate curves, and you still managed to adorn yourself with gold jewelry without losing your air of professionalism.

“Well, I have to go,” Miyako rests a hand on his, whispering, “Enjoy the onigiri.”

“Thanks.”

She gives a pleasant goodbye to you, and you’re approaching closer as she walks away.

“Got caught by Miyako, huh?”

“Well, I guess. I was taking out my trash, and then she asked all these questions with the tray of onigiri; I couldn’t tell her to go away.”

“You should! She goes after nearly every bachelor that moves here but don’t try it. I’ve seen too many guys get beaten to a pulp by her husband; it’s a dangerous game.”

“Oh, oh no. I wasn’t going to–”

“I didn’t think you would,” and you have the confidence to give him a wink, “you just moved here a couple weeks ago, huh?”

“Yeah, I’m apartment 438. Where are you?”

“Oh, just across from the other side, but there’s never any parking over there! I really am only over here for work,” you gesture to yourself with a small shrug, “law firm.”

Ah, so that’s the reason for the briefcase. He gives a small smile in return. Has he been nervous this entire time?

“Well, government job. So, we’re in the same boat.”

“Hah! I guess so. If you’re ever in trouble, then call me! Unless it’s something pretty bad, I just do real estate stuff.”

“Real estate?”

“You don’t have to pretend to be interested in it! But it’s not bad, not like you think.”

“No, I wasn’t lying. I could never go through law school; that’s very admirable.”

He’s pleased that your cheeks lift unconsciously, murmuring a “thank you.”

The two of you linger in the presence of each other for a minute or two longer, but it feels like ages as the breeze brushes past the two of you under the sun's warmth. You’re the first to break, sighing and offering your hand, “I’ve gotta go, but it was so nice to meet you!”

Your hand is soft, not scarred like his that came from years of working out and being rougher in his younger years. Electricity raves through his veins when you give him a firm shake.

“Yes, you too. Have a good day at work,” he feels his cheeks burn unconsciously at the statement, fingers curling around the onigiri like a lifeline.

“I’ll need it!”

He tries not to watch you get into your gray Toyota, so he busies himself with inspecting the gift he was given till he hears your engine rev. The last look he gives you wasn’t meant to feel like he was yearning to talk to you more, but he’s afraid it does when he catches your eye, and you only smile.

The apartment is cozy, but as he eats his onigiri, he wonders if you’d want to share some with him sometime.

“I’m getting too wrapped up in this,” he mumbles at the small island in his kitchen, “I’ve got to get to work.”

It’s a slow work day.

-

“A lady? Who’d you meet? That’s great, Todoroki!”

Midoriya blabbers eagerly to him over the phone, having to catch up on each other’s lives, “Yeah, she saved me from some old lady. She was hitting on me.”

“An old woman!? Wow, was she the one who gave you onigiri?”

“Yup.”

“Wow! Gosh, I can’t believe it! I mean, didn’t you say she was married?! That’s just crazy, Todoroki. I don’t know what I’d do!”

“She was not going to leave me alone,” he stirs a pot of marinara sauce lazily, “but everyone here is very nice.”

He doesn’t say your name, but he means you.

“Mhm, that’s good. Uraraka and I have been good. We’re looking at buying a house!”

“Right, how’s that going?”

He’s able to lose himself in the conversation and dinner-making. It’s peaceful; it feels like home. His lights are low, which adds to the lighting, and he can’t help but feel lonely. Usually, at home, he’d smell the soft perfume of his mother or the sizzle of food from Fuyumi. 

Todoroki tried to put the lost memories out of his mind. Midoriya was here, and he supposed that was never a sad thing.

“Sounds like you guys have a plan,” the sauce is nearly done, and he finally takes a second to rest against the counter, “I think it’s going to go great. I can always help you with moving when the time comes.”

“Thank you so much! I think we’re pretty steady on what we wanna do….”

It only takes a flickering gaze around the room to cause Todoroki to be shaken to his core. He ended up with a nice balcony in his apartment and opted for curtains during move-in. 

This time though, this evening, he’d left them wide open. Wide open and exposed directly to your apartment. You were not only inside but walking around half-naked.

“Todoroki?”

“Yeah, yeah. Sorry, what were you saying?”

“Oh! I was just saying would you prefer gray walls or white ones? We still can’t decide.”

Picking up your living room is a menial task to you, but not to the man drooling over how you bend over and how your panties outline the plush fat of your ass. White panties with lace.

“...White is good, maybe a bit off-white.”

“That’s what I was thinking!”

The sauce starts to boil over, “shit!”

“Is everything okay?”

He’s got his phone trapped between his shoulder and ear, rushing to turn down the heat and making quick glances at the sliding doors, “Yeah! Yeah, everything’s fine. My dinner’s ready; I have to go.”

“Okay! Hope it’s super good; talk to you later! Bye.”

“Yup, thanks. Bye.”

The phone is slid away on the counter, the sauce is lowered to a medium-low, and his eyes are finally free to enjoy the show that’s been stirring guilt and arousal in his gut. You look good. More than good, so good that he can’t be bothered to turn away in shame. He’s locked in, and you have no idea what you’re doing as your prance around your living room. 

You’re just cleaning up. No big deal, but it feels like something is watching your every movement. It only clicks once you reach the sliding glass door to see Todoroki’s “empty” apartment gazing back at you. It makes sense now; you must’ve been putting on a grand show for him while doing your chores.

Something in your brain whispers an idea to you. One that makes you want to go “Eureka!”

It’s a bad idea, an awful idea, to not shut the curtains. However… How often do you get to tease an attractive man? How often do you get to enthrall someone in your figure, your body? It’s an awful idea to turn around and take a nice long stretch down to your toes, but you don’t care.

Maybe he’s imagining filling you up or getting off to the fact that you think he’s not watching. The thought strangely excites you. Sure, it’s immoral, but the fact that eyes are tracking your every curve and committing them to memory is so alluring. You’re definitely going to use your vibrator later. 

Todoroki’s hard in his sweatpants; the indentation is practically obscene. A flush spreads through his body, making him unbearably hot. There’s a weird other being inside him that wants to march over to your door and fuck you till you love him. But… he’s being a creep. You’d be scared, uncomfortable! He would never in a million years try to do something to you, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t drink in a long look at your plump ass practically in his face. 

But then you do something unexpected; you turn around. Todoroki's reflexes are fast, and the minute your leg bends, he’s acutely aware that if he doesn’t move, he’s going to get caught! Two-toned hair dives towards the floor, the thump definitely irritating his downstairs neighbors as he crawls till he’s behind his sofa and safely able to peer his eyes around the arm.

You look askance like you’re waiting to see something. Todoroki watches you wait a minute more before stepping forward and swiftly tugging the curtains shut. The show’s over, but his cock is still hard in his boxers, and Todoroki thinks it might be time for a shower. 

He fists his cock needily under the warm water, breathing your name in soft exhales as he works himself to the end. The cum splatters lewdly against the tiles, and he’s shocked to find his knees weak. What were you doing to him?

Neither of you sees each other again for a while. Your work takes up so much of your time, and your heart withers watching the daylight pass by in your office. Todoroki has been busy, too, he’s closer to the heart of the city, and the daily commute has worn him thin. It’s exhausting, and the two of you are not even the slightest bit excited to read the flier posted up on your doors.

[SHIKETSU COMPLEX MONTHLY BARBECUE AND PICNIC!]

Todoroki’s eyes are assaulted by the bright colors that jump out at him. There are many reasons not to go. He is so tired, Miyako might be there, he doesn’t know anyone like that, he has no kids, he doesn’t know how to barbecue…

His mind keeps circling back to you like a train stuck in a loop on the track. It’s unbelievable that he’s rationalizing attending this event just because he thinks you might be there. You probably won’t go; why would you? You’re way too busy. He tries to convince himself to walk back to the apartment as he makes his way to the barbecue. You won’t be there; he’s an idiot.

Yet there you are, under the hot sun shining in a warm yellow sundress that contrasts your brown skin beautifully. You’ve adorned yourself with gold jewelry again. His heart flutters in his chest. Todoroki can’t believe he’s there and that you were there too.

“Hello, handsome,” you smile warmly as he approaches a picnic table with pre-made potato salad, “did you make this?”

“Huh? Hello, and I-uh, well,” he’s unsure whether to lie or tell the truth, “I don’t know!”

He’s lucky he’s handsome because you laugh lightly and point to the artichoke dip, “Honestly, I don’t know if I made that either,” and then you’re humming with a warm hand on his shoulder, “unless you’re a secret housewife, no one cares that the bachelor doesn’t know how to cook.”

“Is that really my nickname?”

“To some, yeah. Especially Miyako; I swear she’s been trying to scout you out from when you arrived. She’s here with her husband and kids too! She has no shame.”

“Yeah, that’s pretty weird. How have you been, by the way?”

There’s a clear elephant in the room to him; he can’t get your body out of his head. His senses go haywire every time you move, flashing a show of skin. Hopefully, you have no idea.

“Oh, good! Good, just working. I haven’t seen you around often these days; early commute?”

“Mhm, it takes up a lot of time. I don’t mind being in the city, but it’s hard to come back home and do it all over again,” he smiles warmly, “I feel jealous of you.”

“Oh, trust me, once you’re spending long hours in an office and leaving when the sun’s down, you won’t be saying that anymore!”

It’s just a friendly neighbor chat, but it comes so easily for the two of you. It’s not like you guys are chatting for the second time ever, but as if you’ve been friends for years, getting caught up in reminiscing. You launch the dice, scoring snake eyes.

“Hey, I know you mentioned you weren’t too handy the last time we talked, but how are you with electronics? Televisions?”

“I-I used to live in a dorm, so I know a little. Is something wrong?”

“My tv has been having connective issues! I don’t know what the problem is, but I was hoping you might be able to come and look at it whenever you’re free.”

He’s being baited like a shark; he knows this too well. It’s an extremely attractive olive branch. At this point, it’s not even a branch but a whole Garden of Eden planted by you for him. He can’t wait to bite the apple.

Todoroki nods genially, “Of course, I can take a quick look at it. No promises if I don’t know what to do; I’m not an expert.”

You’re sipping your cocktail with a coy look, “I’m sure you’re an expert in other things. If you watch something enough, you’ll eventually pick it up.”

The comment makes Todoroki go stock still, eyes blown out and face deadly pale as you shrug up at him. He opens his mouth to say something, anything, but you’re waltzing away to engage with some of the mothers. That had to be a dig; you had to know what he did that evening. Maybe inviting him over was a plot to kill him for being a spying creep. 

Then there’s the chance that you… liked it. It feels impossible to even consider that option, but it was clear that you weren’t exactly mad. You would’ve confronted him straight away; he’s sure of that. So, what was he to do? Pretend to be innocent? Tell you that he thought you were extremely beautiful and sexy, so much so that he watched you through your window while you weren’t wearing clothes?

A man offers him a beer; Togami, he says. Todoroki is left to sip the acrid drink and ponder whether he should skip town. 

You keep looking at him, and you know the other moms are starting to notice your wandering eye fixated on the lone wolf. Aka, a mother of two, grins eagerly, “See something you like? Ah, young love!”

“It’s not young love. We’ve barely talked, Aka.”

Mayumi chimes in, “Really? It looks like he wants to talk to you; every time you look away, he looks back at you!”

“Are you being serious? You guys are crazy; nothing is going on!”

They’re swirling around you like viper snakes. Their lives are so consumed by their children that they see themselves in you, and they’re poking and prodding like you’re their next do-over, “Why don’t you talk to him?”

“I actually did, Mayumi,” you shrug, “it was good! Nothing crazy, not like how I know you guys are thinking. What dirty minds!”

Obviously, the mothers were gossipy, but you wonder if maybe he needed an extra push. Due to your line of work, you were familiar with pushing someone right till they crack like an egg. You’d left him looking like a sorrowful puppy, and the alcoholic drinks were brewing fiercely in your tummy. Liquid courage runs through you, and you set your margarita down to smooth out your dress.

Maybe they were right; maybe you should do something. Prod him a bit.

“I’m going to be right back,” you mumble to the gaggle of women that debate the current happenings of Ema, a new mom that entered the block and seemed desperate to wreak havoc. You’d met her, and she was actually quite nice. 

But that’s not the point. No, you’re straightening your posture and sauntering over with a sway of your hips. You were going to do this.

Your eyes are locked onto Todoroki’s figure as you confidently walk towards him, “Todoroki! Are you getting ready to head out?”

He gives you a small nod, looking around before nudging you, “It looks about time. Are you?”

“Yeah! Yeah, I am. I’m looking forward to just straight-up relaxing.”

“Right,” and he seems to be brimming with liquid confidence as well because he offers, “Do you want me to walk you back?”

It feels weird to be asked that; it’s not a direct question but an offering. Despite that, though, there’s a feeling bubbling underneath the surface. Both of you know that you could give in right here and now, forgo the traditional courting and go straight to fucking like wild animals. 

“Gladly, thank you,” he follows with you leading the way, “I think you fit in well.”

“Huh?”

“I said, I think you fit in well. In the neighborhood, you really round it all out. Plus, everyone likes you.”

“Not everyone,” his face tinges pink, so cute.

“Yeah, yeah,” stopping at the steps to my door, you shrug at him, “Do you want to come inside for a second?”

It’s another checkpoint. Another moment that makes one pause and think, “Is this it?” Another moment Todoroki barrels through, eagerly accepting the invitation and kicking his shoes off at the front of your home.

He seems to really take in your apartment as you scurry to make a polite pot of tea. Heterochromatic eyes sweep over the large glass doors; he doesn’t hide his open gawking. You tug your bottom lip between your teeth while pouring boiling water over tea leaves, “I take it to mean you like my apartment?”

“Like? I-I mean, it’s….”

Todoroki trails off, honing in on the pictures on the mantle.

“It’s very homely,” he turns back to look at you, smiling softly, “It looks great.”

“Ah, thank you. Tea?”

The man gladly takes it, and you can feel the lingering warmth of his comments as you chit-chat. You wonder what he’s thinking; his curiosity is on full display. You could come up with a few ideas. Before you know it, Todoroki is checking his watch and giving you a straight face.

“It’s getting late,” his cheeks twitch to a frown before remaining neutral, “but it was really nice to spend time together.”

Does everything he says have romantic undertones? You nod, covering your flushing cheeks with a hand before an idea strikes you. It slips out on accident; you didn’t mean for it to come out, really!

“I agree,” and the bomb drops, “I’d expect a great view from your window tonight.”

Your eyes flicker to his darkly. He’s swallowing, staring at you like a piece of meat as you lay the trap out for him. Neither of you says anything; what should you say? One of you could be bold, could prompt a kiss or more, but you don’t. Todoroki gives a light laugh, gathering his things with a lingering hand ghosting the small of your back as you escort him out.

“Goodnight,” he murmurs lowly, and you think you could kiss him.

“Goodnight!” the door locks with a click.

Todoroki sits patiently like it's a movie theater where he's waiting for his favorite film. It’s dazzling how the curtains peel back to show your partially clothed body facing away from the glass. You only have the kitchen light on, illuminating your soft curves and tan skin better than any ring light could. Todoroki sits in the darkness, not wanting to be seen but to watch. To be an active audience member as his hand trails down to grip and stroke his cock.

Swaying your hips, Todoroki finally gets a glimpse of your sweet face. It’s different from earlier. It was much more innocent before, truly the girl next door type. But this, this? You were something absolutely out of this world; he noted it in the way your eyelids lowered as you salaciously gripped your vibrator or even the way your lingerie left nothing to the imagination.

“Fuck…” he spoke to the quiet air.

He couldn’t hear you, but it was enough to see you. Starting slowly by groping your chest, nipples peeking through the lace of your bra as his eyes continuously dip down to your pussy. Covered, but if he squinted, Todoroki thought he could see your wetness starting to soak through.

You moan, hips twitching as you tug your nipple a bit harsher than the last time. Soft lips part to breathe as a hand snakes down the valley between your breasts and down the slope of your stomach. Manicured nails stop at the waistband of your panties; your eyes seem to search across the darkness for the sight of your lover boy. For a second, you think you see a turquoise eye in the darkness as your fingers make quick work on your clit.

You both know you’re staring right at each other, and neither can look away as your hands cover themselves in slickness and arousal. It’s heady and so risky with such open windows, and yet your orgasms are driving you toward the edge faster than you’ve ever felt before.

“God, I wish I could feel you,” Todoroki groans, thumb rubbing the slit and feeling his abs tighten, “I need you.”

“Oh god, I’m gonna cum Todoroki,” you pant into the open air, squirming and fucking yourself on your fingers and toy.

It comes all at once, spurting onto the web of his thumb and fingers as Todoroki cums to your wriggling form. It overwhelms you, too, body arching and seemingly bursting with pleasure when you reach your peak. You both came quicker than expected, your legs falling closed as you steadied your breathing. Even under the low light, the clear droplets of your arousal staining the carpet makes Todoroki’s balls ache.

You’ve won again. You’ve once again captured the heart and dick of Shoto Todoroki, and he can feel the feelings ruminating inside him as you playfully clean up your living room. His eyes track your figure like he’ll forget you the minute he blinks. This can’t go on any longer; both of you know this. But then you’re drawing the curtains, and the show ends.

By the evening, Todoroki sets a plan to get exactly what he wants. And you’re none the wiser.

It’s been a while since the two of you had crossed paths. Your work has stolen your energy, leaving you to come home exhausted and weary every day. Normally you’d perk up at seeing the boy you’d come to feel warmth for if you even caught him, but his life seemed to be getting in the way. He always kept his curtains closed these days.

Then, you notice it on your day off, cozy in a sweatsuit with a mug of steaming coffee. The curtains are open, which leaves his apartment looking like a ghost town. It’s been a moment since you’ve seen the light filter in like that since you’ve felt that familiar feeling brewing at the bottom of your stomach.

Your body sits on the plush couch, sipping your drink and waiting patiently. You’re giddy as Todoroki walks into view. The show is about to start, and unlike you, he’s making sure to give an eyeful. He’s never looked more confident; in fact, he’s never put himself on display like this.

Was he really doing this all for you?

The thought is forgotten as a black t-shirt is peeled off to show rippling muscles and brown nipples that pebbled as he rubbed over his chest. He was carved to perfection, maybe by God himself. Todoroki starts slow, blunt nails scratching lightly over his pecs, down his abs, and stopping at the band of his sweatpants.

He looks up at you through his bangs and your pussy throbs. The man flicks his hair back, hand gliding and palming his cock over the thick fabric. Todoroki must’ve already worked himself up, you note as you watch his half-hard cock create a sizable imprint in his sweats.

You’re biting your lip, trying not to reach down and touch yourself. He looks so enticing. Part of you wants to jump up and break down his door, pulling him into a sharp kiss as he…

Todoroki moans behind the glass, head tilting back as his Adam’s apple bobs. You can’t see exactly what he’s doing, but it’s enough to make you feel… hot. Almost angry, he had the nerve to touch himself in front of you yet play shy when you were face to face. If he was going to be so bold as to unashamedly stroke himself, you’d be even bolder by darting up out of your seat and running out the front door.

You miss his smirk as he pulls on his shirt and waits for the piercing sound of your knuckles rapping against the door. After a moment, he hears it and steadily opens it with a teasing smile.

“Hello,” he greets casually, despite the erection straining the front of his pants.

Neither of you can wait anymore as you nearly tackle him with a kiss. He easily holds you, big hands cupping your waist and pawing at your ass. It’s desperate; it’s passionate. Todoroki grunts as his back hits his kitchen island, “do you wanna do this right now?”

“I don’t think I can wait,” your lips graze over him, “I know you need me.”

Todoroki pulls you closer till his leg slides between yours. The small motion makes you lose focus at the delicious pressure against your clit; your arms delicately wind around his broad shoulders as he bruises your lips with another kiss.

“Yeah, yeah, I do,” he murmurs, spit slicking his lips.

  His tongue, pink and sweet, glides over yours like butter. The two of you fight to win, each trying to usurp the power of the other and take control. You scratch against his back, Todoroki presses his leg against your soaked pussy, and your hand sneaks down to squeeze his cock that soaks pre-cum into his boxers. 

At some point, it goes from a battle to simply indulging in the good feelings. Saliva pools in your mouth as you dry-hump each other like animals. Whimpers echo in the air, but he caves first.

“Wait,” he pauses, chest heaving and lips glossy, “let me…”

The small of your back meets the counter before Todoroki captures your lips in another kiss. He’s grown confident, fingers cradling your wrist and hands fondling your tits.

“Ah! Todoroki,” your body melts easily into his palm, “take me, god. I’ve been waiting long enough.”

“Have you? I think I’ve waited for longer,” his teeth graze over the curve of your neck, “you started it.”

His hands expertly sneak up your shirt within minutes; it makes you wonder what else he’s hiding from you. Your fingers curl into his hair easily. Tugging lightly, the pleasure and blushed face of the man before you made your core throb.

“Then let me finish it,” you murmur softly, hand sliding down to his sweatpants.

“Mhm,” the two of you stare at each other as your hand slides past the cotton barriers to touch smooth, hot skin.

Then, his eyes look blown out, and his hands are spinning you around so fast you nearly get whiplash. Excitement shakes through your body like bursting fireworks as you help tug down your bottoms. 

Large hands eagerly spread your ass, Todoroki watching your hole clench and drip arousal down your thigh. His mouth instinctually waters, and his knees want to give in. You would taste so sweet. Todoroki can’t keep his eyes off your drooling pussy. You’re mewling, though, impatient as a thumb runs over your slit before rubbing tight circles against your clit, “You’re so beautiful.”

He slips a finger in, leaving your words choked and broken, “T-thank you.”

“Of course, baby,” he hopes the nickname lands, “oh, you liked that.”

It’s embarrassing to hear the squelch of his fingers inside you. You clench easily at his motions when he flicks his fingers up harshly or calls you such sweet names. Even he chuckles at your obvious arousal.

“Shut the hell up…!

You still squeak as he fingers your cunt. His fingers are reaching spots that even yours couldn’t; it feels so good. One hand of his keeps you pinned by the small of your back while the other eagerly reveals the wet and clicking sounds of your pussy.

“I wouldn’t be so rude.”

The smack against your ass makes stars burst behind your eyes. You could cum like this in minutes.

“Please, Todoroki,” you weakly beg for mercy, needing nothing more than to feel the primal thrusts of him fucking his cum into you.

“Fuck,” he breathes into your neck, “I need to fuck you.”

“Yeah, yeah, you do,” breathless, you go up on your tiptoes, “Please fuck me, Todoroki.”

He hadn’t even prompted you to beg, yet you acted perfectly like his own awaiting toy. Todoroki can’t line himself up against you fast enough, blunt head pressing against your needy hole while you try to breathe through the inevitable stretch.

You were prepared well. The stretch of his cock as he slowly slides into you feels like magic, and you’re keening like you’re in heat. It’s hot, overwhelming, it smells like his apartment, and he was balls deep inside of you.

“Aah, fuck,” his voice warbles, fingers leaving clear prints on your rounded hips.

“So good, god, so good!”

There’s a soft “pap” when his hips meet yours, but then he’s immediately diving into both of your pleasures. He dials in with thrusts, shaking you and churning your insides while you can only grab for purchase against the counter.

It leaves you breathless, and you’re squeezing like a vice around him as he pumps in and out of you. It’s a delicious rhythm; the push and pull are so terribly addicting that you can feel the swirl of your orgasm at the pit of your stomach.

“You’re squeezing me so tight; gonna cum? Gonna cum all over my cock?”

You babble nonsensically as he reaches around to rub your clit. His hands slip over your clit, but he can see your manicured toes curling as he makes you succumb to him.

“Todoroki, Todoroki! I’m cumming–oh god, I-I’m cumming!”

For a minute, everything goes blank. As if you’ve been flashbang.

“Good girl,” Todoroki whispers in the shell of his ear as he chases his own pleasure, “You’re so good for me.”

It crashes down onto you hard. Your entire body trembles, muscles locking up as you cum hard, creaming on him as he watches in awe. Todoroki releases a heavy groan as he finally fills you. It’s white-hot, and he heaves over you. His heavy body completely smothers you in a way that feels reassuring. In a way that feels loving.

The two of you lay still in the post-coital glow, catching your breaths and murmuring soft words. “Let me get you a tissue,” he says as he kisses your shoulder.

You’re unsure why your heart aches as he cleans up your tender pussy and picks up your bottoms.

“Hey, you know I….”

Todoroki raises an eyebrow as you trail off.

“I’m not that kind of woman,” you say with an air of finality, “just so you know.”

The man before you blinks before giving you a genuine smile.

“I never thought you were.”

You leave soon after, giving him a sweet kiss and quickly bounding to your apartment. In the evening, Todoroki catches you crossing your living room. You pause, smiling, before blowing a kiss and shutting the blinds.

#boku no hero academia x reader #bnha smut #boku no hero academia smut #my hero academia smut #todoroki x reader #shoto todoroki x reader #shoto todoroki smut #todoroki shoto smut #todoroki shoto x reader #todoroki shoto x you #todoroki shoto fanart

[powerfultenderness]

lord powerfultenderness, I don't know how to fully picture it but can we have neighbor könig doing grocery shopping with y/n? Please!~

I swear I saw a post somewhere that said König probably makes bank. And Sugar Daddy König hc born/accepted. This man will spoil you if you give him the chance (and then idk wreck you later?)

Either you were oblivious to the looks strangers gave you, to the way women quickly turned around and went down different aisles, or you didn’t care. It was, in fact, the latter. This big menacing looking guy beside you practically cleared a path wherever you wanted. Busy aisles you’d normally have to do trick maneuvers with your cart? Cleared out when he looked at other shoppers. It was amazing, really.

You stopped and looked up at the shelf, the item you wanted on the very top and if you stretched out…you still couldn’t reach it. Even before you could pout and try again, König reached over and plucked the box of snacks off the shelf and dropped in the basket. 

Maybe it was the way his eyes crinkled a bit, but you could tell he was smiling at you. “Those are car snacks.” 

“Car snacks?”

You nodded and continued to push the cart down the aisle. You’d deviated from your shopping list so much that you were now just going up and down aisles to see if there was anything you needed.

“You know, snacks you keep in the car for emergencies. Like, getting stuck in traffic, or on the side of the road while waiting for a tow truck…or lost…” 

“How often do you get lost?” He laughed, shoulders shaking as he tried to keep his laugh at a reasonable indoor level.

“It was just the one time! My GPS wasn’t working!” It wasn’t your fault downtown was an impossible maze!

“What did you do?” 

“I had a snack and figured it out.” You gave up and went home, but he didn’t need to know that. 

Though he could probably guess with the way he was side eyeing you. You knocked your hip into his side (and he didn’t budge at all!) “What do you say to pasta for dinner?” 

He titled his head, “you’re making dinner for me?”

“Yea, I want to do something nice for you for helping me out.” 

König beamed at you, though you couldn’t see behind his mask and you were currently looking at one of the shelves. “I will eat whatever you cook.”

You laughed, it sounded so weird when he said it like that. “Alright, pasta it is.” 

On the way to the checkout, you happened upon a display of clothing, mostly blouses and tee shirts, but some printed leggings as well. “Ooh, that’s cute.” You stopped and picked up a strappy sundress printed with your favorite flowers. “And my size!” You cheered to yourself as you looked at the tag. You flipped it over to check the price tag then set the dress back on the rack. “Pssh, not that cute.” 

You looked at him just as he turned away from the dress you liked. “Hey, can you wait in line while I run and get my prescription?” 

He nodded and took over pushing the cart as you handed him your debit card, “just in case it takes too long.” 

It was a good thing you handed him your card too! There was a bit of wait while your prescription was transferred to the new in store pharmacy. You half debated whether or not you should just leave to pick it up another day, but you already missed a day and didn’t want to throw off the effects. 

By the time you had your medication, König was waiting for you out front. “Sorry about that!” 

He shook his head, “no problem.” And handed you the receipt and your card back. 

You giggled as he loaded the bags in almost one scoop into the back of his truck. Your car was currently in the shop and he very quickly offered to help you out in the meantime. 

“Thank you so much!” You smiled at him once all of the groceries were sitting on your counter. 

“Anytime.” He answered simply.

 “Still up for dinner tonight?” 

He nodded, “of course.” 

The little short answers, no hearty laugh included, were weird. But maybe he just had enough company for a few hours. “Alright, I’ll pop over later then?” 

“Goodbye.” He nodded again and quickly left you alone.

Weird…

Whatever. Maybe he’ll feel better once he…oh! 

You pulled out one of the very dresses you thought was cute, but too expensive, from one of the bags. König’s doing? You checked the receipt and it wasn’t listed. He…bought it himself? And hid it from you? Suddenly the way he was acting nervous before he left made sense. 

-

König’s stomach flipped and his face burned when he opened the door later that night. You were standing in front of him wearing the dress he bought. “You look like an angel.” 

You smiled and spun around, the dress flaring cutely as you did so. “I can’t believe you bought this! Thank you so much! But, let me repay you?” 

“No. Have dinner with me?” 

You giggled, you were already having dinner with him! “You sneaky man! Come on, let’s go!” You then grabbed one of his hands and started to pull him out and towards your flat.

“Wait. Let me lock up.” He fished his keys out of his pocket and locked the door with one hand, refusing to pull out of your touch. 

“Oh. right!” 

“You didn’t lock up, did you?” 

“What! It’s just right there!”   

König was laughing again as he followed you to your home, a dopey smile you couldn’t see lighting his eyes 

[More neighbor König]

#anonymous #könig x reader #konig x reader #neighbor!könig #könig x fem reader #blurb #her prescription was birth control loloolll you cant be running out of that with him around #and idk the stores around here have clothing/electronic/toy sections so i hope this doesn't sound too weird

[sl0t4matt]

smut w marc guiu where some boy is trying to talk to the reader in a party and marc gets jealous and then reader and marc end up doing things in his car please🤭

m. guiu | jealous looks good on you

warnings: smut

marc annoyed the shit out of you today. he’s been such a bitch, fighting and complaining about any minor thing you did wrong. you know your boyfriend can be sassy at times, but today he’s been extra.

you’re supposed to be the girl in the relationship not him and he’s the one acting bitchier than you. today you got especially tired of it, so you called your friends and brought them to the club, bringing you to now, sitting on a chair beside the bar, waiting for your friends to come back from dancing.

you didn’t join them because your legs gave up on you a few minutes ago when you were dancing, like your life depended on it.

you decide to get on your phone, check a few messages, before they get back, so you get on instagram, immediately noticing that hector posted a story.

you click on it seeing a booth of the club you are exactly in. you keep watching the video scoffing at seeing marc in the corner of it, he’s not alone though. a girl is sat beside him, talking to him. a little too close for any girlfriends liking.

“what the fuck.” you mutter, huffing at him finding a new girl exactly after you fought. pathetic really. she’s not even close to your level.

“hi, i’m diego. i saw you dancing a few minutes ago, you looked stunning, could i buy you a drink?” an attractive man sits down beside you. he looks like he’s in his 19s or maybe 20s, with dark skin and dreadlocks.

if marc can talk to other women, what should stop you to? maybe you could even get him jealous and make him see how much he actually needs you. “yes i would love that, actually.” you smile at him.

“perfect, what would you like?” he grins back, his pearly white teeth peeking through his lips. “i’ll take a negroni, thank you.”

“a negroni for the pretty woman beside me, please.” he winks at you. you innerly cringe at his words but don’t let it show. you get the drink in a heartbeat since it only had three ingredients. you smile at the bartender, taking the drink.

“so, are you new in barcelona?” he asks, leaning closer to you. “i moved here a few years ago, for uni.” you answer, sipping on your drink. “nice, what university do you go to? i go to esade.” your eyes widen. esade is one of of barcelonas elite, also super hard. “you study law? that’s like suicide.”

he laughs at your reference. “yeah, it’s a lot.” he nods, agreeing with you. “oh sorry. i go to the university of barcelona.” you answer his previous question.

“you’re good. did you come alone or with friends?” you look around trying to find your girlfriends, but failing immediately, the crowd in the dance floor being way too big to see them. the nightlife of barcelona really is something else.

“i came with my friends, i can’t find them right now, though. they’re probably dancing.” you answer, giving him a tight lipped smile.

you keep looking for them, when you suddenly meet eyes with a certain brown eyed boy, you call your boyfriend. his brows are furrowed and eyes piercing on the guy beside you. if looks could kill, diego would be five feet under for sure.

he gets up from the spot in between hector and the girl on the video and walks towards you. “oh fuck.” you mutter. diego glances at you. “what’s wrong?” he asks, but marc is already in front of you. diego furrows when he sees him.

“hermano, can i help you?” diego asks him. “yeah, you can get the fuck out of my face.” marc spats, turning to look at him. “who the hell are you?!” diego gets up pushing marc’s chest slightly, you still sitting dumbfound beside the bar.

“i’m her boyfriend, you dumbass.” marc isn’t the one to act nice. you know he could throw a whole fit in here as well as seriously hurt the guy if he really wanted to, so you get up, getting in between both of the boys.

maybe project making marc jealous wasn’t such a good idea, since you know exactly how mad marc can get when jealous.

“marc lets go.” you pull on his hand, making him look down on you, with gritted teeth. he scoffs, taking your hand and dragging you to the exit of the club.

you see hector on the way out, him laughing at marc’s outburst.

he takes his car key out of his pocket, opening it. “get in.” he demands, after opening the door to the passenger seat. you scoff, getting into his car. he turns around to get into the driver seat, walking like a mad kid you think.

“did you want to make me jealous, is that it?” he huffs. you turn to look at him, rolling your eyes. “did you? with that blonde girl?” you ask him back. “what the hell are you talking about?”

“oh please. so you’re telling me you weren’t all up on that girl beside you, taking to her.” you scoff. he can’t deny the fact that she was eye fucking him the entire time.

“fucking hell, i wasn’t all up on her, she was the one flirting with me and i literally told her i have a girlfriend.” you roll your eyes. “she was the one? because i’m sure, i literally saw that you were laughing with her on hectors story.” he scoffs.

“see! you always fucking do that shit. you don’t trust me.” you laugh, sarcastically. wow this just is really hilarious. “oh my god! i don’t trust you? you literally dragged me out of there because i was talking to a guy.” you yell at him, finding it rich coming from him.

his hand makes its way to his forehead, massaging it. “because if i didn’t, you would’ve ended up in that guys bed.” he reasons, shaking his head. “are you even hearing yourself? what the hell are you saying? bro just shut the fuck up, honestly.” you scoff, also shaking your head.

“fuck you.�� he spats. “fuck you!” you yell back, turning to look at him, meeting his eyes. his eyes move from yours down to your lips, licking his own. “i hate you.” you mumble, as the both of you lean into each other, meeting your lips in a heated and aggressive kiss, taking out your madness on each other in a kiss.

his hand moves to his thigh, squeezing it. his other grips your neck, clutching around it and pulling you even closer if thats possible. your hand slips into his pants, finding his already hard cock. “fuck.” he moans into your mouth.

you start to jerking him off, collecting his pre cum with your thumb, making him tense at the sudden touch.

he pulls his seat back, mentioning you to straddle him. so you do so, each of your legs in between his lap as you feel his already throbbing cock in between your legs, begging for release. he winces, as you grind on him, while you lock lips again, feeling his stubble slightly tickle your chin.

his hand glides in between your legs, pulling your panties down. you’re already soaking and you’re sure he’s very aware of it, your juices already rolling down onto his pants.

you attempt to open his belt with a rush but fail miserably. he helps you, opening up his belt, following with sliding his pants down his hips. he hurries with taking off your top, his hands instantly gripping your tits.

you hoover over his tip, biting your lip when you feel his tip slightly touching your soaked hole. he rocks his hips upward, making his dick stretch out your cunt. you snake your hand around his neck, clutching onto his sweaty hair.

you whine, when you feel him fully inside of you, collecting all of your juices. “you’re so tight, ma.” he groans, as he takes ahold of your waist, squeezing it.

your lips hoover over his as you roll your hips back onto his, feeling his dick pulsing around you, your breasts bouncing up and down. he groans at the stimulation, panting heavily.

you quicken your movements, thrusting into him more laboriously. “marc.” you breathlessly moan his name, arching your back at the feeling, feeling closer to the edge.

you tremble from above him, clutching onto his shoulders, your nails digging deep into his skin, forming cat like scratches. “fuck. gonna come.“ he groans before filling you up with his warm sperm.

your legs shake around his cock before you come onto him, drenching his thighs in your come.

your head leans onto his shoulder, tiredly. a smirk forms onto his smug face, as he sees your juices all over him. “not a word.” you speak, knowing he was going to make a smart ass mark.

“for a person you hate, i can make you come quite alright, don’t you think?” he winks. “oh my god.” you shake your head.

“what did you say the last time? jealous looks good on me?” he chuckles. you hit his chest before getting back into the passenger seat. it does look good on him. you can’t lie.

#fc barcelona #barca #pablo gavi #hector fort #joao felix #marc guiu #fermin lopez

[buckyalpine]

Heeey sweetie ! I hope you’re well !! I always look forward to your posts and check your page daily for updates ! Your writing is incredible and always leaves me with butterflies in my stomach !! I wanted to leave a request if that’s okay ! I was thinking about mob Bucky with grumpy-sunshine trope !? Bucky being the grumpiest little shit ! He’s arrogant and stares too much . But then he meets this ray of sunshine and she’s the only one to get him soft ! She’s the only one that can coax a smile out of him ! Gives her the gentlest touches and sweetest kisses ! He’s proud to have her next to him and loves how much smaller she looks compared to his massive size . Even tho he’s dominant in bed , he’s still careful and considerate with her ! Fluffy fluff with a big intimidating man

YESS Omg i love this so much its adorable. (18+, cause there’s fluffy fluff but also smutty smut) 

Disclaimer: I love fics where Bucky loves his much smaller reader compared to his larger size but I do my best to not describe the readers size too much because I want anyone to be able to imagine themselves in my fics. When I write, Bucky is obsessed over how he can just easily scoop you up into his arms and toss you over his shoulder effortlessly. 

First time meeting you I just imagine you both meet in the most wholesome way as well. He's truly the grumpiest shit anyone's ever met. Arrogant and cocky but he’s earned his reputation so no one dares question it. That being said, he has some principals, one of them being that family always comes first. He takes that very seriously. That's why he's out and about, looking for a present for Sam’s daughter’s birthday, hand picked himself (and by present, we’re talking presents plural, he already bought her a custom gold engraved locket and an Hermes baby blanket, no godchild of his would get any less).

Still, he wanted to give her more, wandering into a little book shop at the corner of the street that appeared to be empty. His men stood outside the door while he scanned the shelfs, huffing in frustration because there were so many choices and it would have been easier to just buy the all the books. He picked up a book and set it down, the store probably wouldn’t cost too much- 

"Can I help you?"

A sweet voice called him from behind and Bucky was ready to give the person hell, he hated sales people. Most people. Honestly all people. Except Steve. He'd maybe pee on Sam if he was on fire but that was as far as his love for him went. (its all a front, he loves Sam).

He turned around, about to tell whoever it was, to fuck off, blinking instead when he came face to face with you. You smiled up at him, eyes twinkling, setting down the pile of books you had in your arms to look at the shelf he was browsing. 

“What age group are you looking for?” 

Bucky hardly registered your words, staring at what looked like the human form of a cute little garden fairy straight out of a fairytale. You were in a blush pink sundress, covered in tiny flowers, standing on your tippy toes trying to reach the books higher on the shelf. Garden fairy, what the fuck was wrong with him, he shook his head trying to regain his train of thought. 

“Uh- a baby?” Bucky didn’t know what to do with himself, most people took his  staring as a sign to go away but you seemed unbothered. 

"Oh! Come with me, there’s a great section at the back, I’ll show you!” You happily led the 6′4 mob boss to the kids corner at the back of the store, colorful drawings, plush rugs and little bean bags covered the area. 

“Any of these would be great for a little one” You pointed to the shelves that were low to the ground, pulling out a few and handing them to him “let me know if you see anything you like” with that, you went back to putting books away. You returned a few minutes later, biting back a smile, looking at the tall man covered head to toe in dark ink, diligently reading through one of the books you handed to him. 

"You look so cute" You giggled, looking at Bucky sitting on one of the tiny chairs, his long legs sprawled out in front of him. 

"Cute?" Bucky had never been more insulted in his life, of all things to describe him, how dare you tell him he looked cute. 

“Of course” You grinned as you walked over and sat down beside him. The gentle sweet scent of your perfume evaded his senses, his heart jumped when he felt your warm hand brush against his. Bucky didn’t know why his heart was racing, he didn’t like it. His brows furrowed, trying to stop the blush that spread across his face when he saw your smile. 

“Do you like that one?” Bucky nodded, looking at the cover of the book; two bears sitting together looking at the moon. “I love you to the moon and back, its such a sweet book, I would have picked this one too” 

Bucky nodded again, not trusting himself to speak around you. You took the book to the front to check him out. After he paid, you placed a little brown bear that matched the ones on the book cover in the bag as well. Bucky cocked his head confusedly, reaching for his wallet again. 

“How much?”

“Just take it as part of the gift” You smiled, tying a ribbon around the handles of the bag. “I’m sure they’ll love it. Have a good day!” You gave him a little wave as he walked out, turning back to your books, while Bucky felt his insides melt. 

The pretty girl at the book store thinks I’m cute.

Bucky slid into his SUV, the corner of his lips twitching, his cheeks dusted pink. You thought he was cute. Cute. He continued to bite his bottom lip, fighting with his face muscles to keep from smiling, failing miserably instead. 

“Is he having a stroke”

Sam whispered, staring at Bucky through the rearview mirror while he sat at the front with Steve. Bucky’s face continued to twitch, trying to keep his classic scowl on his lips. 

“I think he’s smiling” snorted, cocking an eyebrow watching Bucky carefully inspect the little brown bear you put in the bag. 

“He knows how to smile?”

“You good punk?” Steve called out, smirking when Bucky stuffed the bear back in the bag, pretending he wasn’t giving it heart eyes while thinking about you. “You looked real cozy talking to the girl at that the bookstore” 

“Shut up” He ignored his two friends snickering, throwing them a growl before thinking about you again. 

She thinks I’m cute. 

After that meeting, imagine Bucky finds himself going back for more and more books; he doesn’t even have time to read but he can’t help it. Every time he steps into your bookstore, its like sliding into a comfy blanket. He’s addicted to your sweet smile; your always there with a new book for him to read. He can’t help but smile every time he sees you flit around the shelves, he felt like he was living in his own fairytale. 

The first kiss

Bucky watched you huff in frustration, trying to put a book back on the shelf but it was too high for you to reach. 

“Um-could-would you please help me put this back?” You asked shyly, while Bucky smiled, nodding and coming up behind you, his hand gently holding your waist, placing the book on top with ease. His tall form towered over you, his chest brushing against your as you turned and looked up at him. 

“Th-thank you” you whispered, your eyes flicking from his blue eyes to his pink lips. His lips were curved in a soft smile that gave you butterflies; it wasn’t often that you saw him smile but it seemed he did it whenever he was close to you. 

“You look handsome when you smile” You squeaked, slapping your hand over your mouth as soon as the words slipped through. Bucky bit his lip, while you looked away embarrassed you had said that out loud. “Sorry I didn’t mean-” 

You gasped, feeling him pull you closer, his hand gently tilting your chin up to look at him. His head dipped down slightly and you felt your body moving on its own, standing on your tippy toes to be closer to him. 

“Can I kiss you?” He whispered, his nose nudging against yours. You nod, letting out a shuddered breath as his hand cupped your cheek, pressing his lips sweetly to yours. You hesitantly moved your arms to wrap around his shoulders, melting into his touch. 

You didn’t know how much time had passed, staying tucked in his arms, having waited ages for him to finally make a move. When he finally has to leave, he comes running back in mere seconds later. 

“Did you forget something?” 

Bucky nodded, his hands wrapping around you waist, pulling you close to him again, his lips kissing you softly as ever. 

“I wanted another kiss” 

That kiss turned into lots of kisses. Lingering hugs. When he finally brings you to his home, he keeps you his little secret for a while so he can enjoy your company. You bring out a softness in him he didn’t know was possible; soft fluffy dates with him cooking for you, or going on evening strolls. You’re his everything, he loves seeing his little garden fairy comfy in his home. You made everything warmer; the soft scent of candles always traveled down the halls; sweet baked goodies were always ready in the kitchen. Sam and Steve were definitely not complaining, pretending they didn’t notice Bucky’s classic grumpy face now also came with a cute little blush on his cheeks. 

The first time they meet you 

Imagine Bucky’s team finally find the mole they’d been hunting for months. They’re all riled up, throwing him into the van, threatening him within an inch of his life. They know Bucky likes to take care of business himself but it doesn’t stop them from warning him about the pure wrath he’s going to face. 

“You’re fucked”

“You thought we were bad? You’re gonna wish your mom swallowed you”

They drag him up the steps, bursting into his office, expecting Bucky to be waiting there with his knife twirling between his fingers. 

Instead...

Bucky’s men all stared at each other before looking at the sweet thing that was sitting in their bosses lap, feeding him pastries. Bucky grinned like a love struck puppy, cradling you to his chest while he sat on his office chair, moaning at the sweet caramel melting on his tongue. The last thing they expected to see was a delicate thing like you cuddled up with who they thought was a blood thirsty gang leader. 

Sam snorted, shaking his head, watching Bucky ignore the rest of them, his eyes still trained on you, peppering kisses onto your cheek. 

“Motherfucker, are you eating butter tarts right now?” 

“They taste good” Bucky shrugged, giving you one final sweet kiss to your lips before looking up at his team. 

“Why don’t you wait for me in my room, I’ll be there soon” Bucky pressed a soft kiss onto your temple, helping you off his lap. You smiled, brushing some of his hair back, kissing his forehead.

“Come soon bubba” Your bare feet padded through his office, giving the towering men a quick wave as you passed them “Hi Sam, Hi Steve!” 

Sam blinked, before grinning and giving you a friendly wave back. 

“She is adorable, fucks she doing with you” 

“Shut the fuck up bird brain” Bucky panned, a growl emitting from his chest, as he rounded the table, his previous soft demeanor dropping as soon as his eyes landed on the mole. “Have Steve keep him quiet, my angel doesn’t have to hear this shit” 

After Bucky’s men saw how soft he was for you, you become their secret weapon. You’re always there to soften the blow they’d face, making him smile even when delivering the worst news. 

“Boss, the deliveries were seized” Peter trembles at the door, while Bucky’s nostrils flare, he’s about to tell everyone off, but his anger dissipates as soon as your head pops into the room. 

“Bucky, come cuddle?” You push past the men, your hands draping around his shoulders. 

“They put you up to this, didn’t they?” Bucky snorted, rubbing his temples, melting as soon as you crawled into his lap. You giggled innocently, kissing his scruffy cheek while he lifted you into his arms, carrying you over to his room. 

“Hmm, they’re lucky you’re so sweet babygirl” 

The first time 

For months, Bucky didn’t do anything more than give you soft kisses, hugs and cuddles. He wanted you, he needed you in a way he never thought was possible, but he didn’t want to rush anything. You were special and if he was going to be intimate with you, it’d be whenever you were ready. 

He never wanted to pressure you into anything, but you reassured him you wanted this. Bucky swallowed thickly, looking at your smaller form curled up against his bed waiting for him. You looked so sweet and delicate, wearing just one of his shirts, nervously fidgeting with your hands while he crawled up the bed to you. 

“Are you sure about this prinţesă?” He kissed your knee, gently stroking your cheek with his thumb; you felt your face heat up and the name he had for you, nodding without meeting his eyes. “Look at me baby” He tilted your chin to meet his gaze, “I won’t be upset if you want to wait” 

You knew he meant it. Not once had he ever made you feel like doing something you didn’t want. His sweetness only made you want him more. 

“I want this, I-I want you” you whispered, moaning softly when his lips pressed against yours. He kissed you softly, his hand moving to your waist to lay you down against the pillows. He was on top of you, nipping your jaw, peppering kisses down your neck, his hand caressing the side of your thigh. 

Being with you was different. 

He natural instinct had always been rough and fast; clothes torn, no build up. 

He didn’t want that with his pretty doll. Yet. 

He slowly undressed you, pulling your shirt over your head, leaving you bare underneath him. He continued to kiss you while still being fully dressed, chuckling when he felt you squirm under him. 

“What is it baby?”  He cocked his head, picking up on what you wanted when you fiddled with the buttons on his shirt but he didn’t want to give in, enjoying your flustered state.

“I-um” You fisted his shirt, burning under his gaze, “Take it off” 

“Take what off?” He cocked his eyebrow, a smirk dancing on his pretty lips. 

“Ugh, I want to see you naked Bucky” You pouted, burying your face into his neck while he grinned, bringing your hands to unbutton his shirt. 

“Whatever my babydoll wants, go ahead prinţesă, m’all yours” You squeaked when he pulled you and rolled over so you were straddled on top of him, his hands stroking your bare waist and thighs. 

“Want you to take it off babygirl” He couldn't take his eyes off you as you shakily undid his tie, moving to his buttons next. As soon as his shirt was off, you managed to unbuckle his belt and tug off his pants. You blinked at his thick cock straining against his briefs. 

Bucky brought his fingers to rub though your soaked folds, groaning at the slick that easily coated his fingers. 

“Will you let me taste you?” 

“I-no one’s ever-

“I’ll be gentle baby, promise it’ll feel good” Bucky laid you on your back as he worshipped your body, trailing kisses down your skin, while you hesitantly parted your legs, his thick, wide shoulders forcing them apart further. 

“So pretty baby” Bucky groaned, kissing your clit, his lips sealing around your clit, sucking softly, careful not to apply too much pressure. “You have the sweetest clit doll”

He could feel his cock throb against the mattress at the way your face contorted, soft whine slipping past your lips as you tried to keep your moans down. He pushed a finger in, gently stretching you out, while you started to grow needy, your hips shifting under him. He pulled away, his beard glistening with your arousal, eyes heavy with lust. 

“Want to be inside you prinţesă” 

You nodded,  while he threw his briefs off, his cock standing tall and proud as he hovered above you.

“Bucky, it-it won’t fit” You whispered, watching his thick cock bob between his legs, grazing on your clit. 

“We’ll make it fit baby” His hand gently cupped your face, while your legs moved up to hug his waist. “Tell me if its too much and I’ll stop” He moved his cock through your folds, groaning at how you felt on the tip of his cock. 

“Ready?” You nodded, gasping feeling his thick blunt tip prod against your soaked entrance.

“Jaames...” You whimpered feeling him stretch you while he kissed your forehead, stopping his movements with just the tip inside you.

“Shhh angel, it’s just me sweet girl” Your body trembled under his, biting down onto his shoulder as he pushed himself further while holding your body close to his. You were still getting used to the burn and stretch of him as he buried himself to the hilt, clinging onto him while he stayed still. 

“I know baby” Bucky stroked your forehead, brushing your hair away from your face, kissing your cheeks. He felt a new type of feral, his sweet girl under him, whining and whimpering over his cock, your pussy dripping around him.  

“S’too big Bucky” You bit your lip, your pretty doe eyes locked with his. 

“My cocks too big for you baby?” Bucky cooed, while you nodded, throbbing at your nails digging into his skin “Your pussy’s too tight, huh angel, you need me to go slow?”

There was something addicting over how hard Bucky was trying to hold back, his brows furrowed, cock already leaking into you. He started off slow, gentle thrusts, letting you adjust, telling you how perfect you were, his hands laced with yours, pinned against the bed.

“Taking my cock like such a good girl baby”

“You know how pretty you look right now doll?”

You felt the burn start to melt, your moans growing louder while he pushed his entire length in and out of you, his bally smacking against your ass. 

“M-more Bucky, please?” 

Bucky’s breaths grew heavy, feeling his spine tingle already, you had a different affect on him, his cock already throbbing. 

“You’re beautiful prinţesă”

“Could make love to you like this for hours my baby” 

“Taking me so well babydoll, making my cock throb, you’re so tight” 

He craved so much more of your warmth, his pace speeding up, moaning and grunting each time you cried out. He gripped onto the head board as he started to pound you, the sounds of skin slapping carrying through the room. 

“F-uck baby, you feel so good” He moaned into your neck, the muscles on his back tensed as he fucked you harder. “Am-am I too rough sweet girl”

“F-feels g-good James” You cried out from under him, your walls starting to flutter as he hit your g-spot. Bucky moaned, his forehead coming down to rest on yours, lips parted and brushing against each other. “Bucky, harder, please”

The sound your moaning his name made him almost cum on the spot. 

“Oh fuck don’t stop, tell me it feels good baby, tell me how bad you want it, keep saying my name” 

“JAMESS” The headboard practically slammed against the wall as he abandoned all softness, the both of you feral over each other, chasing your highs. 

“Tell me how good my cock makes you feel baby” His hand snaked between your bodies, rubbing and teasing your clit, making you nearly sob. 

“S’good Bucky, stretching me, I- fuck m’gonna cum!” 

“Cum my gorgeous girl, CUM”  “JAMES-I-F-FUCK” You clenched around his cock, cumming and squirting around him while he roared, his pace stuttering as he spilled ropes of cum into you. You both held onto each other, moaning and panting as you came down from your orgasm, your body still convulsing feeling his cum drip out of you. 

“Fuck I love you” He panted against your skin, pressing sloppy kisses all over your face. He had a goofy grin, sweeping you into his arms to run you a hot bath. 

(Which was a waste of time, considering he spent the rest of the night with you,  making an utter sticky mess in his bed)

Bonus: The first tattoo (dedicated to you)

Most of Bucky’s body is covered in dark ink, but none of his pieces were done impulsively. Each piece had a meaning behind it, and his latest one was his favorite. 

“Close your eyes baby” He picked you up and placed you on his desk, unbuttoning his shirt while you impatiently waited for him to tell you, you could look. “Alright, open” 

“A fairy?” You gasped, looking at his newest piece, your fingers gently tracing over his chest. Above his heart, was his latest piece, a little fairy reading a book while sitting on the moon. 

“From when I first met you. I thought you were like a little garden fairy” Bucky blushed, kissing your nose. “Could never get enough of you, the only little fairy to think I’m cute” 

Tears stung your eyes, sniffling while he wrapped his arms around you. You smiled against his skin, kissing his chest. 

“You like it baby?” His thumbs swiped across your cheeks, stroking your hair while you nodded, struggling to formulate words. 

“I-I love y-ou” You choked out, hugging him tighter

“I adore you sweet girl, love you to the moon and back”

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[noted-aj]

Feeling so tired, really falling apart.

hazbin hotel (some of) cast x gn!reader

comfort / angst headcanons

HCs for if the cast found reader crying in their room, yet they attempt to hide the fact that they were. reader is gender neutral, they/them are pronouns used along with Y/N <3

(SORRY THIS IS SO SHORT!!!) first post ever :3

characters included: angel dust, charlie, husk, alastor

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Charlie:

💌 - Charlie would definitely bring snacks or things that comfort you to your room.

💌 - She can be a bit much at times, and my accidentally pry too much.

💌 - I swear, her hugs could probably comfort anyone within seconds. Just imagine a soft yet intense cuddle sesh with her

💌 - She wouldn’t want to be too pushy, but would definitely offer to stay with them and help cheer them up.

A light knock sounded from your door and a soft yet somehow still energetic voice followed it. “Hey, (Y/N)?..” A small sniffle could be heard from the other side of the door, coming from you. A strained “Yes?” you said. The door creaked open, your head staring at the bubbly woman who stood in your doorway. “I just wanted to check on you, you haven’t been out of your room all day.” You swiftly wiped the tears from your face “No, no, I’m fine Charlie. Don’t worry.” Charlie gave you an empathetic look and walked over to your bed, sitting down on the corner of your bed. “Tell me how I can help.” She wrapped an arm around you with a smile.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・.・。.・

Husk:

🍻 - Husker is definitely great at comforting others, but doesn’t like to do it to people he doesn’t trust or know.

🍻 - He would be similar to a father figure just letting you rant about what happened, but not trying to shut down your problems.

🍻 - Asks what kind of drinks you like and make them for you, or have Charlie help him find comfort objects for you

The door to your hotel room creaked open softly, but loud enough for you to hear. You wiped your eyes and stood up defensively, taking a few sniffles. A cat demon looked down at you slightly, a melancholic look on his face. You sighed and turned away from him, giving up the attempt to hide the fact you were crying. “You alright, kid?” You nodded largely, not saying a word. He looked down with you and then back towards your face, turned away from him. “..Would you tell me if you weren’t..?” You looked away shamefully, still remaining silent. He placed a hand on your shoulder, giving you a small smile “That’s okay. I’m here for you if ya need it.” He chuckled.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・.・。.・

Angel Dust:

💒 - Depending on what you were crying about, Angel can usually always help in some way or another

💒 - His hugs are immaculate, he has 6 arms for a reason. And he’s soft as hell too.

💒 - He has a lot of problems as well, and I’m sure you two could have such a relieving vent & cry session together.

You walked up the stairs on the hotel lobby, not speaking a word to anyone in the lobby. You received a few concerned and confused glanced for someone who was usually striking up conversations, you didn’t spare a glance to any of them. “I’ll check on ‘em.” Angel walked up the stairs behind you, and paused before knocking on your door. He hesitated but eventually tapped his knuckles against the door and was met with a “Go away.” and a few sniffles. He opened the door lightly and frowned at your clearly upset state. “C’mon doll, you know you can talk to me.” He reassured and walked over to your bed, sitting on the edge and placing a hand on your shoulder.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・.・。.・

Alastor:

📻 - Despite seeming so careless about everyone, he took pity on you when he saw your depressive state.

📻 - Will NOT leave you alone until you tell him what happened or why you’re so upset.

📻 - Someone hurt you? Done, killed. Someone accidentally hurt you? Also done, killed.

📻 - Won’t get physical, but will offer some advice.

(Similar to the last scenario)

You walked into the hotel foyer, looking around and only seeing Niffty dusting a window sill while Husk was slumped at the bar, his face stuck right in it. Alastor, Charlie, Angel, and Vaggie were nowhere to be seen. You saw this as a great opportunity to not talk to anyone. You sniffled and wiped your eyes with a huff, perking up the staircase and maneuvering to your room. As you closed the door to your room, you sighed and leaned against the door when you felt the tears come back again. All of a sudden, Alastor manifested in your room, towering over you. “Mind telling me about your melancholic facade?” He smiled at you, in typical fashion. “I’m fine, Alastor. Leave me alone.” He saw right through your persona, and his gaze narrowed. “Now, now, let’s not be hostile. Fill me in.” He sat down on your bed, patting a spot next to him.

authors note: i started this in early march and COMPLETELY forgot about it.. please request ideas, I NEED STUFFS TO WRITE BEFORE I RUN OUT OF MOTIVATION!!!!

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・.・。.・

#hazbin hotel angst #hazbin hotel platonic #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel #hazbin angel dust #hazbin charlie #hazbin husk #hazbin hotel x reader #gn!reader #comfort #hazbin hotel comfort #alastor x reader #angel dust x reader #husk x reader #charlie x reader #aaaaahhhhhhhhhhh #noted aj