#anyways no news but men are so fucking boring

[iceeericeee]

I wonder how many tags i can add on to this

#there must be SOME kind of a limit otherwise posts would get suuuuuuper duper long like is it just 30? #idk but i'm going to find out by simply maxxing out the character limit for each tag and finding out the limit of tags for each post lololo #this is gonna be great. i just have to remember to type without ever using the comma. it shouldn't be too hard right? fuck i almost typed #the comma i'm already bad at this smh my head. also if your still here i commend you. you have a better attention span than i do. #i'm already starting to get bored holy shit this is not happening. i gotta power through this. FOR SCIENCEEEEEEEEEE. or somethinggggggggggg #but fr idk what else to say. maybe just saying that i don't know what to say will be good enough? but does that even count? #I don't even know anymore. ffffffffuck. this is gonna be a while huh? also holy shit if you're still here omg u deserve like. a prize or #something because u definitely didn't have to stay and read all of this bull shit. lololol i typed out bs but decided to just spell the who #thing out just to make it go by faster. i'm so lazy. this is only the nineth tag HOW will i make it to 30. i am sobbing the adhd is adhding #very hard rn. are you still here? bruh this is insane. i have somehow managed to keep ur attention this long and it's just me spouting #absolute balderdash. wait do you know what balderdash even means? i don't care if you do already i'm gonna tell you anyway. balderdash is #basically just another word for nonsense. boom. you learned something new today. balderdash equals nonsense equals this damn post. #why did i decide to do this in the first place. it was a dumb idea. i don't know if i can even keep going. this is only the *counts tags* #it's the 14th tag. we've got a long way to go boys. men. soldiers. comrads. friends. besties peeps. marshmallows. #where was i going with this? oh yeah. trying to max out the limit for tags. dang i almost typed a comma there. i haven't done that since #i think the third or fourth tag. dang that feels like such a long time ago. not for you guys probably. it feels longer because i have to li #type it all out and stuff. so it's definitely gonna feel longer for me. are you still here? good lord don't you have better things to #be doing than reading all of this? we're already on tag number 18. it feels like i should be on the thirtyeth by now. or however it's spell #'toast' you might be wondering 'why are you typing out the names of the numbers instead of say '9' or '5'?' well you see. young one. #this is a strategy i'm using to make each tag slightly longer. even if i don't know how to spell it. it'll make it just a little bit longer #anyway. i got off topic. not that there was ever a topic to begin with. unless it's about making this as long as i can. #which i am apparently good at doing. i guess. are you STILL here? do you seriously have nothing to do? i guess i'm flattered you stayed thi #whole time. instead of reading something else you stayed here. with me. listening to me talk. on the twenty-third tag. oh yeah its tag 23 #except now it's tag twenty-four. how crazy is that. this little talk is almost over. only 6 tags away if memory serves right. this's strang #i kind of don't want this to end. but i know it should. after all there is a limit. but all things must come to and end at some point i gue #i'm running out of things to say. it's probably a good thing it's almost over. hahahahah............... but i don't want to go. i don't wan #to leave this post. i've worked so hard on it. and for what. just for it to end. are you still here? yes? good. i'd hate to end this alone. #thank you for indulging me and my craziness. the end is only 2 tags away now. you can go ahead and leave. i'll be okay on my own. really... #...you're still here? i- i don't know what to say. i suppose a toast is in order. perhaps. for this journey. this stupid dumb post i though #would be fun. i'll make it short. it's the last tag after all. this was fun. but i will never do it again. so long as a i live. i'll miss y

[headgehug]

THE DRUNK FLIRTY GIRL STORY HAPPENED IN FLORIDA??!

#kindly ignore me. #to be fair you can't always tell fr sure if its actually a true story but for the sake of my stupidity im gonna believe it #also because. well um. icon. maam. youre an icon #a little forward but umm #oh! for context for my normal friends who are like girl you good and reading my tags #which im so sorry #apparently this guy (mr. goldthwait. obviously.) had a lady come up to him and say like #if you come home with me I'll fuck you all night long #anyways im not gonna repeat the whole god damn thing but #yeah ill claim her for one of my own #it checks out #also i watch these youtube standup clips and go in the comments when I get bored and its just #the least funny middle aged men u ever seen going either #1) hes funnier without the voice thank god! or 2) gee i miss the voice rip real comedy #like girl do u not get it. #he doesn't perform for YOU he performs for me and that drunk lady #and the lady in the crowd telling him to take his shirt off #so in other news I'm thinking of maybe just starting a diary?

[marcos--budt]

Full offense but no cis man can pull of gender noncon fashion like Bowie did. Harry Styles who

#I'm just so tired of praising men for wearing dresses lile the bar is so low step up your game at least dress as well as your female peers #Lil nas x and Billy porter are serving though thank you for raising the fashion bar for famous men #Anyway bowie ran so that today's white boys can crawl #Nothing against harry styles but ppl rlly acting like bowie and prince never existed #Or and as if glam rock and funk never happened #Honestly a man puts on a skirt snd thinks he did somdting and we have to praise him like he's lady gaga #Like coe on men have been fucking around with gender for a while now can we raise the bar a little #It's been done since the 70s #Step it uuuuupppppp #Actually new rule if a man wears a boring suit to a gala he should be banned #Unless he's trans trans ppl get to do whatever they want

[neverendingford]

.

#hi guess what good news I don't have any kind of a mood disorder I just have “gets really fucking upset and shut down when Bad Things” #anyway good news the depresso is just me being annoyed at things happening #bad news is I don't have an excuse for why my default state is “hyped up on God-Killing jice #*juice #I'm aware enough to work on it though and now I can recover from things within a week instead of the usual month or two #currently working through another problem phase because turns out that men seeing me as a man gives rancid vibes #also bro you're nice and cool but boring #and the greatest sin anyone could ever commit is being boring. at least to me. I'm my limited opinion #just so thoroughly not interested. plus I straight up said “no that gives me dysphoria” but you asked again anyway. #anyway. for science. learning new things. learning how to spot the things I already know I don't like. #and learning how to find the things I do like. #life is about trial and error and then more trial #and I'm in a good enough place where I can recover from the failures reasonably well #tag talk

[monzabee]

pon de replay - cl16 (+18)

masterlist ||

Summary: The one where Charles decide to prove to everyone that it is him that you belong to, and only him.

Pairing: charles leclerc x reader 

Word Count: 4.8k

Warnings: smuttt, nothing but pure filth, one might even say it is pwp, unprotected sex (cover your willy don’t be silly), oral (f receiving), kinda exhibitionism?, public sex, jealous charles, possessive charles, carlos being a little shit because he’s bored, poor lando, not even sure if i fulfilled the request or not, minors dni!! 

Request: “HELLOOOO! i have an idea and you don’t have to write it but it’s been rattling around in my brain and im never gonna write it (i constantly have way too many ideas to write them fr) myself so i figured i’d send it to you cause you’ve kinda restored my F1 phase with your work. basically, reader being very goofy, funny, and maybe a little bit too loud at times. just like a very silly and bubbly personality and she hangs out with some of the f1 boys (maybe because she’s famous in her own right like a dancer or something) so naturally EVERYONE ships her with lando. like hardcore, almost as bad as one direction fans ships (iykyk), and it sorta makes sense cause when they’re together it’s pure and utter chaos and they both express themselves with physical touch B U T ! she’s actually with charles. to her it makes total sense to be with charles instead of lando cause while lando is definitely attractive he’s too much like her and it’d be like dating herself whereas charles brings out a new calm side to her and she can bring out a goofier side to him. opposites attract type shit😭. maybe a little angst cause charles hates seeing all the edits and also feels a little insecure cause lando and reader DO make sense together in his mind so why’d you pick him instead? then like soft fluff/smut reassurance that charles is literally the man of her dreams, a literal fucking prince, and the best person she’s ever been with. ANYWAYS, im rambling! again, you don’t have to write this if you don’t connect with it or don’t have time i just needed an outlet SOMEWHERE for all the F1 brain rot.”

Author’s Note: hi, hey, hello!! i first of all want to start by saying that i’m very sorry that this isn’t exactly like the request, like at all, but it took me a criminal amount of time to actually get this finished so we’re not going to focus on that. okay? okay, great!! in all and all it was actually quite fun to work on this at the beginning, it was just kinda hard for some reason to work on the actual smut part, but i hope you guys enjoy! good morning, noon or night wherever you are, xoxobee

Please also note that all of my works are protected under copyright, and not available for reposting on other platforms. 

Charles wouldn’t call himself a possessive person, not a chance. He might be ambitious, and competitive, but possessive? That, he is not. He’s never been the type of get jealous of his partner’s friends, whether male or female, because he likes to think that he is mature enough to understand that people have friends. It’s that simple. And he is most definitely not the type of person to comment on what you wear when you’re going out, he is just not that guy. He’s fairly certain that his mother would materialise out of thin air and give him a good beating if he were to do that. So when you asked him about the dress you have on earlier before you left his apartment, the one that clings to your body so tightly that he can practically make out the outline of your tits from across the room? He just smiled and told you to have fun tonight – because he’s there to make sure you’re not put off by anyone staring at you in it.

So yeah. He’s not usually the type to let the jealousy take over his ability to think things out rationally, but when his girlfriend is dancing her heart away in the middle of the dance floor while every red-blooded men watch her with the same look in their eyes? Yeah, it’s not easy to keep his emotions in check at the moment given the circumstances. And it’s not that he even intends to pout like a petulant child at the bar, making sure to keep an eye on you, it’s just that he is an expressive person and his face reflects what he’s feeling that well. Totally because of that. It’s scary how utterly focused he is on you, watching your every move to make sure no one is bothering you, though you don’t seem to be in need of his help as he watches you dance with one of the girls you met when you first arrived to the club – and with Lando, though he tries not to focus on that part too much.

It's fine, though, he tries to make himself believe, it’s fine as long as you’re having fun. Though that doesn’t necessarily stop him from throwing daggers into Lando’s direction as covertly as he can. The way he has a friendly arm around you is driving him crazy, and he is not above stomping over there to pull you under his arm, drag you to the nearest bathroom and– Well, maybe he shouldn’t get too far ahead of himself just yet.

“They look good together, no?” He hears someone ask him from the side. He realises it is his teammate when he turns to give the person a glare.

“Who?” He asks, deciding to play dumb, but he can’t help himself as he makes a face while focusing his gaze back on you.

“You know who I’m talking about, cabrón!” Carlos exclaims, laughing as he pats him on the back and points to the two of you with a tilt of his head, “I’m glad he’s finally doing something about it rather than sulking around like a geriatric toddler.”

If he would have turned around any faster, Charles is sure his neck would actually, possibly, break. “What?” he spits out as he turns around, “Do you mean her and Lando?”

Carlos gives his teammate a confused look, “Yes,” he drawls out, “you didn’t know he had a crush on her? I thought the entire paddock knew!” Charles feels a surge of disbelief and a tinge of anger bubbling within him.

He wouldn't call it possessiveness, more like a primal instinct to protect what's his. But this revelation catches him off guard, shattering his carefully constructed facade of nonchalance. With doing his best to keep calm under the situation, he asks, “Are you sure you’re not making things up? I feel like you’re misreading the situation here.”

That receives another confused look from his teammate, and though Charles is quite the perceptive person, he misses Carlos starting to put the pieces together – thanks to his overreaction. “I guess so,” Carlos mumbles, loud enough for Charles to hear him in the loud club, “he’s always talking about her, though. The way she smiles, her hair, her dresses; did you know he even went to see one of her performances in Vegas?” Carlos feels bad, really, but there is also something so fulfilling in confirming his theories as he watches his teammate’s eyes bulge out at the mention of one of your dance shows in Vegas. Because Charles knows what those entail.

“I-in Vegas?” He stutters out, eyes moving to focus on your dancing figure again. And at that moment, he absolutely hates Lando. He hates him for having his arms around you, he hates him for dancing with you to the beat in a rhythm he never seems to be able to keep up with, he hates him for the way everybody seems to think the two of you seem to make a handsome couple, and he absolutely hates him for the way he makes you smile.

Charles Leclerc is not a possessive guy – until it comes to you, that is.

“Charles?” He hears Carlos call out his name, but he’s out of his seat long before he can hear the end of his sentence. He doesn’t mean to stomp across the dance floor to get to you. He really doesn’t. He also doesn’t mean to grab you by your arm and put a pause on your fun. And the smile you give him and the way you wrap your arms around his neck while you call him ‘Charlie’? Makes his heart stutter in a way that makes him forget why he ever came over in this first place. Because this should be normal – you, having male friends and spending time with them should not make him insecure. He should be fine with you and Lando spending time together because you both love the hustle and bustle of a club. But at that moment, he doesn’t care about what should be normal, no. He cares about the fact that someone other than him has managed to make you smile, and that he needs to remind you that he’s the only one who should be on the receiving end of all your smiles.

So when he drags you away from the dancefloor (and Lando, for that matter), he doesn’t listen to your objections. He doesn’t care about the way Carlos is watching from his place from the bar, putting all the pieces together as he shares a look with Lando. And he most definitely doesn’t care about the fact that he’s about to fuck you in the club’s bathroom. Well, maybe he does care about that last part. “Charlie,” you whine, your voice clearly scratched from shouting along the lyrics of the songs playing throughout the night, and he doesn’t miss the way you slur his name ever so slightly – which tells him that you had at least two drinks. Cosmopolitans, if he had to guess. “Pleaaase,” you drag out the word, pulling on his shirt to get his attention, “they are playing my song!”

His first mistake is to look at you, because the way your lips form a pout and the way you’re giving him puppy dog eyes is usually strong enough for him to give in. Though this is no usual situation. So instead of moving the two of you back to the dancefloor, he grabs you by your cheeks and presses his lips against you. In the middle of the club, where everybody can see him doing it. The way his lips move against yours is aggressive, and you’re definitely out of breath when he does move away. Cosmopolitans, he realises after tasting you. You've had cosmopolitans. Then, he just gives you a look, threads his fingers through yours and raises an eyebrow. Then he asks, “Are you going to be a good girl and come with me now, or should I do this the hard way and just carry you on my shoulder?”

If this was any other situation, you would totally say something bratty back. Hell, you might have actually said something rude if it meant him being rough with you, maybe spanking you a few times just enough times for you to learn your lesson. But you understand that this is no ordinary situation from his voice and the expression on his face. Charles is like that, you suppose. He’s an open book – meaning that it is very easy to understand what kind of a mood he’s in just by looking at his face, or listening to the undertone of his voice. And right now? Right now you know he’s pissed. You don’t necessarily know what you did, nor do you care. Mainly because all you want to do is make him feel better simply because of the reason that he is one of those people who’s just meant to smile at all times, not frown.

And so you nod gingerly, squeaking out a thimble, “Yes.” You finally meet his eyes as you wrap yourself around his arm, pushing yourself closer to him in the crowded club. “I’ll be good.”

This thumb does that thing where he caresses your knuckle, and he starts moving you through the crowd again. This time, however, you try to stick to him by matching the speed of his steps rather than trying to stay back. You told him you’d be good, you intend to keep your promise. He’s quiet all the way to the bathroom, and he’s quiet when he motions you to get inside, and he’s quiet when he closes to door and promptly locks it behind your back. You think for a moment you’re just there for a chat, maybe about that something you might’ve done, but Charles takes you by surprise as he grabs your waist and pushes you against the door, causing your eyes to widen with realisation of what you’re about to do in that bathroom.

“Charles, what’s wrong?” You try to ask, but he shuts you up with another kiss. And if you thought the previous kiss was aggressive, this one absolutely consumes you. He doesn’t even give you a fighting chance as his tongue quickly dominates yours, and he is relentless as he nips at your lower lip. You can’t help the mortifying moan that leaves your lips, and you push him away to inhale deeply. “What has gotten into you?” You ask, eyes wide due to the adrenaline coursing through your veins, “What happened?”

“You, happened.” He growls. And by that, you mean that he actually growls. His voice is a few octaves deeper than his usual voice, and you can see that he’s snappy. There is this dark look in his eyes that would otherwise scare you if you didn’t know him, but you do. Because he’s your Charles.

And you know this because the quickly leans into your touch when you bring one of your hands up to cup his cheek, giving him a confused look. “Did I do something?” You ask, voice soft amidst the humid bathroom. “Oh my god, is it my dress? Is it too short?” Your eyebrows draw closer as you start properly spiralling. “I knew I should’ve worn the shorts, why didn’t you say something?”

Your mini monologue about your party attire must have struck a chord because Charles suddenly exhales heavily, his forehead resting against yours as he closes his eyes. “No, non, it's not about the fucking dress,” he lashes out, his voice strained, and lace with something else that you can’t quite catch. “I don’t care what you wear, though I do appreciate the easy access.”

“Easy access?” You repeat, testing out the words as you come to a realisation. “What?” You exclaim, quickly taking your hand away from his face to lightly slap at his chest. “No! We are definitely not doing that here, are you out of your mind? You pulled me away because you can’t keep it in your pants until we’re home?”

“And why not?” He asks, and this time, you can see the unbridled rage behind his look. “Would you rather go back to Lando out there? You looked quite happy in his arms after all.”

And the realisation dawns on you right then and there. That this isn’t about your choice of dress for the evening, no. It is about Lando. Though you don’t get that part, since he’s both of your friend, so why is Charles being like this? And you would ask him, of course. But the look he gives you indicates that he doesn’t want to be tested in that exact moment.

So instead, you attempt to calm him down, by dragging your hand gently down his chest and wrapping your arms around his middle. He is like that, your Charles, sometimes he just wants to be held to see reason. “Charlie,” you call out, voice soft as you give him a pleading look, “why don’t you tell me what this is about, hm?”

You think he’s going to finally give in for a moment, but then he just gives you a blank stare. “I don’t want to talk,” he grunts, pulling you flush against him by the hands he has on your waist. His lips are on your neck faster than you can say anything, working his way towards your collarbones. The faint whimpers that come out of your lips bring a small smile to his lips knowing that he’s the one causing them, not Lando or any other guy.

“Charles,” you gasp, your fingers tangling in his hair as his lips trail along your skin. Despite the confusion and frustration swirling within you, you can't deny the way his touch ignites a fire deep within you, consuming your thoughts and leaving you breathless with desire. But as much as you crave his touch, you know that there are unresolved issues between you, issues that need to be addressed before you can fully give yourself to him in this moment. “Charlie,” you repeat, your voice barely above a whisper as you gently push against his chest, urging him to stop. “Stop, we need to talk about this.”

“Talk about what?” He asks, all breathy and with a wild look in his eyes. You can see that he’s trying to hold himself back, but at the same time his hands keep moving on your body in a way that makes you want to let him lose control and perhaps even join him. He successfully ignores your attempts at pushing him away, sliding his hands down on your body to grab the hem of your dress, clenching the material in his hand while dragging it upwards on your thighs until he reaches the soft skin of your stomach. “I have a thing in mind which might help me feel better.” Unable to take your eyes off of him, you take a stuttered breath as you watch him slowly get down on his knees, his lips pressing kisses starting form your sternum continuing down your body over your dress until you feel his lips on the exposed skin of your stomach. His kisses stop once he’s met with the top lining of your underwear, looking at you with a mischevious glint in his eyes as he nips at the nimble lace adorning the top. You call out his name in a weak whimper – though it is not clear to you, nor him, whether you’re asking him to stop or go on. Charles decides to go with the latter. “You know what to say if you want me to stop.”

You don’t really need his reminder, you realise, but it is a welcome one. Your cheeks blush even further when you feel his gaze on you as he lowers his face towards your core, leaving a sweet kiss onto your clit through the fabric of your thong. Suddenly, you want nothing more than to just rip to whole thing apart so there is nothing separating you from him, but you know the game, and you especially know that the ending is sweeter than what you could ever imagine at that moment. And so you wait – you wait until he eventually makes his move and gives your slit a generous lick through the fabric. Watching you is equal parts thrilling and painful, mainly because he wants to drag out his teasing as long as possible just to see you falling apart for him. It’s second nature to you, the way your hand threads through his hair to move him the way you want to, but it is of course not an option because it’s Charles who is in charge.

He makes this known by the way he pulls away, ignoring the way your hands scramble to guide him back to where you want him to be. He nips at the skin of your thigh in a warning manner, pulling a whine from your lips as he fixes you with a look, “You’re not in control tonight, mon bijou, I’ll stop if you try to take over. You got that?” It’s sobering to see him take control in such a way, you sweet little Charles. Usually, he has no problem just laying back and letting you take all the control, or even just making you believe you do. But now? With the way he’s looking at you with such hunger? You know you’d be soaking through your underwear if you weren’t so wet for him already. All you can do is offer him a meek nod, with your lips hanging open in shock, but he is not satisfied with your answer. No, he needs to hear you say the words. So, being the initiative person that he his, he tips at your skin again, this time earning himself a whimper along a grumble about how he’s being unreasonable. He isn’t, but that’s a topic to discuss another time, he decides. “I said, you got that?”

“Yes! Fine, yes!” You whine, grabbing your dress even tighter with your fist that isn’t buried in his hair, “Please just make me come.”

“See?” He asks, flashing you a sweet smile as he lowers his face back onto where you need him the most, “It wasn’t that hard now, is it?” The grumble about how he’s about to be the hard one, makes him chuckle to himself, the rumbling from it making you moan his name as he finally gives you what you want. His tongue works fast as he laps on the wetness through your underwear, soaking the material even more without a care in the world. If you weren’t wet before, you’re sure you’re definitely wet as he drags his tongue through your slit and back onto your clit to suck it through the fabric, causing you to let out a string of moans, each getting considerably louder as he works on your cunt.

The breath is knocked out of your lungs as the moments pass, as you become closer and closer to your impending release. You don’t even notice the fact that you’ve started to move your hips to match the rythym of his tongue, seeking something more to make you tip over the edge. You’re also very aware of the fact that Charles is letting you what you want to do, and though you’re scared out of you midn that he’ll stop like he threatened to do before, the little nod he gives you when you give him a pleading look assures you that he also wants you to come undone on his face.

Or so you’ve thought.

Because he knows your body so well that jus as you’re about to come he pulls back, leaving you high and dry, and even has the nerve to chuckle when he hears his name coming out of your mouth in a high pitched whine. You’re so lost in the moment that you almost miss the way he gently grabs your hands and removes them from his hair, pinning them above you and pushing you against the wall. “Why?” You whine, lips pushed out in a pout as your voice gets gradually whinier, “I was so close, Charles.”

“Oh, baby,” he cooes, “I know you were, I could feel it too.” He starts peppering your feverish skin with kisses, as if to say sorry for leaving you on the brink of an orgasm, and you find yourself arching your neck to expose more of your skin to his skillfull lips. You should stop him, some part of you screams to you in your head, because with the way he’s disguising the fact that he’s marking you with hickeys, but you don’t care at that moment. Your every breath and moan seem to motivate him to work faster, and harder, and when he eventually pulls back to leave a bruising kiss on your lips. A smirk finds its way onto his lips as he gives you an eyeing down, taking in how breathless you look. “Don’t worry, mon bijou, I’ll fuck you now, okay?”

You don’t even realise the nod you give him, too lost in his eyes to put words together to form a proper sentence. He’s gentle with you as he lets go of your hands and positions you the way he wants. With one of your legs wrapped around his hip he has better access to your soaked underwear, his fingers working quickly to pulling it aside. You don’t know when he managed to get himself free from his pants and underwear, but that doesn’t stop you from letting out a loud moan when you feel the tip of his cock circling your clit. “Please, please, please,” your voice cracks as you frantically beg him to do something more. You’d love nothing more than to scold him for the way he shushes you condescendingly, but any complaint you had evaporates when you feel him nudge your entrance. “Please,” you breathe out again, giving him pleading looks as you try to pull him closer somehow, “You promised me you’d fuck me.”

That manages to pull out a beathy chuckle for him, and as if he’s trying to console you, you feel his fingers gently caressing the skin of your hip. “Why don’t you do it yourself, hm?” A grin widens on his lips when you give him a look of confusion, and he leads one of your hands between your bodies for you to wrap it around his cock. “You want me inside you, right?” He rewards your tentative nod with a series of kisses down the column of your throat, “Come on then,” he mumbles into your skin, “put it in, pretty girl.” Exhaling a shaky breath, you keep your eyes on him as you guide him through your entrance. A gasp is torn from your lips when you feel his tip entering you, the initial stretch being more overwhelming because of the fact that you’re standing up. But Charles is quick to soothe you with his kisses down your neck, letting you control the rhythym and how further he can move inside you at first. With your hand making its way down to his hip, pressing him close to you, he quickly gets the message that you’re ready for him. “You’re ready?” He double-checks, raising his head to fix his eyes to yours.

“I swear to god if you don’t fuck me right now–” Your words are interrupted when you feel him move his hips back, just enough to have his tip inside you, and then he snaps his hips forward to thrust back in, making your breath hitch at the back of your throat. It doesn’t take very long for you to become a moaning mess, in fact, you’re more than ready to fall apart for him then and there, but you know he won’t let you until he gets his point across.   

“Look at you, mon bijou,” Charles darkly chuckles, hips matching the rhythym of the song playing outside at the dance floor, “what would people think if they saw you being such a mess for me in a club’s bathroom?” And the whine you let out in response to his question nothing if pathethic, but you can’t find it in you to care because of how good he’s making you feel. “Yes?” He prompts you, mocking the whiny ‘Yes’, that leaves your mouth before you start begging him to let you come. But he doesn’t, because he knows you can hold it until he’s ready for you too, and he tells you just that.

“So good, Charlie, so good,” you can’t help the broken moans you let out as he fucks you to the brink of an orgasm. But that is not enough for him, no. He needs everyone to know the two of you are together now, needs to get out all of his pent up frustrations out.

So when the opportunity presents itself with Lando knocking on the door asking if you are okay? A knowing smirk find its way onto his lips, and you try to silently plead with him with your eyes. “You want to cum?” He whispers in your ear, his thrusts becoming faster. “Say my name if you want to come, baby.”

“Please–” You gasp, hands grabbing the shirt he’s wearing. It’s no avail even if you try to keep your voice down. Because when Charles finds a way to slither his hand down between your legs and starts rubbing your clit in firm circles? You know there is no way you can stay quiet through your orgasm. “Why?” You manage to get out, “God, Charles please.”

“Tell me who’s making you feel so good, pretty girl.” He encourages you, his rhythym now almost brutal as he tries his best to make you come for him. “Come on, tell me who you belong to.” He chuckles darkly when he sees you shaking your head. “It’s not Lando, it’s me. You hear that?” Uh-huh, is the only answer he receives in return, but he is of course not satisfied with it. So, he gently pinches the inside of your thigh. “Tell me who’s going to make you come, or I’ll stop.”

“N-no!” You exclaim, too overwhelmed to see that his threat is an empty one, because he would never actually do something like that to you. “Please, please don’t stop.”

“Come on,” he cooes, the sweet words he whispers into your skin making you more and more malleable to his request. “Say my name baby, let me hear you.”

“Charles,” your loud moan cuts the heavy air in the bathroom. Cheeks flushed, breath unorganised and with that wild look in your eyes? There’s nothing Charles wouldn’t do for you. With every move of his hips, you moan his name louder, eventually tipping over the edge as he feels you squeezing his cock so tight that he almost loses himself then and there.

That’s not to say he doesn’t, of course. Because just as you’re about done with your orgasm, you feel him come inside you, chanting your name alongside mine, mine mine. It takes a long time for the both of you to get back to your senses, but he’s extremely gentle with you as he helps you down and fixes your underwear. You find yourself snuggling up to him when he eventually takes you into his arms after fixing his own clothing, nuzzling your nose to his neck. “You know, I think I like the jealous side of you.” You mumble, leaving a few kisses across his jaw.

“Yeah?” He asks, a breathy chuckle leaving him as he cradles your face with both of his hands, his thumbs caressing the apples of your cheeks.

“Yeah.” You nod, giving him a small smile, “But I need you to take me home, please, I can feel your cum dripping down my leg.”

“Oh baby,” he coos, tutting as he slides his hands down your body to grab you by the waist, “we’re not going home, it would be rude to leave our friends by themselves. Don’t you think so?” The flabbergasted look that you give him makes another chuckle come from his lips as he slowly turns you towards the door. His lips find the junction between your neck and shoulder again as he announces, “We’re going to go back out there, and we’re going to dance. We wouldn’t want you to miss your song now, would we?”

And when he opens the bathroom door and you hear the first words to a Rihanna song you love? You know it’s going to be a long night ahead of you.

#monzabee #requests open #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #f1 smut #formula 1 #fanfic #f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 x y/n #charles leclerc #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc imagine #imagine #fluff #angst #smut #charles leclerc smut #charles leclerc fluff

[corollaservant]

anyways...

(suggestive) mess up ur white tee w jjk men

based on this 2021 tiktok challenge lol

Gojo: bro is horny before you even start to film. he doesn’t even notice your nails or understand really what the fuck is going on, all he knows is you have your hands on his growing bulge and he can’t concentrate. he snatches your phone with his huge palms and throws it across the room, you shriek as he pins you down and rubs himself on you. you never finish filming the challenge and he notices your nails after he sees the scratches on his back under the bathroom light as you clean him up.

Geto: he is used to these shenanigans of yours, of course he doesn't approve (he doesn't even know why one would use tiktok in the first place) but goes along with it. after a couple of takes he is bored but without realizing it hard- it’s when he notices your nails which are done beautifully, “these look really cute babe” he compliments while holding your hand and dragging you to sit on his lap, his cock poking you playfully.

Nanami: he doesn’t see you film until a flash hits his grey sweatpants and he turns to you confused. “babe what is this?” he is genuinely curious so he closes the book he's reading. you explain and he laughs, he doesn't really mind, after about 10 takes though he is painfully hard so he stops you and kisses you. “lets put these pretty nails to good use now, alright?”

Toji: bro won't even ask, he doesn’t give a fuck at this point, he lets you do whatever you want as long as his face isnt being filmed, what he doesnt know is that your stupid tiktoks get him hard, you've been palming him for 15 minutes and he’s had enough. he will grab your phone and free his cock, you are not getting it back until he comes in your pretty blabbering mouth (you explained the challenge but he wasn't listening). as for the nails, he’ll notice while having you bent over as you're gripping the sheets, he thinks they suit you but will not comment on it to tease you.

Sukuna: you are neither explaining or filming in the first place. he’ll glance at your new set once and within seconds have you pump his cock with them. “pretty nails” is all he’ll say after. “you didn't need a challenge to have me fuck you”

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk smut #jjk x you #jjk x reader #geto x reader #toji smut #toji x reader #nanami x reader #sukuna x reader #jjk men #corollaservant

[nerak-01]

Just...Pissed off Bestfriend!Ghost who can't get outta the friendzone...

TW: no direct smut ig, but its teasing and build up to smut. Ghost pinning over an oblivious reader.

This might get a second part if it does well, but who knows.

Imagine Ghost who prides himself in being subtle, unfazed, and mysterious. Except, he isn't around you. He'd been one of your closest friends since you both practically grew up together. Even when he joined to military, you made it a point to send letters and stay in touch. Ugh, that made it so much harder to not grow attached.

Ghost, or Simon, as you know him, would never out right tell you he was interested. Instead, he chose to drop hints. Maybe warding off any guy who looked at you too long wasn't the best hint, but it was crucial. Simon made an effort to keep his hands on you whenever he could. Whether that was a hug; a hand on your hips when he brushed passed you; or full blown cuddles on the couch when you guys watched movies.

Oh, he loved the cuddles. He had your whole body pressed against him as he occupied most of your attention. You were always so soft and warm. He always had to take a bathroom break half way through to relieve himself of a harder problem.

If you noticed how Simon began to change, you never mentioned it. This was now approaching your sixth month of this friends with cuddles non-sense. It wasn't like he wasn't your type! On a boring mission break, he might or might not have gone through your search history to find some enlightening Onlyfans subscriptions. He was both unimpressed and flattered when he saw how his body matched many of your most visited sites. Why pay to see other men's bodies when you could run your dainty hands over his? Simon Riley didn't get it.

Simon also couldn't fathom how you still hadn't taken the hint. He'd agreed to go clubbing with you as you chose to parade around in the sluttiest two piece he'd ever seen. Fuck. Why was your skirt so short anyway? Your top was basically lingerie with the mesh pieces and thin straps. Were you trying to grab his attention on purpose? Cause it...was kind of working... a little too well for his liking.

He hated how his eyes ghosted between your thighs before pulling away to look at the cock block who had you exhale an airy laugh. Your sounds were always angelic. He'd be lying to himself if he hadn't fantasized about the more sinister sounds he could draw out of you when you'd finally gotten the hint. Nevertheless, hearing it directed to someone else made his blood boil. Perhaps the other predicament was the fact that he knew that his eyes weren't the only ones lingering on you.

"Hey, darling, I think it's time we head out." Simon wasted no time, in two strides he was at your side with his arms wrapped protectively around you. He gazed down at the moron who looked a bit paler before the guy made an effort to wrap up your conversation. The idiot quickly scurried off into the tight crowd.

"No, I wanna dance more~" Your voice drew Simon's attention. You were being such a brat by subtly grinding your hips against him. Sure, you were wasted, but you had to know how riled up he was. You should be able to feel his hard on poking your back by now. He gripped your hips, forcing them to still.

"Baby, you're drunk, and I'm the one who's responsible for getting you home," he growled in your ear. There was a thick rasp in his voice as he tried to repress the urge to grind back. This wasn't fair to him at all. How could you expect a man to resist you? Simon had plenty of trouble doing that already, but this gave blue balls a whole new meaning.

#simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost x you #ghost x reader #ghost x you #simon riley #cod smut #simon riley smut #ghost smut

[tarjapearce]

Chapter 1: And So, Chaos Was Born.

Miguel O'Hara x Reader

WARNING: MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. Smut, angst, emotional distress, mentions and graphic depictions of cheating, rough sex, one night stand, Protected sex, p in v, fingering, squirting, touch starved reader, mentions of fuck buddies, condom breaking, reckless and questionable behaviors, established relationships.

Summary: A momentary relief brings the worst possible of outcomes.

Pt. 2

reblogs, comments, tags are highly appreciated c:

Chapter's song:

Sparkling bubbles popped in the surface of the champagne cups as they were distributed among the attendants. A relatively formal retirement party.

A party that liked it or not required your presence in an attempt to make feel the retiring executive chairman appreciated and already missed, despite most having the slightest idea who the hell he was.

Just a few bunch knew him, but even so, many have their reasons to be at the party besides the RSVP deemed mandatory. Free food, alcohol, a collective ogling from the well dressed coworkers people had a crush on, leading to new gossips to keep boredom away and morale up within Alchemax's breadwinners.

Not so discreet looks at the administration's and Lab's secret crushes, more gossips and a night off preoccupations. Your reason? Getting all dolled up and wear for the first time a dress you always wanted but never had the occasion to wear.

A black silk bustier cut dress with spaghetti's straps and floral embroidery with matching and stylish spool heel sandals. Hair that was usually tied in a mid ponytail on reception, thanks to the borderline stupid corporative image code, was now free and blown out by a stylist.

A French girl makeup that only enhanced your features, drawing the attention towards your lips. Nails lacquered in a lovely shade of red that matched your alluring mouth. Along a black little purse to hold your personal items.

You looked different from the boring receptionist look you had mastered after Two years of working for Alchemax.

A couple of men had approached you through the night, but we're kindly declined. Part of your job had granted you the ability to remember faces quite well, hence a bit of knowledge about their position in the company.

One worked in the research department, the other one had invited you a cup and a talk, but he was known as The dirty Samson in the administration lands. Another one from HR and Security management.

It was odd. They'd probably pass you without noticing much difference if you were in the working mode. Sometimes you marvelled at how easily impressed men were with a bit of makeup and more effort. It was like if you were a completely new person. The HR guy had the nerve to ask you if you had been transferred. Earning the instant rejection buzz.

You downed what it seemed your third cup of sparkling liquor, and went to the entré bar. You didn't know who was the guy but were grateful he thought about leaving the big way, and his colleagues to splurge in him in delicious food that had you swooning. Specially some little empanadas, full with the right amount of spicy seasoning that made your mouth soar in delight.

You were about to grab the last one when a large and tan hand snatched it from the silver and fancy platter at the last second.

A bushy eyebrow quirked at you, a silent this is mine, get over it. With a huff you reached for the last crunchy guacamole cup when your fingers grazed not so kindly with his. By instinct you slapped his hand away but quickly turned horrified at your actions.

"I'm so so sorry... fuck." You covered your mouth and the man chuckled, amused at your nervousness.

What if he was from the higher ups? What if he got you fired for being so careless and uncouth? What if-

"Here, have it. They're bringing more anyways"

A tight knot coiled in your stomach as nervousness bloomed into anxiety.

"Thanks" Your dry mouth mumbled, his eyes remaining on you for a bit, seizing you while reaching for the food. Sadly, his face was the only one that didn't ring a bell on your memory, and you had seen and remembered a lot of faces through your working years.

You'd definitely remember sharp cheekbones, meaty and inviting lips, Mahogany eyes that would search within the deepest crack of your soul without trying much. A rare yet appealing color that screamed danger. Strong nose and a compelling demeanor that would scare anyone coward enough to flee from his presence.

And you were no coward.

The cherry ontop was his voice. Deep with a dash of mischievousness if you  paid enough attention.

He held a cup of champagne on his left hand.

"The lobster spring rolls are good"

Mentally slapping yourself for a rather awkward approach, you grabbed a small paper cup of sweet chili sauce to go with the two aforementioned snacks in your plate.

He just looked at your hands, eyes trailing over the skin and soon, stopped at your chest. Lovely pair of mounds that would certainly fit into his hands.

He blinked the sudden thought away but it didn't help him watch you popping a small grape into your mouth.

Oddly enough he had been angry. Angry at the text messages and calls he had received a while ago, unleashing a new level of meanness within his heart.

He hated being belittled and the passive aggressive back handed texts did not help him. He needed to replenish before setting his plan in motion. Part of him knew it was wrong what his mind had conspired, but his current situation had decided it was enough. He could only take so much before lashing out.

The anger had to be let out one way or another. And you happened to set his imaginary idea bulb alight. His jaw clenched.

He hadn't seen you before, to him you'd probably be another outside guest that would have no business in returning to the company. Someone who would be forgotten in a span of a night. Another one in his long forgotten and hidden list of conquers. 

You downed the fourth cup of  champagne and ate, balancing the alcohol ingest.

"What's your name?"

The words came out of his mouth like butter. In other circumstances he'd be repulsed by his own behavior, but the brewing anger had to be unleashed one way or another, or things would turn even more acrid within his mind.

Your eyes widened a bit at the question. Naturally you gave him your name and he nodded.

"Miguel. Nice to meet you."

He offered his right hand and you took it. His engulfing yours with ease.

"Are you having fun?"

"I'm just here for the food if I'm honest" You chuckled and cleared your throat, hoping the lack of flirting over the past six months wouldn't seep in through and ruin the possible chance ahead of you.

"Uh, what about you?"

"Not a party guy. But one in a while won't hurt."

"Cheers to that" Your cups clinked.

His eyes scanned the area. People were either scattered in the main salon area, or were outside in the balconies, in their own world not really looking his way or yours.

Good.

"Do you know by chance whose the guy that's leaving?" His chuckle only widened your smile.

"Not really."

Lies. Miguel perfectly knew him, He was the chairman of the Lab Department, and if he worked hard enough, he'd be the old man's replacement soon. He even had a new project proposal he had been assembling the past months and hopefully that would kickstart his road ahead.

You on the other hand, had been looking into a more administrative position, trying to upgrade the current status of a simple receptionist. You definitely needed a raise.

"I mean, if this is being served at his retiring, can't help but wonder what they will do in his funeral."

Miguel couldn't help but genuinely laugh at your comment. You smiled again and gulped.

"I haven't seen your face around here." mumbling you set your eyes on him again, he smirked.

"Same thing. Would've remembered those pretty lips. Preciosa"

He didn't need to explain what that meant since it caused the right effect on you. The kind of effect that would have your skin flushed, and a chill running down your spine. Oh the petty in him was running rampant and there was none to stop him.

"Well, speak for yourself."

"You think I have pretty lips?"

It was disgusting to him how easy he could slip into this old mask he had dropped many years ago. Nearly scary at how natural he still seemed in the arts of flirting.

"The prettiest I've seen so far." You mumbled an octave lower.

But you didn't slack. You were persevering, he gave you that. If only the rest of his colleagues had that, it'd make his job easier. You were pretty. Really pretty, and he was being a resented ass that knew how to indulge.

"I was supposed to say that, sweetheart."

Be it the alcohol, or your sudden raging hormones that sparked a little fire within that he kept feeding with his words, or the lack of sex for the past half year that got you extra bold tonight. It was your night.

"Pretty sure they'd look better on mines."

His brow quirked as your eyes gazed at each other's. Biting your plump and red lips was enough for him make his resolve.

"Wanna try out that theory?"

He put the food and cup down and offered your hand. Once more his morals reminded him of the consequences. But he pushed them back, like everything that made little to keep his mind busy and focused.

You took it, letting him guide you to another milieu of the building. A more secluded area. HR's bathrooms. Not the kind of setting that you had imagined, but given the working areas being closed for the night, neither of you could be picky.

Plus none would take their time to walk this much to relieve themselves. You had an itch and he would scratch it.

A new sense of thrill invaded you as he took you to one bathroom stall. Once the door was locked, Meaty and plump lips landed on yours while he cornered you against the wall. Purse dangled on your shoulder

Red lips limned sin. A sin that he was tainted with the more you both devoured each other.

His hands roamed your romantic body lines, and pulled you impossibly closer to his, but the bathroom was proving to be a nuisance.

He groaned as he separated from you and opened the stall, looking outside for a moment.

"Come" He pulled you out the caged place to get into the special needs one. It was definitely roomier, kinkier even if he knew how to make the most out of the space. The lovely smell of jasmine and floral undertones the area was doused in, helped your senses relax, coaxing you even more into his lips.

His tongue swirled yours, while his hands trapped your head in the ravaging kiss. One of his thighs positioned between your legs, and pushed against your flesh, earning a mewl. Purse long forgotten on the floor.

Seizing the chance he lured your tongue out and sucked it softly, your hips humped his thigh. He smirked into the kiss as his hands slid down your neck and stop at your shoulders. The thin straps of your dress were slid down, the area cupping your breast next.

He pulled out from the kiss and stared down at you. Lust and something darker looming over his eyes. His cologne tickled your senses, and your skin crawled when he pushed you against the wall once more and his tongue skimmed over your neck.

Your senses under attack only urged him to release your breast. Breast that looked as delicious as he had imagined. Perky nipples met his hungry gaze, mouth trailed over the valley between them and suckled over the left one.

Gasping, you held onto the horizontal metallic bar next to you, grounding at the building up sensations. A whimper filtered through your throat as his other hand played and tweaked softly at your lonely breast. His mouth turned on pleasuring both, to then squeeze them together, trying to fit both in his mouth.

"F-Fuck-" Your face turned a bright red as he pulled one softly between his teeth, to then give a deep suck that had you groaning. He released you with a wet pop, nipple glistening with his saliva. A little hickey underneath the nub.

A discreet way of marking you.

His fingers ventured over your back zipper releasing your body from the lavish dress. He picked it up and hooked it on the little contraption attached to the door, preventing it to soil down, despite the place's apparent immaculate state.

And what he saw underneath got his pants tighter at his groin. Your panties only accentuated the dip of your curves as generous hips called him in. Luring him to be lost between them.

He removed his suit and placed it ontop of your dress, sleeves rolled up his elbows, revealing strong and well worked forearms.

Your hands pulled him by the belt buckle and he chucked but quickly gasped as you undid the thing and slid a hand in his pants and caressed his clothed cock. Eyes widening at the sheer size.

"Uh uh, don't back up now, princess."

His tone sending shivers down your spine. You squeezed.

"I'm not." Alcohol made you stupid. And bold. That's why you were a social drinker. You pulled his pants as low as you managed to.

Your hand fumbled with his boxers for a second before taking a hold of his erection. Husky breath fanned on your face as you pumped him with one hand and the other pulled the cotton undergarment down his sculpted thighs.

"Faster, cariño-" He groaned at your pace increasing, " J-Justo así. Dios que rico..." (Just like that. God... that so good)

He mumbled in between raged breaths, one of his hands slid in your panties, fingers dipping between your moist folds. Caressing and rubbing as much flesh as they managed to meet, until he made contact with your clit. You whimpered and your pumping faltered. He slid your panties off your legs.

"No no, keep going" It was hard to please him when you were crumbling upon the ministrations he provided. Your hole slurped one of his fingers, trapping him inside. Erratic as your handjob was, it provided him enough urge to plunge another finger in, stretching bit by bit your tight and now soaked hole.

Your face was blissful as his fingers curled and flexed inside. His phalanges contracting and prodding at the right spots that had you humping his hand, trying to get as much friction inside as possible.

His fingers drenched and your mewls turned into loud groans but he put a hand on your mouth, while he slid in and out with ease. Juices rolling down the back of his palm and pooling on his hand. He nearly laughed at the realization.

He hadn't even fucked you properly and you were already melting and gushing on his hand. And the tightness inside. God, he was gonna enjoy ruining you.

Your breath hitched as he wriggled his fingers deeper. Your hand kept giving him deep yet slow strokes, alternating between pumping and squeezing him.

His ears were full of a wet and sinful song. Your mewlings mixed with the sloshing noises your drenched cunt did pushed him to graze at that swelling and rubbery texture inside you that earned him a yelp. Your hand had long stopped and clung to his shirt, mouth ajar underneath his hand, trying to find the right sound to vocalize.

A muffled sob. Your eyes rolled back as your body convulsed and your pussy gushed. A satisfied smirk plastered over his handsome face while you came. Your arousal staining the floor in droplets.

You looked gorgeous, he had to admit. Flushed cheeks and neck, lust half lidded eyes that stared back at him, begging for more. Chin smeared in lipstick, that trembled with every deep pant you did. So so gorgeous.

"Condom" You breathed, "P-Put it on"

Clever girl. If it wasn't for your words he'd raw you. You amused him. Despite your lust blown mind, you still managed to think coherently.

He reached for his wallet and pulled out one. His phone buzzed with many texts surpassing the twenty. But he put it on plane mode and quickly resumed his revenge. The latex ring was rolled down his shaft, fitting snug and perfectly built at his size.

He cupped your quivering and soaked thighs and sat you on the metallic bar you were holding onto. His mouth busied with yours and his hand guided his engorged tip towards your aching and awaiting flesh.

Miguel bit your lip at the brain splitting sensation your warm and tight pussy provided. Your legs spreaded as wide as they could to take him in completely.

"Dios mío..." He rasped as he pushed in to the brim, your thighs resting on his forearms while your spine rested against the wall. Your jaw clenched at the fullness you were experiencing. Pain and pleasure came in hand in hand. It didn't help he had sheathed in as you were still riding your high.

"You okay, cariño?" A weak nod. His forehead rested against yours, letting  to adjust at his stretching and invading cock. With a roll of his hips he pushed all air away from your lungs.

A hand squeezed his shoulder as the other covered your mouth, preventing from being too loud.

"Good girl" He praised and his hips moved again, keeping a steady pace.

"M-Miguel" You whimpered and writhed, "Wait, wait-"

He chuckled and kissed your neck, helping your discomfort to leave your body. But in truth, you were cumming again. Your legs went around him and clamped tightly. Shallow and erratic breaths flew out your mouth as you came by taking in his cock. Body licked with fire.

"Jesus, babe." He held your thighs tighter as they trembled, "Been a while, huh?"

You nodded and he cooed. A high pitched whimper echoed through the walls and he immediately shut you up with his hand again.

"You gotta tone it down, ok?"

You nodded and kissed him desperately. And it was enough spark for him to move inside. Deep and slow strokes were delivered while he clawed at your ass.

Every stretch increased in pleasure while the discomfort subsided. Never in your life had met someone this big. He got your mind made a puddle. A puddle he enjoyed playing with.

His voice whispered the sweetest and filthiest things his mind could come up with. Noting how you reacted at the filth he plowed in deeper. Your cervix was bullied.

"Harder" barely a whisper

"What was that?" He stopped and you whined

"H-Harder"

He tittered, "You're barely holding it together sweetheart, want me to ruin your pretty pussy? Hm?"

You nodded and urged your hips closer to him.

"Can't say no to that face."

His grip tightened on your ass, his hips accommodated in a different angle and sheathed in once more. Feeling yourself full made your toes curl in again.

He didn't give you time to fully grasp your reality as an onslaught of thrusts were pounded into your squelching hole.

Your spine arched while his hands handled you like a ragdoll on his cock. The only remaining garment on your body were the heels.

Where was he when you needed a new fuck buddy? It didn't matter.

Not when he was punishing your cunt and bullying your cervix in a way none had made you feel before. It was addictive. Ass bounced on his hands with every toe curling thrust.

He left you insides empty with every pull he gave, only to be filled again. And again and again. He had warned you, but you didn't listen. And now you were enjoying and suffering the consequences.

His hot breath fanned over your neck, as much as he wanted to leave you marked as his despite just being a one night stand, he couldn't leave traces.

He didn't know if you had someone. Neither care. All he cared for was that he was getting his anger out and you were enjoying it. You liked it rough.

He stilled and dropped your legs on the floor, the sudden action caused a slit in the condom, he knew he had to stop and change it, but you felt too good and your insides begged to be ruined. You were too cock drunk to notice. He just turned you around and hoisted one of your thighs up, opening you like a book.

He buried in with a swift motion and resumed his relentless thrust, leaving you breathless again. Your hands held tightly on the bar as he pounded on your needy cunt.

The constant slap had your whole frame shaking, even your head, that tried hard to keep inside the sanity line. But this angle provided him not only the perfect spot for him to stimulate both, but a deeper and meaner reaching within.

His chest was filled with pride at every time you gasped, panted, moaned, begged and wailed his name. Unlike her.

By God he was angry. Angry at the belittling words of him not being man enough to keep with stupid antics. 

You sobbed as your frame shook with such force it was mind shattering. His hands held such a grip on yours he was glad you had that dress to cover up the bruises.

How dared she? How Dana could say such things when he was making this beautiful stranger he met minutes ago so blissful and happy? How could she say she was left unsatisfied when he was giving it all to you? Wetness didn't lie. And you had not only squirted, but kept him drenched and welcomed and asked no questions.

A perfect subject.

You didn't care. Too focused on trying to not go deranged at the pleasure you've certainly been lacking. Your insides twitched. You looked even better than her when fucked out. Sounded even, unlike the annoying quiet moans Dana gave him, making him feel unsure of his performance in bed.

He slapped your ass, a red mark blooming on your right supple cheek.

Dana hated being manhandled too roughly. But you loved it, encouraged it even. He didn't know who to blame to get to this point. Himself for letting things to run deeper until they turned into this wretched anger, or Dana for getting used to his temper and approach him once things were calm enough.

Feeding this harmful behavior just for the sake of not letting him go. Sometimes happy moments with her weren't enough for him, but he was too comfortable to just go and start meeting new people. He wasn't one for social mingling, but tolerated the whim enough to get him some favors among administration.

If it wasn't for the fact that he was cheating out of spite, he'd definitely ask your number for a round two.

You came with the most delicious sound he had ever heard, igniting his own peak.

He emptied inside you with an angry growl. Thick blobs of his cum spilling into the condom. He threw his head back and relished at the release. Anger finally subsiding.

He let your thigh go and pulled out. A few droplets had escaped through the now broken condom. Rolling his eyes he discarded it and cleaned himself up. His fingers wiping the leaking cum off your flushed cunt .

"You still with me, preciosa?"

You landed on the floor with an oof. And laughed. He cradled you in his arms with a chuckle. Your Bambi legs trying to get a hold of themselves as you stood.

"That was..." You shook your head with a laugh, "Too bad I didn't met you six months ago."

He smirked and wiped the sweat off his forehead and body, trying to tone down his tussled looks. You reached for your panties and soon got dressed.

In truth, six months ago he was on the beach, having an impromptu vacation with Dana, celebrating on of her achievements.

His hands reached for your zipper once he saw you struggling with it.

"Thanks."

The long forgotten purse on the ground was picked up, your hands reached for the item you were looking for. You handed him a couple of makeup remover towelettes.

"Gracias." He mumbled as he left the stall. You followed only to giggle at your reflection. All the money invested at the stylist, gone.

Chin flushed by the smeared lipstick, mascara had ran out, just like the eyeliner. Frizzy hair, and flushed out cheeks.

Each of you cleaned up, wiping away the immorality of what just happened. Bit by bit, you started to look the way you were an hour ago. The tussled hair only added a little more appeal to your looks.

"Sure you can walk?"

You sighed, "It's kinda uncomfortable to walk after months without sex. But yeah."

You corrected your eyeshadow and then took the lipstick.

"God take his time but surely never forgets"

Again, he laughed softly. Maybe he should ask for your phone. The screen however was alight in his phone and he exhaled, annoyed.

"Thanks... Miguel right? That was amazing."

The last chivalry act of him was to take your hand and kiss the back of your palm.

"Thank you, hermosa. Have a good night."

He left.

As you gave an approving look in the mirror and mentally congratulated yourself for such feat, Miguel had left the building.

You were home with a wide smile, unaware of the ruse you were dragged in.

Monday came and you went into working mode. Receiving the guests and other executives with a smile was part of your job.

The Cinderella illusion had vanished, leaving you with a new expectation no man could fill. Thighs rubbed together at the memory.

Your evening was spent between organizing files, receiving calls, giving information to people, arranging meetings, and dispatching the couriers.

You had just received a package, the name Dana D'Angelo etched on the delivery tag. Thirty minutes more and you'd be able to go home. Hands fixed your ponytail for the third time.

Your fingers typed in the information as you scheduled the meetings, when a brunette with a short bob approached.

"Hi. By any chance a package with the name of D'Angelo came in?"

Her smile was disarming, she had the cool pretty and rich girl aura irradiating from her. The kind of aura that would make people stare her way while entering a room.

"Yup! Just got it actually." You rose from your seat to fetch the package. A little wedding magazines bundle and some information pamphlets regarding venues and other wedding relating procedures.

"There you go. Sign here, please." You pointed at the space as her hand slid the pencil on the paper. Penmanship impeccable as you noticed an engagement ring on her left hand. Shiny and perfectly snugged in her finger.

Lucky girl.

Your smile stretched at the thought. Of course pretty girls like her had a wonderful looking man as a future husband.

" Dana, cariño. Hurry"

The familiar voice made you snap your head up at the man. Much to your horror Miguel stood before you, a golden band on his ring finger, matching Dana's.

Throat dried and soured, like if you had been forced to swallow a tall glass of ashes. Heart thumped so violently you had to clutch your chest for a second as your eyes locked on eachother.

His eyes widened to then narrow upon recognizing you. A subtle scowl twitched on his upper lip.

Realization hit both harder than a car crash, so sudden, unexpected, and terrifying. Unmistakably he was the same man that had gave you the most toe curling fuck of your life, the same man that didn't wear his ring while plowing into you in a bathroom stall after a few minutes of flirting.

The same man that frowned your way after Dana got her package. Piercing eyes seized you. There were no longer lust, but apprehension and mistrust in them. Neither of you needed words to understand the devastating consequences that would unfold if your little dirty secret came into light.

Homewrecker

The thought made you pale. You had fucked an engaged man. You had been lured and used by an engaged man. You were part of a lie the brunette wasn't even aware of. And right now you wished to be as blissfully ignorant as she was. Unaware of your role in this back stabbing and heart wrenching lie.

No no no!

Dana walked ahead and Miguel followed. Nausea rising to your throat, your stomach clenched in such way upon witnessing them kissing and move towards the entrance.

How could he? No, no. How could you?

Slut

His hand wrapping her smaller shoulders in a loving embrace while he shot a contempt and skin crawling glare your way.

A Shutup and don't get in my way look.

If only the earth could swallow and spit you out elsewhere far far away. A silent threat. A threat that you weren't sure of keeping to yourself. So many questions flooded your brain at once.

Like a miriad of voices were urging you to do the right thing and spare the woman the heartache of discovering it on her own, damned be the consequences. But his eyes and the promise within them made your racing thoughts to stop. He was a different person from the one you met and he didn't need words to make his point clear.

Keep your mouth shut.

Whore

Another man got in your peripheral as he greeted you. A visitor. Head spun, voices so loud you considered in yelling them to stop.

Instead, you forced a strained and nervous smile upon the visitor that approached you.

"Welcome to Alchemax. What can I do for you?"

You'll burn.

Taglist:

@death-moth-art @miss-taura @xylianasblog @serpentstarr @randomnobody187 @tayleighuh @8xbygirl @artyanimi @ittybxttykxttytxtty @del-ightfulling @iytatsworld @moonzuzuu

@huehuehuehuehehe @ryk-mt

Header made by me

#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #atsv miguel #miguel o'hara smut #miguel o'hara fanfiction #miguel o'hara angst #t writes✨ #one night stand #Spotify

[leclsrc]

has yet to pass ✴︎ cs55

centre image by tony belobrajdic

genre: exes to lovers, slow burn, fluff, humor, slight angst, yearning, some sexual tension

word count: 12.5k

Four years after an angry breakup, the universe is bored enough to nominate Carlos Sainz for GQ Sports’ Man of the Year and assign you to be the writer of his profile.

notes... internet translated spanish lol

auds here... requested, this fic is long! i hope you all like it apologies for the inactivity </3 exes to lovers we have a very love/hate relationship but this was a pleasure to write

You’re half sure your head is about to pop out from how annoyed you are.

At the office, mornings move slowly in the very corporate-desk-job kind of way, but today is notably slower. Your boss had called you in an hour earlier to discuss important matters, and this is your third hour waiting already. Either your boss is a dumbass, or you got the wrong email, which both essentially mean the same thing anyway.

The time on your Panthère tells you you’re curving into the three-and-a-half hour territory, and right as you’re about to get up to get a glass of water, the large wooden door swings open and your name is called through the crack in it. Suddenly the irritation dissipates into nerves, and because Jonathan didn’t specify anything in the email, you realize you could be wading into anything right now. Termination. Promotion. A brick to the head.

“Morning,” you offer once the door’s been shut behind you. 

“Sorry for the wait,” he says politely. “We’ve been in discussions with GQ Sports all day. All night last night, too. It’s all proper boring.”

You nod, remaining fairly quiet and waiting for him to break the news to you. He clears his throat, places his hands on his hips and exhales.

“Right, so this is all related to GQ, actually. They’re doing a Men of Sports segment and they asked us to assign one of our writers to an athlete. You’re our best right now, really—your article turnout last year was absolutely stellar. So, there’s, ah… there’s tennis, yeah, there’s footie, obviously, and—under usual circumstances, you’d get to choose one of either. But we actually really wanted to cover racing this year.”

The cloud above your head carrying the dreams of interviewing Leo Messi or Roger Federer pops dismally.

“Racing.” You repeat curtly.

“It’s gotten proper viral this year!” He smiles, gestures to nothing to prove his point. “Every teenage girl’s got a crush or other on a driver. Anyway, we set you up with the racing category, and the segment comes out in around six months.”

“I’ve got a tiny bit of a qualm about th—”

“So it’s decided. GQ’s going to pick out the driver for you, and you’ll be introduced at a gala next week.”

“Wait—” you laugh uncomfortably. “I’m thankful for the opportunity, and wow, thank you for choosing me, really, but do I not get to pick my own driver?” You clear your throat. “I mean, I’m spinning the story.”

“I know,” he sighs. “But this deal moved pretty quick, so a majority of the leverage goes to them. Don’t worry, though—a lot of the drivers will have great stories, I’m sure. You’ve got Lewis, you’ve got the Verstappen guy, you’ve got the Rosberg fellow…”

“Rosberg retired in 2016.”

“Oh, fuck, seriously? Well. Hit me with a brick then.”

—

The gala is a fundraiser to celebrate the season kicking off, you realize when you step outside the car and read the navy blue banner across the entrance to the carpet. It’s all fancy fonts and table placements, but One look at the watches and earrings in this place will tell you there’s more than enough funds already. You digress, anyway, walking inside to find the only one person you’re familiar with in the world of racing.

“Lewis,” you mutter when you locate him, voice dry with dread (and lack of alcohol), “kill me now.”

“On the off chance you’re serious—I’m actually willing to do so.” You slap his arm and he scowls.

“I’m supposed to meet the driver I’m writing about tonight, but the GQ guy hasn’t texted me. Christ, I hope it’s you. At least I have years’ worth of blackmail on you to really sell the profile.”

He only laughs, guiding the both of you to a champagne tower and offering you one. You down it in seconds, suffocated by nerves and the curiosity blooming inside you. “You don’t think it’s…?”

“I think they keep track of those things,” he replies, but his voice is only half-sure. “Conflict of interest and that. But Jonathan did say it was a quick deal?” You nod. “So it’s not impossible, I suppose.”

Big help, you chirp sarcastically, eyes perusing the large room. There are tables populated by celebrities, by politicians, and of course, by drivers. You keep scanning, squinting to chisel your search further, but it’s cut off by a tap of two fingers on your shoulder. 

“Hi. I’m Nick, the GQ rep, and I believe you and I have a meeting,” says the man behind you with an excited smile. “Why don’t we…?”

He gestures to the expanse of the room and you nod, falling into step beside him. He introduces the article, the concept of shadowing the athlete to achieve a more immersive piece of work as a result, something novel and innovative.

He’s right in the middle of talking about Jonathan when he stops at one of the cocktail tables and stations the two of you there. “Okay. You’re one of the biggest names in sports journalism right now, so it means a lot for you to want to represent racing. Especially because both Neymar Jr. and Nadal expressed bids to get you to write their segments!”

“They wh—”

“Right, here we are. Meet your shadow—or, subject—for the next six-ish months.” He places two hands atop your shoulders and wheels you around, so your eyes meet those of, “…Carlos Sainz Jr.!”

Yeah. This is fucking rich. 

Nick is talking but none of it falls right on your ears. Everywhere in your mind, alarm bells ring at full volume, alerting you to the danger present, almost. You plaster on a fake smile to acknowledge his presence, but his outstretched hand goes unnoticed. Clearly picking up on the tension, Nick gives a sheepish giggle and ducks out of the exchange, leaving the two of you woefully alone.

“Carlos,” you say politely. “What a nice surprise.”

There is a limited amount of phrases that are considered acceptable to say to an estranged ex of four years. There’s oh, what a surprise!, didn’t expect to see you here, you look well. It’s limited because nobody ever thinks to run into their estranged ex of four years, and even then, any sane person would do well to avoid interaction at all costs. So you’re really the luckiest son of a bitch in the world to be situated with a stuffy public interaction, under the guise of professionalism, with your ex-boyfriend.

Your history is heavy in the air. The last time you saw each other, things had been a lot different, but now you’re two professionals. Really. You really are professional.

“I refuse to be within ten metres of the guy,” you say, on your third martini. Lewis faces you with poorly hidden concern, and beside him, roped into your lovelorn matters, so does Sebastian Vettel. “Ten metres. Actually, no. Make it twenty. How can I be arsed to write an all-over-him feature about a guy I absolutely hate and haven’t seen in four years?! I had it all sussed—get assigned to Lewis, write the best feature, then restore his eighth world title.”

“—She’s joking,” coughs Lewis.

“Oh, but now? Now, it’s get assigned to my ex, write like shit, never get recognized for a good piece, and die hungry and alone on the streets of London. You know, I should just call Jonathan and tell him I don’t want this. I’d rather go back to writing normal articles.” You pry your clutch open but a hand stops you before you can.

“Don’t.” Sebastian’s voice is gentle, but firm. “This is a test of character, don’t you think? More than that—it’s a test of how good you are as a writer.”

“True,” interjects Lewis, chewing on a quiche. “If you can write a stellar profile about an ex, I mean—you’re just proper talented. But it’s also about how strong you are now, morally. Emotionally.”

“I’m perfectly fine emotions-wise, thanks,” you retort. Both men shrug, backing off, and you feel like you should be smug about it—but your mind is stuck on the topic even as the night passes.

You end up deciding when you’re kicking your heels off in your flat a few hours later, giving Jonathan a ring despite the late hour. It takes a while for the man to pick up, but he does eventually, with an excited tone colouring his voice—“How’s my star writer? Sainz, huh? Real eye candy.”

“About that…” you start, walking over to your bookshelf and chewing your lip, trying to think of the right way to decline the offer. Your eyes land on one of the several awards you’ve garnered in your profession—in fact, the very first one. Most Promising Journalist, it reads, embedded into the front’s frosty surface. 

Four years ago. And you’ve proven it since, if the crowd of glass around it is anything to go by. Why let a petty ex destroy what could potentially be one of your biggest gigs yet? Your segue outside of sports journalism?

“Earth to—yeah, hello? About what?” Jonathan’s voice breaks you out of your thought train.

“… I just, uh,” you say, nodding, “I wanted to say I’m really excited.”

— 

Carlos Sainz Jr., 27, is on the rise as one of Formula One’s most talented drivers… (add more info…) His smooth driving style and charm has led him to become one of the most popular figures in the sport, both on and off the paddock. He is also a huge, absolutely irritating, cannot for the life of him be humble!!!, SON OF A BITCH, PRICK, ASSHOLE—AND THE BIGGEST WANKER ON PLANET EAR

“The team will be here in just a minute,” says the lady who’d ushered you into this meeting room in Maranello. You half-shut your laptop in fear she’ll catch sight of your brief Word document meltdown, but she doesn’t seem to notice, setting a glass of water beside you and you stare idly at it while waiting for the rest of the room to enter. You’re expecting Nick, Carlos, Mattia—the boss—and Charles, his teammate. Jonathan’s already beside you playing Candy Crush on his phone, as per boomer law.

This meeting is pointless. You’ve already exchanged the bare minimum pleasantries with Carlos, anyway, and you cannot for the life of you decipher why there needs to be a whole new corporate clash just for this. But here you are anyway, awaiting your ex-boyfriend’s arrival into the room and back into your sweet life.

He enters with everybody else, his hair half-damp and his eyes meeting yours almost immediately. You clear your throat and turn away, standing to shake hands with Mattia. He’s pleasant about it, expressing excitement for the final output and commending your earlier work as a writer. You offer the polite small talk back, discussing plans for the article and the release date.

“Over at GQ Sports, we’re really trying to make this concept as immersive as possible. That requires the writer to shadow the athlete at almost all times, maybe taking a couple days off if needed. That might mean she gets a paddock pass, and things like that.”

“That’s no problem,” Mattia says. “Anything for the article.”

You end up being introduced to Charles, too—Charles Leclerc, who wears a contagious smile and won’t stop letting his eyes frolic in between you and Carlos, like he can sense the history. You suspect Carlos brought him up to speed, anyway, but it’s still a bit amusing. While the meeting carries on, Charles chips in with a joke. “Hey, if you find this guy irritating, you and I are going to get along.”

You laugh a bit, but remain mostly quiet for the sake of being professional. You miss the way Carlos’ eyes linger on you a second too long, focusing on the tail-end of the meeting so you can, for lack of better word, get the fuck out of here.

Of course, though, you’re stopped in the middle of the parking lot by Carlos himself, whose apologetic face is the first thing you see when you turn around with a huff. You’d already known it was him—he was calling your name loudly as he jogged over to you—but it’s still a sour surprise.

“What?”

“Let’s”—he pauses to take a breath—“talk. Listen, I know it must be an imposition for you to write about this, about me. Let me make it clear that I’m 100% okay if you choose to switch athletes. And if you needed any background information, I’ll be willing to give you that.”

“I don’t care what you’re okay with,” you say blankly. “And I’ve got Google.”

“Right.” He stares. “Um. Okay, well, let’s—can we agree, then? To be civil, for the period of time this article will be written?”

You consider the truce. As much as you’d like to be snarky with him and make your disdain all the more clear, you’re also not interested in making a scene or causing any type of fuss around his—and your—colleagues. The glass awards on your shelf flash through your mind, and you inhale softly. “Okay.”

He smiles. This seems a bit more difficult than you thought, for reasons you didn’t even consider.

“Forget anything ever happened,” he says when your hands meet. Something jolts through you.

Yeah, you’re fucked.

—

Your introduction to the actual sports part of the profile goes well, with a flurry of chaos in Bahrain.

Despite Jonathan’s texted reminder from Friday morning (Stick to Sainz the whole time), you find yourself staying in your comfort zone, ergo following Lewis around nearly the entire weekend. Granted, you are itnroduced to a few more drivers—Mick, Esteban, Alex—but also Lando, one of Carlos’ closest friends on the paddock, who makes dirty jokes from the get go.

Still, even Lewis has to remind you you have another driver to actually cover, so you reluctantly detach from him on the race day and begin your search for—

“Carlos,” you utter, breathless from exhaustion when you finally locate him inside his room at the motorhome, which you swear you checked twenty minutes ago. Either he’s avoiding you or he’s truly impossible to find. He adjusts his suit and looks at you with an unreadable expression.

“Yes?”

“I need a couple of words from you.” You smile politely, taking a seat on the couch armrest. “Like, pre-race nerves, jitters, routine. Anything?”

“I have a playlist,” he says, humming. “I like to call family, have a talk with the engineers.” He says it like en-yi-neers, but you already anticipated it. You’ve known en-yi-neers for years. You know how he talks, pronounces everything. “And I say a prayer, trust the car.”

“Trust the car?” You type the last few words onto your laptop, which you’d been toting around all day. It balances on your lap. “Any follow-ups to that, considering there’s been some chatter around the car this year and its supposed faultiness?”

“I just do what I do best,” he replies, steadfast. “The rest is a gamble I’m willing to take.”

“Perfect.” You finish. “That was a great line. Thanks so much, really.” It’s your reporter voice, the one you use for just about everyone else on the paddock. He nods in response, and the room ebbs into silence again. It’s awkward, when you excuse yourself and exit, already planning exactly how you’re going to tell this to Lewis. Halfway out the door, you purse your lips, turn, and then:

“Good luck, by the way.” Your voice falls soft. 

He looks up, momentarily surprised. “Thank you.”

You nod a little, smiling as you shut the door.

Carlos ends up getting second place—you’re beside a zealous Ferrari engineer when it happens, walking along the pit lane. Compared to your stoic smile, their reaction looks like the pinnacle of human emotion. Your turmoil is all inward, a melting pot of emotion for the driver. Would it be weird, you think, to feel proud? To feel happy? When things have ended?

Much later, when you’re wrestling for comfort in the throng of cheering Ferrari engineers, you squint to find Carlos on the podium.

You’re aware there are photographers everywhere, with high-def cameras that rival your natural eyesight, even, but still you tug your phone out and snap a few shitty zoomed-in pictures of him in second place, smiling and sprayed with champagne. You think of the profile, of the words you’ll use to capture this moment, the season kickoff. But most of all you think of the way his eyes seem to search for something specific in the mass of people, or the way you wished for them to meet yours.

—

Sainz, a self-proclaimed music lover, loads a pre-race playlist that changes every few locations. He names some of his favorite artists and songs as sources of motivation.

You climb into the passenger seat of his Golf when you finally find him, after a half hour of asking around everywhere. First, it was “in the motorhome,” then it was “in a meeting,” then it was “hanging out with Charles”—none of which ended up being true, anyway. He doesn’t question your presence (he hasn’t much, lately), just lets his eyes wander over to you briefly before you begin asking questions.

“Favorite song?” You get straight to it, stressed over the article. Jonathan has been on your ass about missing a deadline and causing the third world war in the process, or something or other. You sigh when you settle into the seat.

“Not even a hello or a buenas noches,” he says as he pulls out of the parking lot to drive the both of you to your hotel. “What’s this for?”

“You already know,” you say, humming as you sift through notes. “Listen. You did an interview before with Toro Rosso, right? Where you said your favorite artists were Muse, Kings of Leon, and The Killers. Right?”

“What the—you are a serious stalker.” He laughs out loud, eyes still on the road ahead.

“It’s kind of my job, Carlos,” you say, smiling and gritting your teeth. “Just answer.”

“Sí, sí. Yeah, I like that genre. I like rock, I guess… rock, indie, 80’s. You’d be surprised how little of an effect music has on my pre-race routine, though, even if I have a playlist.”

“Tell me more,” you muse. Your laziness to retrieve your laptop results in you scribbling soundbites onto your notebook instead. 

“Music is an escape for me, you know? I like it a lot. So as long as something gets me going, I’m good with it. It doesn’t have to be by a favorite artist, or a famous one, or a Spanish one. Though I have been listening to Shakira a lot lately.” Obsessively listens to Shakira, you write. “It’s just release. Lately, I’ve been listening to the same few ones on loop.”

“Care to share?” Music = release. Same songs looped.

He presses something onto the centre console, and music flows throughout the car right after. “This.”

Baby I’m Yours by Arctic Monkeys, you write, and then, all at once, you slowly realize exactly what you’re writing. You stare at the scrawled-on words, the song bleeding into your ears and saturating your brain. You’ve always thought of this song with a weird feeling, one in between nostalgia and hurt, and now it’s on full blast. In Carlos’ Golf, no less, which happened to be the venue for many of your listening parties back then.

Back then—when nobody knew much of this song and it hadn’t yet become an indie anthem. It was just another cover by your favorite band in 2015. It became your song, the song for kitchen dances, the song for long car rides, the song for the red lights, the song for the morning routine.

But now it’s just a song.

“Carlos,” you say. It’s supposed to sound strict, firm, even a little angry. But you’re so affected, it leaves you quietly instead, weakly almost. “Come on.”

“Do you remember when you first showed me this song?” He responds instead, the volume still loud. You allow yourself to smile a little, leaning your head back and watching the cityscape of Bahrain whir past. In a foreign city, you think, you feel more at home than ever.

“Yeah,” you profess. “On my iPhone—what was it then? iPhone 5, or something.” You both laugh a little. The dam has broken, it seems, and topics of your past relationship seem to now be open to discussion. But it doesn’t feel alien, or weird, or uncomfortable. Carlos laughs, makes fun of your old lockscreen, and all is well.

A lot of memories have unwittingly attached themselves to this song. It’s the kind of song where, even in the opening notes, you’re already stunned with the myriad of them. There are the obvious ones: first finding the song, first dancing to it. But it trickles down into the smaller, more niche ones.

The time you got a busker in London to perform it for you both, and danced like idiots at ten-thirty in the evening, while some onlooking geriatric couple watched with mild entertainment. The time you got him a vinyl record of this EP, and left it in the cab before you were supposed to give it to him, leading to you crying on his sofa while he cuddled you and fed reassurance into your ear. The time he attempted to learn the chords to it and broke the string of your decorative guitar.

Like always, Carlos drives one-handed. He’s usually responsible, but if he’s cruising, or driving at a relatively slow pace, he likes to lean back and use his left. His right lays, unmanned, on the centre console of the Golf. You don’t notice it’s there until you finish writing a sample line on your notebook and you lower your left hand absentmindedly, brushing a finger against his in the process.

Your instinct is to jerk away, but Carlos is calm, humming to the song and reading road signs. So you let it rest there, in part to show yourself you’re capable of relaxing, but—and it feels like a heavy thing to admit—also because you like the feeling.

So your hands are there, just shy of each other, barely touching. His pointer finger twitches, almost like he’s trying to hold it back from inviting yours to wrap around it. You let yours brush over them a little bit, pulling away. Then he coughs, and lifts his hand to make a right turn, so you resume writing, eyes downcast. 

—

You’d spent the Saudi weekend less with Lewis (in a bid to follow his advice) and socialized a bit more with Lando and Charles, who both proved to be pleasant company. They played table tennis with you and even shared a good chunk of grid gossip.

“Pierre and Yuki have soooo done it,” whispers Charles, scandalized, sipping a G&T from a decorative polka dot straw.

“Shut up!” You clap a hand over your mouth. “I mean, I had my suspicions. But really? They’ve shagged?”

“Oh.” He pauses dumbly, scratching his head. “I meant they’ve done marijuana.”

“Damn it, Charles,” bemoans Lando. “You’re a sodding buzzkill. We’ve all done weed, this is not news. The gay sex would’ve been.”

The afternoon progresses into night, and you seem to be on a roll with the sports component—Carlos gets to P3 in Saudi Arabia. You travel to his motorhome room after the debrief, where you hope he’ll be, and find him packing shit up inside.

“Good work out there,” you say, and when he looks up he finds himself meeting your eyes in the mirror. He fumbles with the zip of his suit and you walk a little closer.

He huffs out a polite thanks, tugging on the zipper harder. The cloth’s eaten it, a problem that’s been plaguing his race suits as of late—a problem, according to his engineer, easily solvable if he’d just be more patient with tugging it downward to loosen. A problem you’re familiar with as well, from his Toro Rosso days of ranting to you about zippers and sewing.

You lean against the wall and maintain safe distance. “I’m going to ask you about the race later.”

“Alright. What specifically?” He begins the mental Spanish-English translation in advance. 

“Whatever you can give,” you reply, nonchalant. “Maybe more on the feeling while racing. The different perspectives of P3? Sort of like—yeah, you’re on the podium, but it’s not P1.”

“Thanks for the reminder,” he laughs a little, a bit embarrassed he hasn’t fully undone the zipper yet. “Um, sure. I’ll meet you outside afterward.”

“Thanks. And—” You stop yourself in your tracks, still facing him in the mirror. His eyes find yours again, eyebrows raised from the unfinished sentence. “—Be patient with the zip.”

He chuckles, memories surfacing like bubbling lava. “Right. Bueno.” He turns and throws his hands up, looks like he’s surrendering almost. “Help me out?”

You’re incredulous—it’s a highly compromising position.

But he’s not really smiling, and he seems to be seriously asking you to please help zip him up, so you nod. Nod once then twice, walking slowly over to him and placing two fingers on the zipper. You don’t notice how shaky your grip is until you see the way your hand trembles.

Slowly, you tug. Upward, then downward, then upward again, to loosen the stubborn thing. Your eyes move until they meet his, and you realize how close together you are. From here you can see the faint pink indents on his face from the balaclava, and you wonder almost how it’d feel to stroke over it with your thumb. It twitches on the zip and you remember to yank it again.

“Just give me a second,” you say, but you’re not even paying attention to the zipper.

Just him. Just the proximity. The thoughts of what if—what if you leaned closer, right now? Closed the gap, shut your eyes, let your finger trace over the shape left behind by his balaclava, zip forgotten?

“Take your time.” His voice is deep, gentle. 

His eyes pierce yours, the tension growing in between you until you can barely breathe.

You pull and finally, it gives, unzipping the whole way. You blink, breaking eye contact and stepping backwards so fast you almost trip. “I’ll be outside.” The door is shut, the noise damning behind you as you finish an entire cup of water in what you genuinely think to be record time. 

—

“Fine. Fifty euros.”

“Fifty?! Cheap trick. Make it two hundred.” 

“If you’re in the hundred territory, might as well make it five hundred. Turn this into a serious thing.” 

“Deal.” The Brit and the Monegasque clap their hands together in a firm handshake. “Let’s talk terms.”

Charles recites his end of the bet, as clearly as he did when this was first wagered just ten minutes ago. “She and Carlos will start dating before the article is even published.”

“They’re exes, innit?” Lando laughs. “You’re wrong, Charl-ito. They will never date, ever again. Exes don’t date.”

“Unless they’re soulmates,” he reasons.

“Psh, what do you know about soulmates?” The younger raises a condescending brow. “You dated a girl and then her best friend.”

“Back off,” insists Charles petulantly, watching Lando messily write down the evidence of their wager on a small slip of paper. For proof, he’d said, before slipping it into the back of his opaque phone case. He waves it around. “We shall see.”

“You will definitely be paying me up,” Charles says proudly. “Just you wait.”

—

“Care to listen to me?” You hoist yourself onto the stool of this hotel bar, ordering yourself a martini.

“Always,” says Lewis, immediately facing you. He’s always been one of the kindest, most genuine people in your life. He’s known you forever, and he’s the only person here who really knows the extent of your history with Carlos, all the layers, all the fights, all of it.

You sigh and lean against the backrest, deflated. “Carlos and I… I don’t know if this is going to work.”

“The article?”

“Being with him.” You pause to reword it. “Around him.”

“I see. Hasn’t it been, what—four years now, though?”

“Yeah, but…” But why does it feel like you both want those four years gone? The car ride with the song, the eye contact, zip situation after Saudi. You lick over your lips and sit a little straighter.

“Lew, it’s just—and you should know this—when you break up with someone, you’re forced to unlearn all the things you knew about them.” You sigh. “All the… just all of it. The habits, the quirks, the favorite words, the way they like their toast and eggs. And if you can’t, then fine, it’s still okay, because why would you ever need it again? But I haven’t forgotten anything, and now he’s back in my life.”

Lewis stares, with eyes that convey solemnity and a little sadness. He seems to understand, watching you intently, the way your eyes are glassy with unshed tears.

“So now I see him, and it feels like he’s like”—you inhale—“this sounds… bad, but like… I’m… like he’s a lover, kind of. In disguise, a little bit. I don’t know. Like, I have to pretend I know nothing about him, like every little fun fact is a new thing for the profile… but I know everything.” And what a heavy burden it is.

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly. 

“No, don’t be. I’m pretty sure this is all one-sided.” You take a long sip. “That’s the price to pay for ending on bad terms, I suppose.”

“Just think,” he muses out loud. “When this is all over and you’re accepting your Pulitzer, you won’t even be thinking of him one bit.”

“Right,” you say. Carlos, Carlos, Carlos. He’s the only thing on your mind. “Right.”

You find a working title for the article later. Carlos Sainz, it reads on your Word document. On racing, gracious defeat, and life’s driving forces.

—

Like every other sport, Formula One drivers have their share of bad competition days. Sainz recalls a time his car failed and caused him to DNF—racing vernacular for “Did Not Finish,” a damning phrase for any driver on the grid.

A double kill vibrates through Carlos.

It’s a consecutive hit that’s both professional and personal, and greatly affects the momentum of the profile you’re busy writing. In Australia he’d been reserved, eyes stormy, walking alone but not angry. He’d congratulated Charles and everything, even offered a few words for the article. The last you saw of him was with a beer, brows knitted together.

Tonight you’re in Imola. He’d been okay after the race, the usual silence that comes with a bad result.

No hard feelings, he’d said. This is the business. Hugged Danny, excused himself; nobody said anything. It’s a normal response to a shit day. You spend the post-race buzz with Lewis and Sebastian this time, but you manage to congratulate Lando on the podium finish when you catch sight of him.

“Maaate!” He cries gleefully when he sees you. “Where’s the muppet?”

“Mourning,” you drone. “Reasonably so, I guess.”

“Tough crowd,” he says, kissing his teeth. “But, yeah. Hey—shots on me!”

“Tempting offer.” You eye the bunch of tequila on the table. “But I think I’ll retire early. I need to send a draft pretty early tonight.”

“All good. Have fun being a loser,” he says, watching you leave.  

The hotel, it turns out, is not nearly as fun as the party. Which is common sense.

You spend time writing and rewriting a few paragraphs of the article, stuck on the title of it and honestly wishing you were with Cuervo and vodka right now. You suppose you don’t need one just yet—they usually come to you late, anyways. Jonathan sends you three follow-up emails regarding a draft, so you send him the latest version and read over the file, reciting favorite lines under your breath.

In the middle of reading on the Bahrain P2 and a little segment on Sainz’s favorite Ferrari moments, somebody knocks on your door.

It’s a surprise—you don’t spend much time with people on the paddock, and only few of them know your room number, which leads you to narrow down the person on the other side to a select group. There’s Lewis, most likely of them all. Charles, who you’d grown much closer to as of late. Level with him is Lando. Then maybe, just maybe, Sebastian, to offer late night advice.

It could’ve been any of them, but it’s not. It’s somebody else.

“I’m sorry.” His voice threatens to break. “I didn’t know who else I could talk to.”

“Carlos?” You blink. 

You usher him in after, and you hope his mind is anxious enough that it doesn’t pay much attention to your hideous pajama situation (old hoodie, souvenir L.A. pajama pants). You end up on your balcony, both of you facing the frigid nighttime air. It freezes your cheeks, casts your hair backwards. Your eyes slide to his stoic figure, the way even his hair is blown back by the wind.

He’s quiet, but more relaxed, less stiff. “Sorry, again.”

“S’okay.”

You duck back inside and return with two cigarettes and a lighter. “Wanna?”

“Awful habit.” But he accepts it anyway, sticking it in between his lips. It bobs as he speaks, still unlit. “I need this, though.”

“I don’t do it regularly,” you defend, pressing the flame to the cig. He exhales. “Some situations call for them.”

“This definitely does. Bit of a slap to the face, you know?” You nod. “I’m sorry.” The apology carries more weight than it should, and you know why. 

Like it’s the most difficult thing in the world, you breathe a few times before you respond in a hushed tone. With your words comes a huff of smoke. “Don’t beat yourself up over it. You gave it your all, took a risk, it went to shit. But you gave it your all is what matters in the end. You put heart into it, which is something not everyone does in sports these days.”

“I feel… complimented.” You both laugh at the lack of good phrasing, so he rewords it. “I meant, I feel, how you say? Touched. It means a lot to be praised by you.”

“Does it?” Smoke again, another whiff of it.

“They only ever want to praise the podium finish, the P1, the title holder.” He lets the words fizzle. “But here you are praising a driver who finished like shit twice in a row. More people should be like you, paying thanks to the underdogs.”

It’s not the underdogs, you think. It’s just because of you. 

“More like the shit drivers,” you say instead, in a low rumbling voice. He laughs, calls you stupid in Spanish, and it’s a dead issue.

Later, before he leaves, when the room’s much darker and less bathed in moonlight, you whisper goodbye to him through a small crack in the door. He smiles a bit, and you catch it even with the lack of lighting.

“Thank you.” He says. He means it. You catch his perfume when the door swings closed. It smells like wood.

—

Sainz has off-grid hobbies, one of the most notable of which is cooking. He claims to have a good hold over the kitchen, and cooks several of his favorite dishes on the rare weekend off. Blah blaaahhhh, cooks well. Usually wears funky apron. WRITE THIS PROFILE ALREADY STOP EATING PASTA YOU DIPSHIT

Lando had invited you all to an Airbnb owned by a friend in Umbria, a two-ish hour drive from Imola.

With two free days, you’d followed a small group of drivers—Carlos included—to soak in the rest of Tuscany. Charles and Lando, however, left as soon as you arrived, to check out the last few hours of the farmer’s market. Alex had met Lily at the Eurostar station and they’d gone biking together.

This effectively left you and Carlos alone, which was not an unusual occurrence, but still proved to be a bit tense. With the kitchen free and the fridge stocked, Carlos suggested he cook for you both. Despite your best efforts, you ended up at the island writing and taste testing sauce, chicken, anything he slid over to you on a saucer with a tiny fork beside it.

“You’re going to give me cholesterol problems,” you quip. “This pasta is too good.”

“Cacio e pepe.” He twirls some onto a fork, straight off the pan, and shoves it into his mouth, a low mmmm leaving him once he gets to chewing. You laugh, a stifled sound through the noodles in your mouth at the exaggerated show of delicious food.

“Any favourite food you think is notable enough for the profile?” You type again, backspacing your harsh reminder. Makes a mean cacio e pepe (look up translation later). “Like, food you cook yourself, or even other recipes.”

“This,” he says, pointing to the pan. “This is fuel.”

“Amen.” Loves cacio e pepe.

“And it’s good with chicken.” He points to the oven, where he’s been baking chicken for a bit now. The kitchen smells of it, of the rosemary and oregano and pepper. “Oh, and put that I cook with music on. Let me connect my phone.”

Cooks w/ music. “Why do you need to mention that?”

“Ladies love a chef,” he says simply, letting a familiar song thrum into the woody kitchen. “And I love ladies.”

“Okay, slag.”

“Fuck off!” He begins shimmying all across the kitchen island, cranking open the oven mid-dance to check on the chicken, then continuing to clean the counter. Still he dances, and not very well, either—he always claimed singing was a stronger suit of his, so you allow the fool to be a fool.

Back when you two were still together, Carlos already had a preference for 70’s disco in the kitchen, saying it brought out the dancer in him. Nothing seems to have changed in that department, and you smile with mild embarrassment and amusement watching him dance across the kitchen, using the kitchen towel as a prop and swinging it around.

Loves dancing to The Communards while baking rosemary chicken. “Let me taste the chicken, by the way,” you ask when you finish typing, hopping off the stool and walking to the oven. He continues dancing, hips cocking poorly from side to side to the old song. He retrieves a fork and cuts a piece of chicken, reviewing its doneness briefly before turning with a piece of it stabbed into the utensil.

“Open,” he says. “It’s hot.”

It’s too natural, the way he slowly feeds you the piece. You don’t even realize it until you’re chewing, and by then he’s back to dancing to the song that’s now reaching its end. “It, uh,” you stutter, a bit nervous, “it’s really good.”

“Of course, I cooked it,” he says smugly. You grab a lime from the fruit bowl and throw it, hitting him in the back of the head in retaliation. He turns slowly, still dancing, lips stretched into a challenging smile.

Lando and Charles walk in ten minutes later to Carlos and you, yelping and chasing each other around the wide counter, chicken left atop it and forgotten in favor of the tag game. Charles, toting bags of fruit, faces Lando with a victorious expression. Pay up, he mouths, cocky.

—

It’s much too hot in Miami, but you appreciate the heavy beach culture and the even heavier nightlife.

You work on the profile until your fingers hurt from typing, sending Jonathan another draft for approval. Charles joins you on a cocktail taste test at the open bar until your tongue tastes like gin and your head is a bit spinny. Both Ferrari drivers end up having a shitload of pictures of you sleeping on the leather couch, enough that Lewis ends up getting ahold of them, too.

It’s a 2-3, in the end, with P1 going to Max. The latter throws a party at some place along the beach strip, invites you in one of the only conversations you’ve ever shared with the guy so far. He seems a bit unfriendly, but when you walk into the exclusive club later that night, you find him doing a handstand in front of a beer keg, so that’s that.

FUCK YEAH! Max hollers, following it with a howl so happy it reverbrates in your ears. It’s crowded everywhere, and you’re pretty sure Lewis isn’t here, so you spend a few minutes roaming around, getting a good grip on the vibe of the place.

It’s Carlos who finds you in the middle of the dance floor, nursing yet another drink to aid your lack of social skills. His voice is rough in your ear and it smells like a Jägerbomb, a low laugh escaping it right after. “All alone?”

“Unfortunately,” you tease, turning to face him. “Man, I thought guys were confident in Florida.”

“Cuidado,” he warns, smiling. “This dress is pretty difficult to resist.” His tongue’s definitely been loosened by shots, his eyes half-lidded and looking you up and down. You laugh, raising one eyebrow at the sudden flirty tone, but welcoming it nonetheless, depositing your now empty glass on whatever cocktail table is nearest. Who said you were sober? 

“Nobody’s inviting me, so why don’t you and I dance instead?”

He licks over his lips—he never seems to keep his tongue in his mouth—and winks, nodding.

And here in Miami, through the strobing purple lights of this ridiculously expensive club, you wrap your arms around his neck and dance to whatever Calvin Harris song is blaring through the bass.

His hands are all over you, loosening your stiff stature; they wring into the fabric of your obejctively too-short dress, raking it up a bit. You lean back and he leans forward, following you, drawn into you, your noses pressed together and your eyes meeting. Your breath heightens, holds, your fingers moving to his long hair and holding him close to you.

His hand moves over your ass, pulling you in. He smiles, pokes his tongue into his cheek, and you giggle, almost causing your lips to touch. Your mind is haywire from the alcohol, but you can’t really bring yourself to care. The warmth grows between you, closer and closer, the dynamic easy—

And then someone spills their drink on both your feet, causing you two to break apart and laugh off the tension instead. You’d almost fucking kissed. However you’re going to tell this to Lewis, you don’t even know.

And you’re not entirely sure, you think as you rinse whiskey and bile off the tip of your heel in the bathroom, how it sounds like to write Sainz and I almost made out in public on the GQ profile.

—

Nick emails you directly to ask if Carlos can do some test shoots in Miami for the profile cover.

You convince him to agree, even if he thinks he’s no good in front of a camera, and you two show up to a mostly empty warehouse studio. There’s a white backdrop situated toward the back and a tiny-sized crew of people working.

“Hi. Is this for GQ?” You ask the photographer. “Test shots?”

“Oh, hi.” He stands and shakes your hand. “I’m Luke. Big fan of your work, by the way. So the concept today is just plain shirt, long hair, gorgeous face, white background. Good?”

“Bueno,” Carlos says behind you with a smile.

You sit on a chair a few metres behind Luke while he works, watching the shots pop up on his screen every time the shutter clicks. As it turns out, Carlos is a brilliant liar, because every single shot—even one where he was fixing a wrinkle in his tee—looks perfectly usable anyway. Sainz is a natural stunner, you jot down.

It’s a bit awkward to admit you can’t help but stare, but his face is undeniably handsome, especially when he’s in front of the camera. Thankfully for you, and heavily owed to Carlos’ natural skill for modeling, the ordeal’s over in less than thirty minutes, and you begin preparing your stuff to leave.

“Oh, crap. I forgot I had to do a test bridal shoot for R&B’s wedding anniversary in September.” Luke sighs, clicking through the photos rapidly.

“R&B. The… music genre?” You ask, confused and toting your bag on your shoulder.

“Silly! Ryan and Blake. As in, Reynolds and Lively? They plan their photoshoots way in advance, and they always need sample poses to choose from.”

“Oh, I get it.” You smile. “Well, we’re sorry for keeping you.”

“You”—he stops both you and Carlos, pacing in front—“you two wouldn’t… mind, would you?”

“Mind… mind what, now?” Your eyes flit toward Carlos’ and you both laugh nervously.

“Being my mannequins for the bridal shoot!”

Both of you balk, making up all kinds of excuses, but as fate would have it, Luke is very convincing and you’re against the backdrop after five minutes of persuasion. He directs you into different silly, quirky poses—a piggyback ride both ways, smiling goofily, the like. Carlos can’t stop laughing every time the shutter clicks, at how silly the two of you must look. 

Luke plays some music to get you both looser, and directs you into a few mocking dance poses. Then he directs you in a partners-in-crime pose, which you love the outcome of. Okay, last one, newlyweds, he says. Carlos, why don’t you get behind her and wrap your arms around her waist?

You clear your throat, letting him do so anyway, his hands big around your frame. “Careful,” you whisper when he’s right behind you. Luke raises an inquisitive brow behind the camera, watches your chemistry unfold through the viewfinder. Your breath hitches a little, but you swallow the nerves.

Look into his eyes, Luke says. So you do, meet them, force yourself not to look away for once and just stare. It’d been easy to do this, because you could just as easily break the stare, but now it’s different. Your eyes flutter, and his stay unblinking. 

It’s like that for a minute, just staring, like all the things you want to say can communicate themselves through eye contact alone. Another twenty seconds pass before Luke coughs, breaking the moment.

“I said we were good like a minute ago, guys,” he says knowingly, packing up with a smirk.

—

Lewis advises you to avert your pent up “romantic” tension to another boy. It’s difficult, but you challenge yourself to find somebody anyway, maybe outside of racing, to use your extra paddock pass (courtesy of Mattia) on. The guys in your DMs are all skeevy, or you’ve unfortunately ghosted them, so they’re all out.

After some searching, you end up using your extra pass in Spain, and for James, a Sky Sports sound editor for streamed football games. He’s British and a huge Tottenham fan who you met during drinks with a few reporters the month prior. Not bad, but not necessarily your type; at this point, though, you’ll take anybody above the bare minimum. And James is above it—a gentleman, kind, funny in the quaint English way. He could be taller, but you find him charming enough.

Noise flows through the paddock, chatter and cheering and interviews. “This is so cool,” says James animatedly. “I feel like a regular Schumacher.”

You give a phony, flirty laugh and enter the Ferrari hospitality, raking your hair backwards. “I’m going to get something real quick, okay? Stay put…” You point at a lone chair. “Over there.”

“Alright,” he says with a smile. “I can’t roam arou—?”

“No!” You say, a tad too quickly. “I mean, sorry. Don’t. Just. I’ll be back really quickly.” Before you can even retrieve your phone charger from Carlos’ room, the owner himself walks into the area, squirting water into his mouth and furrowing his eyebrows together when he sees you standing beside a stranger.

“Hi,” Carlos says, a bit bluntly. His eyes are darting everywhere but at you, lingering a bit too distastefully on James’ timid figure. “You are?”

“Her date,” James says with a nervous laugh, pointing a thumb towards you. “James. Huge fan of you. Of the team.”

“Sure.” He offers a tight-lipped smile, hand meeting James’ outstretched one to form a polite handshake.

It’s awkward, is what it is—awkward and stuffy and Carlos won’t look at you. He clenches his jaw a little, smiles, looks up and down. “You, uh… how long have you guys been…?” He waves a finger in between the both of you, almost fearfully, like the answer will cast him into ashes.

“Not—not long, really.” James laughs again to relieve the tension that seeps across the room. “A month?”

“A month?” Carlos repeats, arms crossed.

“We haven’t even, like, had se—”

“That’s—” you cut in, sharp and apologetic, “wow, that’s plenty. Thanks, James. Could you get us some drinks? I’ll have a beer.”

“It’s one-thirty,” he says.

“Yeah,” you respond. “A beer.”

He leaves you both alone sheepishly, and you turn to face Carlos’ intense expression.

His arms are crossed and he rakes a hand through his hair—but he doesn’t say anything. Why should he, anyway, he thinks to himself, staring at you. You wore your hair in a ponytail today, so he sees more of your pretty face. Oh and so does James. Pendejo.

“Are you okay?” You ask, even if he knows you know what’s up.

“Totally. Muy bien.” He shrugs, drinking water again. “Should I not be?”

“Never said that,” you say, raising both eyebrows. 

“Okay. Well enjoy the beer.”

So he’s jealous. Fine, sue him. He’s jealous of the British gangly guy you thought was good enough to invite onto the paddock. Barely even made a lasting impression. He gives a small, phony smile and walks back, meeting Charles along the way.

“You look like you’ve just seen a ghost, mate,” says the younger, slinging an arm over his shoulder. “Maybe the ghost of James?” He flicks the guy’s forehead, laughing.

P4, it ends up being. Not nearly good enough. But James is the first to say, “Congratulations, hombre!” in a God awful accent, so it becomes ten times worse, really.

—

“Alright guys, Carlos and I here today with some members of our team, and we’re going to play some fun trivia games.” Charles’ eyes read from the signboard behind the camera, his amusement wholly unscripted as he looks from you to Andrea and back to Carlos.

You honestly don’t know why you agreed to this. It might have been Lewis’ gentle persuasion or your boss’ overenthusiastic persistent voice, or the sleepiness that’s been wearing you down and boggling your mind lately, or—and it’s probably this—the fact that James ghosted you after Spain, because you “clearly have a thing with Sainz, and I don’t wanna be a homewrecker.” Whatever it is, you’re apparently a guest on the C² Challenge segment. 

Today is a trivia game against Charles and Andrea, and you’ve all been given a general guide to what the questions entail—math, music, general knowledge, and one scripted Ferrari question at the end. The structure is fairly basic; each team member gets to answer one at a time, both contributing to overall points—and no coaching allowed, for some odd reason.

Charles is a little shit, so he’s made an off-camera bet: loser should treat winner to a round of shots at the next afterparty/get-together. And—who are you kidding, really—Carlos is also a little shit, so he’s game for the bet and has fired you both up to win, spouting Ferrari trivia in your ear should it come up.

“I got it,” you say snappily when he hasn’t stopped pestering you for five straight minutes. “I got it.”

“Oh, did you got it?” He asks sassily. “Okay. When did Ferra—”

“We’re starting in three,” says the cameraman in Spanish, Italian, then finally English.

He holds three fingers up and you hug your tiny dry erase board closer to your torso, readying your camera smile. The video—and the game—start off well enough, a quickfire competition developing between the two teams that infects you and Andrea quickly. 

“Stay calm and collected,” Carlos proclaims, lips stretched into a proud smile. “Our team motto.” He elbows your side and you roll your eyes with a smile, teasing. 

“I think it’s, ah, always—always cheat, mate,” Charles protests, pointing an accusatory finger. 

“You are soooo—tch, I propose we kick Charles for poor sportsmanship,” retorts your teammate, laughing. The force of his laughter shakes the stool he sits on and you bite back a smile, remaining relatively quiet like you’ve been since the start of the video.

The remainder of the game passes with Carlos and Charles neck and neck, you and Andrea working overtime to make sure your teams don’t lose the bet. Eventually it boils down to one question, which Carlos is in charge of answering. Behind the camera, the producer raises a signboard and reads it out: We all know C². What is eight squared?

What a relief, you think. They’ve basically handed the win to you and Carlos on a silver platter. You wait, bumbling in your seat and raising an L sign toward Charles, who sticks his tongue out in response. Excitedly, you watch Carlos cheer for himself and finish writing, turning the board inch by inch until you all see the answer he has written on it.

Everyone stares. Then: “Team Charles wins!”

“Que?!” Carlos blinks, scandalized and a bit amused. He stares at the question then at his answer then, as if dreading the laser eyes, at you. Your eyes narrow, disappointed.

“Carlos. What is eight squared?”

“Eight squared. Eight, and you take another eight, and—it’s right here.” A tan finger points firmly at the number written messily, square in the middle of the whiteboard.

16

“Eres un tonto,” you quip, remembering bits of teasing you’d used on him years before. “Carlos, it’s 64. Eight times eight, not eight times two.”

“Ay, puta—” He shuts his eyes and laughs. “Lo siento! Sorry, sorry. Sorry! I cost us the win.”

Across you, Charles is coaxing a much more begrudged Andrea into a childish victory dance, pulling his arms up and down to convey the joy of winning. You sigh exasperatedly, but smile . For what it was worth, you had a great game anyway. The noise grows, and you watch the producers pack up, the cameraman parting from the camera for a moment to converse with one of them.

Left alone with you for a bit, Carlos lets his voice slip into a quieter one. “Sorry again. I forgot.”

“Forgot?” Your brows furrow, confused. “What?”

“That, you know”—he points at the lonely 16 on the whiteboard he holds—“it’s supposed to be 64.”

 “Oh.” You laugh, a light sound. “Whaaat?! It’s not that deep, Carlos. Seriously, don’t worry about it. It was all fun.”

“Well, I’m glad you had fun,” he says softly, smiling.

“Yeah, me too,” you say, unable to hide your smile. You stay like that for a bit, something blooming in the pit of your stomach you can’t—and refuse to—name.

—

You get two days off, and Charles had suggested you all go to Paris before you go to Cannes, where the Ferrari team is apparently expected for a meeting before Monaco. You’re the one who’d said yes first, even if Carlos seemed to hesitate; he had asked why, to which you responded you’d never been before.

You’d read about it, watched about it, and like every other human on Earth, seen pictures of it. But you’d never been to Paris; work placed you mostly in London, sometimes South America, other times Italy. But Paris was never a destination. So Carlos allowed the greenlight and you flew, with Lando, Pierre, and Esteban tagging along for shits and giggles.

“I’ve waited my whole life for my Eiffel Tower moment,” you say, not even trying to hide your wonder. Carlos got the best room for himself, but invited you in, for the view. He doesn’t tell you he went through hell and back to get precisely this room, so you could peek inside and see the tower.

“Well, you’re here now.” He wedges the hotel balcony door open and walks toward the railing. You follow suit, arms crossed over your torso, eyes stuck on the view. “How is it?”

“It’s as beautiful as I imagined it to be,” you confess honestly, eyes still stuck on the tower, the way it stands alone and glittering against the black of night. Cliché as it is, you feel like you’ve checked one huge box off your bucket list, staring at the landmark like it’s going to evaporate into thin air. 

Beside you, Carlos hums in agreement, but his gaze is stuck on something else. “I know.”

“Oh, do you?” You laugh. “Are you in the business of admiring beautiful things?” You tease, looking up at the stars.

Sensing his eyes on you, you slowly avert your gaze until your eyes meet. The light reflects in his eyes, and they meet yours blindingly, beautiful, luring you closer. The joking tone of your words is caught in your throat, desert dry, your lips parted to spout words you’ve now forgotten, lost track of.

Your silhouettes dance against the lights of the city below, two figures admiring the other. His eyes flicker down to your lips, linger there a second too long. You stumble closer, your foot touching his.  “…Paris.” The words struggle to leave but they do, quietly, an admission of guilt. “It’s always reminded me of you.”

 “Not Spain?” He asks, leveling your volume. You’re closer, so close you feel his breath fan soft against your own face. His voice is deep, accented so thickly, the way it is when he talks with you because he falls into a familiar rhythm of knowing you’ll decipher whatever he has to say.

You giggle, a low, breathy sound. A barely there shake of your head. “I… love it so much, is why. Always have.”

Had there been a pedestrian across the street who looked just a few floors upward, they would’ve found the both of you there, smiling foolishly, blanketed by the night sparkles of the Eiffel Tower and the rest of the city. They would’ve seen the way Carlos leaned in, his eyes on yours and then on your lips, the way you nodded in silent, warm invitation. Come closer, you seem to say. Don’t stray any further.

A lock of your hair touches his jaw, from how close you two are. So close. Everything smells like him, like the musky woody perfume he wears, the detergent he uses. All of that, and everything underneath. The scent of him. Just him. 

You hold your breath when you both lean in, eyes fluttering shut and waiting, waiting for his lips to meet yours.

The door shakes with several knocks, Lando’s voice seeping from the other side of it. “Mate, we’re gonna be late for dinner!” He says boredly, letting his fist collide with it a few more times for good measure.

Instantly, you and Carlos separate, both of you clearing your throats, rushed flimsy excuses escaping your mouths at the same time. You’re warm all over, the excitement, the nerves, tapering off into nothing as you walk back inside the room, busying yourselves with anything. Oh, I need to check if Jonathan’s emailed me. Oh, let me go answer the door.

Lando is waiting, expectant, on the other side when Carlos pries the door open. “Mate! Dinner! I texted you like twenty minutes ago and y—oh.” He spots you sitting at one of the lounge chairs in the room, and immediately his brows raise. “Hey, dude. You’re here?”

“Yeah, to, uh—to get Carlos to OK some edits,” you say with a smile, hoping your nonchalance isn’t too shaky. “I needed to get a draft in by three hours ago, so.”

“Oh. Right, obviously.” His eyes narrow a little, but he doesn’t relax much, gaze suspicious and a bit beguiled. “Well, if you’re not busy, we’re having dinner?”

“I’m good,” you decline, a touch too quickly. “It’s getting late.”

“Alright, well it was a courtesy invite, you dipshit,” Lando teases, and everything feels a bit more normal. You just flip him off, and Carlos retrieves his coat, eyes still not meeting yours when you all exit at the same time. Lando makes up for the hole in the conversation, droning on and on about the restaurant they’re going to, and how good it seems to be.

The elevator ride is equally charged, and you spend it humming and interjecting Lando’s words to come across as unfazed, even if you’re so totally not. Once you’re alone you finally let big exhales leave you. You don’t know if it’s from the anxiety of almost being caught, or the anxiety from the kiss unfinished.

—

LOVE the latest draft, Nick & I both. Could we get a deeper angle? Something re: regrets? Would really tie it together! Best, J

“Huh. Do you have any regrets?” You ask, tearing your eyes away from the short email. Next to you, Carlos nods his head slowly. You’re on the beach in Cannes, taking time off before the meeting and people-watching. Charles had joined you for a good half hour before leaving to sleep in the hotel instead, leaving you two to bask in the now setting sun.

“Everyone does, no?” He stretches a bit. The topic is tense. “But yes, I have some specific ones.”

“Like?” You ask weakly.

“I was stupid when I was younger. More immature, more forgetful. You grow older and you think of all the things you could’ve done right, years too late. There’s a proverb I heard once that goes—camarón que se duerme se lo lleva la corriente. It means to—to stay alert. Don’t let things pass you by.”

“And do you think you followed that advice?”

His eyes meet yours. “Do you?”

—

It’s quiet when Carlos walks inside your flat, and already his heart begins to drain, filling with guilt.

He steps over the creaky floorboard, notices your car keys on the table, your jacket haphazardly slung over the rack, your Chanel bag half-open on the dinner table beside an empty wine glass and a sweaty bottle of Cheval Blanc. The bedroom door’s half-open, light bleeding into the dark rest-of-the-place, and when he gently pushes the door to get in, the sight he faces is crushing.

“…Estás bien?”

You face the window, your back to him, in a beautiful, beautiful black dress. Your hair had been up, but it’s unpinned now, falling in loose, messy waves. You hiccup, and then tense. Feigning nonchalance, you croak out, “Yeah, yeah.”

“I’m sorry,” he says honestly. “I didn’t know the thing was earlier.” His eyes hover to the glass award on the bed, one you’d hoped he would watch you receive tonight.

“I said I’m fine,” you say. “Just”—you sniffle—“it’s fine, Carlos, just get out.”

You’re standoffish, and cold, but Carlos knows you’re incredibly hurt. In an attempt to try and coerce a conversation, he stays. “Let’s have dinner tomorrow,” he suggests in a low voice. “On me. Right? To celebrate.”

“Leave me alone, Carlos.”

“I wanted to go,” he insists. “I had a meeting that ended late, and—”

“It doesn’t fucking matter,” you assert, turning. You’ve clearly been crying hard, your face flushed and shiny, a few rogue tears still on your chin. “Just go.”

“I know how much this mattered to you.”

“And yet you didn’t go.” You sniff, wiping fruitlessly at your face. “Carlos, just…” Your voice sounds thin, heartbroken, worn with pain and real tiredness. 

“Cut me some slack.” Carlos argues softly.

“No, I just… I don’t even know how things got to this point, Carlos. We used to be so much happier. But now, it’s like I have to demand for your time like everyone else does. Now, I—I cook, I plan dinner, I put my own career on the back burner so I can spend more time with you even if I’ve gotten calls, promotions that you don’t even ever… ever ask about, just everything. I don’t think… I don’t feel you love me that way. Care for me, that way. You’ve never shown it, not lately especially.”

“You should’ve told me,” he says, hurt.

“This kind of thing, it…” you shake your head, wiping your clammy hands on the black silk. “It doesn’t need to be said.”

“Let me make it up to you.” He steps closer but you’re quicker, almost stumbling in your rush to avoid him.

“No,” you protest, “just go, Carlos, just go. Get out and close the door.”

“Cariño—”

“Go,” you say, voice hard with contempt. You refuse to meet his pleading eyes. “Go, Carlos.”

So he does.

He passes by, again, your handbag, with the sleek travel-sized bottle of Santal 33 you keep with you always peeking out, and the Cheval Blanc he’d bought you a few months prior, and the jacket you’d bought with his approval almost a year ago. He lingers in his car for a minute, the rain pelting the Golf noisily. 

He drives off, wiping tears from his own face.

And maybe, had he stayed a little longer, he would’ve seen you tearfully emerge from the elevator, into the lobby, then out into the rain, still in your black dress, and let yourself get soaked waiting for him to come back, refusing to believe he’d even let himself leave you so broken.

—

You play Uno to pass the time, your last night in Cannes.

He’s won two games in a row at this point, and you’re almost 100% sure he has a plus four card in his hand, so you play a bit more deliberately, eyeing him with a challenging glint in your eyes. You’re a bit watered down by your earlier conversation, but you feign nonchalance anyway.

Blue 2. Blue 5. Green 5. Then finally, he slaps it onto the deck—a plus four card. “Oh, come on, Carlos,” you say, almost actually irritated.

“I’ll kiss it better,” he says. Suddenly overwhelmed, you push yourself off the counter and storm out.

He follows you, stumbling into the empty balcony and softly shutting the door, voice still colored with laughter. “I’m sorry! I didn’t know you’d be so upset about the—”

You barely hear the rest of his clearly half-hearted, humorous apology. It doesn’t matter to you.

What does matter is everything from the years past crashing on your shoulders like debris, like rain, finally giving under the weight of being so close to him again. Everything. The tangled fog of your relationship, the start, the middle, the terrible end neither of you wanted. You pulsed with want, with yearning, with sadness.

So you ask yourself why? Why? Why? Why couldn’t he have come back? More importantly—why did he let you go so easily?

The truth is, you’ve drowned yourself in work so long you’ve forgotten what it’s like to feel, to be felt. And if Carlos is doing this, all this, all the touching and the tension and the debris and the rain that crash on you like a bruising, torrential storm, for his own pleasure, like this is all a game, then you’ve yearned for nothing.

“This isn’t about the game, Carlos!” It heaves itself out of you in a half-sob, carried by the wind.

He stops—stops walking, stops smiling. Just stops and stares, brows knitted with concern. You refuse to look at him, staring instead at the skyline, arms crossed. The view blurs with tears, lights meshing together prettily.

He stutters your name out in a feeble response. It’s mortifying, the way you start to cry when it leaves his mouth.

You turn then, willing your lips to stop quivering. “Good for you,” you say shakily, “you can—you can fool around, kiss me like it’s nothing, pretend like we never even mattered so you can make jokes about how we’ve ended up here again, back, together.” You inhale, but it’s no use; you’re crying even as you speak. “And I’ll laugh, because it can be funny, you know, fuck it. But… I’m so—”

The wanting shows, in moments like this. Wanting love, wanting comfort, wanting warmth, an escape from work and stress and life. You know how it feels, to be loved. You’d been familiar with it, at some point. You want it again, the ache, the kiss, the pain of it all. More than that, you want him. For just a moment. But all this wanting is so exhausting.

You want this profile to be over. You want to pull him close and tell him how proud you are, but also how hurt you are. You want Spain. You miss Paris. Everything, everything, every memory, every single painful loving thing bursts inside you.

“—tired.” You nod your head, licking tears that have perched on your lip, smiling humorlessly, shrugging. “I’m—I’m tired, and lonely, and being around you makes it worse. Being around you hurts me. It hurts you. This profile was a bad idea, and I should’ve trashed this the moment I learned I’d be covering you. Because I knew then it would’ve turned to shit, and I was right.”

He stares, unmoving. He remembers, too. He’d tell you everything if the words clicked just right. But they never do; they tangle like cotton balls in his throat before he can kneel and name everything he remembers, everything he loved about the two of you. Cariño. Just be mine, tell me everything, tell me you love me.

You wipe a hand over your face. “Let’s just let this go already. You know, we really were good for a while. This… this is maybe just one of those things where we made it in another life, but not this one.”

At his returned silence, you nod, then walk quietly past him and back into the room.

It’s just as empty as you’d left it, dim and lit only by the warm light above the kitchen counter. Your forgotten Uno game lies on the same spot, beside the two empty wine glasses. You stare for a second. Life had been different when he’d lay down his cards just minutes ago.

A coat is tugged from in between couch cushions, your heels from by the door hastily pulled on. Every movement feels heavy, like sandbags are tied to your limbs, your tongue, your eyelids. You turn, one last time, to see the moment suspended in time—and you meet his eyes. Even across the room you feel like you’re drowning in them, dark and solemn. 

“Wait,” he says, and even with just one syllable he’s managed to stop your world from turning again. “You’re right. Everything you said. When I’m around you, I hurt. I’m reminded of how awful I was then. It’s painful to be together.”

Eyes meet, eyes blink, eyes close.

“But you didn’t trash the feature. And I still enjoy your company. You could be covering Rafael Nadal or whoever right now. I could be in a jet to Japan. But you and I are here, are we not?”

Only you. It’s only you.

“I’ve missed you.” It rips through him. “I want to be here with you. I want to make the pain go away, so let me.”

“It’s useless,” you protest, tearily. “This won’t work. I’ll get mad, you’ll get fed up, I’ll get bored, you’ll put work before us.”

“Okay.” He paces toward you, nearer and nearer, closing the distance between you both. “I’ll make it work.”

“Carlos,” you weep, “I don’t know why you don’t get it. Life sucks. And all we get are little moments where things are… are good. So don’t waste the moments like this. Let’s not waste the moments on this.”

“You’re not a waste,” he says—and you crumple into his arms, worn, exhausted.

A knot in your heart is slowly unraveling itself. You’ve waited, yearned for so long, and finally you’re in his arms again, with the kind of quiet resolution only he would understand. You left the lights on for him. You’d do it again, but you don’t have to.

You bury your head in his chest, a chorus of apologies leaving him. I’m sorry, he says. I’m sorry, I love you. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Everything.

I love you, you say weakly. I love you, that’s enough. I waited for this to leave, but all it did was hide. The love has yet to pass. It never will.

—

“Yours really is the best selling one!” Nick pulls you in for a hug. “We have Nadal and CR7 on the roster, but Sainz’s is selling like crazy. Your writing is just—” He kisses his fingers. “You are amazing.”

“You flatter me,” you reply gracefully, letting him pull you into another embrace but prying him off a bit faster. You don’t need another Jonathan-esque freakout in the middle of the room.

The GQ party, six months later, almost a mirror of the fundraiser just a few months ago. Only this time, you’re not tacked onto Lewis, and you’re not buzzing with nerves (as much). You had run into Lewis when you entered, and Charles too, and Lando when he spotted you, but none of them are your plus ones to this event.

Your profile is the talk of the journalism scene. Nobody can shut up about it, and it thrills you, excites you, to be witnessing your work be recognized beside Carlos himself. He brings you a glass of champagne and presses a kiss to your cheekbone, smiling against it.

Neither of you notice Lando and Charles behind you, watching like hawks. The elder cackles, presents his hand like a sacrifice and turns to the Brit. “Aha.What did I tell you, chat?”

“Five hundred euros,” moans Lando, slapping a bunch of bills onto it. “You’re an intuitive prick.”

“Those two are soulmates.” They stare at your foolish figures, smiling like idiots, high-fiving even. “The kind that’ll always, always find their way back to each other. Always.”

Lando shrugs. “Hey, honestly, for once, I’m glad I lost a bet.”

“I look great on the cover,” Carlos says, both of you staring at the screen’s display of it. 

“Shut up,” you smile, interlocking your fingers. “Well, my writing looks great inside.”

“Really does,” he says. “I’m so, so proud of you, cariño.”

“Proud of me?” You tease, staring up at him. “You made the last minute title change that caused fans to go crazy.” You both turn to stare at it displayed on the screen, smiling fondly.

Carlos Sainz—on racing, gracious defeat, and refinding love.

#f1 #carlos sainz #carlos sainz drabble #carlos sainz smut #carlos sainz imagines #carlos sainz fanfic #f1 x reader #carlos sainz x reader

[hxlda-hxlda]

“Of course not, Sirius, we’ve been married for years.” 

famous interview au oneshot thingy inspired by @sebbianas post which you can find here!!!! read the idea and could NOT get it out of my head until she was sitting in a google doc, and now here. enjoy:

“Now, since you came out in that viral Instagram post…” 

Sirius sighs, doing nothing to hide his exhaustion for what he knows is to come. 

The original intention behind the whole fucking thing was to stop the constant questions. The:  

‘Sirius, you wore a skirt to that event so who are you dating because, clearly, the two have to be correlated?’, ‘Sirius, you’ve always been a bit different’, ‘Sirius!’, Sirius–’, ‘Sirius…’ 

He’d hoped—stupidly, naively—that to get rid of the ambiguity would get rid of the incessant wondering. Sure, he fucked men, yes, he wore eyeliner and skirts, no the two weren’t really related, now can we please move the fuck on? 

No. No, we apparently cannot move the fuck on. The questions and the speculation and, and, and; it’s all still fucking there. 

“Sirius, there’s been talk of a relationship with bass player Remus Lupin for a while now. New rumours are sparking since the two of you have been spotted together a lot lately.” 

They’re both thinking of those pap pictures leaving the bar last month. 

“We were wondering if you could give us the inside scoop?” Greg is staring at him like he’s asking something new, like Sirius is actually very eager to share with the world the complexities of his relationships, as if it has anything to do with his modelling. It doesn’t, if you were wondering. Fucking men has nothing to do with a runway, either, actually. “Really, what is going on between the two of you?”

Sirius has been given press training many, many times, to field these kinds of questions. His agent, Gideon, had him memorise all the correct responses back to front, upside down. Curveball questions, sneaky implications, you name it; Sirius knows how he should respond to this. Hell, it’s on a fucking flash card.

His gut response, the thing Sirius is suddenly incredibly eager to do, is definitely not on a flash card.

However. But, but, and hear him out:

By fucking god, he was bored.

Greg had asked the same ten questions every other interviewer of the last year had asked with the same glint in his eyes as every other interviewer of the last year. Fame was great, but nobody told him it would be this goddamn boring. Repetitive. So many 'yes's and 'no's and 'wouldn't you like to know's.

So, Sirius proceeds, entirely disobeying those oh-so-holy flash cards.

“It would be an honour to give you the scoop, Greg, my dear,” Sirius says with a grin, shoving his hand into his back pocket. 

The interviewer’s eyes light up over his mic. 

“So-” When Sirius pulls out his phone, the glint is dimmed by confusion. “What-” 

“Why don’t we ask him right now?” 

There were strict rules about this, phones when live, phones during interviews, etcetera, etcetera, blah, blah. Sirius knew them all as well (see: a different set of flash cards). Sorry Gideon, Sirius thinks as he goes straight to his Favourites. He isn’t sorry. 

“Ask… who?” 

Sirius just winks. The call is already on its second ring. 

On the fourth, Sirius is almost worried Remus won’t actually pick up, but not really. Remus always picks up. 

Well, he always picks up when Sirius rings. Once, Marlene had called fifteen times in five minutes before Remus had responded two hours later with a ‘what?’ text. The man stuck true to his self-proclaimed Luddism, after all. 

On the fifth ring Greg is looking sceptical. Sirius knows Remus is also working right now. He’d mentioned a meeting with some producer. He remains confident nonethless. 

On the sixth ring, the call clicks as it is answered. A beat. And then: 

“What?” 

Remus sounds entirely unenthused to be answering a call at this moment, voice sullen. Sirius grins anyway, thrilled he’s picked up at all. As if he wouldn’t. As if he doesn’t always. 

“And hello to you, too.” 

“Aren’t you meant to be on that radio thing right now?” 

“We are, in fact, live at this very moment.” Sirius glances back to Greg who, despite being the host, has immediately lost all of his perceived-control. He’s watching Sirius blankly, only vaguely piecing together the fact that it is famed, award winning, world’s greatest (not that Sirius is at all biassed) bass player Remus Lupin’s voice coming through Sirius’ phone. Sirius smirks amusedly at Greg before turning back to the conversation at hand. One that finally fucking matters. “Good to know you’re listening in and supporting me, as always.” 

“Believe it or not, I have better things to do right now.” 

“You wound me, Moons.” 

That nickname did wonders on Twitter when it first became known, Sirius having slipped and referred to Remus as Moony in some other interview some other time. There's a ship name now. There are fanfictions. Sirius reads them aloud as dramatically as he can muster (which is, believe him, very) at the most inopportune times. Usually when Remus is busy, just to watch that cute little frown line in his forehead appear. 

“Is there a point to you interrupting my work, and also national radio, with this call?” 

“What if I just wanted to speak to you?” 

“I will hang up right now.” 

A lie. He never hangs up first. 

Sirius sighs again, another exhausted thing. “They want to know if we’re dating.” 

“Who?” 

“They. Everyone. The world. Greg.”

Sirius shoots the host another look, whose look of momentary shock has dissolved into interest. Hunger. This is the scoop, apparently. Like the both of them, Sirius and Remus, haven’t already been asked this question to death. 

“Greg?”

“Y’know, the guy with the grating voice on the station that plays the same five pop songs on repeat.” Gideon is going to kill him for that one. Sirius sends another silent apology he does not mean. 

“Ah, Greg.” 

Greg is frowning now. Sirius grins again. 

“So? C’mon Moons, tell us. They’re all waiting eagerly. They want to know,” he repeats.

“They always want to know,” Remus replies bluntly. 

“They’re in an extra persistent mood today.” 

When Sirius cuts his third look at Greg, he has the audacity to look entirely unapologetic, as if Sirius’ public life as a model translates to that of his private life. As if it makes total sense to badger him for months—no, scratch that, years—on who Sirius is and isn’t fucking, and whether or not, god forbid, they aren’t a female. 

“You can’t tell them yourself?” Remus’ voice distracts him from his angry spiral of thoughts. 

He could, of course. He has, a million fucking times, given an answer. Sirius even has his flash cards, for fuck’s sake. But this is much more fun. 

“Just answer the damn question, Lupin.” 

“You didn’t ask a question, Black.” 

Sirius rolls his eyes, incredibly aware this is dragging through the interview’s very minimal time slot. Good. 

“Are we dating, Remus?” he asks seriously (ha). 

A moment of silence. Sirius holds the phone closer to the mic, closer to his own ear. He can’t help himself, he wants to know how Moony will handle this as well. Then: 

“Of course not, Sirius, we’ve been married for years.” 

Greg’s eyes widen to saucers. Sirius keeps his face neutral, an impressive feat that would rival even Regulus’ own acting skills, if he says so himself, and Reg won a Tony last year. 

“Ah, how could I forget?” Sirius says instead of breaking into the laughter that he so desperately wants to roll into a heap with. “My husband.” 

“Truly, how could you? Should we consider divorce now?” Remus replies, voice as indistinguishably sullen as always. Sirius knows he’s smiling with his eyes, he can hear it. 

“Now that would make the papers.” 

“Certainly… Is that all?” 

“Yes, yes, go do your music-y things now.” 

Sirius can hear the eye roll as well. “Fine.” 

Sirius hangs up. He tucks the phone back into his pocket, taking his time. Then, then, he looks back up at Greg. The interviewer is a picture of shock, maybe a touch of confusion; wide eyes, jaw loose with a mouth that hangs, equally wide. 

“Well, Greg, how was that for a scoop?” Sirius raises a single, manicured eyebrow. 

“Wa– Was he being serious?” the man all but splutters. 

“What? No, of course not, I’m Sirius, silly.” 

“That’s not–” 

“Greg! I’m offended! Do you forget the names of all your guests? We’ve been talking for almost an hour now!” 

The longest fucking hour of Sirius’ life, mind you. But the rest of it goes by much faster and much more pleasantly, as Greg struggles to move on from that little show. It makes the dressing down from Gid all the more worth it. 

And by the time Sirius manages to check his phone again, emerging from hell (or Studio C, call it what you want) hours later, #wolfstar is already trending on Twitter. He screenshots it, sends it to Remus. 

pads !!!!!!!!!   

look what uve done  u menace 

MOONY ❤️‍🔥😍🌕

Fake news.  Lily and I are planning to run away together, actually.  

Sirius huffs a laugh. Sure, fake news.

#wolfstar #sirius black #remus lupin #fanfiction #writing #oneshot #wolfstar fanfiction #famous au #writing tag #fic: your ‘lectric eye on me

[norrisleclercf1]

Mafia!pierre where he kidnaps reader to negotiate with her dad (another mafia leader) but slowly starts falling for her and gets protective?

Warnings: Kidnapping, bad language, protective!Pierre, murder

Words: 1.3K

A/N: Yeahhhh I started writing and it turned into a fic, whoops

"You kidnapped her?" Pierre looks up from his paperwork, a slight smile on his lips. "Maybe." Pierre's right-hand man groans, throwing his arms up, and walks away. "Whatever, her bastard of a father deserves it anyway," Pierre grumbles, thinking about a particular person sleeping in his bed.

It was pretty easy to kidnap you. You'd think the daughter of a Mafia Boss would have exceptional security, but Pierre and his men could move in and take you without a fuss. It helped that they had an insider slip you a sedative during your nightly tea.

Pierre groans, clicking on the security cameras to check in on you. Seeing you curled around his pillow and still out, he smiles. Your father will notice soon that you have been taken and come screaming for your back. Yet, it will be challenging for him to get you back. As Pierre will finally have his demands met.

Bored, he leaves his office, heads to his bedroom, and nods off the guards as he enters his room. "Shame, you are delicious looking," Pierre whispers, poking your cheek, watching how you wince, batting his finger away. "Leave m awone." Words muffled by his pillow, Pierre rolls his eyes.

"Don't want to wake, fine, I'll wake you." Grabbing the glass of water on the nightstand, he throws it right in your face. "Ahhh." Waking up with gasps, face and neck cold from the water, and suddenly woken. "How dare you wake me up like this! Father will-" You stop blinking when you see someone you know all too well.

"Gasly." You hiss, Pierre smirking as he sets the glass down. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he rocks back onto his heels. "You're a deep sleeper and far too trusting of your father's staff." Unable to think of a comeback, you glare at Pierre, who rocks forward, poking your cheek. Slapping his hand away, he chuckles.

"Wonder how much Daddy will give me for you? I'm sure it's a lot." Wincing at his words, you know the truth. Pierre will see nothing from your father; that man could care less for you. If your mother was still around, maybe he'd care, but with his new mistress and her pregnant, you were trash to him.

"You'll get nothing from him." You bite back. Pierre clicking his tongue, bops your nose, knowing you hate it. "Please, his precious baby daughter? He'll give me whatever I want when he finds out you've been taken." Looking away, you take in the dark classic French and Roman architecture, shocked by his excellent taste.

"You'll get nothing," Sighing, you look down. "I mean nothing to him." The last part whispered that Pierre didn't hear it. "Speak up, Y/n. It's annoying when you mumble. Don't get comfortable in my bed unless." He steps forward, leaning in the heavy scent from the pillow floating off him. "You want to warm my bed for me every night." Slapping him hard on the cheek, you scramble off and slam the bathroom door having to pee.

"Awwww, don't pout cherie. You and I can have our own fun." His laugh echoes as he leaves you alone. "Creepy French bastard. Hate that you smell good." You hiss, staring at the cologne that was clearly his. "Oops." Hand knocking it over as it spills open and down the sink. "Hope you're not a limited edition." Skipping to the shower.

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

5 weeks later

"Clearly, her father doesn't give a fuck about her. We can just kill her now." Pierre doesn't answer, watching the camera outside as you tan; you're so still; Pierre sent someone to watch and make sure you don't fall asleep. "We're not killing her," Pierre growls, glaring at the men before him.

"Of course not, because you've been fucking her every night since she's been here." The room goes still as Pierre searches for the one who said that, eyes land on the one person not looking him in the eyes. "You've got the ball to say it, but not look me in the eyes and say it?" The guy looks up, face pale, staring at the ice-cold eyes of his Don. "It's true, though; she's been in your room every night. Fucking that whore." Pierre shoots out of his chair.

Grabbing the guy by the collar, he slams his head down hard, and a sickening crack bounces off the walls. "If you think I'd stick my dick in her pussy you are very wrong. But, I will not tolerate you calling her a whore. Burying him in the sea." He lets the guy slide down as the others move fast. "No one bothers me for the rest of the day." Pierre closes the cameras down, heading to the pool.

"You'll burn if you stay out here." Groaning at your peace being ruined. "Go away, Gasly. I'm sure you're busy with my father." The lie tastes like acid on your tongue. "I'm ignoring him." Pierre, not wanting to tell you the truth. He licks his lips, the 2 acts of kindness he's done for you today making him sick.

Technically it's 3 acts of service as he let you stay in his room. Pierre has been sleeping on the couch in the room, having never touched you. He's joked about it but stops and walks away when he senses your uneasiness. The anger in his office, hearing his men call for your death, felt wrong; even hearing that bastard call you a whore was like a pit. He hates that he knows how you take your tea, favorite scents, flowers, etc.

It was small stuff that you'd tell him at night. The silence in the room was deafening, and you couldn't handle it. Pierre noticed and placed a small sound machine in the room, only turning it on when you stopped talking. He hates that your father doesn't care you've been kidnapped. That he still hasn't sent word that his daughter was missing, nothing. It makes him want to tear the man apart.

"You're lying. Found out the truth have you?" You pull off Pierre's sunglasses, watching the man before you look away, suddenly interested in the pool. "Like I said, I'm ignoring him. He's sent something, but I wasn't satisfied with it." Pierre snaps, angry at himself more than you. Rolling your eyes, you lay back down, soaking in the sun. "You can lie to me all you want, but I'm waste. Father has his dumb little mistress ready to pop soon, and the moment it's a son, he'll send someone here and kill me." Pierre freezes upon hearing those words.

Why does he get this pit in his stomach anytime someone mentions you dying? It's stupid; you're the enemy. Yet he cares when he sees that rejected look in your eyes and wants to take it away or learn another fact about you.

Shit, he was fucked. Was he starting to care for you? No, he couldn't be. You're an annoying person who spilled his favorite cologne yet clings to his pillow to inhale more. He likes when you tell him his stupid orange shorts look lovely against his sun-kissed skin or his eyes are like rare sapphires. He hates that you pick flowers and bring them into his office. How you have become too comfortable in his daily routine and home. Like you're supposed to be here.

"No one will hurt you while you're under my care. If anyone so much as jokes about it, tell me." Looking back, you see how serious Pierre is. Hearing a commotion, you look, seeing a black bag and people struggling. "Is that what you mean? Killing your own people?" Not at all disturbed by the scene. You've seen worse while living with your father.

Taking a step forward, he touches your chin, the two of you looking at each other. "Yes, I don't care how many of them I kill. No one touches what's mine." Dropping your chin, he walks off, leaving you there.

#f1 #formula 1 #f1 fandom #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 x y/n #formula one #f1 fanfic #f1!mafia #mafia!pierre #mafia!f1 #pierre gasly f1 #f1 pierre gasly #pierre gasly imagine #pierre gasly fic #pierre gasly x reader #pierre gasly x you #pierre gasly x y/n #pierre gasly fanfic

[fuctacles]

sports au!!!!!

The booth was stuffy and smelled like it’s been forgotten for a decade. But the equipment was new and the glass pane was cleaned up, giving Eddie a clear view of the court.

“Is this a good moment to say I don’t know the rules?”

The coach, and his PE professor, looks one step away from murder.

“Just remember our team is wearing green.”

“Yes sir!”

The man squints at him with clear distrust so Eddie gives him his widest, purest smile.

“Good thing nobody’s listening to the campus radio.”

The joke’s on him; Eddie has garnered a lot of listeners over the past months. Listeners that he might lose after hosting a live sports event. 

“Don’t be too weird. I might send you someone to help with the rules so you don’t completely ruin it.” He pats Eddie on the shoulder, his palm so heavy it feels like he’s trying to pin him into the chair, before disappearing behind the door in the back. Seconds later he’s visible walking down the steps to his team.

Eddie looks at his watch. It’s going to be the longest four hours in his academic history. 

He turns to the concsole, frowns at the unfamiliar dials and switches and focuses on the ones he knows. Tunes everything to his best ability, takes a breath, and clears his throat before starting the broadcast.

“Hello, students of Indiana University! I know it’s a Friday night and you were hoping for some nice tunes to party to, but prepare your pillows for a nap instead because you’ll be listening to a football match. No, wait, basketball. I’m pretty sure. 

Anyway, dunno why you’d listen to a match instead of going to see it, but ya boy needs to pass PE this term so here we are. 

And here comes our team! The green ones. It’s greens against blues tonight, folks.”

“Tigers versus Roaches, actually.”

Eddie turns around and sees a tall boy enter his studio.

“First of all, who the fuck names their team Roaches. Second, we have an intruder in the studio.”

The boy extends his hand unfazed.

“I’m Lucas, your interpreter. Since I’m benching for the first half anyway.”

“Booo, I was just going to make up rules as I go. Now you’re gonna make it boring.”

But he shakes his hand anyway and lets Lucas sit on the chair next to him.

“Careful, I’m a dedicated listener. My friends too, you’d probably lose your whole audience.” He smirks. Eddie scoffs.

“I’ll let you know, tiger cub, that many people listen to Munson’s Midnight Metal Madness.”

“I meant the DnD show.”

Eddie looks at the boy, his neat haircut and team jersey.

“Really?”

“Yes, and I’d love to talk more about it later, but now let’s introduce my teammates.”

Eddie hands him the microphone to spit out names he’s never heard before and whatever their bearers' positions were. He hopes the coach doesn’t mind it. All Eddie could do was like, comment on their appearance. Which…

“Where did you get that one from? America’s poster boy catalog?”

He watches Lucas’s face twitch with the effort not to laugh.

“That’s Jason Carver. He’s vice-captain now and will take over the team once Steve graduates later this year.”

“Which one’s that?”

“He usually comes out last.”

Eddie asks about the important stuff - the team's average height and where Andy got his haircut. He looks over the group of young men appraisingly.

“You know what, if I knew y’all play in these funky white socks and guns out I might have gotten into sports commentary earlier.”

Lucas chuckles, but Eddie's on a roll. 

“Especially with such a great co-host, Lucas Sinclair! He’s not on the court yet but he’s being an invaluable source of lore in the studio. Don’t think I’d forget about you, man.” He nudges the younger student. “What’s your specialty on the team?”

“Well…” Lucas scratches his cheek sheepishly. “I’m probably the fastest and my throws are pretty good,” he admits. “Oh, that’s Steve!”

Eddie looks to the right, where a dude with Harrington on his jersey walks in, smiling wide to friends and families watching. 

“Damn, that’s some magnificent hair,” Eddie whistles.

“Yeah, that’s kinda what he’s known for. This hairdo lasts through the whole game, dunno how he does it.”

“He’s gotta give me some tips, because I look like a wet rat by the end of the day. And I don’t even do sports.”

“I’m pretty sure you look like a wet rat no matter the time of day.”

The jab was true but even if it wasn’t, Eddie had a more important thing to focus on right now. 

“Does your captain have a tattoo?” he asks, squinting through the window. He was pretty sure it was ink that was peeking from the bottom of Steve Harrington’s shorts, but it was so out of place on a college athlete, he needed a triple take and the ‘ask the audience’ lifeline to make sure.

“Yep. The coach says it makes him look like a criminal,” he snorts, showing what he thinks about it. “Steve said he regrets not getting it somewhere more visible so more people could see tattoos are not for criminals and rockstars only.”

“Your captain is a smart guy,” Eddie grins, almost sighing into it, to his utter horror. Just a glimpse of a hot guy from afar, a peek of a tattoo, and hearing of his liberal views was apparently enough to make his heart beat faster.

“The best I ever knew,” Lucas admits and it sounds like a Story, capital “s” and all. His next words confirm that. “Our friend group is planning matching tattoos and we are still talking him out of getting it above the neckline.”

Eddie barks out a laugh. 

“Sounds like a savage. I gotta meet your captain sometime soon.”

It’s at this point they notice the coach gesturing at them angrily and they get back to commenting on the game that’s about to start.

“Okay, so explain to me which laundry basket is ours…”

“Okay okay okay. So number four is a tank, yeah? He blocks the other players. Six is a rogue, who slips between the cracks. And number one, your captain, is a warrior who goes for the attack.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“It’s like LARPing for normies,” Eddie realizes in awe and Lucas laughs so unexpectedly he starts to cough. 

“Sinclair! You’re in!”

They both jump at the sudden appearance of the coach. Lucas springs up from his seat.

“Yes sir!”

“It was a pleasure to host with you.” Eddie smiles at his new friend.

“You too. Catch you after the game?”

“Sure.” He smiles brightly, his head already swimming with ideas of how to fuck over Lucas’ future DnD character. Because playing together was inevitable, the dice were thrown, and the plot was in motion. 

Lucas passes by the coach who now turns his attention to Eddie.

“You’re doing good, don’t ruin it.” He looks in pain admitting that. “I might send someone else to help you out.”

“Thanks, coach.” Though Eddie doubts he’d be vibing so well with anyone else on the team.

Just five minutes later though, he’s proven wrong.

“Heard you’ve been curious about my tattoo?”

Eddie's so startled he knocks the microphone down and yanks out the cord in his haste to turn around. 

“Captain!” he yells like a dumbass, faced with the hair and boyishness of no one else but Steve Harrington. 

“Radio-man!” Steve yells back with a wide and teasing smile. “I’ve heard so much about you, man, you have no idea.” He steps closer. “My kids love your show.”

“Your kids?”

“My, uh, younger friends. I used to babysit them and it kinda stuck,” he admits with an awkward smile. Steve is nothing like the typical jock he’s come to expect and he’s everything Lucas advertised.

“That’s adorable, man.”

“Don’t laugh at me,” he pouts. He honest to god pouts.

“Not laughing!” Eddie raises his hands placatingly. “There’s nothing bad with a family-tight friend group.”

“Damn straight.” Steve smiles and sits on the chair vacated by Lucas. He eyes the microphone lying prone on the desk. “Technical difficulties?”

Eddie rushes to fix his equipment.

“You could say so,” he murmurs, trying to busy himself with the tangled cord. But a hand stops him before he can plug it in.

“We’re off the air now, right?”

Eddie looks over the control lights on the console.

“Yeah. Why?”

“You have beautiful eyes.”

“What?”

When Eddie woke up today, he knew his day would be weird. No day spent in a sports facility could be normal or pleasant. It was confirmed when he made a new friend with a member of the team, who was a listener of his DnD podcast. But the team captain hitting on him? That’s not your regular weird, that’s a bad strain of weed kind of weird.

“Lucas sent me over claiming a guy my type might be hiding here.”

It takes everything from Eddie not to take a look around. Logically, he knows there’s no one else in the booth. But his brain refuses to connect the dots. He licks his lips and cringes at the wet noise his mouth makes.

“What’s your type?”

Steve tilts his head and hums like he’s in thought.

“Weird, smartass nerd, as it turns out. With big brown eyes and great hair.”

“Uh, thank you?”

Steve only smiles at him, soft before it turns teasing.

“Wanna see my tattoo up close?” he offers. 

“Gosh, yes,” he admits with zero shame, eyes flitting down to the man’s legs. Was he curious about what type of tattoo a gorgeous sport-type guy would get? Yes. Did he want to ogle some hairy thighs? Also yes. It’s a two-in-one kind of deal.

The coach waves at them angrily to get back on the air, but Steve promises to tell him everything about S.S. Robin after the game. And no, Robin is just his best friend, Eddie doesn’t need to worry about her.

“In fact, wanna be my date to the after-party later? The kids will freak out when they meet you.”

How could Eddie say no to his fans' worship?

And to Steve’s hopeful eyes and the slight squeeze he gave his hand.

“Mingling with jocks in my free time?” Eddie turns his palm up to squeeze back. “Sure, let’s make this day even weirder.”

#steddie #eddie munson #stranger things #steve harrington #mine #ff #stranger things 4 #steddie fanfiction #st #request #one shot #college au #sports au #radio host eddie #ive had this idea for months and it finally got an outlet #steddie fic

[ghostlychief]

do not enter is written on the doorway

the one where Ghost walks you home

--

A/N: i'm celebrating my birthday this weekend (actual bday is monday), so here is smth for u all

---

“Y/n, open the fucking door.”

“No.”

Even though Ghost couldn’t see your face, he knew you had that infamous pout on your lips whenever you decided to be stubborn.

Ghost sighs, and rests his forehead on the bathroom door, bringing his hand up again to softly knock on it. “Y/n, please open up, I just want to talk.” His voice tapers off at the end of his plead, hoping that you’ll let him in, let him talk to you, let him see you.

“I just want to know that you’re okay, and nothing happened to you.” He only hopes nothing happened, because even thinking that something could have happened to make you upset, makes his blood boil and his jaw clenched. Peoples (men) would be punched if that were the case. Not that Ghost likes to be violent in any way - outside of work that is - but it’s you we’re talking about here, so in that case, he has no worries bloodying a few noses.

You honestly cannot remember why you came running to the bathroom at the party. You were quite drunk at the moment, but all you know is that all your drunk self wants to do right now is sit on the bathroom floor alone. No matter if your best friend keeps trying to get you to open the slab of wood separating the two of you.

You can’t remember if something made you upset or angry. You just remember leaving the kitchen and trying to find the nearest bathroom, wanting to be alone.

“Christ sakes,” Ghost mutters under his breath. He’s been knocking on the door, calling out to you for the past 10 minutes. It’s not like dealing with drunk you was new to him. Over the years, he’s gotten used to your drunken antics and interestingly enough, you seem to only listen to him while in this state. However, there were the occasional nights where you listened to no one, and tonight was one of those nights, (unfortunately for Ghost).

You’re still sitting on the floor when you hear the door handle rattle. Quite obnoxiously, if you say so yourself.

“Go away Riley!”

“I’ll go away when you stop acting like a petulant child.” You can hear the annoyance coating his voice, and you realize he won’t put up with you for much longer.

Drunk you seems to gather that you came with him, and therefore did not want him to abandon you at this random house party (not that he would, but you’re drunk and what do you know), so you finally cave and open the door for your best friend.

You didn’t realize that he would be standing right in the door frame, so it caught you off guard that he was this close to you. He’s towering over you now, glaring down at you, a facial expression that you usually aren’t on the receiving end of. His buff arms are covered in his signature leather jacket and are crossed over his broad chest, making him look even more intimidating. Though, the sleeves of his jacket are pulled taught, exposing his forearm tattoos that you’ve grown fond of over the years.

Even though you opened the door, you don’t back down and glare right back at him, trying to make yourself seem taller, although it’s no use.

You cross your arms over your chest, which only causes your breasts to squish even more together, giving Ghost quite the view in your low-cut shirt. He tries not to look down, and instead maintains eye contact. He can’t hold his glare and his eyes soften as they continue to bore into yours.

“What,” you bite. He assesses you and it doesn’t seem like you cried or got hurt in anyway. You don’t look upset at all; you just seem to be annoyed by his presence.

“C’mon, we’re going home.” Although his tone is stern, the grip he places on the junction between your forearm and elbow is quite soft, his large hand warming your skin. Drunk you decides that you don’t mind that he’s touching you, and you acquiesce, allowing Simon to lead you out of the party onto the quiet street.

Once you’re out of the stuffy party, and you both are walking on the sidewalk, Simon gently pulls you to the inside of the sidewalk so that he’s the one walking on the side that’s closest to the road.

His hand lingers on your elbow for a moment, but then travels down your arm to capture your hand in his. His warm hand swallows yours and he links his fingers through yours, almost like this is the most normal thing in the world for him to do.

You sigh, realizing that you’ve been a nuisance to him most of the night, so you swallow your pride. “I’m sorry for being so difficult.”

“What’s that? I couldn’t understand your mumbling.”

The audacity. You are trying to be a good friend and apologize but he is making it so hard.

However, you bite your tongue, because more often than not, your best friend always makes sure you get home safe. Whether it’s from a friend’s apartment, movie night, dinner with work colleagues, anything really. Simon always checks on you if he’s not with you. And if he is with you, he always takes you home and only leaves once he sees you walk through your door and hears you lock it behind you.

So, you try again and say “Thank you for taking me home, Riley. I know how difficult I can” - he glances over at you with a glare but a smile tugging at his lips, - “ok how difficult I am being right now, but I really do appreciate you always taking me home.”

He squeezes your hand, “I know, I just like to bug you and hear you say it.”

You let out a small giggle and bump your shoulder with his. Although, you forgot momentarily that you’re still very drunk and so after you bump shoulders, you start to topple over to the right.

“Alright, lets calm down there, yeah?”  Simon’s deep laugh cuts through the chilly night air as he helps steady you, his hands moving to your waist. You just giggle again, thinking his hands feel nice on your waist. They feel warm and reassuring, and you don’t know why you can’t stop thinking about it.

Simon is fondly looking down at you while he still holds you, as he says, “C’mon let’s get you home.”

And with that, you both continue to walk to his apartment in the cool night, hand in hand talking about everything and anything under the sun (technically moon since it’s nighttime).

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #ghost x reader #mw2 ghost x reader #mw2 ghost #cod ghost x reader #simon riley #cod ghost imagine #simon riley imagine #simon ghost riley fanfiction #simon ghost riley fluff #simon ghost riley x you #simon riley x you #simon riley fanfiction #fluff #fanfiction

[jj-the-hobbit171]

I have an idea. So a medieval au!. So, reader was this royal scholar of sorts that spent all their time studying, and reading the secrets of the land, and they liked it… till they met Johnny. The spitfire from the neighboring kingdom. Wild, so carefree, he was everything reader wasn’t, and that drew them together.

In the day, reader and Johnny would play fight in the castle gardens, running from guards and tutors that tried to sit them down; in the night, they’ll sneak out of the castle walls,into the forest, to the highest peek. He’ll lay his head in their lap, gazing at the stars, or them, and reader recites a story for them.

So, this happened for a long time, and they grow up, reader,to an exemplary royal advisor while Johnny now had reached the age of corrination. They move their relationship forward, and wed; giving each Al other their rings, He promises reader that they’ll never leave them, never leave this kingdom… that he’ll be their king and their lover.

But, fate has other plans and war strikes. The kingdom is in trouble and MacTavish has to leave, but not before your love has bored life, either through surrogacy, adopting, or the good old fucking. Anyway, he leaves you and your unborn to fight, and three mouths go by, and you’re holding your to months old boy in your arms when a messenger arrives. Their face is solem, as they kneel and present Johnnys fur coat, caked in blood, and torn in places. The king, has fallen.

It was a sad say at the funeral, his mother sobbing on the ground as they carry a close coffin to the grave. John MacTavish, king , husband, son and father, was buried. And on that day, you wore your battle amor, draped on his fur coat, and went, to purge the land.

And for five years, that’s exactly what you do. You go to each kingdom, conquering it, in the name of the late king. Slaughtering men and women who dare stand in your way, leaving with a new kingdom, and blood on your hands. But, one day, you pillaged and small but thriving town, and doing the routine, rounding the men together to either be captured or killed…. And when they brought them to you, one stood out.

He was shorter Thant the three other people he was with, with a very vivid mohawk. You ignored the other men, walking up to the stranger, and raising up his head….

“J-Johnny?”

And cliffhanger! Honestly, there’s a lot that I wanted to add, but I really want to hear from you about any ideas you have for this Au. Anyway thanks for reading!

From the hobbit hole,

J.J

#poly 141 x reader #task force 141 x reader #ghoap x reader #cod x male reader #141 x reader #cod x reader #john soap mactavish

[lonesome-sometimes]

your favourite centrefold

I was bored and wrote this with nasty cherry on repeat do not take any of this seriously anyway

you were aware of the types of men that came to drink in bars like this one at this time of night - more specifically the types of men you simply couldn’t stop coming back for.

matty healy x female reader

content warnings: unprotected sex, dom matty, semi-public sex, cheating, alcohol, face and pussy slapping, cum play, use of “sir” and daddy kink, degradation, manhandling, age gap, rough sex, thigh fucking, slut shaming (??)

minors do not interact!

you were aware of the types of men that came to drink in bars like this one at this time of night - more specifically the types of men you simply couldn’t stop coming back for.

you pull your dress up a little higher, leaving nothing to the imagination as you move further into the room knowing it all too well by now. asking the bartender for your usual poison of choice, you lean up against the dark wood searching for your weekly fill.

It was a tuesday night, nothing too special but you were bored and felt the need to start your weekend early. fortunately for you that meant the place was close to being empty while also meaning your task was much easier - especially when you see him.

you had never seen him before - you would remember every inch of him if you had. sitting at the bar nursing what seemed to be a whiskey was probably the hottest man you had ever seen in your life. the wife beater he was wearing hugged his shoulders and back so perfectly, showing off the number of tattoos covering his arms, as well as grey curls that were mostly slicked back. the few that refused to be tamed making home on his forehead instead.

he was perfect and you needed him.

you finish your drink as fast as possible before making your way towards him. you notice the cigarettes and lighter sitting next to his drink, as well as his open wallet with a picture of what seems to be him and his girlfriend? wife? making the situation so much more fun and him more attractive than you found him before. he finally notices you as you slide up next to him, bracketing him in between yourself and the wall. he gives you a quick glance over, the wetness between your legs pooling by the second as he seems somewhat unimpressed.

you take him in, noticing the light stubble dusting his cheeks while trying not to drown in his scent - a mix of faint cologne, cigarettes and what is definitely another woman’s perfume - before mustering up the courage to actually speak.

“hey.”

he actually fucking smirks at you, seeming to find the situation amusing as he takes a sip of his drink and sighs dramatically. “so, you’re the girl my mate george warned me about, hm?”

your eyes widen, not expecting that to come out of his mouth. endless faces began flowing through your mind until you remember the one he’s talking about. george. he had been both sweet and cruel when you needed him to be, tall and handsome and he had fucked you so, so well in the backseat of his car after you sucked his cock for him in the toilets. how could you forget about george?

If you ever went back in for a second helping, he would be the absolute top of your list. however you had made a promise to yourself when you first started this whole ordeal that you would never fuck the same man twice, and you were determined to keep it that way.

“I’m afraid I don’t know who you’re talking about?” you say sweetly, playing innocent and cocking your head to the side, twirling your curls around your fingertips which only had the man shaking his head in fake annoyance.

“unlucky for you, I don’t fuck pretty girls that whore themselves out in dive bars. take your act elsewhere, I’m not interested.”

well, that was new.

you pout, suddenly not liking the surprise of a challenge. usually you had the men that came here drooling after you, unable to resist the temptation of a sweet, young thing begging to be fucked by a much older man in such a degrading way. you swallow your pride, accepting the little game he’s started.

“who said anything about fucking? maybe I just wanted to talk to you. It seems like you are the one with an idea, sir.” you knew adding on the title at the end was asking for trouble but you didn’t really care at this point, again feeling defeated when he doesn’t even flinch. “If you’re offering though, I could be so very good for you. did george tell you how good I am at sucking cock?”

“I thought you didn’t know who that was? good girls don’t lie, princess. especially not to dirty, old men like me.” he warns, slowly losing his patience. you keep up this game of back and forth for a little longer, rubbing his shoulder and smiling coyly. you quickly learn that his name is Matty, going dumb when you eventually notice what is definitely a wedding ring shining proudly on his hand. you turn to batting your eyelashes and giggling a little too loudly just like you knew how instead in hopes it would do something, anything at this point. fuck, he was hot.

his grip on his glass tightens before he finishes the last of the liquor, slamming it down on the top and startling you out of your daydream in the process. he turns back to you, becoming increasingly annoyed as well as desperate the longer you stare back. “sweet, dumb thing. didn’t your daddy ever tell you not to talk to strangers?”

“no, you never taught me anything like that, daddy.”

that seems to be what sends him over the edge as he stands up, grabbing your wrist tightly as he pulls you outside. you couldn’t contain your giggles of excitement, high on the adrenaline from the alcohol and the fact that you had actually won and were promised an actual good fuck. he continues to drag you down the side of the building, crowding you up against the wall of the dimly lit alleyway that you had become far too familiar with.

he pushes the hem of your baby pink dress up your thighs, revealing the angelic white lace that barely covers your wetness. he slaps over your covered clit, holding your jaw firmly in place as he does so. “needy little girl, you think this is fun and games, don’t you? all I wanted was to come here for a little quiet drink, to get away from my annoying fucking wife, but here I am stuck putting girls like you in their place.”

you whine loudly as he pushes your panties down your legs, letting them gather down at your heels. you paint the perfect image of a whore and you wouldn’t have it any other way as long as he kept touching you. he roughly spins you around so your face is pressed up against the brick, melting against his hold when you finally hear the zip of his pants.

“what are you smiling at, huh? what’s got you so happy?” he spits, keeping your head in place as he begins to stroke his cock till he’s fully hard which doesn’t take long. you were a little disappointed that you weren’t going to get to see it or feel it on your tongue, but you couldn’t be too upset given the circumstances. you totally forgot he had asked you a question though until he’s slapping your face, cheek blooming under his blow as he demands an answer from you and fast.

you blink a couple times before the brain fog subsides for a second, allowing you to form a somewhat coherent sentence. “m just so happy you’re gonna fuck me, daddy. can’t wait to be full of your cock.” you answer sincerely, anticipating the feel of his length entering you at any second and pushing your ass out in hopes it’ll speed things up.

except it never comes.

Instead, you hear that dark chuckle from earlier come back from behind you. confused, you try and spread your legs but he forcefully closes them again, keeping a hand tightly on the small of your back and holdind you in place. you gasp when you eventually feel the head of his leaking cock press between the gap inbetween your thighs, a drop of precum falling and trickling down them as you realise what is actually happening.

“I thought I told you I wasn’t going to fuck you, or are you just too cock hungry to remember, darling? who knows where this slutty fucking pussy has been?” he reaches round and slaps your clit again, causing you to cry out at the harsh treatment. “that doesn’t mean you get to spend your time teasing me, getting me hard and aching without doing anything about it.” and with that, he pushes his cock directly between your thighs.

he groans loudly, going slow as he adjusts to the tightness of your legs squeezing his cock just right. you whimper as he picks up his pace, slowly realising you weren’t about to get a good fuck at all. you sick basterd.

he uses you like a sex doll, fucking your thighs fast and needily until you can sense he’s about to cum due to the fact he’s the most vocal he’s been the whole night. “such a fucking whore, yeah? letting me use you however I want? getting fucked in some back alley behind a dirty old bar. you should be so proud of yourself honey. I know I am, fuck.”

your cunt clenches at his words, wetness dripping down towards where his cock meets the plush of your thighs. when he feels himself getting close, he quickly pulls out from between them and paints his cum across the backs and the top of your ass, stroking himself though it while reaching around to grope at your tits through the thin material of your dress

when he’s done, he gathers his cum between his fingers and shoves them directly into your neglected cunt, pushing the cum deeper and deeper and almost getting you embarrassingly close to the edge. he then quickly pushes his digits past your pretty pink lips, letting you suck the taste of you both from them as the coolness of his wedding ring keeps pressing against your cheek. “here you go, baby. I’m so kind and thoughtful, how about you thank me for not using your cum dump hm? that’ll give you some time to tighten up before some other perverted, married man gets to fuck you.”

you smile, half dazed and exhausted as the pleasure in your core begins to subside and you’re able to think more clearly. you turn your head, giggling when you realise something that he doesn’t know. you sigh sweetly as you always do, giving him your best doe eyes before saying, “thank you for not fucking my cunt, daddy.”

he never actually fucked you, or even made you cum for that matter, meaning you never broke your only rule. as you lean down to pull up your panties and pull down your dress, you secretly hope that the married man with curly hair decides to come back very soon.

#matty healy smut #matty healy x reader #matty healy fic

[ah-ga-seven]

The Naked Neighbor (I)

Pairing: Fem!reader x Choi Soobin

Word count: 17k

Genre: Smut, Comedy, Fluff, lighthearted Angst.

Synopsis: Life is dull, until a new neighbor moves in across the street. His name was Soobin, a mysterious loner who lived in his own bubble and was incredibly hard to get close to. One night, as y/n was in her bedroom, she saw Soobin through the window, freshly out of the shower in full view, which accounted for a series of interesting events as she notices a pattern in his nightly routine.

Warnings: mature contents regarding sex and especially voyeurism. Further mentions of drugs and alcohol. This story will also contain mentions of broken homes, parental issues and verbally abusive fights.

What is life right now?  

No seriously. What is it? Because still living at home in the same boring old small town where you wake up in the same bed; to go to the same school, with the same group of friends every single day is not how you imagined your early twenties to be.  

Most of your friends are in committed relationships, some stayed with their high school sweethearts and others fucked around until they found the perfect match but men mostly disgusted you so fucking with strangers was never your forte.  

You repeated the morning routine you always did, quickly chowing a bowl of way too sweet cereal down after getting ready before leaving for school.

College was only a 30-minute drive away, so living on campus never really made sense to you. Especially since your single mother was barely ever home doing god knows what; it always felt like you had your own place anyway.  

You pull up to your best friend’s house like usual, staring down the same street like any other day, waiting for him to come out so you could go to college together.  

He was late once again so you impatiently hit the horn on your steering wheel multiple times, making a rather frazzled-looking Beomgyu open his front door as he scrambles for his last belongings in the hallway.  

You give him an unamused look as you see him throw his bag over his shoulder while he jogged his way over to your car, opening the door to your backseat to throw his bag inside before getting in the passenger’s seat himself with a corny smile on his face.  

“Look what the cat dragged in,” you tease him as you take the car out of park mode, checking your rearview mirror before you swiftly drove onto the main road again.  

“Pfft, good morning to you too, cranky ass. I was up all night working on that report, and I still look better than you so shut up,” he stuck out his tongue at you and you roll your eyes at him.

…the hard part about that statement was that it isn’t a lie. Beomgyu can run his fingers through his long locks and look like the main lead of an anime without any effort and it was super annoying to say the least.  

He eyed you carefully, his eyes softening as he saw you bite your lip. “More shit with your mom?”  

“She didn’t come home all weekend and only texted me last night that she’d be staying with a friend.”  

He pouted at you. “…You know you can just live with me if need be.”  

“I’m fine, I just wish she wasn’t so fucking selfish. Sometimes it feels like I’m the parent.” In the split second, you make eye contact with Beomgyu to see his saddened facial expression, his eyes widened, leaning forward to grab your steering wheel, giving it a hard yank.  

With an alarmed facial expression, you quickly regain composure, tightening the hold on your steering wheel to avoid collision with the car in front of you but in doing so you drove onto the curb and into a random pole which made you hit your forehead on the dashboard.  

Your breathing started to intensify as you sit motionless in your seat. Beomgyu had his hands tightened around his seatbelt, unbuckling it in the next second as he checks on you.  

“Y/n are you okay!? Fuck.” He put his hand on your cheek to make you look at him but you were in a state of fucking shock, unable to register how this could’ve happened.  

“Switch off the car, let’s get out, quick.”  

You do as you’re told, walking towards the front of the car to see the dent that had formed in your license plate. “It’s not that bad…” Beomgyu tries to calm you down, dusting off the paint that had come off to see the damage more clearly.  

You bite your lip, suppressing the urge to cry. Why can’t anything go your way for once?  

You looked ahead with glassy eyes, seeing that the black SUV you barely missed had parked on the side of the road. A tall figure got out of the car, and for some reason, you were scared of confrontation.  

Beomgyu followed your gaze and straightened out his back immediately as he saw some guy approach the two of you, protectively taking a step closer to you, just in case the stranger would be angry.  

“Is everything okay here?”  

The low timbre in his voice reminded you of the voice of a radio host and when he got closer you got a good look at his face. He wasn’t angry, he was worried.

His eyebrows were furrowed with concern as he smacked his heart-shaped lips in confusion as to why you weren’t answering but honest to god you forgot how to speak…he was a little too pretty and though you could recognize anyone in this town, you’ve never seen him before. He looked about your age, handsome and tall as can be. His raven hair was perfectly cut, he looked like a model off duty in his denim jacket and casual clothes. This guy didn’t need extravagance to make him look elegant. Simplicity made him stand out which is exactly why you forgot how to form normal sentences.  

“I-I’m sorry.” You stutter, which made Beomgyu sigh. “We didn’t hit you right?”  

“No, no…but I saw what happened and- hey…are you sure you’re okay?” he didn’t finish his sentence as his eyes traveled from Beomgyu’s to yours again to catch you fully disassociating. Your head started to hurt and you unknowingly rubbed the affected area as you stared at the damage on your car.  

You look up, pulling your mind out of its depths as you make eye contact with this stranger again at the sound of his voice.  

“Y-yeah just a little…shocked. Again, I’m so sorry,” you say lost in thought as you make eye contact.

“It’s okay really. Nothing happened. I guess it’s one way to start my first day” He shrugged, averting his attention from you to Beomgyu as he spoke. “First day?”

“Yeah I just moved here, I’m starting college in the middle of the semester so that’s something.”  

“Wait? College?” Beomgyu beamed, sensing that he could possibly be making a new friend here. Pretty people hoard together, and it looked like Beomgyu deemed Mr. model dude hot enough to be his friend.  

“Yeah, Penwood University.”  

And that’s when your eyes widened involuntarily.  

“That’s our school! We were just on our way. I’m Beomgyu.” Beomgyu excitedly held out his hand for the guy to shake and he shyly smiled back at Beomgyu, taking a hold of his hand softly.  

“I’m Soobin.” He says, letting go of his hand to check on you once again and your eyes couldn’t help but register his hand size as he did so.  

“And you are?”  

You snap out of it once again, giving him a faint smile to assure him that you’re perfectly fine.  

“I’m y/n.”  

You got home after a tiresome day that felt completely out of place. Ever since the minor accident from this morning, all you could think of was the complete rush of adrenaline that you experienced and also…Soobin.  

Even though he attended the same Uni, you hadn’t seen him all day and for some reason, you were wondering why. Something about him was so mysterious, yet so warm and inviting that you wanted to get to know him better….but how.  

You take off your shoes in the hallway and make your way to the kitchen where you see your mother in an apron. She was dressed in a cocktail dress that hugged her perfect figure, still in her hooker heels from the night before with her hair pinned up as if she had just returned from Vegas.  

“Mom?”  

She turned around and with complete shock on her face. She launched forward to squeeze you in her arms. “Oh honey, Beomgyu called and told me what happened.” She cupped your face, squeezing your cheeks together as she kissed your forehead. “Are you alright?”  

“I’m fine…Beomgyu called you? That’s why you showed up?” You untangled yourself from her hold trying to nonchalantly create some distance.

It surprised you that she cared enough to come right back but when you peeked on the kitchen counter you saw all types of baked goods and that could not have been a coincidence.  

“Well…I was…not exactly. I was already on my way back. We have new neighbors moving in across from us and I wanted to give them a warm welcome with my famous cupcakes.”  

You raise your eyebrows. You should’ve known.  

“The first impression is what matters the most the rest is up to interpretation.” She argues when she sees your judgmental face as she wipes her hands on her apron.

“That’s horrible,” you comment scrunching up your nose as you play with the spoon full of frosting.

“No, it’s a form of unharmful bribe, you’ll get it when you’re older.” She says booping your nose with a content smile on her face.  

You can’t even remember the last time she cooked you dinner, so you can’t help but roll your eyes. There must be a single dad moving in across the street cause otherwise, your mom would’ve never gone all out like this. You stare at the red velvet cupcakes and milk bread and feel your mouth water while your mind starts to wonder why your mom was such a master in the art of seduction.

If only she could’ve made your dad stay with her damn cupcakes because she’s been overcompensating for it ever since he left. But maybe the fact that she had you at 16 didn’t really help either. It’s like she was trying to win back her younger years now that you were grown, but being the girl with the young, hot milf mom to all of your male friends was embarrassing; so you weren’t going to let her make matters even worse for your family.  

“Hey, tell you what. I’ll take these…baked goods to the neighbors, you’ve worked hard enough.” You say rubbing her back to fake concern.  

“Oh, honey it’s okay I’ll go-“  

“No. I’ll go.” You were determined to say the least.

You packed that shit in a random Tupperware container so fast,  that she didn’t even get the chance to object any further.  

After sliding into your shoes, you hastily make your way across the street and ring the doorbell in silent anticipation of whoever was going to open the door. You bite your lip, suddenly feeling anxious about meeting some stranger for the first time and that’s when you spot the black SUV from this morning  

…It can’t be.  

The door opened with a dramatic swing and your head immediately snapped back to the front door.  

A rather confused-looking Soobin stared back at you with an equal amount of shock as he removed his Airpods. “…Hey…how do you know where I live?” his tone was soft, sweet, and yet kind of spooked.  “I didn’t. I swear.”  

Oh my god…this must seem so…fucking weird. He noticed how your eyes grew in size which made him awkwardly scratch his neck. “Uhm, so?”

“I-I brought cupcakes and milk bread. I mean I didn’t…my mom did. She made them.”  

“…Okay…” Soobin carefully took the box out of your hands and inspected it. “I…uhh…I told you the thing from this morning was no big deal this…really wasn’t necessary. But thanks anyway…I love bread.” He shrugs.  

And that’s when it hit you. “Oh my god, no.” you ramble. “This is a complete coincidence. See that house over there, I live there.” You say pointing back at your home.  

Soobin raised his eyebrows in surprise, but he was more pleasantly surprised than anything else. “Really? Wow, that’s…”  

“My mom bakes all the time.” Hah, no she doesn’t. Also, why are you rambling this much? Shut UP. He already thinks you’re a nutjob.

“I swear it’s no big deal. We just wanted to welcome you to the neighborhood, that’s all.”  You give him a coy smile, and he smiled back at you, about to open his mouth until an equally tall man emerges from behind him.  

It would only make sense for him to be Soobin’s dad…the resemblance was uncanny.  

“Hello, who is this?” the man spoke with a warmhearted smile, and all you could do was smile back until you noticed how Soobin’s body language changed.  

He stiffened, immediately getting tense and the sudden shift in atmosphere made you dizzy. Soobin straightened out his back, his eyes turning dull. “This is y/n. Our neighbor. She brought pastries to welcome us to the neighborhood.”  

“Oh, that’s so nice. My wife will love them.”  

Wife. Hmm? Sorry, mom. But you will certainly mention the fact that this man is cuffed at the dinner table later tonight.  

“Oh, well I hope your mom will enjoy them just as much as you.” You tell Soobin with a soft smile, but he didn’t smile back at you.  

“She’s not my mom,” Soobin replies coldly, and then it clicked. Ah…a stepmonster.  

You blink a couple of times, confused as to why Soobin was so tense all of a sudden. “Thanks for these,” he says holding up the box. “I guess I’ll see you at Uni,” he mumbles before leaving you and his dad to it at the front door while he disappears up the stairs.  

What…just happened.  

Your eyes follow him up the stairs in confusion and that’s when his dad spoke again. “Don’t mind my son. His mother passed a few months back…we were separated for years before that but he’s still…hurting.”  

“…Oh…it’s really none of my business.” You politely reply with a smile, because it really isn’t. But god…something about Soobin made you so god damn curious it was infuriating.  

His dad sighed, deciding to open up some more for whatever reason that may be. “Initially he’d move into the dorms of the university alone, although I figured it’d be best for the family if we all went together.”  

Ahh, there it is. He doesn’t even want to live here…not with them at least. Suddenly you feel bad for him. Even if you’re strangers you already feel closer to him because of the fact that you both come from fucked up households.  

Maybe you’ll be able to confide in each other? No one really wants to be alone…right?  

“Well…we go to the same college so…I’ll keep an eye out for him.”  

Soobin’s dad’s shoulders fell in relief, showing you his pearly whites with a big thankful smile. “Thank you so much. And thank your mother for me, will you? That’s a really thoughtful gesture.”  

Hmm. Yeah, so thoughtful, you think to yourself.  

“I will, have a nice day sir,” you say with a textbook smile.

“You too, y/n, take care.”  

“He’s married?” your mom asks wide-eyed, disappointment evident in her dilated pupils. You look at her a little funny while you play around with your fork. Dropping it on your plate to give her your full attention to get the message across.  

“Well, technically he’s a divorced widower who got married for the second time.”  

“And you got all of that from delivering cupcakes?”  

“What can I say…I learned from the best.” You roll your eyes, but you knew your mother loved that remark when she started smiling at you knowingly.  

She chuckled. “So, he also has a son?”  

“Yeah, he attends my uni.” You say picking up your fork again to avoid eye contact but alas, your mom knows you a little too well.  

“Is he hot?”  

“Mom, oh my god.” You whine, rubbing your forehead in agony.  

“Not for me, for you! When’s the last time you had sex?”  

“Mom seriously!? What makes you think I’d talk to you about that?” you were glaring back at your mother with a scowl on your face but she was having way too much fun with it as she crosses her arms over her chest with yet another devious grin.  

“Well, at least I won’t have to worry about you getting knocked up anytime soon. Wouldn’t want you to relive my past.”  

“Trust me I’m not planning on it,” you mumble under your breath.  

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever. You go get that college degree for the both of us.” She says getting up with her plate in her hands, giving your temple a quick kiss before grabbing your plate to then disappear into the kitchen.  

You took that as your sign to escape and made your way up the stairs and into your room, your mind still spinning with the way your mom saw right through you.  

Fuck. Why is it THAT obvious you’re into Soobin?  

Why are you even into him? You barely knew him.  

You thought you were never the shallow type, but any and all attraction you had to him was based off of his physical appearance…cause other than his ‘Ok’ reaction to you nearly driving him off the road, he was moody as fuck at his front door this afternoon.  

You didn’t bother to switch on your light and let yourself fall flat on your bed. You were just laying there with your face buried in your sheets, your limbs spread like a sea star in pure darkness.

It’s not even that big of a deal…you didn’t embarrass yourself THAT much and you’re sure you’ve got plenty of time to redeem yourself given the fact that you and Soobin were…well…neighbors. You try not to beat yourself up over how awkward that encounter just was, but how could you not? He must think you’re actually insane.

You sit up in your bed, staring out your window which just so happened to have the perfect view of the Choi families’ house, and spotted a light coming out of the window right across from yours.  

Your eyes widened when you noticed there were no blinds or curtains. Literally, everything in that room was visible to the point where you saw several unpacked boxes in what seemed to be a men’s bedroom.

So if it's not the master bedroom, with a similar layout to yours….then…it belongs to…?

And that’s when you laid eyes on him, not suspecting a thing as he casually walked into the room. He was wrapped in nothing but a towel as his skin glistened from the assumed shower he took seconds ago.

Your mouth went dry, knowing that whatever you were seeing was absolutely intrusive and wrong but-

Plop.

His towel was on the floor, as was your jaw.

His bare bao-shaped buns were fully mooning you as he sprayed on some deodorant, fixing his wet hair in the mirror without suspecting your eyes on him from afar.

Shit, shit, shit. What were you doing? QUICK. Look away, or no. Don’t? Look some more!

You realized you were holding your breath. Trying not to make a sound which was absolutely ridiculous if you think about it. You literally lived in a different house…on the opposite side of the street.

You watch him mindlessly retrieve his underwear from his dresser across from his bed, gulping when his full dick comes into view.  

What the f u c k. “What in the Godzilla dick is THAT” you clasp your hand over your mouth as those words leave your lips and try to sit as still as humanly possible.

Your mouth unwillingly started to water at the sight, lust taking over your senses as you watch him gently touch himself to adjust his (not so) little friend in his underwear. You squeezed your thighs together, sliding down the bed to sit on the floor, making sure he wouldn't spot you if he did decide to look out his window and into yours.

He proceeded to put on a shirt and threw himself onto his bed. He still didn’t suspect a thing as he put in his headphones to mindlessly scroll through his socials while listening to music.

Your heart was still racing as you decide to quickly close your curtains in the dark, praying to god that he didn’t notice or see…

Beomgyu nearly choked on his sandwich with big mischievous eyes and a coy smile. “HE’S YOUR NEIGHBOR!?”  

“Not just any neighbor, he’s my naked neighbor,” you whisper, looking around the cafeteria to make sure he wasn’t around  

“Your what now?” Beomgyu questions confused as ever.  

“You know, a naked neighbor. It could be the single mom in her scandalous bathrobe every morning, the neighbor who accidentally flashes you taking out the trash, or some careless person who doesn’t close their blinds…Everyone has one, and if you don’t have one you are one.”  

Beomgyu was way too intrigued by your observation, quickly thinking if he is one or has one…and he definitely is one now that he thinks of it. He quickly pushes that thought to the depths of his already empty mind and averts his attention back to you. “So….which one is Soobin?”  

“…The one who forgets to shut their blinds.” You admit, avoiding eye contact as you play with the food on your plate.  

Beomgyu’s mouth hangs agape with raised eyebrows and a wide smile. “NO!” he exclaims, earning a few glares and stares from students around.  

“YES, now shut up you’re drawing attention,” you say trying to calm him down, but he was already giggling uncontrollably.  

“So, you saw him? Nude?” he asks wiggling his brows.  

“Front to back.”  

He gasped with yet another shit-eating grin on his features. “Fuck dude…that’s…the most action you’ve gotten in ages.”  

“Shut up.” You hiss, landing a punch on his shoulder.  

You stiffen as you feel two firm hands on your shoulders and before you could turn around to see who it was he was already sitting beside you, giving you a confident smile similar to Beomgyu’s. “Hey, I heard you’re having a get-together this Friday?” Yeonjun, one of the popular kids who you’ve just so happened to grow up with asks with a soft smile showcasing his pearly whites.  

You guys were friends, but it’s not like you were besties. Everyone in this town was somewhat civil with each other, and though you might’ve grown apart, you still hang out from time to time. “I am?” you ask shooting Beomgyu a glare since there could only be one culprit.  

“I uh…might’ve invited some people over to your place because your mom is never home anyway, she’ll be cool with it.”  

You glare at him. “Dude, how about if I'm cool with it?”  

“You’d say no” he pouts and that just about sends Yeonjun, he’s losing it in laughter, wrapping an arm around your shoulder for god knows what reason, and of course right at that second Soobin spots you as he walks into the cafeteria. He froze for a split second, eyes scanning the tight hold Yeonjun had around your shoulders, but he seemed to not really care as he passed by.  

Beomgyu tried waving at him to get him to come over but he didn’t notice. “Hmm, he’s such a loner.” Beomgyu huffs in disappointment, feeling the probability of becoming close to Soobin slip away.  

“Leave him alone, this whole move is probably kind of hard on him,” you comment coming to his defense.  

Wait. Why are you coming to his defense?  

“On who?” Yeonjun was suddenly interested, looking at the two of you in anticipation.  

“My neighbor, we met him yesterday. He’s new here and his name is Soobin.”  

“Oh, I think I have a few classes with him, he’s cool. Quiet though.”  

You all nod, neither of you really knew what to say next.  

“We’ll get him to loosen up this Friday” Beomgyu comments, which made you squint your eyes at him. “Who said he’s coming?”  

“Don’t be selfish, he’s literally your neighbor. Invite him, parties are the best way to get to know people.” He shrugs.  

Hmm. He had a point.

“You said it was a get-together?” you glare at Beomgyu, but he didn’t seem to be shaken by the venom in your eyes.  

“Party, get together, the same thing,” he argues waving his hand around.

“Okay, well. If you two are done with bitching about vocab, I gotta run. I’ll see you guys around though.”  

Yeonjun got up from the table, leaned over to bro-five Beomgyu, and kissed your temple as he stole one of your fries. “Oh, by the way, I’m bringing a few friends Friday.”  

Your eyes widened, trying to stop him from walking away. “Choi, I swear to god.”  

“Yes, yes. Friday! See you!” he waves at you cutely as he disappears from your view, making you slouch in your seat in defeat.  

“Come on Debby downer, it’ll be fun,” Beomgyu says trying to lift your mood.  

“A party?” your mom says with wide eyes as she’s busy in the kitchen once again.  

You sighed, of course, she’s not cool with it. Why would she be?  

“My daughter is finally a social butterfly? Oh my god. Of course, have the whole town over I don’t care.”  

And….you should’ve known better.  

“Who’s idea was it? Yours?”  

“No…Beomgyu’s”  

“Oh, finally that boy is having a decent influence on you.”  

Is he now? What type of reverse psychology is this?  

“So, you’re cool with a bunch of Gen-Z kiddos invading your house for the night?”  

“Sure, I’ll be out of town anyway, oh, and maybe invite Soobin? You can ask him tonight. It’ll be a good opportunity for him to get to know everyone.”  

“Why is everyone-“ your eyes widened once you realized something. “Wait? Tonight, what do you mean tonight?”  

You quickly look around the kitchen realizing your mom is cooking up a feast. “You didn’t think all this food was just for you right? I invited the Choi’s over for dinner tonight”  

You froze, staring at your mom like a crazy person. “MOM! YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO TELL ME THESE THINGS.”  

She looks at you funny, finding it cute how you panicked but she seemed unfazed by your raised voice, booping your nose to then shove a plate in your hand. “I just did, now set the table would you sweetie? They’ll be here in an hour.”  

[Y/N, 6:05 PM]: My mom is cool with the party.  

[Beomgyu, 6:05 PM]: Ahh, see I told you. She the real MVP  

[Y/N, 6:05 PM]: No the fuck she’s not, she invited Soobin and his parents over for dinner tonight  

[Beomgyu, 6:05 PM]:  👁👄👁  as an empath I’m sensing this is rlly bad.  

[Beomgyu, 6:05 PM]: Doesn’t she know about the messy relationship they have right now? You told her right, the thing with his mom passing?  

[Y/N, 6:06 PM]: Yes. I did. I don’t know what she got up her sleeve, I’m just hoping for a minimum amount of embarrassment tonight.  

[Beomgyu, 6:06 PM]: Fuck. Tell me if you need an escape, I’ll come get you.  

[Y/N, 6:07 PM]: Thanks…I’ll call you once it’s over with.  

[Beomgyu, 6:07 PM]: You got this ❤️✨  

[Y/N, 6:07 PM]: 😭  

You hear the doorbell ring and quickly put your phone in your pocket. You hated forced social gatherings, especially ones with handsome next-door neighbors who you’ve seen completely naked in the first hours of knowing him.  

Your mother opens the door in her skintight black dress, she made you change from your sweats into ‘something more presentable’, and thank god you did because everyone else was dressed nicely.  

“Hi, I’m Isabelle. Thank you for inviting us to your lovely home.” Soobin’s stepmom spoke as she entered, your mother and Isabelle exchanged three kisses on the cheek, as she did with Soobin’s father. You watched your mom’s hand linger on his upper arm and squinted your eyes at the sight, and that’s when you laid eyes on Soobin, who was giving you a soft smile to greet you.  

Wait? So, he does like you? Or is he putting up a façade to please his parents?

“Hey,” he says lowly, giving your shoulder a nudge.    

“Hi, uhm…just so you know I had nothing to do with this.” You whispered as your parents made their way to the dining table.  

He huffed with a side smile, nodding to himself as you both arrive at the dinner table. He suddenly took out a chair for you, motioning for you to sit and you comply awkwardly, helping him scoot the seat closer to the table.  

That was…nice?  

Your mother gave him an approving look, as did his dad before they all sat down. But Soobin didn’t seem to notice any of it as he took the seat next to you, looking around just like his parents; probably noticing the lack of a male figure in your household.  

“This looks amazing.” Soobin’s dad remarks as he looks at all of the food. “Your husband won’t be joining?”  

You stiffened in your seat, which Soobin noticed. He looked at your fallen facial expression with a frown on his own face.  

“Dad..” he whispered in disapproval at his father’s blunt comment.  

“Oh, he hasn’t joined us for dinner since y/n turned 9 years old.” Your mother straightforwardly comments back. Earning raised eyebrows and a cough from Isabelle.  

“…I’m sorry.” Soobin’s father quickly apologized with a charming smile, making your mother smile back at him as she waved the moment of awkwardness away.  

“It’s ok, it’s just me and y/n.”  

You lifted your head to smile at the family and soon enough everyone had assembled their plates to start eating.  

“This is really good.” Soobin compliments your mother’s roast chicken as he chews with fervor, it made you giggle, and your mom’s eyes softened at the way he seemed to enjoy her cooking.  

“I thought you didn’t like roast chicken?” Isabelle asked with genuine question marks in her eyes and that’s when Soobin swallowed the food with big eyes, looking at her directly as if he got caught with something  

“I uh. I like this one, it's seasoned.”  

Oh my god.  

The chicken wasn’t the only one being roasted, cause his stepmom was NOT happy about that comment.  

Isabelle bitterly smiled to herself and his dad gave Soobin a warning glare but Soobin didn’t seem to care. Your mom however was intrigued by him. “So Soobin, y/n told me you two go to the same school? How is that?” Soobin looked from his father to your mother and smiled at her warmly. “Yeah, the school is fun. The people are nice, as are the teachers. I’m enjoying my time there. Kinda wished I lived on campus though.”  

His father's jaw visibly clenched at that comment and Isabelle’s eyes traveled from your mother to Soobin’s as well.  

“How so?” your mother pries some more, acting all innocent when she knew better than anyone why that is.  

“It’s hard to get close to people. I joined in the middle of the semester and was forced to live at home so…” He was decent enough to tell half-truths, not really feeling like getting into the whole I’m forced to live with my dad 'cause he’s worried about me since my mom died thing.  

“Forced?” your mom asks dropping her cutlery and that’s when you knew you had to jump in to make sure this conversation didn’t go south any further.  

“I-I’m having a party here this Friday. You should come, I’ll introduce you to everyone.”  

All eyes were on you, as were Soobin’s who was staring at you with parted lips. Your eyes wandered for a second, but you immediately looked back into his eyes.  

“Is it your birthday soon?” his dad asks.  

“N-no, it’s just…random.”  

“Do you have parties at random a lot?” Isabelle asks and you quickly shake your head.  He rolled his eyes at his step mothers’ attempt to condemn the situation. Regular college parties in a neighborhood as peaceful as this one is not something the family signed up for when they moved here. But lucky for them, it’d just be a one-time thing…possibly.

“I’ll come.” Soobin smiles at you sweetly, picking his fork back up to continue eating, as did everyone else which made your shoulders fall in relaxation.  

This could’ve gone a lot worse.  

“Will you be there too?” Isabelle asks your mother which made her snort to herself. “No, of course not. Why would I crash a college party?”  

“For supervision?” Isabelle questions as serious as ever.  

“…My daughter is a responsible adult. I know most of her friends since they all grew up together. It's a small town, no one’s doing crack here Isabelle.”  

Soobin and yourself snort at that comment. Your mom lets a lot fly past her head, but people judging or doubting you is something she doesn’t do well with.  

Soobin’s father and Isabelle tried to laugh at the comment your mother made away as a joke and Isabelle quickly tried to redeem herself. “I was just curious that’s all. It’s not every day that parents give their blessings for college parties.” 

“Well, I’d rather have her do it under my roof and for me to know about it than her doing it behind my back.”  

“Point taken,” Soobin’s dad says which made Isabelle glare at him.  

Your mom was making herself seem like mother of the year right now, which was far from the truth but something about the way Soobin’s dad was looking at your mom didn’t sit quite right with you.  

He liked her. It was evident in the way his eyes twinkled at her independence, wittiness, and well…her tits pressed against each other in that goddamn dress weren’t making matters any easier for him either.  

Soobin slouched in his seat with a smile on his face, looking from his parents to your mom as they quietly ate their food. You looked at him, softly kicking him under the seat to say something in order to lift the mood. He seemed to be okay with the awkwardness, but you weren’t.  

He looked at you knowingly, shrugging his shoulders as he took another bite and it made you roll your eyes at him…which he also smiled at. He was clearly enjoying all of this.  

“So.” Soobin starts, looking at you, which made everyone’s eyes land on you once again. “You done eating?”  

You give him a confused look, looking from your empty plate to him. “Obviously.”  

Soobin looked from you to your mother. “Can we be excused? I want to talk to y/n about…school stuff.”  

Your mom crossed her arms over her chest, leaning back in her chair as she poked her tongue in her cheek.  

“Soobin, I’m sure that can wait” His dad starts, but your mother smiled at Soobin. “School stuff? Well if it’s school stuff it must be really important.” She winked at him and he smiled at her, getting up from his chair to then look at you impatiently. “You coming?”  

You raise your brows at him, getting up from your seat, and give his parents an apologetic look. “We’ll be right back.”  

Soobin subconsciously guides you out of the room by putting his hand on your lower back, but the feeling of his slender yet large fingers ghosting down your back sent shivers down your spine. What could he possibly want right now?  

Your mind started going into overdrive but before you knew it you were out of the dining room and into the hallway right next to the staircase. “What’s wrong?”  

“Nothings wrong, I felt like we both needed a breather from the awkwardness at that table. Let’s go for a walk?”  

You look up at him, your eyes searching for sincerity in his own, but you couldn’t quite tell if he was joking or if he was serious. He stepped aside to make room for you and grabbed his jacket which you took as a sign to grab your own as well.  

While you walked down the block, you didn’t know what else to do other than apologize for your mother's behavior.  

“…I’m sorry, my mom she’s-”  

“She seems fun.”  

“She’s not,” you state firmly.  

Soobin raised his brow at your bitter tone, realizing that he can’t just judge your family dynamics off of one simple dinner, but he couldn’t help but like her after she put Isabelle in her place multiple times. He decided not to go against you for it, given the fact that he’d hate it if you tried to tell him his dad ‘wasn’t as bad as he seemed.’

“It’s what she wants you to think,” you mumble to fill the silence.  

“Sorry.” He quickly apologized, putting his hands in his jacket pockets for his lack of knowing what to do with them.  

You glanced at him as he walked quietly beside you. The silence that followed was comfortable yet awkward. There were so many things you wanted to ask him, but your mind only seemed to replay one particular moment…the naked moment.  

“S-so tell me about you.” You stammer, glancing at Soobin as you tried to look just the right amount of interest in him. Mystery was your charm…so you decided to stick with it.  

Soobin snorted, a side smirk upturning the edge of his heart-shaped lips. “What do you wanna know?”  

Fuck. You should’ve known he wouldn’t just start blabbing about his life. The whole ‘mysterious’ concept you wanted to stick with somehow also transferred to Soobin.  

He looked at you, waiting patiently for you to say something as you sighed the deepest sigh ever, but then you figured out what to ask to get him to speak.  

“If you hate your dad so much, why do you live with him?”  

Well…this is a low blow on your part. You knew full well that his mother passed…but the thing is that Soobin didn’t know that you knew.  

He swallowed harshly as his shoulders fell and suddenly you felt like an ass.  

“….Y-you don’t have to-” you stammer with a sorry expression on your face.  

“My mom died a few months back, of cancer.” His voice was stable, but his eyes held a pained gaze. You stopped in your tracks, which made him stop too to look back at you with question.  

“I shouldn’t have asked, I’m sorry.” Your eyes were big with regret and his shoulders fell as he bit his lip.  

“No, It’s ok.” He chuckled. “How else are we supposed to get to know each other if we keep avoiding subjects.” He shrugged, tugging your arm to make you walk with him again. Your feet started to match his pace automatically; not even realizing how he made you snake your arm through his own.  

“I’m fine. Grief is a process, and I’m really lucky I got to properly say goodbye to her, but these big changes are hard. I was hoping to move away alone but my dad insisted on the whole family sticks together thing.”  

“…And that’s bad because?” you were trying your hardest not to judge, but having a parent who cares was better than having none, right?  

“Because he left us first to start a new life with Isabelle. My mom got sick soon after that and he just…lived his fucked up fairy tale as my mom fought for her life on her own. I won’t ever forgive him for it. He’s a hypocrite and he’s trying to make amends in the worst ways.”  

You swallowed harshly, as did Soobin, soon realizing he was opening up to you faster than he thought he would or wanted to for that matter.  

“I think both of our parents have a way of putting themselves before us and making up for it when it’s too late. It’s a hard burden to bare and an even harder reality to accept. It sucks cause it basically means we had to grow up too fast.” You say thinking about your own situation back home.  

“Yeah.” Soobin sounded absentminded as he listened to you attentively. Realizing that you two might have more in common than he thought.  

“Being alone isn’t always the answer you know. Don’t hesitate to reach out to me or my friends.” you were looking at the pavement as you walked, not realizing his eyes burning into you.  

“Your friends?”

You quickly look back at him to then look away again. “Yeah they’ve been trying to get close to you but you’re such a fucking loner. I think Beomgyu will pee his pants out of excitement if I tell him you’re joining for lunch tomorrow.” You giggle as you are reminded of your best friend and Soobin’s eye smile returned as he chuckled. He nudged you ever so gently which set your whole body on fire. You hated the effect he had on you. It was starting to become annoying.  

“Will your boyfriend be okay with it?”  

“Boyfriend?” your eyes widened as you look up at Soobin, taken aback by how close he was to your face.  

“The guy that kissed your cheek at lunch today.”  

“That’s not- Oh my god. No, that’s Yeonjun…he’s just…touchy that’s all. I’m not dating anyone.”  

He laughed at your little panic attack and nodded. “Relax, I was just curious that’s all.”  

Why was he curious? Was he...interested?  

You quickly take your mind out of the gutter as you both cross the street, back to your house. You pout your lips forward, contemplating what to say but you decided to steer the conversation back to the previous topic.  

“I’m serious. If you need an escape my door is always open, my mom is never home anyway.” You rolled your eyes at the latter part not noticing that Soobin looked at you in surprise at how sweet you were.  

He gave you a cute smile at which your heart clenched in your chest. You beamed back at him, now realizing how close the two of you were as you walked arm in arm. You tried to nonchalantly detangle yourself from him, but he noticed how flustered you were, and it made him smirk to himself contently.  

“Thank you y/n.” he stopped to look you dead in the eye as he spoke, making a shiver run down your spine at how deep his voice was. You averted your gaze from his lips to his eyes and smiled coyly, giving him a playful shove to create some distance.  

“Don’t mention it. We should head back before my mom does something stupid.”  

It wasn’t long after the two of you got back that Isabelle was ready to leave, and well…you couldn’t blame her.  

After thorough interrogation from your mother during the dishes about your walk with Soobin, and a quick shower, you finally got some peace and quiet as you walked into your room. Ever since you met him, per usual your thoughts were filled with Soobin, but tonight was different. Tonight, you actually had real-life dialogue to analyze. You thought about everything he’s done and said as you dried your hair, trying to read between the lines and figure out if you were just being delusional or if the look in his eyes implied there was something more than friendship.  

You didn’t mean to peak or anything, but as you walked over to your window to close the blinds you noticed how Soobin STILL hadn’t put up any type of curtains. A small light was switched on atop of his bedside table, but Soobin himself was nowhere to be found.  

You sighed, biting your lip. Your mind involuntarily played the images of his casual nakedness from the other night and just as you snap out of it, Soobin stepped into his bedroom…in boxers this time.  

You gulp, hiding behind your curtain but peeking through the net curtains that separated you from his direct view if he were to look in your room’s direction.  

His physique is incredible…not only did he have slightly sculpted abs but the muscles in his legs, arms, and shoulders were defined just right through his milky skin…what you would’ve given to be able to trace your fingers over the curve of his biceps right now.  

Your eyes grow in size as you watch him position himself on his bed, he was laying on top of the sheets, staring at the ceiling before he closed his eyes. His fingers slowly slid down from his lower abdomen to his crotch and that’s when you noticed the unmissable large bulge showing through his underwear.  

He cupped his hardness with his right hand, his hand slowly massaging the outline of his member before he slid his hand into his boxers.  

What you were seeing was absolutely sinful and you had no idea how long you had been standing there at this point. It was wrong to keep looking but it's like you were frozen into place. You felt your mouth grow dry as you press your thighs together, watching him play with himself as his face contorted in pleasure. The silence however was torturous. Not being able to hear his pretty moans as he touched himself left you frustrated, but the sight alone had you pooling down there.  

His pace was intensifying, and you watched him twitch from pleasure as he pumped himself harder and faster. His eyebrows knitted together as he bit his lip, jolting forward to prepare for his orgasm, and then it washed over him like waves crashing against the shore as white spurts of liquid covered his abdomen. His breathing got heavier and heavier, but he clasped his free hand over his mouth to keep quiet as he slowly pumped out his high.  

You gulp, quickly closing your curtains before your knees grew weak. Your legs gave out right after, clutching your hand over your chest to feel how fast your heart was pounding.  

“Shit.” You cursed under your breath while you found the strength to get back up, throwing yourself on the bed to then stare at the ceiling, your pupils nimbly darting back and forth as your mind went into overdrive. Did he fantasize about you? It’s not even that much of a far-fetched assumption if he felt the need to rub one out just moments after the two of you spent time together.  

You bite your lip, pinching your eyes closed as the sexual tension and frustration start to become uncomfortable, and before you knew it your fingers started to dance around the hem of your by-now soaked panties.  

His pretty face and the way he looked so desperate as he twitched and jolted during his private session were spurring you on to reach the same highs just as quickly as he did. You weren’t sure if it was your name that he moaned when he came undone, but you sure as hell did moan his as your body started to involuntarily shock against your fingers.  

“You never called,” Beomgyu says, pulling you out of your daydream of last night's events as he sits down next to you in the cafeteria.  

You try to act nonchalant and scoot to the right, making more space for him on the bench. “Yeah, it was a pretty ok night actually,” you vaguely state trying to occupy yourself with your phone so you wouldn’t have to go into detail about things, but you could already feel Beomgyu’s eyes burn into your skull.  

“What’s pretty ok? Did you talk to him at all or?”  

“Mmmhmm we actually bonded a bit…” …in more ways than one.  

“Oh well, that’s good. Do you think he’ll join us for lunch?” His eyes lit up with expectancy. It was actually pretty cute how badly Beomgyu was trying to get close to Soobin, but to no avail yet.  

“I don’t know…”  

Your thoughts and conversation were interrupted as Yeonjun and his clique planted their asses at your table.  

“Hey babes” Yeonjun greets the both of you in a way only he could and immediately starts to ramble about his new flame.  

“Wait? What’s her name again?” Hueningkai asks as he takes a bite of his apple.  

“His name is Felix and they’re actually leaning more towards they/them.” He snarkily replies rolling his eyes.  

“Sorry I asked,” Hueningkai says with widened eyes, turning away to avoid Yeonjun’s glare.  

“I don’t know why you bother asking anyway, Yeonjun finds a new hole to entertain every other week”  Taehyun remarks which made everyone at the table burst out in laughter except for you because you noticed a certain someone walk into the cafeteria.  

Soobin was actually looking around for you but when he locked eyes with you he noticed how crowded your table already was. You observed how he hesitated as he redirected his feet to another table, deciding not to join you just for the fact of being too introverted to do so.  

He shot you an awkward smile and walked over to a table with fewer people who you all recall to be from his class.  

You were visibly disappointed yet didn’t even get the time to mope about it before Beomgyu noticed by following your gaze.  

He sighed, kicking you under the table so you wouldn’t get caught staring at Soobin. Just before you could bitch at Gyu for doing so, Yeonjun was already on to the next subject.  

“So, partner, when were we meeting up again?” he asks cocking his head to the side to catch your attention.  

You snapped out of it, giving him a confused stare. “Partner?”  

“Yes. We have a project together for Mrs. Young’s class. Did you forget?”  

“Oh, no. I figured I would just end up doing all of the work again, you know…so you can entertain your weekly hole.” You bite your straw with a sassy smirk which had Yeonjun scoffing with a dumbfounded look on his face.  

Taehyun choked on his drink, giving you a high five for stretching out his joke as you both giggled.  “Well if I keep letting people do my work, I won’t be able to write my own thesis so, what do you say? Today? After school?”

You raise your eyebrows in surprise at his sudden maturity and nod, pouting your lips forward.  

“Yeah sure, we can do it at my place, my mom’s not home.”  You shrug, not meaning anything by the latter part of your sentence. They already knew you were basically an orphan.  

Yeonjun smirked. “You sure you want me there with no one around?”  

You knew him well enough to know he was just joking, but sometimes you got confused if the flirtiness in his tone and body language were fake or not.  

“Didn’t you just say you were dating someone?” you ask cocking an eyebrow.

“Dating is a big word.” He says with a smirk on his plump lips, giving you the chance to roll your eyes at him once more.  

“You’re disgusting,” you huff, making the rest of the guys laugh at your banter.  

A/N: you are now halfway through the fic.

Soobin got home around 6 PM that same day, mentally abusing himself for the fact that he didn’t have balls big enough to just walk up to you and your friends, but honestly; who wouldn’t be intimidated?  

He did get a follow request from that Beomgyu guy and accepted it on the way up to his room as he lazily stalked his profile. He noticed a few pictures you were in and zoomed in on them to analyze your features a little. He caught himself smirking a little too hard when he got to his bedroom and locked his phone to snap out of it. Soobin threw his phone on the bed just for the device to completely miss the cushiony surface as it hit the hard wooden floor with a loud thud.  

“Shit,” he curses as he clumsily jolts forward to pick up his phone. He got up; facing the window to his bedroom and suddenly noticed one brightly lit room on the opposite end of the street where you lived.  

His eyes widened, noticing for the first time how clearly he could look into your bedroom when the lights were on, but just as he was about to look away; he noticed a male figure sitting on your bed.  

It was that Yeonjun guy. He was typing something on his laptop, resting his back against the headboard of your bed, and for some reason, it irked Soobin.  

You kicked your bedroom door open with your foot, carrying a tray of snacks and drinks into your room for the two of you to enjoy during your study session. Yeonjun quickly got up from the bed to help you out which made you smile at him.  

“You act like this huge dick, but you’re the softest bean, I just don’t get it.” You say as you snack on a biscuit. Yeonjun crossed his legs on your bed, stealing the packet from you to retrieve one for himself, and sighed. “It’s not an act, you just know It’s not who I really am because you’ve known me for so long,” he mumbles shoving the cookie into his mouth.  

“I just don’t want you getting hurt that’s all.” You sigh, looking away for a second but when you looked back at him he had a soft side smile plastering his lips. Yeonjun patted your hair in endearment, leaning back onto your bed to open his laptop again. “You don’t have to worry about me, I’ll be fine. Now let’s do this thing so we can go to sleep at a decent time yeah?”  

You nod, biting your lip to then scoot closer to him on the bed to see what he was doing so you could follow along before you opened your own laptop, but all it looked like was a Netflix and Chill situation to Soobin.  

Soobin was glued to the floor as he looked at the two of you until he was called by Isabelle for dinner. He was confused as to why he was so bothered. Did you lie to him when you said Yeonjun wasn’t your boyfriend last night? Or is he reading into things too much?  

He sighed, turning back around to go downstairs, flipping off the light to his room before he made his way downstairs again.  

Yeonjun, who somehow felt eyes on him, noticed how a light switch off followed by a tall figure closing the door behind him in the house across from yours. He froze for a second, giving you a look. “Yo, I think someone was looking at us.”  

You blankly stare at him, leaning over the other side of the bed to retrieve your own laptop. “Huh?”  

“…No like…seriously.” He got up walking towards your window to have a closer look into the bedroom across the street and that’s when it clicked to you. “Over there.” He said pointing into Soobin’s room.  

“Uhm, I…it’s probably nothing.” You say avoiding eye contact with Yeonjun, but he couldn’t quite let it go.  

“Y/n if some creep is peeping at you through his damn window then that’s fucked up. They don’t even have blinds or curtains up how obvious can it be.” Yeonjun was getting worked up as he crossed his arms, staring into Soobins bedroom with an angry duck pout on his lips.  

“Yeonjun, let it go. Please. Let’s finish this thing.”  

“No.”  

“Yeonjun.”  

“No, he’s a pervert.”  

You sigh closing your eyes and your laptop while reaching for your forehead in annoyance.  

You walked over to your window to close your curtains, standing just inches away from Yeonjun who still wasn’t budging,  

“He’s not a pervert.”  

“How do you know that? You’re so fucking naïve sometimes I can’t-“  

“Because it’s Soobin’s bedroom.” You say cutting him off, and that’s when Yeonjuns ears perked up with widened eyes followed by his mouth falling agape.  

“Y’all peep at each other through the window?” he quietly asks with a mischievous grin on his face. “Oh my god, y/n. That’s so scandalous even for you.”  

You laugh, shoving his arm which made him lose balance for a second before he stepped back to regain his composure. “I’ve…seen him a few times but he never seemed to notice me before. He’s pretty oblivious.”  

“Really? What did you see?”  

“….Nothing,” you say bashfully avoiding his stare as you looked at your feet.  

“Oh, stop lying.” Yeonjun laughs.  

He sat back down on your bed, giving you a coy smile. “Do you like him?”  

“…I…” you thought about lying but honestly, if you knew anything about Yeonjun is that he’d keep your secrets to his grave. “Yes.”  

He smiled a tender smile, looking at you with a certain sparkle in his eyes until he suddenly realized something as his face turned blank. “…He just saw us on the bed”  

Your eyes widened “What…do you mean?”  

“I’m pretty sure he saw us together, he might think we’re…”  

“Not this again” you groan. “He already thought you were my boyfriend because you kissed me on the cheek at lunch?”  

He blankly stared at you “…He thought we were dating because I kissed you on the cheek? What is this guy? A nun? I kiss everyone.”  

“He’s definitely not a nun,” you mumble.

Yeonjun’s eyes lit up again, noticing how your body involuntarily shook at the memory.  

“…What did you see,” Yeonjun says with playfulness in his tone, stepping closer to you to get answers out of you.  

“Yeonjun, fuck off.”  

“Oh my god just tell me, nothing ever happens in this boring town.”  

You pause for a second, not knowing why you’re revealing this type of sensitive information but honestly, you were dying to talk about it with someone. “I saw him jack off,” you admit under your breath, biting your lip as you awaited Yeonjun’s response.  

“OH MY GOD,” Yeonjun yelled, followed by an incoherent string of giggles as he doubled over to catch his breath. “You little shit, he’s not the pervert, you are!”  

“Shut up.” You feel heat rise to your ears, which made Yeonjun laugh at your misery once more. “Oh, that’s amazing, I can’t wait until this fucking party of yours, what did you do when you saw it? Did you touch yourself?” he cockily asks licking his lips.  

Your eyes widened in mild panic “You-” you took a step towards Yeonjun, practically standing inches away from him in hopes to intimidate him. “I will kill you if you tell anyone.”  

“So it TRUE!? My god. Well, you don’t have to worry about that, you know me.” He winked at you, putting his hand on your shoulder.  

Your mother who came home without you even noticing was standing at the door opening of your bedroom. She didn’t mean to pry, but when she walked over to the laundry room and saw you inches away from Yeonjun’s face she couldn’t help herself and stayed to lean on your doorpost.  

“Hi kids,”  

Her voice made the hairs on your necks stand up straight and you immediately distanced yourself from him.  

“Yeonjun sweetie, it’s been a while, hasn’t it? What brings you here?” she asks. Once again she was skimpily dressed, which made Yeonjun hold eye contact with her for the life of him. You could tell he was fighting demons not to let his eyes wander to her chest.  

“Oh…uh…a project.” He awkwardly scratched his neck, giving you a look.  

“For what class? Sex ed?”  

Noticing the sour and venomous look on your face, your mom put on a wide smile on her lips, casually laughing off her horrible joke. “I’m just kidding kids, eat first yeah? I brought dinner. There’s enough for everyone Yeonjun, you’re welcome to join.”  

He was hesitant but given the look on your face that screamed please don’t leave me alone with her, he decided to stay.  

Dinner actually wasn’t as bad, Yeonjun made himself lovable per usual and the two of you even facetimed Beomgyu so he could virtually join you for dinner. Your mom was acting weird as always but was uncharacteristically quiet throughout the whole thing. It’s like she was trying to figure out what was going on between the two of you.  

After dinner, Yeonjun insisted on helping with the dishes, but since you needed a moment alone with your mom, you told him you were going to make you guys some coffee to get you two going throughout the night since you were going to have to pull an all-nighter anyway.

As you turned on your coffee machine, your mom wiped the counter, checking if Yeonjun was already on his way to your room. She gave you a look, snapping her fingers so you’d look at her which caught your attention.

“I don’t want you with that boy he probably has some form of chlamydia.” She says in a hushed yet concerned tone.  

“MOM.” Even you were at a loss for fucking words at this point  

“What? You know I love him, he’s been around since you were kids but…why can’t you date someone who’s cute and sweet like…like that Soobin guy from across the lot.”  

“I’m not into Yeonjun, and he’s not into me. Now, please. Leave us be, we have a project to finish.”  

“I just want what’s best for you.”  

‘What’s best for me is if you’d just stay out of my business, even if I did like Yeonjun, you have no right to talk about him the way you just did. And stop pretending to know me, you’re never here anyway.”  

You didn’t know where your snarky tone was coming from, but honestly, you were done with your mom’s popping in and out of your life with her judgment whenever she wanted. You were never really one to speak out against her, always just ignoring whatever she had to say but today you’ve quite literally had enough.  

You grabbed your coffees and stormed upstairs, leaving your mom at a loss for words in the kitchen.  

Soobin was headed out for an early morning jog to clear his head. His situation at home was worsening by the day. He kept being the subject of stupid fights between Isabelle and his dad, which made him snap at both of them during dinner. He hasn’t said a word to them since then and was dying to talk to someone about all of this.  

Of course, you were the first person to pop into his mind, but he also wanted to respect your boundaries. Soobin was pretty sure that whatever was going on between you and Yeonjun was complicated enough for you to tell him that you weren’t dating so he was hesitant to even talk to you again.  

Soobin turned the corner, taking a look at your house as he jogged to his own garage and that’s when he noticed your front door open. He stopped for a second, pretending to stretch and that’s when he saw Yeonjun walk out of your house at 7.30 AM.  

Well fuck.  

Yeonjun who was about to get in his car with a sleep-deprived blank facial expression suddenly woke the fuck up when he felt Soobin’s eyes on him.  

Shit. What does he do? Things were already sus as is.  

“Hey man.” Yeonjun greeted Soobin with a wave which made Soobin awkwardly wave back at him with a friendly smile on his face.  

“You coming to her party tonight?” Yeonjun asks leaning against his car.  

Soobin straightened out his posture, walking closer to Yeonjun so they didn’t have to yell across the lot to hear each other. “Uhm, I’m thinking about it.”  

“Oh just come it should be fun, also bring anyone you like she won’t mind. I mean if that makes you feel better”  

“Hmm?  

“I-“ Yeonjun stopped himself for a second, realizing that came off wrong. “I mean, I���ll probably…invite someone too.”  

“Okay? Cool…I mean I’ll think about it” he coughed, stretching his arms to then lie a nonchalant lie. “I’m pretty busy ya know. With the move and all.”  

“Oh well…don’t be a stranger.”  

Soobin squinted his eyes, not knowing if Yeonjun was testing him as your man or if he was just being nice. “Yeah, for sure.”  

“Well, I’ll see you at school man,” Yeonjun says with a smile before getting into his car, leaving Soobin utterly confused before he jogged back to his house.  

Overthinking was Soobin’s favorite sport, so that’s exactly what he did during his shower. Today was the day he was going to talk to you and subtly ask for clarification. He couldn’t just torture himself like this any longer.  

Even if it was going to be awkward, He had to know for sure if you were actually in a relationship or not because he can’t just keep jacking off to images of you in his head like the pervert he is if you were actually taken. I mean he could, but he definitely shouldn’t.  

His clean-cut conscience wouldn’t allow him to.  

He made his way from the bathroom to his bedroom and got dressed rather quickly, he was in a rush but didn’t fail to notice that his AirPods were missing from his backpack. He sighed, rummaging around his room at lightning speed just to find them in the windowpane. “For fucks sake.” He huffed, walking towards the window to pick them up and that’s when…  

“OH MY GOD.” He yelped, turning his back to the window as he squeezed his eyes shut.  

He didn’t mean to look.  

He didn’t.  

But he definitely saw you.  

In your fucking bra and panties.

You were lazily getting dressed in front of your mirror, your blinds were open because you had hoped to see Soobin but you hadn’t spotted him all morning. He basically sprinted out of his room without a second look, his heart racing incredibly fast by now. It didn’t even take 10 seconds before he made it out of his house and into his car, ready to speed off to campus.  

Soobin was mentally mauling himself, catching a glimpse of you standing in front of your window to open it as he drove off, though he wasn’t sure if you saw him...

Soobin’s brain was doing backflips as he got to school. You were occupying every inch of his brain and dick for that matter.

There was no way Soobin was going to approach you after that ordeal. Absolutely no way.  

He had a quick flashback of the mere second he saw you half-naked, that purple lace bra perfectly cupping your goods. He had to snap out of it quickly before little Steve would wake up in class. A boner is the last thing you need during your first week at a new college.  

He didn’t mean to look, he really didn’t. But his brain was already making up doom scenarios of you thinking he was a pervert, or worse. fuck, how was he going to resolve this?  

He immediately took a mental note to ask his dad about what was taking so long with the god damn custom blinds he ordered for Soobin’s room, though he didn’t have much time to think about it because someone was blocking his view.  

“Hey.” Beomgyu smiled at Soobin, taking a seat beside him in the auditorium. Soobin fixed his posture from being slouched in his seat, clasping his fingers together instead of biting at his nailbeds, and proceeded to give Beomgyu a friendly smile. “Hey.”  

“I didn’t know we shared this class together,” Beomgyu says excitedly which made Soobin faintly smile at how cute Beomgyu was.  

“Are you coming to y/n’s party tonight?”  

“Oh…uh…I don’t know.”  

“What why? She really wants you to come.”  

Oh…he’s not so sure about that right now. “Me? Why would she.”  

Beomgyu looked at Soobin a little funny, wondering if he was actually that oblivious or if he was just playing dumb. But watching the two of you steal glances from each other during lunch and the constant ‘Soobin this, Soobin that’ conversations he had with you made him want to help push things in the right direction between the two of you.  

“You’re kidding right?” Beomgyu says opening his notebook right before the lecture started.  

“What?”  

“It’s obvious you two are into each other.” Beomgyu shrugged, averting his attention from Soobin to the lecturer which made Soobin’s brain go into overdrive.  

HUH?  

A trillion different things were running through Soobin’s mind right now. Into each other? Meaning you’re not dating? Wait…was it that obvious to Beomgyu? Does that mean it’s obvious to you too?  

Ugh. Now what.  

You were making your way out of the lecture hall on the east side of campus, texting the group chat to ask for some assistance to set up for the party tonight. You sigh as you send the message, putting your phone in your back pocket and adjusted your tote bag on your shoulder as you walked towards your next class until you spotted a tall familiar figure in the distance.  

It was Soobin, walking out of the lecture hall you had to be in with a lazy unamused strut. You raised your eyebrows, contemplating if you should go talk to him but before your brain could even process your thoughts, your legs were already speed walking towards him.  

“Hey!” you catch up to him in no time, tugging at his arm from behind.  He turned around in complete bewilderment, removing his AirPods from his ears in shock to see you standing there.  

“Oh, hey y/n” he smiled at you awkwardly.  

“Did you see?” you ask, cocking your head to the side.  

“Huh, what? No. I mean…see what?” Soobin stumbled on his words, obviously thinking about seeing you practically nude this morning while trying his hardest to maintain eye contact before his eyes could wander to your chest.  

You raise a brow, a smile tugging at your lips at how nervous he was being around you. “The invite to my party tonight. I sent it to you via text.”  

“Oh! That, yeah I-uh I don’t-”  

“No, come on. Just come. All you do is play games or scroll through your phone. I know it’s scary to meet all of these people but if not now then, when-”  

He interrupts you this time. “Wait…how do you know that?”  

“Huh,” Shit y/n. you and your big ass mouth. “Just a guess,” you lie.

“Right.” He raised his eyebrows in suspicion, starting to wonder if you were able to see him just as clearly as he was able to see you through your window.  

You give him a playful shove to snap him out of his thoughts which made him immediately straighten out his posture. “I’ll come.”  

Your eyes lit up, cutely clasping your hands together which made Soobin’s heart clench in his chest at the sight.  

“Really? Okay, cool. I’ll see you tonight then.” You beamed at him which made him reciprocate your friendly smile. You quickly checked the time, realizing you were running late for your lecture, and hastily excused yourself before running off, leaving a jittery and suspicious feeling Soobin by himself.  

“Is this where you want it boss?” Hueningkai asks you as he and Taehyun move your dinner table to the side to make more space.  

You look over your shoulder while holding decorations for Beomgyu to attach to your ceiling giving them a satisfied nod. “Perfect.”  

Beomgyu got down from the ladder as well, giving your head a quick pet before he found his red cup to take a sip of his beer. “Where’s Yeonjun?”  

At that, the doorbell rang, which made Taehyun get up and waddle over to open it. It was Yeonjun and…someone else.  

“Speak of the devil,” Beomgyu utters with a smirk.  

“Hey babies, what did I miss,” Yeonjun says giving everyone a quick hug.  

“Nothing, we’re still setting up, people should arrive in like 30 minutes,” Hueningkai states giving you a confused look after looking at the dude Yeonjun brought with him.  

That’s definitely not the guy he told you guys about at lunch the other day.  

“This is Changbin,” Yeonjun says introducing him to the bunch, you were sure everyone was thinking the same thing, which made you all seem a little uptight.

“Hi everyone.” Changbin smiled at all of you as he clung to Yeonjun.  

“What happened to Felix?” Taehyun says with his unfiltered mind, making you hold your breath as you watch Yeonjun’s eyes widen. “I don’t know who that is,” he says rolling his eyes which made everyone snicker to themselves  

“Okay, clear; let’s get you both something to drink.” You suggest leading them both to the table filled with bottles upon bottles of liquor. You gave your friends a quick confused look over your shoulder before disappearing into the kitchen with them.  

Tae, Kai, and Beomgyu all looked at each other, bursting out in laughter.  

“Pay up” Hueningkai cackles, pulling Beomgyu towards him by his shoulders. “I told you he moved on from the last one.”  

“I didn’t think it could happen this quickly” Beomgyu moped, pulling a 20-dollar bill out of his wallet. Hueningkai snatched it from Beomgyu with an evil smirk, which made Taehyun laugh as well.  

“Well,” Taehyun says raising his cup, making the others do the same. “Cheers to an even more eventful night.”  

Soobin had a gift for running late, even if he lived right across from you he totally lost track of time as he was contemplating what to wear. The party was fully going judging by the cars lined up next to the driveway and the number of people that walked in and out of your home, he was sure the house would be packed by now. He stood in front of his mirror, adjusting the collar to his white button-up until he was satisfied.

Soobin bit his lip with anxiety and walked over to his window to close it, stopping for a second to look inside yours but the curtains were closed, making him sigh to himself.  

He’s gonna have to find a way to get into your room to look out of your window to know for sure.  

He left a light on near his bed and sped down the stairs, hastily grabbing his keys from the dinner table. He saw his dad in the living room, stopping himself to be a decent son for once and say goodbye.  

“Hey, I’m heading out,” Soobin announces.  

“Oh, that’s fine son,” His dad was on his phone, not really paying attention which made Soobin look around him.  

“Where's Isabelle?” Soobin asked fidgeting with the keys in his hands.

“Girls trip.” His dad sounded bitter, making Soobin nod to himself, not asking any further questions. “Okay well…see ya.”  

“Yes, have fun son,” he says making eye contact this time.  

Soobin knitted his eyebrows together in concern as he put on his shoes, but decided not to really think about the way they have been arguing lately for the sake of having a good time tonight. He walked out of the house and towards yours. The front door was open so he let himself in, his eyes widening at the mayhem he was met with. He could already feel the bass of the music bounce off the walls from the entrance as chatter from at least a hundred people made his ears ring.  

He hated parties but he had a mission, so he took a better look around this time.

People were chatting amongst themselves in their intoxicated little bubble, a few of them were dancing and the rest were immersed in different drinking games. His eyes were searching for you as he walked through the house and when he came into the familiar room of your kitchen/dining area his eyes widened even more. Yeonjun was fully making out with some dude on your kitchen counter.  

Yeah, that’s definitely not your boyfriend.  

“Ohhh shit, look who it is!” Beomgyu yelped drunkenly leaning on Soobin’s shoulder. “Here shot it.” Soobin couldn’t even resist as the shot glass was basically shoved past his lips. The gasoline-like liquid burned his throat as he swallowed it. Ew. Tequila.

He shook his head, his bunny lips flopping around. “You got something that tastes less abrasive?”  

“You mean lemonade?” Beomgyu says trying to regain balance by himself after letting go of Soobin.  

“No, like Soju.” Soobin chuckled, rolling his eyes. He couldn’t put his finger on it but Beomgyu was both annoying and lovable at the same time.  

“It’s over there with the rest of the guys, come on; everyone’s dying to finally meet you.”  

You were pulled in a hundred different directions. Everyone wanted to either film a TikTok with you or take pictures; so you didn’t have much time to breathe. By now Soobin had fully given in to your friend group. They were a lot more fun than he thought they were which made him mentally kick himself for not trying to befriend them sooner. It might’ve taken at least two bottles of Soju to loosen up, but at least it worked.  

You stumbled into your living room, finally finding the time to breathe and that’s when you spot him sitting on the edge of the couch with a big smile on his face as he watched Taehyun and Beomgyu’s heated discussion about something random. He was holding a half-empty bottle of Soju as he grazed his fingers through his dark hair. His loose-fitted blouse was unbuttoned just enough to leave room for imagination. He was looking good enough to eat, licking his lips before attaching them to the bottle he was holding as he took a big chug of it.  

Fuck. Frustrated was the only word to describe your emotional state because every single time you were able to lust over Soobin was with a good distance between the two of you. Literally.  

“Oh y/n there you are.” Hueningkai beamed at you with a cute smile. Soobin’s ears perked up at the mention of your name and snapped his head in your direction.  

Damn, you looked good.  

“Can you tell them to stop arguing?” Hueningkai pouted, but you were too occupied with Soobin's hungry stare on your body and outfit to really pay attention.  

“Y-yeah, stop arguing.” You say with zero conviction as you wave your finger in their faces, making Soobin pat the empty spot on the armrest of the couch when he noticed how you were holding eye contact with him, telling you to sit down next to him.  

Beomgyu and Tae gave each other knowing looks, but Hueningkai was just lost at this point.  

You sit down sideways, crossing your legs. “Are you having fun?” you ask Soobin whose gaze was still fixated on you. He nodded with an amused glint in his eyes as they wandered to your bare legs.  

He was loving your skirt.  

“You look really good.” He compliments you with confidence, flustering you in the process.  

So, alcohol equaled confidence with this man. Noted.  

“Thank you, so do you,” you shyly giggled.  

“Go fuck already.” Beomgyu glared at both of you, which earned him a hard punch to his arm from Taehyun.  

Your eyes grew as your ears heated up with embarrassment but you didn’t have much time to respond because you were already being called by someone else.

“Y/n baby, can you tell me where the other bottles are?” Yeonjun stood in the door opening motioning you to come hither with his index finger and your eyes immediately shot to Soobin’s in concern.  

“I’m not his actual baby.” You clarified, which made Soobin’s lips curl up into a devious smile.  

“I know. Don’t worry.” He patted your leg. “We’ll have plenty of time to talk, go on.”  

You nodded at him, getting up rather clumsily as you stumbled over to Yeonjun who caught you right before you could trip over your own feet.  

Soobin watched you disappear into your kitchen, taking another chug of his drink.  

This is the perfect time to sneak up to your bedroom.  

“I’m gonna go pee,” Soobin announces as he got up, making the guys nod at him in response.  

“Okay, hurry back,” Beomgyu shouts after him.  

Showing Yeonjun where the bottles were was a bad idea because he made you take at least 3 shots with him and Changbin for as far as you could count and on top of that it was like Soobin disappeared from the face of the planet.  

You looked for him in the crowd and asked your friends who told you he left to pee and never came back. And to make matters worse, in your drunken state your house seemed at least twice as big as you searched every room except your own. You stand in front of your bedroom door, hesitating to open it.  

There’s no way…right?  

You hold your breath before twisting the doorknob, peeking your head through just to see him standing there, staring out of your window and into his own.  

Oh…oh…shit.  

“Soobin?” you had to check just to be sure because your vision was more than blurry right now.  

He turned around with his arms crossed, squinting his eyes at you.  

You couldn’t tell if he was pissed or not.  

You close the door behind you, leaning against it as you erupt in silent drunken giggles. Pouting your lips forwards as he walked over to you.  

“Well, the bags out of the cat, I mean, cat’s out of the bag.” You stutter incoherently.  

He sighed with a smirk, shaking his head at you. “I knew it. You were a little too specific with your comment from this morning.”  

You pout, crossing your legs, running your fingertips over his forearm, tracing the protruding vein that you were so attracted to. “You were too hot to look away.” You whisper, making him shudder in place, but he couldn’t let you take control just yet.  

“You do know that window works both ways right?” Soobin smirked. “I see you too,” he whispered in your ear. Every single hair in your neck stood up straight as his deep voice did things to your entire nervous system. He had your legs become jelly as he backed you into the wall with his towering height, his hands trapping you on either side of the doorframe.  

“S-soobin.” You were slurring your words in your drunken state, your brain not knowing how to make sense of the situation. This was your wet dream. But it wasn’t a dream.  

Soobin’s gaze darkened upon hearing his name come out of your mouth in the form of a strained moan. He licked his perfect heart-shaped lips with a side smirk, brushing his hair out of his face to then create some distance between the two of you.  

“I feel like you’ve been playing me a little too much.” He says as his fingers barely teased over the curve of your neckline. “I want you to know what it feels like to be that fucking frustrated.” He put some emphasis on his last words as his fingers ghosted from your neck to your chest. His fingertips barely even touched you as he hooked his digits through the strap of your tank top. Your skin was on absolute fire as you held your breath, not saying anything for the lack of finding the right words to say at the moment.  

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward but heated. You couldn’t quite explain it but both of you understood the immense tension that was building between the two of you. Soobin’s large hands moved to your waist as he suddenly adjusted you in place rather roughly, making you look at him with big doe eyes.  

He loved the control he started to have over you, given the fact that it used to be the other way around. He then decided to take it a little further now that he had you exactly where he has imagined you to be ever since he met you. Submissive and beneath him.  

“Did I leave anything to your imagination, or did you watch me cum that one night?” Soobin asks with confidence. His shy boy image was completely out the door now that he had you alone, and the three full bottles of Soju he emptied were of great help at feeding his ego.  

You swallowed harshly as you tried to press your thighs together, making him chuckle lowly as he noticed a change in your body language.  

“I’m…y-yeah.” You stutter.  

“Now, that’s not fair.” He says sucking his teeth, his breath fanning your neck again as his lips got closer to your ear, his right hand taking a hold of your chin to force you to look up at him. “Soobin you’re driving me fucking crazy.” Your voice came out in a pained whisper as you felt the grip on your waist tighten.  

“Good,” he mused, pulling at your bottom lip with his thumb, and that’s when you just about had it.  

Your hands flew up to cup his face as you eagerly connected your lips to his, you were hungrily making out by now, articles of your clothing flying around the room until you were left in your undies and that purple lace bra he saw this morning. He basically threw you on the bed before taking his shirt off. You watched him like a hawk as he did, finally able to admire him from up close. You waited for him to climb on top of you as he grinds his clothed core onto yours to create the friction you both so desperately needed. You let out a few breathy moans, the sound edging him on to waste zero time with you. He proceeded to bury his face in between your tits, licking and sucking a trail back up to your neck, lazily kissing and nibbling on your skin as he fondled your breasts with his large hands.  

You threw your head back as he looped his arm under your thigh, pushing your knee up to your chest, perfectly demonstrating how he’d bury his length deeply into you when the timing was right.  

“Soobin, more.” You were desperate to have him touch you, but he clicked his tongue at you, giving your thigh a rough squeeze as he basically ripped your skirt off. “Be patient, you might’ve seen me naked already, but this is my first time seeing you so let me take my time yeah.”  

His comment had you giggling at how cute and wrong it actually was at the same time. He wasn’t even making a big deal out of the whole I’ve been watching you through the window thing, if anything it kind of…turned him on.  

“Shit.” He cursed as he pushed both of your knees up to your chest so he could have a full and unapologetic look at your glistening core as he slid your panties to the side, his mouth watering at the sight. Even though you were pretty confident, a position like this with your crush hungrily staring at your cunt would have even the most confident person in shambles. You tried closing your legs but he pushed them back open, giving you a confused look.  

“Now you grow a conscience?” he smirked, licking his lips to then lower his face to your core. He kissed your inner thighs, making you shake in anticipation at how close he was to the place where you wanted him most.  

“Your skin is so soft.” He mused, caressing your thighs as he positioned himself in between your legs, lazily kissing around your sex without actually coming in contact with it.  

He was doing this on purpose and you knew it.  

Soobin was making you feel how frustrated he has been all this time and wasn’t just going to reward you with stimulation this early on. Your hole was clenching around nothing as you felt his breath on your pussy, which has you groaning in torment as you laced your fingers in his silky brown locks. “S-stop teasing.”  

“You’ve been having your fun with me, day in and out, watching me for your own pleasure without saying a word.” He shook his head and licked his lips before softly biting your inner thigh, making you squirm under him at the discomfort you felt. He grinned once more as he watched your body. “I think you deserve to be teased a little.”  

He placed a kiss right on top of your pelvic bone before allowing you to shut your legs for a second. You watched him through hooded eyes as he started to play with the hem of your  

panties, twisting it around his fingers to snap the elastic band back on your skin as he let go, followed by the stinging sensation at the point of contact. “Ah..” you moaned, turned on and confused at the same time cause no man had ever done that to you before.  

“Like being toyed with?” He asks with a cocky smile, coming back up to look you in the eye. By now you had tears in your eyes, furiously shaking your head at his words. “No, No, I want you. I want you n-now.” You were pleading with him, putting on your best bambi-like ‘fuck me' eyes to get him to soften up and give you what you want but he just tutted his lips forward, shaking his head no which left you entirely too horny and well…pissed off at this point to keep your act up. “So needy and pathetic.” He degraded you, enjoying it a little too much.

Watching you squirm under his touch with every little thing he did was a fantasy becoming reality. He stood beside the bed, ghosting his fingers over your bare tummy, up to your breast to softly pinch your nipple. He softly smiled down at you, and your eyes traveled to the obvious bulge in his trousers, the image enough to make you pool down there more than you already were.  

“Don’t you think they’re wondering where we are? Maybe we should head back…” he says lost in thought, trying to gauge your reaction with a slight smirk on his lips.  

You propped yourself up on your elbows, furiously furrowing your eyebrows as you stare at him in disbelief. You grabbed one of his hands with both of your own, stopping him in his tracks before he could even attempt to leave you high and dry.  

“Choi Soobin, if you don’t do something about the literal fire between my legs that you’ve ignited, then I will NEVER speak to you again.” You tried to sound firm, but your brain was mush by now.  

He slowly lowered himself, kneeling beside you so he’d be on eye level with you, His left hand still holding onto yours as his right hand ghosted down your body once more. He was quiet, obviously pondering what to do next. You swore you were never this whiny, or desperate, but the tequila showed you otherwise “Soobin please, please stop teasing, I’ll do anything. Please.” You beg as you felt him push your panties to the side again, and that’s when his thumb finally rolled against your clit.  

You squeezed your eyes shut, your stomach feeling jittery as your leg involuntarily twitched at the sudden sensation. “Right there?” he asks repeating his movements. You nod, burying your face in his arm as you squeeze his hand for dear life, but the action made him sigh. “Relax baby. It’ll feel better If you relax.”  

“How the fuck am I supposed to relax, you’re…a literal menace,” you moan in between your sentence as his pace sped up. He grimaced, and you let go of him, letting yourself fall flat to your bed again. This time, however, he climbed back on the bed. Grabbing fistfuls of your hair, making you look down at your cunt with him as he made you rest your back on his knee. He was moving you around like a ragdoll, for him to control and play with.  

“You like to watch right? So watch.” He demanded, inserting two of his large fingers into you without warning. You inhale sharply, a choked-out moan leaving your lips as he started to finger you with deep and fast strokes. You grabbed onto his forearm for a bit of leverage on reality as you watched his arm muscles and veins tighten with every thrust of his hand. He was too attractive. His mouth was watering at the sight as he kept his eyes on you, studying how your body moved and felt around him. He felt your wetness pool around his digits and was pretty sure that you were about to cum on his fingers.  

You were completely domified by now, tears prickling the brims of your eyes as you couldn’t make sense of anything. You’ve never heard yourself moan this incoherently. Sounding nothing like yourself as he fastened his brutal pace some more. “Come on baby, come on. Just like that.” The palm of his hand was rubbing against your clit as he fingered you, alternating between friction and penetration in a perfect pattern.  

“S-Soobin I’m-” Soobin was fighting you to keep you down with one hand as your body started to shock. You couldn’t even finish your sentence, your words getting caught in your throat as you finally let yourself go. Your thighs were trembling as you both panted loudly. He buried his face into your neck, sweetly pecking your lips to then place calming kisses in your neck to slowly bring you back to earth but you were still exhausted.  

Shit, that orgasm was a whole exorcism.  

Soobin’s shy demeanor returned shortly after, removing his fingers from your dripping hole in pure awe of what he just did to you. “Wow.” He muttered, rubbing his thumb against his index finger to spread around your slick on his digits but you caught him off guard when you wrapped your arms around him, hugging him tightly as you buried your face in his chest to hide how vulnerable you felt. He sweetly rubbed your back with one hand and massaged your thigh with the other in hopes to relieve some of the aches you were experiencing.  

“Are you okay?” he asks, knitting his eyebrows together with concern.  

You nodded with your face still buried in his chest, trying to regulate your breathing some more before looking up at him. His lips were glistening and swollen from all the kissing, his hair was a complete mess and his skin had a sex glow to it as he looked at you through hooded lids. He looked good enough to eat. More than usual.  

You bashfully nod, giving him a shy smile that he reciprocated and sealed with a sweet peck on your soft lips but you pulled him down with you, fumbling with his belt to get it off of him.  

He was surprised to know you still had it in you to go further, although he needed to know for sure. “y/n. you don’t have to return the favor-“  

“Please, you’re doing me the favor here.” You huff, not caring how eager you seemed to him.  

He snorted once you got his dick free from its confinements, gauging your reaction to his length springing free. “Shit.” You sit up, it’s even better in person. You gently grabbed it with both hands, and let a string of saliva fall from your lips and onto his dick to lubricate him some more.

He exhaled sharply, watching you like a hawk before he stopped you by grabbing your jaw. Soobin wasn’t sure how long he was going to last, but he had to make himself last inside of you for as long as possible.  

“Blowjobs can wait.” He states, which earned him a confused look from you. “I mean, I need to be inside you as soon as possible.”  

You giggled as he pushed you back down, taking one of your legs over his shoulder as he rubbed your slick between your folds with his tip. You closed your eyes in anticipation but he teased you like that a few more times before gently pushing himself into you.  

You both moaned in unison, you could tell he was being careful but you were more than aroused enough to take him. “Shit.” he cursed once he was deep inside of you, feeling your walls clench around him oh so perfectly.  He caressed your cheek, bending down to kiss your temple sweetly which actually surprised you.  

It was a sweet gesture you didn’t anticipate. Maybe it’s because the basis of your relationship was built on lust…you didn’t even stop to think if it could become love at some point in the future.  

“Hey.” You stop him for a second, which made him basically freeze in place. “What? Am I hurting you?” his face was ridden with concern but you quickly shook your head.  

“This isn’t one of those one-time things where you go back to ignoring me right?” your eyes were big and insecure but it made Soobin feel relief somehow.

“What? No. Of course not.” He assured you, planting a kiss to your lips.  

“This is just the start of it sweetheart.” He caressed your cheek again, and your lips curled into a soft smile.  

“Well in that case...” You sit up, which earned you a confused look but you ignored him, proceeding to push him down on the mattress so you could climb on top of him this time.  

“Where were we?” you say before leaning down to kiss him some more.

Still cock drunk and well, regular drunk; you try to discretely walk down the stairs with Soobin tailing behind you but everyone in that house knew exactly what you were up to.  

Soobin looked at your behind, noticing how your skirt was ridden up, and quickly pulled it down, giving you a reassuring nod.  

“Well. I see you’ve taken my advice.” Beomgyu says approaching you two.  

“No.” you blatantly deny it, trying to sound sober.  

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Soobin tried with a side pout and an unconvincing frown, but Beomgyu could see through your bullshit. “Yeah, yeah. We’re almost out of drinks.”  

You raise your brows. “Already?”  

“Yeah, a lot more people showed up than we anticipated,” he shrugged with a pout.  

Soobin sighed, leaning against the doorpost of the hallway entrance. “We can check my house? I’m sure we have some stuff laying around.”  

“Your dad won’t mind?” you ask.  

“I don’t think he’ll even notice,” Soobin says with an exhausted sigh, thinking about the situation back home. You noticed his drop in energy and took a mental note to ask him about it later. You grabbed his hand and laced your fingers through his, which earned you a shy smile from him. “I’ll come with.”  

Beomgyu raised his brows at both of you with a side smirk. “Go on love birds,” he teases shooing you both away.  

You didn’t know why but everything was extra funny to the two of you right now. Like two lovestruck teens you walked over to his house still hand in hand, giggling as you stumbled past his front door.  

Soobin clasped his hand over your mouth from behind to stop you from waking his dad with your giggles, but it was of no use as he tripped over a pair of heels in the door opening. “Fuck.” You tried to muffle your laughter at his clumsiness and helped him up by his arm but both of you were alarmed by noises coming from the living room.  

“Shhhh,” Soobin says pulling you into him as he placed a finger over his lips, signaling you to be quiet, which you cutely imitated.

Are those…moans he’s hearing?  

Your eyes widen and you try to shake your head no. You were not about to walk in on his parents having sex. Absolutely not. But Soobin stood frozen on his feet with furrowed eyebrows, looking at the shoes he stumbled over. Even if you didn’t notice whose feet those high-ass heels belonged to, he sure did. Because Isabelle didn’t wear these types of heels. Ever.  

Soobin looked at you with concern making you look back at him in distress, and that’s when the moans started to become louder.  

“Let’s leave! What are you doing!?” You whisper, trying to pull him back out of the front door but he wasn’t budging, in fact, he walked straight past you and into his living room.  

Is he insane?  

You had a mini panic attack as you weighed the options on what to do in the next second. Do you run after him or run back to your house?  

The little soberness left inside of you decided to run after Soobin judging by how upset he seemed and just as you passed the corner with him, you wish you hadn’t.  

Because you saw your mom…on top of his dad…on the couch.

“MOM!?”   “DAD!?”  

You both shouted out in unison before turning around to stop seeing whatever was going on.  

There is no fucking way this was really happening.  

Part 2

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