#i hope this looks okay when it's posted here :s
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hii!! i hope this is where requests go! but i was wondering if you could do either a remus x reader or poly x reader- (would rather poly but idk what you prefer) where they’ve been getting bruises from somewhere, but they don’t rlly notice it until it’s like finger prints somewhere, it could be like an ex harassing them or something? something along those lines of them being protective and hurt/comfort <33
hi sweetness! sorry it took so long! poly!marauders x gn!reader
cw: mentions of physical abuse from coworker. post-trauma stress, swearing
1.1k words
You had been growing increasingly skittish. Before these series of incidents, your boyfriends had been able to touch you whenever and wherever with little reaction. (with the exception of pleasant shivers). Sirius seemed to always have his hands in your back pockets, James had a habit of coming up behind you and nuzzling into your neck, and Remus, though not very tactile, would brush his hands appreciatively over your hips and waist. But in the past few weeks, your boys had been pulling back. And you knew the reason, you knew it was your fault.
It had started with slight flinches. When Sirius gripped your shoulder affectionately and you jumped, eyes wide with fear. At any other time, the press of his fingertips would be pleasant. But when he squeezed the broken skin- broken skin he had no knowledge of -you winced and whimpered in pain. He immediately pulled his hand back, concern notched between his dark brows, and you immediately began reassuring and apologizing. You told him that you were just tense, that his touch was unexpected but not unwelcome, but he had still been careful since then. After a string of similar circumstances with James and Remus, they had all been handing you with kid gloves.
Your behavior had changed as well. You had swapped your normal tank tops and tees for crew neck hoodies and sweaters, long sleeves to cover the purple and green spots littering your arms. Your face had been permanently tense in an attempt to stifle grimaces from rising up. You were sore, mentally exhausted, chronically anxious, and your boyfriends could tell. You had been constantly reassuring them of you being fine, but you could see their suspicion growing with every attempt. You could feel the tension thick in the air, attempting to rear its ugly head.
Despite every attempt to seem normal, you still flinched when James touched your back, trying to pass behind you.
“Right behind you, lovely” instead the usual comfort James’ voice carried, it put you on edge, making you inhale sharply, tensing your whole body.
“Sorry.” You mumbled, shaking your head and squeezing your eyes shut, urging the panic to leave your body. Only when your breathing slowed down did you realize the crippling silence that had taken over the room.
“Are you sure you’re okay, sweet thing?” Sirius probed, unusually careful. He was eyeing you suspiciously over his laptop screen. You quickly fixed your face, grateful for the distance the bar island put between you and your investigating boyfriend.
“Yup. I’m all good, just startled me ‘s all.” You went back to chopping the vegetables in front of you with slightly too much vigor. The boys were still silent. You quickly changed the subject. “Remmy, can you grab the turkey from the fridge for me, please?”
“Sure, dovey.” He walked behind you to get to the icebox. You made sure not to shudder as he made his way. He stopped, looking over your shoulder. Every nerve was standing to attention.
“You okay, honey?” You did everything to keep your voice from coming out strained.
“I’m okay.” Remus sounded slightly confused. “Here, sweetheart. Your sleeves are going to get in the way.” He reached over to roll your sleeves up. A sweet gesture at its core, but you still froze in panic. He pulled them all the way up to your elbows. You just stared at the cutting board, wincing when James hissed, quickly making his way over to inspect further. Sirius took his computer glasses off, nearly catapulting himself over the bar.
“Fuck, baby. What happened to you?” Sirius went straight to the issue. He grabbed your wrist, tilting your stained flesh towards the light. There were small, round splotches on the delicate skin of your wrist. Before you could find an excuse, Remus took your wrist. When he held your arm, his fingers fitting almost perfectly into the marks, he inhaled deeply.
“Who the fuck did this.” Remus bit out. James reached over to place a hand on his shoulder and Sirius gave him a pleading look, but nothing was going to calm him. Usually it would be Remus calming Sirius down, but when Remus’ fierce protectiveness comes out, nothing can pull it back in. In these cases, Sirius acts as the calmer one.
“Rem, it’s ok-” You started.
“It’s not fucking okay! Someone put their goddamn hands on you and I need to know who did it.” Despite his voice growing in volume, he was still handling you ever so gently. James still moved between you and Remus, suspecting that Remus’ extremely visible stress would only put you more on edge.
“Sweetheart,” James started, keeping his voice calm, even as it wobbled with worry. “Is this why you’ve been so tense lately?” Before another denial could form on your tongue, James continued. “Please, lovely. You can tell us. We won’t be mad, we just want to help you.” His dark eyes were searching your face, looking for any shred of emotion to cling to.
Everything just felt so raw. You knew you were being ganged up on, drowned with affection and it was all too much. You pressed your lips together to keep them from wobbling but it was no use. Your eyes filled with hot tears and sobs started to wrack your body. Weeks of pent-up hurt came spilling out.
“I just-” You struggled to get the words out between too-fast breaths. The boys caged you in, but for the first time in weeks, you felt comforted rather than clutched.
“Take your time, baby. It’s okay. We’re not going to leave you.” Sirius smoothed your hair out of your damp face.
“T-they hired someone at work. I-I used to know them.” You struggled. Pausing to suck in small bits of air. You could see questions spinning in their heads, but they didn’t interrupt. “I guess I make them mad. I’ve always made them mad. I don’t mean to, but I just d- do.”
“Nothing.” Remus’ voice was sharp, but terribly kind. “Nothing you could do would make this okay. This is not your fault. Never has been, never was. No matter how upset they are, they don't get to hurt you.” You kept shaking, hot tears dripping off of your jaw.
“I-” You struggled. “I’ve been so scared.” When you said this, Sirius caged you in his arms. You knew this struck a nerve with him too.
“I know, baby. I know. I’m so so sorry you’ve been dealing with this yourself. It must have been so hard. But we’ve got you now. You’re going to be okay.” You couldn’t get words out anymore, but it was okay. They would stay with you until you could.
“We aren’t going to let them do this to you anymore, you hear me?” James pulled your face out of Sirius’ neck to make you look at him. “We’re going to fix this.”
#marauders#marauders fanfiction#poly!marauders fluff#poly!marauders imagine#poly!marauders x reader#poly!marauders#poly marauders#poly!marauders angst#poly!marauders x you#poly!marauders hurt/comfort#marauders era#the marauders#marauders hurt/comfort#angst#marauders fluff#marauders fandom#drabble#hurt/comfort#sirius black#james potter#remus lupin#fluff#lily’s asks#anon ask#anon request
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hiii!! omg you asked for requests and I have so many I literally love your writing sm your flow is so smooth :,)) okayokay so—if you want to ofc—could you write something with Valen who’s been away for some time on a mission and ofc he and his s/o have been missing each other, so when he finally returns home it’s just a really wholesome moment?? basically a fluff piece with the Silly but the audience would not boo if there is a little spice >:] THANK YOU ILY ♡
La Seine
౨ 🕊️ ⋆ﾟ ⊹ ˚ ✦ 🤎 ৎ
A/N: ignore me scrambling to write this prompt. But seriously- I love it. Like- it’s so cute… also, tysm for the compliments. Honestly, I didn’t think my writing was any good 😀. Also sorry guys for not posting recently! I’ve been really busy and desperately trying to get back to writing. Anyway, I hope you enjoy!
———»«———
Characters: Valen x GN! Reader
———»«———
Genre: Fluff, Fic, lil suggestive
———»«———
Warnings: Suggestive at the end. Other than that, none.
౨ 🪶 ⋆ﾟ ⊹ ˚ ✦ 🪹 ৎ
Amongst the hundreds of books in your office, you sat on the floor’s carpet, a few dozen books sitting around you as you quickly write down various phrases. Not being even phased by the ever so quiet click of a door, or the river rushing down into the lake, the ever so quiet cooing of doves, maybe even the rustling of leaves.
Only being phased by the sudden feeling of arms wrapping around your waist and hoisting you up and off the soft carpet. With a quick kiss to your ear as the person took your pen and notebook out of your hands and placing them on the coffee table.
“Hello love..” A familiar voice hummed, a hand running up your waist and moving to play with your hair. “I missed you.. Hogan was on my case for the majority of the mission. Wish I was here with you.”
You only chuckled and Valen’s interesting ways to trying to get sympathy from you, turning around, you carefully press a kiss to his jaw.
“Welcome home Valen.. Hogan couldn’t have been that bad. He’s like your father. Of course he’d be worried about you at least.” You shrug, smiling as he sighed, taking off his extra clothes and sitting against the sofa. Gently guiding you to sit on his lap.
“Yes.. I’m well aware love.. just tired these last few days I guess.” He scoffs, burying his head in your neck as you finally sit down and get comfortable.
“Valen..?” You mumble slightly, blinking slowly at his comfortable state. Sighing slightly,you nestle further in his arm that’s draped lazily over your waist, his other hand and his attention occupied by playing with your hair.
He doesn’t respond again, but he does glance at you for a moment while you shift, adjusting his arm more comfortably.
“Sorry.. just missed you.” Valen sighed, looking back up at you before carefully leaning in for a kiss. Sighing happily when you gingerly hold his cheeks in your hands.
Slowly breaking the kiss, he slowly blinks, way too blissed out for someone who was only gone for a few weeks. “Can we take this to the bedroom? I really missed you, and I want a piece of that body.” He chuckles, picking you up and quickly walking towards the bedroom.
Laying you down on the bed, he hooks one of your legs and effectively opens your hips for him. “You’re okay with this right?” He asks, looking into your eyes.” All it really takes for him to continue is your little nod. Almost immediately he pushes his thigh into your hips. Exciting a moan from your lips.
౨ 🤍 ⋆ﾟ ⊹ ˚ ✦ 🦢 ৎ
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ੈ✩‧₊˚ BEACHED! (OP81)
pairing: oscar piastri x f!reader
summary: after oscar saves you from an embarrassing accident on the beach, you accidentally go viral
warnings: cheesy humour, chaos
ੈ✩‧₊˚ oscarpiastri just tweeted
ੈ✩‧₊˚ yourusername just posted a photo
liked by danielricciardo, logansargeant and 98,002 others
yoursername shout out to australia, especially to the random dude in orange who saved my life from prematurely ending (note: waves in australia are brutal stay away if you can't swim)
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yourbsf NO FR SHOUT OUT TO KING I WAS TOO BUSY LAUGJING AND TAKING PHOTOS
yoursername I NEARLY DIED Y/B/F
yourbsf i was too busy giggling! your dream boy and first time he's seeing you is nearly drowning
friend1 Y/N DO YOU KNOW WHO THAT IS (6)
yoursername an australian?
user IS THAT OSCAR???
user oscar in papaya even on the beach… i fear he has no other clothes
user WHAT IS GOING ON
user NOT ME SEEING OSCAR TODAY AFTER HE SAVED A RANDOM GIRL FROM DROWNING?!?!
yoursername who tf is oscar
oscarpiastri hi! random dude in orange here
yourusername UM.
ੈ✩‧₊˚ twitter reacts
ੈ✩‧₊˚ dms with oscar
ੈ✩‧₊˚ yourusername just posted stories
[captions:
1. treated the tour guide to lunch :)
2. note: don’t let an f1 driver drive the golf cart if you value your life. moments before i nearly died (again)]
ੈ✩‧₊˚ yourusername just posted a photo
liked by oscarpiastri and 76,408 others
yourusername live evidence of the moment my tour guide turned on me
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user UHHHH
user oh so now they’re hanging out… i smell love at first sight
user NOT HIM DIVE BOMBING YOU????
oscarpiastri HEY i saved you again as well🙄
yourusername AFTER I SWALLOWED LIKE A GALLON OF WATER
friend1 @/yourbsf where were you during this murder attempt
yourbsf honey they don’t even know i’m here
ੈ✩‧₊˚ oscarpiastri just posted a photo
liked by landonorris, danielricciardo and 224,517 others
oscarpiastri best way to get used to the aussie waves is to just go for it☀️
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user okay when will an f1 driver save ME from drowning and fall in love (and then try to drown me on two other occasions)
user hahaha i think they’re just friends
user GIRL ^ look at what he just posted dedicated to her and tell me he’s not already obsessed
yourusername please stop trying to end my life i have a child at home
user UM
oscarpiastri a dog. she has a dog.
ੈ✩‧₊˚ yourusername just posted a photo
liked by oscarpiastri and 103,228 others
yourusername australia i am in love with your food, your weather, and certainly your people. i can’t wait to come back one day🤍
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user ‘and certainly your people’ 🥹🥹🥹
user i knew she was only on holiday but why am i legitimately sad she’s leaving?
user why am i crying for people i don’t know
user is the shirtless man in the bg of the third oscar😳
oscarpiastri don’t be a stranger🧡
ੈ✩‧₊˚ texts with oscar (1&2) and your best friend
ੈ✩‧₊˚ your username just posted a photo
liked by 65,087 people
yourusername puppy therapy
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user no oscar in the likes again :(
user he’s so fluffy
user my heart aches so bad i want her back with oscar
user no fr i’m hoping that they can meet up when he’s travelling again :(
yourbsf coming over for a cuddle (with you and charlie pup)
ੈ✩‧₊˚ oscarpiastri just tweeted
replies…
user why do i feel like this is about y/n…
user i hope they still talk :(
user with the way they’ve been posting i don’t think they do :(
user sending you love oscar. you’ll smash next season🧡
user something definitely happened
user im guessing just summer romance that fizzled out now they’re both busy :(
ੈ✩‧₊˚ mclaren just posted
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mclaren pre-season testing underway✅
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user did anyone see the interview he did on f1’s page?
user no what happened?
user they asked him about his winter break, and his smile faded so fast :/ then he just said he did a bit of exploring and moved the conversation on so fast
user god they. really fell for each other huh
user mclaren you have an opportunity to do the best thing. invite y/n to one of your races and reunite them please
ੈ✩‧₊˚ an email from mclaren
ੈ✩‧₊˚ texts with your best friend
ੈ✩‧₊˚ mclaren just posted a photo
liked by 247,996 people
mclaren a special home race for oscar with even more special guests🇦🇺 #OP81
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user IS THAT… IS THAT CHARLIE PUP. IS THAT Y/N.
user DID MCLAREN TAKE OUR ADVICE
user IS IT FINALLY HAPPENING ARE MY LOVES REUNITING?
user IM HERE RN AND SHES DEFINITELY IN THE PADDOCK
user FOR REAL? HAS OSCAR SEEN HER?
user NOT YET BECAUSE HE’S BEEN IN PRACTICE SESSIONS BUT THEY FINISH SOON
ੈ✩‧₊˚ user just posted a thread
ੈ✩‧₊˚ yourusername just posted a photo
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yourusername who said fairytales aren’t real
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user OH MY GOD ITS OFFICIAL
user i would like to thank mclaren
user why am i crying. i don’t know these people
oscarpiastri and in all 100 versions of the story, i’d always choose you
ੈ✩‧₊˚ oscarpiastri just posted a photo
liked by yourusername, landonorris and 247,721 others
oscarpiastri i guess i was the real race winner after all
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user THE CAPTION IM SOBBING
user can’t believe y/n went from nearly drowning to dating the internet’s boyfriend
yourusername can’t wait to have my life threatened by you for years to come
oscarpiastri okay nearly backing over you was an ACCIDENT
mclaren you’re welcome😉
landonorris when is it my turn
mclaren challenge accepted…
landonorris NO NO NO I TAKE IT BACK
————
a/n: HIHIHI i hope this lived up to expectations omg. the snippet for this went crazy but i don’t know if this is good EEK
huge thank you to EVERYONE for all the love in my inbox and comments recently, i’ve had so much fun writing these smaus so it’s been great to see everyone’s thoughts🤍
this will most likely be my last one shot posted before christmas with not funny (didn’t laugh) being my first post afterwards, so i want to say a huge merry christmas to all who celebrate!!
and finally. thank you for 800 followers!!! merci du fond du coeur. ça représente beaucoup pour moi🤍🤍🤍
- giselle / zellie / gigi / elle / gi i havE SO MANY NAMES
taglist (found here): @iluvvmeeee @champagnelovers101 @alessioayla @idkiwantchocolatee @skatingiswalkingincursive @six-call @he6rtshaker @hobiismyhopeu @tallrock35 @sunflower-golden-vol6 @woozarts @minkyungseokie @vellicora @tsukishitm-a @lucyysthings @treehouse-mouse @iloveyou3000morgan @gwginnyweasley @hetfieldd @sweetbabygirlsworld @wittywhispers
#f1 x reader#f1#oscar piastri smau#oscar piastri scenario#oscar piastri x you#oscar piastri one shot#oscar piastri imagine#oscar piastri#oscar piastri x reader
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✩ ‧₊˚ ✩ GETO SENSEI — GETO SUGURU.
contents. based on this drabble and this drabble, post hidden inventory arc, healing suguru agenda !!, fluff + established relationships, suguru wants to become a teacher :,) bc teacher suguru is what we deserved
“mwah,” you press a wet kiss to suguru’s cheek. “there,” you said proudly, “another kiss for my sugu. want more?”
“i think i’m okay now, baby. thank you—”
“mwah,” you kiss his forehead, giggling, “i have a lot more where that came from, y’know.”
“i believe it,” he shakes his head, a ghost of a smile tugging at his lips, “you don’t seem to run out.”
“my sugu needs all the kisses he can get,” you gasp, “they’re good for his health!”
suguru smiles softly at that, closes his eyes and leans into you as you brush back his bangs from his face and thread your fingers into his hair, scratching gently along his scalp as he sighs. you watch him relax, content with the way his under eyes seem to be less dark as of late. you brush a thumb under his eyes, feeling the soft skin before gently stroking along his cheek.
“don’t you have a mission tomorrow?” he asks quietly, letting his head droop into your hand as you cup his cheek.
“i do,” you nod, “but i have some time to kill before i go to bed.”
“you should rest,” he mumbles, “you don’t want to be tired while you’re out there.”
“i’ll get rest, suguru,” you assure with a roll of your eyes, “your hair’s a bit longer, don’t you think?”
“yeah,” he tilts his head as you reach to grab at his bun, pulling the hair tie to let his hair fall freely down to his shoulder. “i guess i should cut it.”
“i like it,” you pout, “‘s pretty like this.”
“yeah?” he grins, cracking an eye open to look at you in amusement, “should i keep growing it for you then?”
“you should,” you nod, “i’ll braid it.”
“yeah, as if,” he raises an eyebrow, unimpressed, “satoru’s never gonna let me hear the end of it if he sees.”
“he won’t see!”
“you said that last time when you put my hair in space buns, remember? and then you showed him a picture.”
“baby,” you gasp, “what happened to forgiving and forgetting? that was me of the past—i’ve grown! i won’t betray you like that again.”
you hold a hand up as an oath, nodding seriously to prove your point. he looks at you unconvinced before chuckling and leaning in, pressing a kiss to your cheek.
“today wasn’t so bad,” he mumbles, “i liked today.”
“yeah?” you smile, letting his head fall to the crook of your neck, shuffling closer on his lap as your arms wrap around him.
he nods into your shoulder, “yeah.”
“good,” you murmur, “you’ll be okay. even if it takes some time.”
“sometimes it doesn’t feel like it,” he admits, cheek pressed against your shoulder as he speaks into your skin. your fingers are in his hair—they seem to never leave, and he hopes they never do. your hand rubs up and down his back, slowly, like it’ll snap in two if you go too fast.
“you will, baby,” you say sweetly, kissing his head as you twist his hair into a messy bun, tying it with his hair tie as you speak.
suguru is healing—you like to think so. he smiles more, sometimes they even meet his eyes all the way. he sleeps better, eats more healthy, seeks you out when things are crushing on his shoulders. there’s something lighter about him, something less heavy and tormented and even if he’s still empty sometimes, you always find him at the right moments.
sometimes, suguru is lost—and maybe you can’t always guide him out, but you can be lost together.
sometimes that’s enough.
“i think…” he starts, trailing off hesitantly. your hand hikes under his shirt, rubbing the bare skin of his back—it’s always calmed him more that way, feeling you without the barrier of fabric in the way.
“you think?” you encourage, letting him take his time to process his thoughts.
“i think i want to teach,” he mumbles, “here, at jujutsu high. but…but do it better. i think i’d do it better, y’know? the way kids deserve.”
you smile at that—proud, a little heartbroken deep down. people have failed suguru, they’ve failed you too. and satoru. and shoko. and nanami. and haibara too—and it’s up to you all to piece yourselves back together. maybe you can all do it together, one cracked, sharp little piece at a time.
sometimes the edges will slice your skin, will reopen old wounds and make you bleed all over again just when you thought you were done bleeding. but suguru has you to bandage the cuts, and you have him too. and everyone else, as well.
you pull away, cup his cheeks and press a soft kiss to his lips as you close your eyes. his hands lay over yours, and he thinks, for a brief moment, you’re right.
maybe he will be okay—maybe he won’t be the same, but he can be new. and that’s not always so bad.
“i think that’s a great idea,” you whisper, “i think you’ll be amazing. what kids will need.”
“well, i’ll try,” he chuckles, pressing his forehead to yours, “and who knows, maybe you can call me geto sensei here and there.”
“we’ll see about that,” you snort. he pouts, making you lean in and kiss those jutted lips of his with a quick peck.
“i’ll convince you,” he says confidently, “you’ll be the only one i let get extra credit.”
“oh i’m honored,” you giggle, “i’ll stay in school just for you.”
“how sweet,” he grins.
you kiss him after that, and he kisses you back. your lips taste like strawberry chapstick, and your arms are warm and tight around him, and even if curses taste vile and the world is coldly unforgiving, suguru can make it through each day with at least one real smile with you by his side.
it’s not so hard when you’re around.
“i love you,” you breathe. it’s enough, he thinks, you’re enough.
“i love you too,” he kisses your jaw, “i’ll love you more if you call me geto sensei, though.”
yes this is my own version of canon. u can’t take it away from me. in MY world (the only world that matters) suguru heals and becomes a teacher <3 and fucks me over his desk
#operation: heal suguru!#teepods.writings#drabbles.#geto x reader#geto fluff#geto x you#jjk x reader#jjk fluff#jjk x you#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jujutsu kaisen x you#jujutsu kaisen fluff#geto suguru x reader#geto suguru x you#geto suguru fluff
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best dress * fem!driver
when pictures circulate on instagram of her on a night out in her best dress, the guys start to get curious who she’s out and about with on a saturday night
pairings: sebastian vettel x fem!driver, oscar piastri x fem!driver, logan sargeant x fem!driver, george russell x fem!driver, lando norris x fem!driver, max verstappen x fem!driver
warnings: none
notes: i may have gotten carried away with this one… and this might have played out a LOT funnier in my head than it does written down
(series masterlist) | (📂 the rookie season)
-> the aftermath
she pushes the door open and steps out of her racing home. she looks left and right cautiously, careful not to catch her colleagues’ attentions. there’s many nights she’d appreciate their companionship but tonight is not that night.
she can only step one down before her worst nightmare comes to life.
“hey, where are you going?” she turns her head, mouth agape as she meets lando’s curious eyes. his eyes scan her body and his head tilts. “and why are you all dressed up?”
she straightens her body and pats her dress down. she flicks her hair behind her shoulder, trying to ignore the awkward tension in the air.
“um,” she trails off, glancing at the group of engineers walking past them without another thought. “i’m going out tonight.”
lando’s smile drops. “oh,” he slouches, “i was here to ask you if you wanted to grab drinks with us at the bar tonight.”
“hey lando, did you f- what are you wearing?” oscar’s jaw drops, nose scrunched up as he points at her in what can only be described as disgust. “where are you even going?”
“out,” she answers with gritted teeth, glancing at the gantries of the paddocks. it’s so close yet so far away. “i’ll see you guys tomorrow, okay? i’ve really got to go.”
“but you never turn down post-quali drinks at the bar,” lando frowns. he presses his palm against his chest and throws his head back. “i can’t believe you’d betray me like that.”
oscar looks her up and down, eyebrow raising as it gets to the heels she’s put on. “why are you wearing heels? seriously, where the hell are you going?”
“exploring the city!”
“exploring the c– we’re here year after year. we know the best spots!” lando defends. “come on! we’re going to have so much fun!”
“you’re exploring the city in heels?”
she narrows her eyes down into a mean glare. of course this is the one time that oscar decides to remember she doesn’t wear high heels for exploration purposes. “yeah.”
“you know you want to come with us.” lando shimmies his shoulders, face hopeful that the driver would change her mind. but she still shakes her head and his smile immediately drops. “fine. be that way.”
“i’m sorry, i already arranged my plans even before we flew to miami,” she laughs sheepishly, rubbing the back of her neck. “if you guys are going out tomorrow, i’m free to join.”
lando intertwines his fingers. “okay. but if you cancel again, i’m crashing into you the next race.”
“okay,” she chuckles, readjusting the strap of her purse. “i’ll catch you guys tomorrow.”
oscar rolls his eyes, but a smile still stretches his lips. “don’t get lost. it’s a big city, (y/n).”
“yeah, penelope’s doing amazing,” max nods, his arm resting on the back of lando’s chair. one of his legs over the other, he takes a swig of his beer. “she just started school recently.”
“oh, i s-“
“hold up!” lando holds his arm out to max’s chest, his scream startling everyone seated around the table. the light from his phone illuminates his face as everyone turns to him with a puzzled stare. “oh, my god!”
“what?” max answers just as enthusiastically, smacking lando’s thigh to get his attention. lando lifts the phone up into his face, squinting as he tries to make out the person in the picture.
“yeah, don’t cut me off,” george scoffs as he folds his arms over his chest. “i was just asking if-“
“(y/n)’s out on a date!” lando yells, smacking max’s chest. he pushes himself off the chair and throws the phone into george’s lap. “dude, i knew it! i knew there was a reason she’s all dressed up!”
“seriously!” george screams towards his fellow brit.
“a date?” oscar scoffs, in absolute disbelief that his best friend could even have the ability to attract a man. “there’s no way.”
max grins sheepishly, handing the phone over to the australian. “i’m afraid so. someone saw her in a restaurant with a guy,” max states, “it’s all over instagram.”
oscar snorts, slowly analysing the grainy picture of the girl in a restaurant with somebody. sure, it’s similar to the dress she wore when they caught her sneaking out of the paddocks, but how sure can they be that it’s her?
“we should go and find her!” max suggests, his face lighting up and cheeks flushed from all the alcohol. he jumps in his seat and smacks george’s thigh lightly. “dude, let’s find her!”
“are you crazy?” george grabs max’s hand and throws it back at his body. “her date’s none of our business!”
though, lando disagrees with his friend. he clasps his hands together with a loud sound. “let’s go, gentlemen. we’re crashing (y/n)’s date.”
but only max stands up, hands on his hips and chest puffed out. “i’m ready. i’ve got my brave face on.”
“you look absolutely ridiculous,” george raises an eyebrow, “i don’t believe you used to scare off victoria’s suitors when you were younger.”
“me neither, but it somehow worked,” max nods proudly, turning slightly to look at george. “come on! this is practice for when it’s penelope’s turn! i have to make it believable this time.”
“you’re so drunk, mate,” george sighs. yet he still gets off his seat. “but i kinda want to see this with my own eyes.”
lando turns to oscar, still planted in his seat. lando doesn’t get to say a word before oscar starts shaking his head vigorously.
lando slouches. “why not?”
“i absolutely don’t believe that (y/n) is strong enough to take me in a normal fight,” oscar shakes his head, “but i’ve learned my lesson squeezing myself into a scenario that involves her dating life.”
george tilts his head. “what?”
oscar looks up, eyes scanning the three older men towering over him. “she gave me a really bad bruise one time when i scared off this guy that hit on her in the mall.”
“so?” max yanks oscar off his seat. “i’ll protect you. come on, i’ve got to see who’s sweeping (y/n) off her feet.”
“okay, but remember to tell her i tried to stop you,” oscar mutters, letting max push him towards the door.
after many dms sent on instagram, phone calls made, and struggles to find a taxi, the four have finally arrived at the restaurant. it’s a quiet establishment in the further end of the city, heads turning as passersby recognise the huddled men by the entrance.
“are you sure it’s this one?” oscar looks up at the sign. it’s a lot fancier than he expected. “doesn’t really seem like (y/n)’s gig.”
“if i were taking the grid’s princess out on a date, i’d take her to a fancy restaurant too,” max shrugs, following oscar’s stare.
the amount of time it took them to connect the puzzle pieces really sobered him up.
george taps his foot on the ground, craning his neck for a better look through the window. “are you sure it’s here? i don’t see her.”
“the girl that posted it said she was here when snapped the picture,” lando confirms, looking between his phone screen and the sign of the restaurant. “what if (y/n) tricked us knowing we’d come running?”
once the server comes back out, guiding them to their table, each of them does their own part to pick the girl from the crowd.
“i don’t see her,” max sighs, taking one last look at the restaurant’s tables and picking up the menu. “there’s no way we ditched the bar for a wild goose chase.”
“because she’s in the far corner over there,” oscar says nonchalantly, head flicking towards the other end of the restaurant where it’s slightly darker than normal. “i noticed her when we were outside the restaurant.”
george slowly turns his head to oscar. “while we were busting our asses looking for her?”
oscar shrugs, eyes boring into the menu for a snack to fill himself with. “i told you — i’m not getting another bruise for meddling with her love life.”
“nice! there’s a table closer to her!” max suddenly says, already on his feet to follow the waiter. he turns around and beckons his friends to follow him. “come on!”
they keep their heads low as the face of the familiar girl comes into sight. oscar even covers with his face with the menu, having learned his lesson from all those years ago.
they’re a table diagonal from her, menus up to cover their faces from her. “dude, who is she with?”
“i don’t know, i can’t get a look at his face without revealing mine,” george mutters, peeking slightly above his menu. he darts back down and rolls his eyes. “max, your turn.”
“don’t make it look obvious,” lando mutters, nudging max’s elbow with his. “look like you’re looking for a waiter.”
max swiftly turns in his seat, completely twisting his torso to get a look. but the man is faced away, the driver comfortably sitting in the booth seat as she giggles at something he said.
“dude, i can’t,” max shrugs, shying away behind his menu once more.
to the table next to them, a menu drops and reveals sebastian. “what are you idiots doing here?”
george’s jaw drops, pointing a finger at the older man. “we could ask you the same.”
“we saw her getting in a random ass car outside the paddocks.” the other menu across sebastian lowers, revealing logan with his hood covering his head. “we followed her here.”
“so you know who she’s with?” max asks in a hushed whisper, leaning towards their table. he looks down at the empty table. “you haven’t ordered anything?”
“it took us a while to get a table,” logan shrugs, pulling his hood further down to cover his face. “food’s in the kitchen.”
“oh, what did you get?” max asks, now looking back at the menu for something to order.
“mate!” george scolds, rolling his eyes before facing the other table. “who is she with?”
“according to blythe, it’s jacob elordi,” sebastian says, then shrugs with the roll of his eyes. “whoever that is.”
“oh, i’ve heard of him,” max nods, pressing his lips together. “he was in euphoria, wasn’t he?”
the table falls silent, heads turning to look at the dutchman as his confession falls from his lips. max notices their stares and he simply shrugs. “kelly and i like to watch shows over the break.”
“still not a show i expected you to be watching,” lando scoffs, turning slightly to get a glimpse of the girl once more. “isn’t he a bit too old for her?”
max straightens up, stiffly turning to look at lando. his head tilts as an unimpressed expression lands on his face. “dude. easy on the age gap.”
“yours doesn’t count,” lando sighs, “she’s practically a baby!”
oscar clicks his tongue. “but i mean… jacob elordi isn’t ugly, yes? an upgrade from her only boyfriend, right, max?”
max shrugs. “i guess.”
sebastian nods towards the table, his eyes suddenly widening at the empty booth seat. “where did she go? did she ditch him?”
“no, she caught you.” a low feminine voice makes all their heads turn to the end of the table. she looks down and pulls the hood off of logan’s head and shoves him forward slightly. “why are you here? you’re better than this!”
logan shrugs, chuckling slightly. “you were being secretive! i was just curious!”
“this is the last time i’m going on a date from the paddocks,” she grunts, stomping her heel into the ground. “go home, you guys! we’ll talk about this tomorrow.”
sebastian hisses as the waiter stops behind her, dishes resting on top of the tray in his hands. “we already got some food.”
she narrows her eyes down, locking eyes with max. “you’re here too?”
max nods. “i suggested this,” his eyes go around the table, “team bonding activity.”
“i just wanted to see what would happen,” george admits. he points at max seated opposite him, “he said he wanted to scare off whoever your date is.”
“it’s true, i heard him say it,” lando nods, a small and guilty smile flashes at her. “we were just concerned about you.”
sebastian grabs her wrist gently, shaking her arm. “don’t be mad anymore. come on…”
“and you!” she points a finger at the australian sitting quietly between logan and george. his head snaps up at the yelp, wide and guilty eyes meeting hers. “i told you to stop meddling with my love life!”
“what?” oscar screams back, dropping his menu. “i was dragged here against my will!”
“i don’t believe you!”
“max!” oscar looks at max, then points at the furious girl as he awaits his explanation.
max stares at him for a second too long, and a giggle erupts from his throat. “right! right… we forced him here. he did not want another bruise, he said.”
“good,” she scolds, turning on her heel. “we’re leaving.”
“but we just got here!” lando squeaks. he cowers into his seat when she turns back around to glare at him, giving him flashbacks to a time when his mother would use it on him. “i mean, enjoy your time and don’t get too tired. it’s race day tomorrow.”
oscar doesn’t bother looking at her again. “see you tomorrow, loser.”
“where are you going?” george asks, a mischevious grin on his face to challenge her. “back to the hotel for some fun time?”
“a walk,” she sighs, dropping her head. she leans on the table. “my heels are killing me.”
“oh, i’ve got you,” sebastian mutters, disappearing underneath the table. out of his bag is a pair of doll shoes, the ones that she keeps in the garage when her time in the race car is over. “i saw these lying around aimlessly and thought i should keep them for you before it gets too dirty.”
she glares at him, hesitantly taking the shoes into her hand. “you took these from my room, didn’t you?”
sebastian shrugs. “you don’t wear heels very often, kid.”
“give me recommendations for date places,” logan smiles. “maybe next time i’ll have a girl out here with me. like you with jacob elordi.”
her mood changes back to what it was before: a mixture of irritation and not one of amusement. “i will kill you guys tomorrow. my date is waiting for me outside.”
oscar waves her towards the door. “i trust you’ll text logan and i about this later.”
“hey, i want in!” lando adds on, completely ignoring the girl walking away to the door.
“dude, this is seriously none of our business.”
taglist: @wcnorris @treehouse-mouse @laura-naruto-fan1998 @mindless-rock @inejismywife
#sebastian vettel x reader#oscar piastri x reader#logan sargeant x reader#george russell x reader#lando norris x reader#max verstappen x reader#female driver#f1 fem!driver#f1 female driver#f1 x reader#f1 grid x reader#formula 1 fem!drive#fem!driver#disneyprincemuke#disneyprincemuke imagine#disneyprincemuke imagines#disneyprincemuke f1
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you know what people are saying when a girl gets cheated on? go for his brother.
a/n not tryna offend anyone, I just love a lil drama
Part 2 here
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username1 Miss Y/n Y/l/n getting cheated on? No one is safe fr
↳username2 Yeah cuz how's he casually cheating on a literal goddess??
username3 they were together for almost 2 years😭
username4 My therapist will hear about this
↳username1 And Arthur is paying the bill
username5 that's it I'm NEVER trusting a man
username6 Isn't that girl Y/n's friend too? Poor girl getting cheated on twice
↳username3 yes it is 😭 guess Arthur got it from his brother
username7 Except Charles didn't cheat 😭 he's a homie hopper but he got morals
username8 I don't worry about Y/n, she's gonna find a new bf, but she wasted almost 2 years on him
yourusername excuse my state i'm as high as your hopes
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username2 Miss girl about to enter her hoe phase
↳username3 As she should tbh
charlottesiine Lots of fun last night🤍
↳yourusername nothing will beat an ex wags night out
↳username2 best ex wags fr 😭
yoursister Next time I'm going too to keep an eye on you wtf
username4 Wait so Y/n and Charlotte are friends? When did this happen?
↳username5 Yeah cuz we've never seen them hang out back when ChaCha was a thing and suddenly the girls are partying together?
↳username6 I mean it could be just a "we both suffered a Leclerc so let's hang out" kinda thing
username5 WE BOTH SUFFERED A LECLERC 💀 no okay but that's valid
username7 Am I the only one noticing this post was liked by Charles?
↳username2 He knows his lil bro messed up lmao
username8 Okay guys so what are we betting on - did Charles like this post because of Y/n or because of Charlotte? Also, isn't he in a relationship?
↳username3 Charles has been single for a few months now, he's free to like whoever he wants lmao
↳username9 It's just a like it's not that deep
arthur_leclerc You were my cup of tea but I drink vanilla latte now
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username1 The AUDACITY some men have
username2 and she was her best friend 😭
username3 I really want to believe they broke up before he got with the best friend but I don't think it's true
↳username4 Y/n and Arthur literally attended Charles' race a few days before we got the pics of Arthur with the other girl
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yourusername you don't mean nothing at all to me
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yoursister And I didn't even have to stop you from calling your ex
↳yourusername why would I even wanna call him anyways
yoursister Riiight, you were too busy getting to know some other interesting people:)
username1 What is Y/s/n talking about?
↳username2 Or rather WHO is she talking about?
username3 No Charlotte in the post but Charles is in the likes again 😶
↳username4 Have you seen what this one gossip page posted? Charles being in the likes isn't the thing I'd worry about here
username5 WHAT.
username3 Care to elaborate?
username4 Charles was also at the club with Y/n. It honestly looks like it was organized by a friend of his and he took Y/n there
username2 OH
username2 That's what Y/s/n is talking about
username5 Our girl Y/n is getting promoted from F2 to F1 and I love to see that
↳username6 LMAO it's so funny because it's true 😭
↳username2 Do we know who else was at this party?
username4 Allegedly the party was organized by Gasly, so obviously there was his gf Kika, but also some fellow drivers like Albon, Russell, Sainz, Ocon, Ricciardo and their gfs
username5 I was joking but now it looks like Y/n is actually becoming an F1 wag now lol
username7 Gossip girl on wheels I've been saying it for months
username8 But the caption SLAPS
↳username9 no because it looks like Y/n and Arthur are having a caption war lol it's funny
username8 It's childish but let a girl heal from a heartbreak in peace
yourusername karma will take it from here
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username1 MISS GIRL?? WHO IS THE MAN??
↳username2 We all know it's Charles (allegedly)
username8 Nah cuz I told yall she's gonna find another boyfriend soon
yoursister Loving to see you happy again ❤️
↳yourusername just needed a little upgrade
username3 I have no proof but I just know it's Charles
username4 Do we think she went for Charles because she genuinely likes him or just to get back at Arthur?
↳username5 Wait until someone starts a "she cheated on Arthur with Charles" gossips
username6 My two favorite red flags
↳username7 The homie hopper and the brother hopper, a match made in heaven
username6 The homie hopper is so real, Y/n recently hung out with his ex Charlotte 💀
username8 What kinda brother gets with his brother's ex?
↳username9 Imagine the next family dinner lmao
username10 Y'all it's not even confirmed that the man is Charles, y'all are crazy
↳username6 The post was liked by all the F1 drivers and their partners that were on the party from Y/n's previous post, it says a lot
↳username2 What @/username6 said and also Y/n is now followed by half of the F1 grid AND the wags
charles_leclerc Not your cup of tea, but my glass of wine
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yourusername KARMA IS MY BOYFRIEND❤️
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#f1 fanfic#f1 x reader#formula 1 x reader#f1 imagine#charles leclerc x reader#f1 smau#f1 social media au#charles leclerc imagine#charles leclerc fanfic#Charles Leclerc smau#Arthur Leclerc x reader
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hi, hi, hi! could I request the brothers + diavolo during a meeting together when their s/o (the mc) starts to doze off and then suddenly faint? Turns out, the MC forgot to drink water that day-
That happened to mr a few days ago, it wasn't fun - so here's a reminder for you to drink some water too :')
Thank you so much for the request!!! I am so so sorry to hear that happened, I hope you're doing better <3 If anything in this post seems insensitive please let me know! Have a wonderful rest of your day/night
Genre: Mostly fluff, Some Hurt/Comfort
Ship: Demon Brother+Diavolo x reader (individual)
TW: Minimal cussing, mentions of fainting, mass panic, yelling, second person pov for reader (If I missed anything please tell me!!)
When You Faint
You watched as the clock slowly ticked by the minutes as the Demons around you spoke amongst themselves, Your talking had slowly come to a stop as the room started to spin, Some of the men looked at you strangely but nobody expected you to fall out of your chair and onto the council room floor...
Lucifer
He's immediately up out of his chair
Oh lord, he��s now fully in mother mode-
Barking orders at everyone, Yes this includes Dia
As soon as he gets over to you his wings are out, shielding you from everyone else
Once you come to, He isn’t letting you out of his sight
And once he finds out you fainted because of dehydration?
He would so buy you one of those big ass waterbottles
One of these mfs
Mammon
Freaking out pt. 1
Definitely hootin’ and hollering
He is indeed making a scene
Won’t really be on you until after you wake up because he knows Lucifer and Diavolo can do more for you then he can
After you have awoken though? He isn’t letting you out of his sight
You don’t have to worry about remembering to drink water, He’s there to remind you now!
Humans are such fragile creatures and now that he's seen that firsthand, He will barely let you do anything
He will make sure you are healthy whether you like it or not dammit
Levi
Freaks out pt. 2
Somehow freaking out even more then Mammon
He doesn’t know what to do! He leaves his room one time and this is what happens!
Will kind of just stand there in shock as everyone erupts into chaos
He isn’t the best example of someone who looks after their body lets be honest
But when ya’ll are gaming You’ll start to see some more healthy options popping up in the mix of chips and soda
He will beat himself up over not noticing, Please comfort this man before he decides you resent him
He won’t ever really bring it up but rest assured, It will never happen again
Satan
Would also run to your aid
He has read a lot of medical books in his time, He knows what to do
Would take you to a doctor afterwards, just in case
Kind of beats himself up for being unaware of your condition
I don’t think he’d freak out as badly after the incident, He knows it was probably a one time thing
Will bring up in conversation casually if you’ve eaten and drank water today, just to be sure
Asmo
Screams
Freaks out pt. 3
Yelling at Lucifer/Satan to do something!
Will be all over you as soon as you’re awake
Don’t scare him like that!
Will get extra pouty when he learns why you passed out
Has Ya’lls self-care sessions meant nothing to you?!
No more of that, not on his watch
He will offer you water at random times throughout the day
Studying? Water! Watching Tv? Water! Sleeping? Water! no, no, Beauty sleep is important
Beel
Doesn’t knows what's happening, Why are you on the floor?
Will stand on the sidelines concerningly as he watches Lucifer take over, He trusts his brother to help you
Will also feel immense guilt he didn’t see the signs, He just wants to keep everyone safe 🙁
When he thinks Ya’ll are doing something too straining for a human, He’ll stop to ask if you’re okay/ need a break
Will start carrying around a water bottle specifically for you
Belphie
He totally wasn’t sleeping when it happened, nope
Woke up to his brothers and the Prince of the Devildom freaking out around you
I don’t think he’d really get too involved with helping since he doesn’t actually know wtf just happened
If you don’t immediately perk back up, He’s gonna cuss out Lucifer and maybe try to fight him
Gets a little snappy at everyone (except you ofc) after the incident
He even started to set alarms on your DDD as reminders to drink water
Will tease you just a teeny bit, But you can tell how worried the entire thing actually makes him
Diavolo
Was over to you in record time
Commands everyone to step back from you while he calls Barbatos and a royal doctor
You will be given the best treatment don't worry
He thinks he's being very sneaky about making you drink more water He is so obvious about it, it hurts
You will definitely notice how Barbatos now almost immediately refills your glass as soon as it’s half full
Another one to openly ask if you’ve drank enough water that day
#obey me#obey me nightbringer#obey me one master to rule them all#obey me x reader#self ship#ao3#obey me beelzebub#obey me mammon#obey me lucifer#obey me leviathan#obey me satan#obey me asmodeus#oneymebelphie#obey me diavolo#Lucifer x reader#mammon x reader#leviathan x reader#satan x reader#asmodeus x reader#beelzebub x reader#belphie x reader#diavolo x reader#obey me headcanons#obey me fic#fluff#hurt/comfort#Janus’writing#Janus’asks#obey me post#om x reader
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i will follow you into the dark || bradley
"rooster" bradshaw
summary: your first instinct has always been to push people away when they get too close, but for some reason, you have trouble letting one pilot go. but little did you know that he had settled into your heart from the start and has no intention of leaving. (in which you have Bradley Bradshaw wrapped around your finger, and you don’t even notice—5 occasions that solidify your love for him, and 1 time you realize it)
words: ~3.3k
warnings: angst (BUT A HAPPY ENDING, I PROMISE), near-death experiences, brief mentions of violence, also my writing LMAO
a/n: hi guys i haven't posted a full-length fic in a LONG time but here we go :) this fic won the vote so it's going up first! hope you enjoy :)
I. meet me in the middle
“Mav!”
You and Maverick turned around at the same time. “Which one?”
“The pretty one,” Rooster stated.
“Be more specific.”
“I am being specific, Captain.”
“No, you aren’t.”
“Fine, I need your daughter.”
“You always need her for something.”
“Sorry, pops,” you grinned and clasped Maverick’s shoulder, and walked over to Bradley. “Come to kidnap me again, Bradshaw?”
“Actually, I’m hungry.”
“Then…go eat? I don’t see what any of that has to do with me.”
“I’m going to dinner, and I want you to come along,” he explained. “So, let’s go.”
“Is that why Cyclone was grumbling about someone spilling coffee all over him earlier? I knew it had to be you that put him in that mood.”
“Doesn’t matter. Come on.”
You looked back at your father, who simply laughed and motioned for you to go. The test flight would have to wait.
It was 5:30 when you got there, but the usually-crowded cantina had only one other person inside. Rooster didn’t hesitate as he set down his car keys and slid into the booth right next to you.
“There’s a seat right there,” you pointed out.
“And?”
“You can sit over there.”
“I don’t want to, though.”
“Alright, then.”
You weren’t even done for the day and already, felt tired and worn out beyond belief. The one thing that had been keeping you going was Maverick’s promise to take you on a Mach 7 test flight. (With the Admiral’s permission, of course. But you wouldn’t be surprised if he had never asked.)
Rooster tells the waitress your order without blinking, and you give him a tired smile as a thank you.
There’s no animated conversation, no loud comments or jokes or anything of the sort as the food comes out, but neither of you mind. Sometimes, all you needed to cool down from a long week was each other’s company and a steaming plate of fajitas.
The little routine you’ve established falls into place so easily you don’t even have to think. Impromptu dinners, blasting 80’s music as the sun goes down, taking the offbeat path down to the coast with salt in your windswept hair. Little to no words spoken, and somehow the silence speaks volumes.
But you don’t understand why he’d choose you to do this with, out of everyone. You’d expect him to drift towards someone less damaged. Someone who could keep up to his free and daring spirit and push him to his limits. Someone who had less baggage and didn’t flinch at every little touch.
But despite all that he doesn’t leave. Even when everyone else around you seemed to, he was always there, assuring you he’d wait no matter what.
“Don’t worry about it.” He places a gentle hand over yours as he hands his card over to pay later that evening. “Let me treat you tonight.”
“Thanks…”
He holds the door open for you as you walk out and keeps a ghost of a hand against your back the whole way to the car. You’re trying to burrow into yourself, but he doesn’t stop looking at you. The feeling of his eyes on you sends shivers running down your spine and you nervously shift in your seat.
“You okay?” Rooster places his hand on the headrest as he reverses out of the parking lot. “You seem quiet tonight.”
“Yeah.”
“Okay.” He doesn’t press any further, assuming that you’re tired and that’s why you’re unwilling to say much. He knows. He understands. “If you ever need to talk, though, I’m one call and a 15 minute walk away. Or 7, if I sprint.”
This makes you laugh a bit. “If you say so.”
II. waiting on you
As soon as you hop out of your plane, he’s the first one there to greet you and pulls you in for a hug. You have no time to react to it because he’s so quick to sweep you up into his arms. You can smell a mix of sweat and coffee and a little bit of raspberries on him, and it helps bring you back down to reality.
“You saw me a few hours ago, Roos…please let me go…” you mumbled into his shoulder. His grip on you only tightens further. “What’s with the excitement?”
“Nothing. I’m just happy to see you.”
Not knowing what else to do, your hands awkwardly reach up to pat him on the back. “It’s good to see you, too.”
Though you don’t say it out loud, you’re also just as happy to see him—it’s comforting to know he’ll be waiting whenever you return from something. And that, you think, is more than enough.
Rooster carries your things for you without asking, and you’re grateful because your shoulders feel like they’re going to fall out of their sockets. Once again, he’s standing close by as you go to your quarters, ever the watchman. If he doesn’t have a hand on you, then his eyes will stay glued to you for as long as they can be.
“Is that my shirt?” he asks as you step out of the bathroom wearing an oversized vintage T-shirt and a pair of jeans.
“No.”
“It looks better on you, anyway.” He smirks; you fail to notice the way his gaze lingers on you a bit longer than normal. “You ready to go? They’re waiting for us at the Hard Deck. Hangman’s complaining about a rematch or somethin’.”
You lean into his side and smile, and he puts an arm across your shoulders. It feels so natural that you almost don’t notice. “Yeah. Let’s go.”
His eyes never leave you, even when he’s in the thick of the game. It’s impossible to ignore the heat pooling in your stomach every time his gaze flickers over to yours.
Coyote notices your dazed look and nudges Payback in the side. “How is it that everyone knows that Bradshaw and Y/N love each other except Bradshaw and Y/N?”
“Because they’re stupid,” Payback whispered back.
“Ah. Makes sense.”
“So, we need to do something about it.”
“Hm…I’d say we wait it out. They’re going in the right direction.” A small smile graced Coyote’s face as Rooster pumped a fist up in victory before rushing over to embrace you. “A room full of people, yet all he sees is her.”
“You’re so right, man.”
III. rose-tinted glasses
“What are you looking for out there?” Rooster called out.
“Something pretty,” you replied as you stood by the ocean’s edge, the wind fanning your hair around your shoulders. He’s sure that he’s never seen a more mesmerizing sight.
“I beat you to it, because I already found one,” he stated with confidence, eyes never leaving you.
“Where?”
“I’m looking right at her.”
“That’s not what I meant, silly. Do I look like a seashell to you?”
“No, you’re even better.”
You laugh once again and resume your search. Right then, a glowing scallop catches your eye, and sand dusts your clothes as you bend down to pick it up. It’s smooth and seems to glow in rose gold amidst the early evening light.
“Would you look at that,” you breathed out, palm extended to show him what you’ve found. “It’s perfect.”
Rooster encloses his hand around yours, and you can feel the heat radiating from his skin. It’s cold out but you’re not freezing at all because he’s so close. He’s so close. Your heart skips a beat.
“Wow…it sure is.”
He kneels down with you, and you spend the next few hours making it a competition to see who can find the most unique set of stones. A strange feeling washed over you as you watched his brows furrow in concentration. Never had you imagined to be spending Thursday night with Bradley Bradshaw by the seashore, and yet, it feels like you’ve done this thousands of times before.
Everything seems to fall into place.
IV. for you, i’d cross the line
“Y/N, hey.”
“Are you drunk?”
“Doesn’t matter. Move over.”
You shifted on the bench to make room for him and he sat down next to you. This was probably his tenth time playing his rendition of ‘Great Balls of Fire’ but that didn’t matter; the man knew how to sing. You found yourself leaning into him and listening to his heartbeat, and the sensation lulled you into a peaceful trance.
You took one good look at your best friend. Sweat lined his forehead and his face was bright red from both the alcohol and heat, but still, you were 100% sure that you’d never seen a more beautiful sight in your life.
The way he seemed to gaze at you made your heartbeat pick up speed. It didn’t matter that he had too one too many drinks in the moments leading up to this, nor did it matter that he was always one to be rather affectionate with you. It didn’t make you love him any less—if anything, it made him all the more endearing.
“You’re looking at me very…intensely,” you mumbled. “It’s making me nervous.”
“Sorry, sweetheart,” he murmured. “A man can’t help it when he’s in love.”
“Was that tipsy you or sober you?”
“Sober me is saying I love you.” He continues playing, unfazed, and the sound of the piano in your ears fades away into nothingness.
It’s drunk Rooster telling you he means what he says, the confidence boost making him do things he normally wouldn’t. It’s drunk Rooster attempting to serenade you as his warm, alcohol-riddled breath falls against your neck. It’s drunk Rooster talking…but there’s a sober truth hidden behind his words that sends a shiver down your spine.
You’re nose-to-nose as he starts to sing, and you lose yourself in a sea of gold and blue as his warm thumb grazes over your cheek. As if there’s an invisible string drawing you together, you move closer and closer towards each other. Drunk or not, he was utterly enchanting and you couldn’t turn away.
Once again…you ignore the stirring feeling in your chest at the feeling of his body being so close to yours.
V. saving grace
You find yourself opening the door to Rooster, who has a bouquet of your favorite flowers and some large Tupperware in hand. Butterflies flutter in your stomach as you accept them and step aside to let him in. “What is this for…?”
“Thought you’d want something nice to add to the kitchen. You and Mav need to work on decorations,” he said. “Why? Do you not like them?”
“No…I’m…how’d you know these were my favorite, anyway?”
“I heard you talking on the phone to Phoenix about them six months ago,” Rooster explained, taking his jacket off and hanging it over the couch. “I pride myself on being observant like that. Also…I woke up early to cook you that pasta you always go nuts over when we drive to LA.”
“Oh.” Your heart twinged as you glanced over—that damn pasta was your favorite thing on the entire planet. You claimed that nobody could make it as well as the diner in Newport did, except Bradley himself. (He didn’t tell you how many times it took to get it just right, though. He didn’t want you freaking out over that. And besides, Maverick’s pots and pans that he borrowed had already paid the price.)
He paused for a moment after setting the container down on the counter. “I noticed you went home early today. Are you sure you’re alright?”
“I’m fine,” you lied as you put the flowers in a vase. But that was no use; he could see right through your monotone response. “Didn’t sleep enough last night.”
Bradley sees your hands tremble slightly. “Sweetheart.”
That’s all he needs to say before you step forward and lean your head against his chest. One arm finds its way around your waist to pull you close, while his free hand smoothes your hair out. A cracked sob escapes your lips and you squeeze your eyes shut in the hopes that if you kept them closed long enough and prayed hard enough, a guardian angel would swoop in and save you.
“I’m here, it’s okay, you’ll be okay,” he murmurs. “You’ll be okay.”
“Please don’t go, Bradshaw,” you begged, voice hoarse. “Don’t leave me.”
“I’m right here, don’t worry,” he reminds you, his hand moving down to rub your back. “I’ll be here whenever you need me, I promise.”
You reach your pinky out a bit, and the two of you link your fingers together.
You’re never letting go, and neither is he.
epilogue—soul ties
“I’m trying to shake them off. They won’t let up—shit, I’m hit—”
His panicked voice cuts through the buzz of static and you can feel your whole body go numb. What if he doesn’t make it back… The thought alone is too much to bear.
He curses under his breath and you hear something like that of a whispered prayer and several mentions of Please let me come home to her. Your heart clenches in your chest and you feel like you’re going to puke. Noticing your sudden uneasiness, Maverick grips your hand to keep you steady.
“Bradshaw, what the hell is going on there?” Coyote nervously rubs at his forehead as he looks up at the screen. “If you die, we’re all going to kill you.”
“Left engine’s completely blown out. I have two bogeys on my tail.”
You bite the inside of your cheek until the tangy, metallic taste of blood fills your mouth. This couldn’t be happening. There already was a ghost amongst the skies, and Rooster could not afford to become the second…
“Shit. Shit, shit, shit, I’m going down, guys—” Rooster curses again, and the earsplitting sound of a large blast interrupts him before he can say much else.
“Bradley!” you shrieked as you watched his radar signal slowly fade off the screen. “No—”
Silence punctures the air and you finally lose balance, succumbing to the black void of nothingness.
—
10 hours later, you sit outside the hospital room in the cold hallway, a thin, tear-stained blanket wrapped around your shoulders. Hangman and Phoenix had long since given up on getting you to move, so they took turns sitting with you.
“You should try eating. There’s In-N-Out nearby, I’ll get something for you if you want,” Jake offered.
You shake your head.
“Come on. It’s been all day.”
“No.”
“You’re really that worried about him, aren’t you.”
“No,” you muttered bitterly.
“You claim to not care, yet you’ve been sitting here for the past ten hours.”
“I don’t care. This is me looking out for him in the same way any colleague or teammate of his would. This is what I’m supposed to do. What we’re all supposed to do.”
“Y/N.” Jake sounds a bit more serious this time, and this makes you stop trying to bury yourself within your thoughts. “Listen to me.”
“What,” you exhaled.
"The fact of the matter here is,” he cleared this throat, “Bradshaw cares about you…a lot. Not in a simple and innocent ‘friendly’ way. And if you keep pushing him away like you always do, all 'cause you're scared, you're gonna lose him for good. Losing a good man out of fear is never worth the cost."
Your heart stops.
Every hug, every word and cheesy pickup line, every lingering glance and touch and intertwined set of fingers—he'd fallen first long ago, and pulled you down with him. But you let him, and you'll walk to the ends of the earth if it means he'll hold your hand along the way. And that's when everything hits all at once—the realization comes crashing down like a waterfall.
You were hopelessly in love with him, the man who brings you flowers every Friday night. In love with the man who holds the door open for you, gives you his favorite jackets, and stays up late or wakes up early to learn your favorite comfort meal (even if it means failing 17 times in the process and ruining Maverick's kitchen), the man who serenades you to classic rock ballads with the taste of rum on his lips.
This was Rooster Bradshaw, and he was your soulmate.
“But I already lost him,” your voice falters as you struggle to find the right words to say, “I can’t.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. That man is going to stay waiting for you until the day his body is buried six feet underground. Deny it all you want, but he’ll keep waiting long after he takes his last breath.”
You let out a long sigh and stood up. “Okay.”
You’re hesitant as you step inside the small hospital room. He’s asleep, but he must’ve sensed your presence and his eyes flutter open.
“Sweetheart…”
“Bradley.” He moves over a bit for you, and you sit down next to him. “You’re alive.”
“Sorry for not dying. That must’ve disappointed you,” he jokes. If he’s in any sort of pain, he manages to mask it behind a soft smile. “I’m really glad you’re here.”
“I waited ten hours.”
“You should’ve gone home and slept.”
Closing your eyes, you rest your head against his chest. “I wouldn’t be able to sleep knowing that you weren’t okay.”
He hums some tune against the crook of your neck; lips brushing over your skin. “But I came back, like I promised. I’m okay, because you are.”
Helovesmehelovesmehelovesme.
As if he could read your mind, he leans in just that bit closer. You look up at him and your heart somersaults in your chest.
When your lips meet, everything clicks into place and it’s like you finally found the missing puzzle piece you’d been searching for. He was here all along; it made so much sense. Everything else fades away into the background as you get lost in the feeling of him and him alone. You knew from the moment he stuck out his hand and told you with a million-dollar smile “I’m Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw, and I can make a mean lasagna or anything else you want,” that choosing him would be the single best thing you ever could’ve done.
And you were most certainly right about that now.
“I kept it, you know.” he murmurs as you eventually break away, “I didn’t think it would last as long as it did, but here it is.”
“What…what are you talking about?”
He fingers dip below the scoop of his T-shirt and he brings out the glittering charm, laying it in his hand. “You gave it to me ages ago. It was a while ago but I still remember the exact time and place. August 5th, 2010, 2:26 a.m. We were both on the verge of falling asleep.”
Your heart grows warmer. “Roos…”
Rooster opens the locket, and inside is a picture of you beaming as you wrapped your arms around him from behind. So young and so in love, but not yet knowing how you felt about each other.
“I think this is what kept me alive up there. I was in the air long enough to think about and reflect on the fact that I was dying, but I knew I had to come home to you. I was dying, Y/N, but you saved me. If you didn’t come into my life right when you did then I wouldn’t be here. I wouldn’t be telling you that I love you.”
He has you at a loss for words yet again. It didn’t matter that you’d known each other for years because he would always find a way to steal your breath. The once-tiny caterpillars crawling in your stomach had morphed into giant butterflies that never stopped fluttering when he came too close.
He leans in and he’s kissing you again; this time it’s like you’re his sole source of oxygen and he’s in desperate need of fresh air. Your grip on his hand tightens as he deepens the kiss, and you pray to God that your heart won’t explode into a million pieces like it did when you thought you wouldn’t see him again.
I’ve died and come back to life twice now, Rooster tells himself.
And both of those times, you’re the angel that magically appears to save him from a certain, unfortunate fate.
tags, including people who may be interested (sorry if this list seems off, it hasn't been updated in a while hahah): @sarcastic-sourwolf @totomoshi @sebastianstangirl01 @purelyfiction @lunamoonbby @hazelgirl355 @multifandom-fangirl4 @paintballkid711 @buckysbeloved @lyn-lc @spawn0fsatan @milestomaverick @teacactusworld @cherry-waved @ellabellabus07 @vitanileon @lam-ila @criminalyetminimal @whatlovegattado @queenbbarnes @yeehawnana @t-stark35 @thesunsetphantoms @danirose-0420 @callalily2000 @the-untamed-soul @shizzybarnaclee @bananaa @luvfurdogs @shalaniela @unordinare @and-claudia @lgg5989 @katiemcrae @elenavampire21 @joyfullyswimmingface @nyx2021 @cosm1cfae @ellabellabus07 @vane28282 @bittergomez @littlebadariell @tallrock35 @whotfatemywaffles @hoedameronsworld @aerangi @julia-marshal @uwiuwi
(also if you filled out the general taglist form/top gun taglist form and you're not on here, that means i couldn't tag you for some reason)
#top gun#top gun: maverick#bradley bradshaw#bradley rooster bradshaw#bradley bradshaw x reader#bradley bradshaw fanfic#top gun fanfic#top gun fic#rooster x reader#bradley bradshaw imagine#rooster bradshaw x reader#miles teller#bradley bradshaw fluff#bradley bradshaw x y/n#top gun maverick fic#top gun fanfiction#bradley bradshaw x you
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interrupted ₊˚. ୭̥
𖦹 pairing — bf!seungmin x reader
𖦹 word count — 1.5k+
𖦹 warnings — hurt/comfort, fluff, slight angst, veeeery small misunderstanding, pet names of babe and baby, seungmin had a bad day and accidentally released it on reader 😿🙏🏻🙏🏻
a/n — result of sentences formed on multiple of 3 am-s (also posting this at 3 am), hope you enjoyyy <33 oh and there may be a few like undercase letters lolol we'll see if i am willing to find them
You were resting on the couch, mindlessly scrolling through your phone, waiting for Seungmin to arrive. As soon as you heard the sound of keys jangling, you immediately got up and opened the door before he could even try to unlock it.
You were standing there, waiting for him to come in, but he judt stared at you as if not expecting to see you. "You're here," he said, his face full of signs of exasperation, tired after a long day at work.
"Am i not supposed to?" You joked, raising your eyebrows. but he just muttered a 'nevermind' before walking past you. "Long day?" you asked, attempting to make conversation with him, in hopes that it could distract him from the tiredness.
"Yeah. Think im gonna shower then take a nap," You had made a joke then, about him getting old and acting like an old man, attempting to lighten his mood. "Whatever," he replied to your jokes, making his way to his bedroom and you followed.
"Ah, come on. Old man can't take a joke anymore?" You giggled, poking at his sides when he just stopped in his tracks and turned to you.
"Can you just stop? I'm already having a bad enough day so you can you please stop bothering me?" He snapped, eyes tired but also glaring at you at the same time.
You were shook by the slight raise and edge to his voice so you couldn't really think of anything to reply to him. A few moments passed with you just staring at him and him you.
"Why are you even here," You heard Seungmin mutter before turning away from you, closing the bedroom door and leaving you alone.
"Right," you said to yourself. "Why am i even here?" it wasn't unusual for you to appear at Seungmin's house at random times, and he even made a spare key for you. But that didn't mean you could just come whenever you wanted to.
You gathered your things and got out of the house to drive yourself home. You weren't mad at him, far from it even. Of course you weren't, you didn't have the right to be.
You were more worried about what he said though. Were you really bothering him? Should you just stop going to his house unannounced again? You probably should. He probably just gave you a key just in case he lost his.
When you got home, you immediately started an assignment that was put on hold for quite long, hoping that it could distract you. It seemed seungmin had wanted some distance and space, so you were set on working on it until he reached out so you'd know when it was okay between you.
˖❁ˎˊ•°.
You were typing away on your laptop, earphones plugged in, slightly bobbing your head to the song playing, when you heard a knock on the door. You yelled, allowing your housemate to come in. Except it wasn't her, and when you turned back you were surprised to see your boyfriend with a frown on his face.
"Min?" You paused the song and took off your earphones, turning around to your boyfriend directly behind you. "Min, what are you doing here?"
"Why didn't you answer my texts?" He asked, ignoring your question. he looked absolutely tired, you wondered if he even got to sleep before coming here.
"Texts? My phone..." You looked around the desk you were working on, searching for your phone, discovering that it was on your bed. So you walked over to pick it up to check your notifications but the screen remained dark as you pressed the power button. "Ah... my battery ran out," You lightly chuckled, looking at Seungmin.
"Why didn't you charge your phone then?" He asked, his facial expression serious. It almost scared you how serious he looked, worrying if he had texted you about something important.
"I didn't notice my battery was low... and i was using my laptop for work, so i didn't check," You gestured to the laptop sitting on the desk. "Did you have something important to tell me? I'm so sorry Min, for not being there, I-" Your words were cut off when seungmin just pulled you in for a hug. You immediately wrapped your arms around his waist.
"So you're not ignoring me?" He asked. Usually, you were the one who had to reach up slightly to hug him since he always insisted on seeing you on the tip of your toes. But this time it was him who lowered his body, tucking his chin on your shoulder, wrapping his arms around your waist.
"Min, why would i ignore you?" You asked, genuinely curious as to how he had come to that thought. Then he sighed, as if relieved his worries were only what-ifs afterall. You started to rub his back then, and he had started to give in to your body warmth, almost letting his whole weight fall into your care.
"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said what I did."
You racked your brains for a while, honestly having forgotten about what happened back at his house.
"Oh, that? You don't need to apologize, Min. You were tired, I understand."
"No, it was unreasonable. I shouldn't have let my tiredness out on you," He insisted.
"Then it's fine, I forgive you," you replied, to which he silently thanked you by placing a soft kiss on your shoulder, still not breaking the hug. "But... do you really think so?" He hummed, questioning what you meant. "Do i really bother you?" he slowly pulled away, looking at your face.
"I won't get mad or upset Min, i promise. I don't want you to ever feel uncomfortable because of me. So just tell me what you feel, and I'll act on it, I promise." You said, holding his hands in yours, affirming him that whatever his reply was, you were going to be fine and it won't cause even a slight damage to the relationship, if that was what he was worried about.
He only looked at you then, eyes darting from your left eye to the right, back and forth, mouth a bit downturned, and you were starting to get afraid that what you said made him upset when he cradled your left cheek in his hand.
"You're so good to me," he muttered, frown slightly deepening. "No, i didn't mean it, I don't know why I said that," he threw his head back and blew from his mouth, like he always did when he was about to but didn't want to cry.
He hugged you again pressing his nose even more into the crook of your neck, his eyebrows furrowing at his efforts to not cry. "I'm so sorry babe. You'd never be a bother to me, never. I- I love it when you wait for me to come home, I always do, but today I just- Today was so hard that I just-" He choked on his own breath so you pat his back, trying to get him to calm down. After gaining a steady breathing again, he asked, "Did I hurt you?"
"Well... A bit, but I knew you would never say that without a reason. My sweet boy would never," You chuckled, your hands patting his head, your fingers going through his hair.
He pulled away, meeting your eyes. "I'm so sorry," His eyes were slightly red, the bags under his eyes more prominent now you were seeing them upclose.
"Don't cry, Min, it's okay," You wiped the tears stained on his cheeks, caressing his under eyes. "Did you get any sleep? You look tired, my poor baby," You coo, trying to lighten the mood.
He shook his head. "I couldn't. Was thinking of you," Your heart ached at his soft eyes looking at yours like a puppy lost.
"Oh baby," He leaned into your hand that was cradling his cheek. "Should we get some now? Hm?" When he nodded, you continued, "You go lay down first, I'll go turn off my laptop."
As soon as you reached the bed, Seungmin took you in his arms, your head resting on his chest while one of his hands was on your waist, the other in your hair. Yours were wrapped tightly around his waist, melting into his warm embrace, contrast to your cold skin.
Suddenly he took one of your hands, his thumb caressing the back of it. "Thank you, Y/n, for always thinking of me... I love you."
You raised your head to look at him. "I love you too, Min." You pecked his lips, smiling softly, before laying your head atop his chest again. "Now sleep. Who should I look at after this if you really do turn into an old man?"
He lightly chuckled, pressing a kiss onto the top of your head, as you slowly drift into sleep, hand in hand.
Seungmin wanted to show you how in love with you he was. Everything about you he adored and cherished and he was always on the verge of combusting from how much love for you he contains. Maybe someday that day will come, but for now he'll slowly take small steps into making that moment come true.
#seungmin#kim seungmin#seungmin skz#seungmin imagines#skz#stray kids#seungmin fluff#seungmin hurt/comfort#seungmin scenarios#kim seungmin scenarios#skz x reader#stray kids x reader#stray kids fluff#skz fluff#skz angst#case 148
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No bc I need finnick to lovingly scold me over not eating all day and make me food and just be so protectively doting. you slayed with those casual dominance headcanons
thank you gorgeous! I hope u don’t mind, I’m using your ask to post a full blurb based on the hc’s :) I already had it written when you sent this in, and it’s kind of the perfect ask for it so!! thank u <3 here’s the original drabble if anyone wants it
finnick odair x fem!reader / finnick loves you and is bossy
You’re tangled up like a pretzel on the sofa when Finnick finally gets home. He’s been out swimming all morning and you’ve been (rightfully, in your opinion) quite miserable. It’s not your fault you like him so much — he’s lovely and handsome and perfect, and a handful of hours without him has left you a bit of a mess.
He appears in the doorway, the salty breeze following him in. He looks wildly handsome, his golden hair all windswept, his eyes searching for you.
You leap up. “Finnick!”
You swoop on him and he catches you easily, laughing softly as his strong arms wrap around your upper back. He smells like the ocean, salty and crisp, fresh. He hugs you so tight your feet leave the ground.
“Hey, sweetheart,” he says into your hair. You hear the smile in his voice, it’s not hard to miss, and you decide you want to see it, so you pull back. Like you thought, he’s smiling a dazzling smile that combats the sun in its brightness. He’s so happy to see you, and it makes you feel electric.
“Hello,” you say back, your voice sticky with love. You push his pretty hair back from his face, card you fingers through a rogue curl and tuck it behind his ear. His hair’s still thick with salt — hopefully he’ll let you wash it for him tonight. “I missed you.”
Finnick’s grin grows impossible wider. “Mm, I can tell.” He takes his face in your hands, thumbs dragging across your cheekbones. “I missed you, too, pretty girl. What’d you do while I was gone all day, hm?”
You hum something incoherent. You’ve barely heard his question, too caught up in his soft touching, his gentle voice and his lovely names. Your eyelids flutter under his affections. He touches you like you’re something beautiful made of marble, like you’re not just a girl. He certainly doesn’t make you feel like just a girl.
Finnick laughs at your obvious pleasure, your inability to answer his question. “Sounds interesting,” he teases. He gets his hand under your chin and tilts you up gently to look at him properly. “Did you eat already, sweet thing?”
You think about it and realise you honestly can’t remember if you even ate at all today. You shy, because you know what Finnick’s reaction will be. “Um. No?”
Finnick raises his eyebrows. “No? Did you eat at all?”
Barely. You were too busy missing him to think about something so unimportant as food. Has it even been lunchtime yet? “I had half an apple for breakfast,” you admit.
Finnick sighs. His arms drops to your waist, warm and heavy. “It’s half four, honey,” he says. Way past lunch time, then. “You know that’s not good enough.”
He’s only telling you off because he cares, but you still feel awful when he looks at you like that. “Sorry,” you say quietly.
“Hey, don’t be. It’s okay.” He chucks you under the chin and smiles at you. “Sit down, I’ll make you something, okay?”
Finnick starts to move away. You follow, eager to be near him. “I’ll help.”
He looks at you, raising a quizzical brow. “No, you won’t.”
“But—“
“Sweetheart.” He puts a firm hand on your shoulder, pressing down lightly. “I said no. I’ve got it.”
There’s a sort of sternness to his tone that makes your stomach churn. You imagine arguing back would only result in more of it, and though you actually do quite like when he tells you what to do, you don’t want to irritate him. Still, you pout at him dramatically before stalking off to the sofa again.
You hear Finnick chuckling at your dramatics as he disappears into the kitchen. You resume your position of miserable pretzel, curled up and sulking while you listen to the sounds of pots and pans, the tap running, the stove being switched on. It takes less than ten minutes before you get bored and wander into the kitchen. Finnick’s at the sink washing carrots, his back to you, with all the ingredients for your favourite soup laid out on the counter.
You try to be as inconspicuous as possible as you pull out a chopping board and a knife. You only get so far as to have them both in your hands before Finnick’s on you like a hawk.
“Y/N,” he says, sounding exasperated but unsurprised. He comes up behind you to take the knife from your hand, sets it on the bench and then turns you around by the shoulders. He pushes you back towards the living room. “Do you ever listen?”
Even though he’s technically scolding you, you can hear the amusement in his question. He’s not mad. You might even say he’s having fun.
“Finnick,” you whine, struggling to stay put with his manhandling. You dig your heels into the floor, though you know it won’t work because he’s really strong when he wants to be. “Can I at least sit with you? It’s lonely without you.”
Finnick stops in his efforts to steer you out of the kitchen. There’s a pause, and then he sighs, and you know you’ve won.
“Alright, yes,” he says, in a tone that suggests admitting defeat. “Fine, you can sit with me.”
You spin around in his arms, pleased.
“But you’re not allowed to lift a finger,” he says, hands on your shoulders keeping you firmly in place. “I’ll do the cooking. You just sit and look pretty for me, okay?”
You beam. At least it’s something. And at least you get to sit with him, if anything. “Okay.”
Finnick looks at you with something akin to amused affection for a handful of seconds, and then shakes his head, smiling. “You always get your way, don’t you?” He asks softly, almost as if he’s talking to himself. His warm hand strokes a path down your neck and over the slope of your shoulder.
You want to tell him that it’s not your fault he’s always giving you what you want. You don’t think that kind of attitude would bode well for you being allowed in the kitchen.
#★ mal writes!#finnick odair#finnick odair blurb#finnick odair x reader#finnick odair imagines#finnick odair blurbs#finnick odair imagine#finnick odair fic#finnick odair drabbles#finnick odair drabble#finnick odair headcanons#finnick odair fanfic#finnick odair fanfiction#finnick odair x you#finnick odair x y/n#finnick odair x fem!reader#finnick odair fluff#finnick odair x reader fluff#finnick odair oneshot#finnick odair oneshots#finnick odair x female reader#thg finnick#thg finnick x reader#thg finnick x you#thg finnick x y/n#thg finnick x fem!reader#thg#thg series#thg x reader#thg x you
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anon asked: Hi, fellow Kid-Stan, I love your writing, it's so well-written! So I hope my request isn't too weird, but would you mind writing some headcanons with a fem reader afraid of having sex with Kidd, Zoro, Law and Sanji if that's okay. Like because the reader is stressed about getting hurt (maybe because of their size or because it’s been a long time since the last time the reader had sex, no heavy topic involved!) Thank you if you consider writing this scenario and please, can I stay anon if you post this?
Hello, dear anon! Thank you for requesting and your kind words, it was interesting to think about how those dummies would act in this situation. I hope you'll like the result.♡
☆Kid, Zoro, Law & Sanji with a s/o afraid of having sex
CW : n/sfw, MDNI, f!reader, size kink, oral sex (reader receiving), fingering (reader receiving), v. sex, unprotected sex, protected sex, dirty talk, praises, Sanji talking in French because I could die for this, Kid is cursing as always, let me know if I forgot something
WC : around 2,000
You can read the part two here & the part three here
Kid
Let's assume it's your first time in the same bed: Kid being... Kid, his first reaction would be to grin cockily or even laugh proudly. He thinks you're actually praising him for his size. Please keep going, it’s music to his ears. He loves praises and when you acknowledge his size. It fuels his ego tremendously. "I know it's big, that's enough praise. Wait, were you talking seriously?"
Seriously, Kid, ugh.
So, once he realized you're not praising him but rather really stressed, he's still pleased with himself.
Kid is a man of action; talking, trying to understand, or reassuring is not something he's easily able to do. Because honestly, he would just say something like "it's just sex, I'm not gonna hurt ya, look how wet you are"
Whenever there's a problem, he's more inclined to take action to find a solution. So his first reaction is to ask if you want to stop. Although he may be cocky and carefree, he would never cause harm to anyone he truly cares about. And no one will have a good time if you're too stressed. Totally pointless.
So you have to tell him you want to continue, but you're nervous because Kid is not the one to indulge into sweetness and his size doesn't make things more easily.
"Then, come get what you want by yourself" he would say before laying on his back, his cock twitching impatiently. Kid doesn't often let his partner ride him, except when he's feeling tired. His body is truly a beautiful throne to sit on. A toned and beautiful body, covered with scars, like war paint, full of stories and secrets.
Once you finally straddle him, he would hold your hips firmly as you line your wet pussy up to his cockhead. When you slowly impale yourself on his thick member, he would let out a low, animalistic growl of satisfaction. You feel too tight around him, and you feel too full with him buried deep inside you, stretching your walls.
He would guide you down his cock until his balls deep inside you. The expression of pure delight on his face is truly mesmerizing. Riding someone as tough and impressive is quite intimidating, so he would hold your hips, helping you to move up and down, as you slowly adjust to him. "Fuck, look at you, taking me all the way in like the good girl you're"
He feels your walls tightening him as you start to move faster.
"Take it easy" That's the moment you will hear his shaky breath and deep growls. He can't handle how good you feel. So wet, so hot, so tight as you walls spasms around him. His cock is throbbing inside you and he grit his teeth, holding your hips that firmly it will leave bruises on your skin tomorrow.
He's truly trying his best to not just hold your hips and slams inside you as his usual rough and merciless pace. He wants to transform you into a whiny mess.
"Shit, y/n, let me fuck you."
And once you finally get used to him, then prepare yourself for the wildest ride of your life. You better hold onto those sheets tightly. Because he will slap your ass, pull on your hair and fuck you with enough intensity to leave you breathless and exhausted.
Zoro
Zoro has not a lot of experience because he's way too focused on his goal of becoming the greatest swordsman ever. Even when it comes to sex, he's a bit oblivious. So you better have to be precise and explain things correctly, so that it takes over his mind. As Kid, he's not a man of many words, he doesn't really know how to reassure you. Like, okay, it's been a while since the last time you had sex, but the same applies to him. At least you're in the same situation, isn't that nice?
He's trying his best.
Once he's sure you want to keep going, he will consider the whole thing like a training: everyone needs a good warm-up. So prepare yourself to have your pussy eat for a long, long time and to cum at least once against his lips. He may not be the most experienced, but he learns quickly and your body language is like talking to him.
He would then slowly push two fingers inside you, feeling how wet you are for him. "Looks like my girl is ready for me, yeah?"
Try not to be too embarrassed when he hungrily licks his fingers covered in your wetness, like if it were a precious cup of sake. The way your body looks and tastes is truly intoxicating. How could he get enough of your shivering, moaning, sweating, begging, and slow pleads when his head is buried between your thighs?
"Now open your legs for me"
Eyes darkening with lust as he sees your folds exposed, his cock twitching and throbbing. Although he is thick, he never realized it. So you better prepare yourself.
He would look into your eyes just to be sure you're still willing, before placing his hands on your shoulders to pinning you down the mattress, shifting his weight so he can position himself at your entrance.
Thrust forward, filling you up in one swift motion. He's completely focused, as if it's an important battle. And actually, he's really struggling to stay nice and slow for you. He's quiet. Breathe deeply and make low grunts close to your ear. When you begin to scratch his back, he becomes confused. Why are you doing this? Does it hurt or feel good? "You doing okay?"
If you tell him you need more now, he will give it to you as hard as you want.
"Such a brave girl"
Law
As a good doctor, his first reaction is to understand the cause of the problem. Is it a physical or psychological problem? Sex can be painful if you're experiencing too much stress or vaginismus. If he wants to help you feel better, he needs to understand what's going on. He’s a logical man, he can't act without a good understanding of what's happening.
He would probably cover your body too, in order to preserve your intimacy while you explain him you're just a bit stressed because it's been a long time and you often face pain when it comes to sex.
"Sex isn't supposed to hurt or to be stressful. Do you want to continue?"
As you slowly nodded, he would kiss your forehead and then slowly remove the bedsheets, revealing your bare body to himself.
He wants to reassure you even if he struggles with intimacy, including in the bedroom. He's not that kind of guy having sex with random people. If you end up in the same bed, it's because he genuinely cares about you. And damn, he definitely knows how to take care of your body too. He has divine hands. Good to heal, but also to help you reach new heights. The way he runs his hands along your body, your inner thighs, your pussy, and then your clit causes shivers down your spine.
And when he slides two fingers inside your core, damn, the only thing you can do is arches your back and beg for more. He’s the king of fingering. You can't help but cum as his thumb circles your clit while he pushes his long fingers in and out of you. When he removes them, his tattoos are soaked with your wetness, you are flustered, and he's content with himself. He can't help but grins, licking his fingers while watching your reaction closely. Even in bed, Law likes to tease you.
"Need me so bad, y/n-a?" with a slight pinch on your nipple
He's a doctor, so he will wear a condom. Even if you're wet, he'll reach for the bottle of lubricant and then sloshing some onto his palm before smearing it over his length. The emo boy myth is true because his cock is long.
Usually, Law struggles with eye contact, it's too intimate for his sake. But for once, he will let you lie on your back, spreading your thighs enough to fit in between. His tattooed chest slowly rises up with each breath, making him look beautiful over you.
"You're ready?"
He's a smart and careful person, so he'll go slowly and check your expression to ensure you're alright. He feels the tightness around his cock. So wet, so hot. His hands are shaking on your hips while he gently steady you. "Everything's fine?"
Slow and deep strokes as you trace the tattoos on his arms and chest. With his lips sealed to yours, he swallows all of your moans. And his low, deep breaths are leaving you in shambles.
Sanji
Oh, sweet Sanji. Similar to Zoro, he's not the most experienced, but he has a kind and compassionate soul. He would let you explain yourself, running his hands all over your shoulders, hair and stomach, trying to soothe you as you confess you're scared because it's been a while since the last time you had sex.
Sanji would never judge you. He would offer you sweet kisses to cover your body, promising to take things at your own pace. And if you need to stop, please just tell him. He would try his best to hide that he's a bit nervous too; nervous about hurting you or not being good enough for you.
Gentle kisses on your neck, breasts, lower stomach, inner thighs, and hands running all over your skin, fondling your breasts softly with a heavenly touch. He wants to take good care of every inch of your skin because your body is so precious, perfect and beautiful. All your shivering, moaning, and the way you look at him with pure love on your face... it melts his heart. He desperately wants to be inside you, but he'll never rush the whole thing. Like a good meal, sex deserves to be appreciated.
Probably the king of oral sex, he could keep his head burring between your thighs for the entire day and still can't get enough of how good you pussy feel and taste. He is fond of eating you out, hearing you moan, feeling you shivering and beg for more. The way your body is arching, how you grab his hair, pressing his lips more firmly against your wet folds. Not only do his hands know how to cook, but they also know how to please your body. Slowly circling your clit, fondling your breasts, and caring for every inch of your skin, making you melt and beg for more. You forgot you were tensed and stressed with all his attention.
Sanji being Sanji, he would love to bind your wrists with his tie, but he knows it's not the time for this. "I need to be inside you, mon amour" (my love) His cock is painfully hard and twitching, leaking in pre-cum.
As you spread your legs, letting him know that you're ready for more, Sanji would try his best to hide how stressed he really is. He doesn't want to hurt you. Fingers entwined with yours, a lot of eye contact as he slowly pushes his cock inside you. "Shh, it's okay. You're so tight. Laisse-moi te faire l'amour" (let me make love to you)
You softly moan as he penetrates you completely. You were stressed about getting hurt after such a long time without having sex, but Sanji is so soft that it didn't hurt even a bit. Even if you're relaxed, he would ask, "Am I hurting you?" And when you confirm that everything is more than fine, he can't help but sigh in relief. His fingers are still entwined with yours as you use your other hand to softly pull on his hair.
Slow and deep strokes. "C'est si bon d'être en toi" (it feels so good to be inside you) He is not ashamed of moaning. Moans that are really pretty. The feeling of your skin against his, how wet and welcoming you are inside. This is too much for him to handle.
Naturally, when it came to aftercare, he would rush to the kitchen to make you a good meal.
Sanji is so sweet please, help.
#one piece headcanons#eustass kid x reader#eustass kid headcanons#one piece x reader#eustass kid x y/n#eustass kid x you#one piece smut#eustass kid#eustass kid imagine#one piece requests#eustass kid smut#trafalgar d law x you#trafalgar law x you#trafalgar d water law#trafalgar law headcanons#trafalgar law x reader#trafalgar law#law x reader#trafalgar law smut#zoro roronoa x reader#zoro x reader#roronoa zoro#zoro roronoa smut#one piece zoro#zoro smut#zoro x you#sanji x reader#vinsmoke sanji#black leg sanji#sanji x you
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it’s never over ✴︎ cl16
genre: childhood friends to friends with benefits to lovers (a mouthful), smut, humor, Fluffff!!!!, several references to 70’s music,
word count: 12.9k
You must have lost the plot along the way, because pretending to date your childhood best friend was not on your 2023 bingo card. (Neither was the fact that things are looking a lot more real as time passes.)
nsfw warnings under the cut!
18+ because... handjob (f receiving), penetrative sex, semi public sex, praise central, size kink
auds here… hi hi hi!!! you’ve no idea how much i missed writing posting and interacting w u guys. thank u for all the love & follows i’ve gotten in my periods of mia. more things soon i promise ty for ur patience love love love u allll 🌟🤎🤠💋 this is my love letter to fic tropes. i feared if it was too long i’d lose the plot somehow so i had to condense it. i truly hope u all like it :) will try & reopen reqs sometime soon to get inspo kicking
It’s later than late. The lights are strobing purple and blue, the “let’s get you even drunker than you are” headache inducing kind. The floor is crowded, swelling with teenagers who are probably too young to get in, drunk off cheap aperol and watered-down tequila shots. You’re balancing yourself on a barstool, one hand busy wrapped around a slim glass, the other clawing your miniskirt lower because the air bites at your legs.
“Another voddy Red Bull!” You’re slurring, mind spinning almost as fast as your vision. You almost drop your empty glass in your rush to look for another one—but right as it slips clumsily out of your fingers, it’s caught.
Charles, your cocktail’s knight in armor and yours just as well, is eighteen. His hair is light brown and long, but not draping over his eyes like before. You know before because you’ve never not known before—Charles has been your best friend since you were five.
Snoopy, he says, voice steady and calm in your ear. His frame is still lanky but he’s tall and his grip on your shoulders is enough to quell the yelling. You pout. Get me another voddy red, you plead. Charlie, it’s my birthday. He smiles to himself, knowing your vision’s too cloudy to see him and your mind’s too bogged to remember any of this. You’d already slipped up and told two bouncers you were seventeen and not eighteen, like your poorly-Photoshopped ID suggested; Charles had to keep you in check, lest you or your friends end up kicked out of the club.
A song booms in through the speakers and your eyes widen with recognition. Charles doesn’t anticipate your reaction fast enough, affording only a stumble backwards when you attempt to leave the barstool to dance. He swears under his breath, mind recounting the five previous dance sessions that left you exhausted and out of breath earlier.
I’ll get you a vodka Red Bull if you sit down, he tells you. He enunciates because, twelve years later, you still can’t wrap your mind around his thick European accent. Sit down.
Alriiiight! You hoot, throwing two fists up in the air. Customary for many bartenders on nights as busy as this one, a free shot is thrust into your vacant hand and you cheer loudly, much to Charles’ chagrin. With whatever malice the eighteen-year-old can muster, he casts the bartender a dirty look before turning to face you again, worried. He places a hand on your shoulder and watches, half-anxious and half-endeared, you take the shot and visibly grimace at the raw taste. Fuck. It’s gin I think, you sputter. Charles presses: You okay?
More than, you holler, smiling. I am officially seventeeee—
The bartender’s eyebrows furrow, the thirty-something businessman in the adjacent stool turns to look—so Charles has no choice but to shut you up, leaning in and pressing his lips to yours before you can seal your fate.
Your eyes widen briefly, and when Charles feels the passed seconds are sufficient, he pulls away. You stare, eyes hazy, at the pretty boy you’ve had feelings for since you turned fourteen, and lean in to kiss him again.
—
Pascale is hosting her weekly Sunday brunch at the Leclerc residence, all French windows and wide kitchens and bowls of fruit. As always, your place is at the kitchen island picking at plates to taste test them. Bonjour, Arthur drawls when he walks in. He turns to Pascale. Mum. Then you. Snoopy.
You halt biting into your forkful of arugula and turn toward the younger Leclerc, eyebrows raised. “What’d you just call me?”
“Snoopy,” he says simply. He’s beside Pascale, one arm wrapped around her affectionately. “Or, Snoops, if you like that. Yes?”
“Who told you about that nickname?”
“Lorenzo.”
“Hasn’t been in use since your voice was cracking every sentence.”
“Tête de noeud.” Pascale swats his arm and he yelps, so you resume your arugula with satisfaction.
Charles is late for reasons he did not disclose, but everyone is used to it. The open kitchen door stretches into the front yard, where the table is set up and Lorenzo is setting the places. You know that although you usually expect a few more relatives, today’s just for the family—and you, but you’re basically family.
“How is Paris?” Arthur asks, licking hummus off a spoon opposite you. Your position is reminiscent of how you spent afternoons after school with Charles before, and the memory strikes a chord in you. Strange nostalgia, fondness.
“It’s fine.”
“Oh really?” He laughs in-between nibbles of carrot.
“I got an offer for a higher position,” you relent. Pascale calls you both, and you get up and walk toward the yard to sit down. “If you must know.”
“Oh? Let me know how that goes.” He follows you, carrot slice in hand, chewing. The conversation is cut short by the smooth noise of Charles’ decidedly un-smooth parking outside.
You’re seated at your usual spot—in-between Charles and Lorenzo, across Arthur—when the former finally walks into the yard. He looks tired, moreso than usual, bags under his eyes deep and hair a bit more disheveled.
He sits beside you. “I need to talk to you.” Then, quieter, “Private.”
You hum confusedly, eyes flitting across the three other people at the table to gauge their reactions. They’re equally aloof. “Wh—now?” He nods.
You end up talking in the kitchen. He’s sighing the whole fifteen steps there, rubbing the bridge of his nose, exhaling, inhaling. Ever observant, and of someone as close to you as he is, you pick up on the tiny actions, behaviors. Charles is wringing his hands. He’s tried to pop the same knuckle twice. He isn’t frantic—he’s scared. You lean against the counter, waiting, eyes looking him up and down to identify his exact emotions.
“Tell me,” you press. “Whatever it is, I won’t judge.”
“The—my—the iCloud of my phone has been leaked. The press found out.”
When you were eight and he was nine, you and Charles summered in Villefranche with your mum and dad. The weather then was the kind you could write love letters to and about—blue skies, salty wind, soft sand. The current was calm enough that you could ride the gentle waves without fear of going under or straying far from the shore, where your parents sunbathed blissfully.
Don’t drown, he’d warned you, ever protective. You wore pink floaties over your arms, so it was already difficult to.
You dove under with great effort, fighting against the buoyancy, and poked his bare knee, surfacing to watch his reaction. He grimaced. Slowpoke, you teased, swimming away. You wondered then what it might feel to drown. Maybe not in the blue water of Villefranche, but anywhere else.
You think it hurts to drown? You blubbered, bobbing above the wave. Charles swam in front of you and wiped water off your face gently. I hope you never find out, he said, smiling.
But this is you finding out. This is it now, the drowning. Your fingers flex over the edge of the counter and you gulp, eyes fluttering with nerves. “Shit?” It comes out like a question from how nervous you are. “Um, sorry. What are we—” But your question is cut short by Pascale’s voice, cutting through the tension like it’s wet cardboard. The agreement is silent and mutual: save this discussion for later.
—
Charles can’t wake up fast enough. There are calls, texts, voicemails from every officer on his team, which isn’t that surprising given he’s up two hours late. But the amount—the sheer amount of notifications is dizzying. Overwhelmed, he finds it in himself to pull up his search engine app and let his fingers possess themselves.
All he types is his last name, and then The Sun article is splashed onto his face like a pot of scalding coffee: “F1 DRIVER ICLOUD LEAKED, PERSONAL PHOTOS ALL OVER INTERNET.” Daily Mail is next, of course, watering down the situation to seem more dirty and scandalous: “Naughty Driver? Charles Leclerc’s iCloud Hacked, Reveals Mystery Girl.” And then of course Page Six, who doesn’t miss a beat—
Wait. He blinks and presses the back arrow to return to the previous webpage. He reads over it again, slower this time. Mystery Girl? Shit—no. No way. It’s almost (it should be) silly, the way he’s reading vigorously over the reports like he’s a fan, but he’s anxious. He scrolls, because if any tabloid is daft enough to publish the leaked photos, it’s got to be the Daily Mail.
He pauses his quick swiping when his eyes harden with recognition, and staring back at him, on his phone’s full brightness, is a picture of you on his lap at Christmas. It’s the one Lance took while attempting to guess Charles’ password, one of you wine drunk with his head buried in your neck.
It’s unmistakably him, at his own house in Monaco where the drivers had a holiday get-together. It’s unmistakably you, hair draped over your face, three gold rings on your fingers. You had just given him a Strokes vinyl, he recalls. That’s why you were hugging.
There’s another one of you playing Scrabble in his bed—he’s not in the frame, but he remembers taking it. This, he could deny. He’s not in it, and he’s pretty sure the fans don’t know his house this well. Already his brain’s doing manual damage control, dread filling his veins at the thought of reading through his team’s frantic messages.
Another message stands out, pinned on top of all the others—from his mum, reminding him about brunch. He gets ready half-focused, half-lucid. Fully worried. He worries about the PR crisis this may cause, about his iCloud security, about the reactions online. Above all, though, he worries about you. About what he should tell the press. About how “actually, we’re not dating, we just fuck constantly” might hold up for the fans.
—
You’re twelve and Charles thirteen, both of you seated across Hervé and Pascale. Behind them stand your own parents, and they all look stern. What this is, Pascale says gently, is a family meeting. Okay?
Okay. It leaves your high voices in shaky unison. You both know what you’re doing here—you snuck out of school to catch a movie earlier, the teacher naturally caught wind of the misdeed, and now you’re in a meeting for it.
Snoops, Charles whispers, trying to ease your nerves with lighthearted commentary. This is the worst.
No, you want to tell preteen Charles—this is. You’re older now, yet still subjected to similar questioning, though today it’s Pascale going solo. It’s been three days since the fated day where the press leaked the pictures of you and Charles in compromising positions, and like any boomer, she’s used Facebook to her advantage and gotten ahold of the compromising pictures, too.
“How long?” Her voice is enunciated in hard syllables.
“Mum—”
“Answer the question.” She looks back and forth, moving into territory of intense questions. “Both of you.”
“Um.”
“Because… I’ve been…”
You notice it immediately, given your observant track record: her shoulders relax and her lips smile just slightly. You sit still, and wait for the next words out of her mouth. “…waiting for this all my life!”
You and Charles watch in mild horror as Pascale’s face goes from firm to absolutely elated. Her eyes soften and a smile spreads over her face, illuminating her with pure joy. Do you even know how many bets I made with your papa, Charles? She claps her hands together several times.
Charles opens his mouth to verbalize dissent, but she doesn’t take it—she’s already droning on and on about how long she’s waited for this to finally happen. Your eyes glide over to the doorway of the dining area, where Lorenzo and Arthur watch with smug looks on their faces. Little shits won’t help you. You don’t even try to protest, and at some point Charles gives up, too. You don’t know how it’ll come across, anyway.
Ninety minutes later, you’re in Arthur’s bedroom rifling through his desk and praying you don’t find anything too gross. He’s on his bed throwing a bouncy ball up in the air, conversing with Charles about your gameplan with their mum.
The sky outside is in limbo between afternoon and night. It’s cloudy, so the sunset is a pale yellow instead of angry orange. “Why not just tell her the truth?”
You’d also thought that was the easiest option, escape route, exit path. But that would involve breaking Pascale’s heart, and that was out of the question for you, let alone Charles, certified mommy’s boy.
“I can’t, Arthur.” Charles’ voice is steady and unwavering.
“You can.”
“No.”
“Fine. Next best thing then.”
You fiddle with a Rubik’s cube, then turn in the seat. “What?”
“Pretend you’re dating.”
“Arthur,” you say seriously. “Shut up.” But he doesn’t join you, and you realize neither does Charles. You stare blankly at both of them, unwilling to believe they’d actually bank on this as an actual plan.
“You guys realize this kind of thing never works? Zero percent success rate.”
“It’s just paddock appearences. You’re not pretending for millions of people,” Arthur says, shrugging. He catches the ball and throws it to you—you catch it one-handed. “You’re pretending for Mum.”
“Sure. And by extension, millions of people. Are you dense, or do you think the paddock appearances will just breeze by everyone who saw the leaks?”
“Ughhh. You’re acting like it’s impossible.” Arthur holds his breath before he utters the next sentence. “Like you two aren’t fucking every other w—”
“—oh, my God!” Shocked, you get up, and so does Charles. “Wh—I’m—language, Arthur!”
Charles balks. “How did you even—”
“I didn’t. But merci mille fois for confirming my theory,” Arthur quips faux-sweetly, smiling dopily. “I mean, I was going to find out! Your pictures are so… intimate. So just pretend to date and throw Maman off your scent.”
You protest briefly, wrestling with the option, and reconvene on the bed, you cross-legged and leaning on Charles’ shoulder and Arthur in front of the both of you. He’s always had a knack for schemes—he never got caught sneaking out, which destroyed your and Charles’ record of being caught twelve times by either of your parents. It’s a bit childish, but he gets the job done.
“Do it for… let’s say a month. Tell Mum you’ve been dating a while—Christmas isn’t that long ago, and that was the least recent picture. D’accord?”
You both nod, hyperfocused.
“During race weekends, be all over each other—shouldn’t be hard—especially in front of Mum. People might catch you doing it, but I wouldn’t worry.”
“No, wait—I mean.” You shrug. “People—tifosi—they know I’m Charles’ friend. They’re going to be all over the fact that we’re apparently dating.”
“Don’t worry. We’ll use palatable density,” Charles says, nodding.
You pause. Arthur does, too, sensing something off.
“You mean plausible deniability.” Your deadpan voice is tinged with amusement, muffled into his shoulder.
“Right, ouais, that.” He smiles, chuckling a bit; his shoulder shakes with it and your head nearly slips off. He brings a hand to cup over your jaw and hold you steady. “Sorry.”
“S’fine.” You sigh. “I’m totally okay with this. Just worried it’s going to have unintended consequences.”
Arthur quells you with rushed explanations about how it’ll be over and you two can say something like we decided we’re better off as friends to really sell the thing. At the seven-minute mark of your and Charles’ intense interrogation, he promptly kicks you out to figure out if you’re willing to do it yourselves.
You wedge yourself into Charles’ front seat, knowing you were headed to his place anyway. You massage your temples with one hand and fiddle with the hem of your shorts with the other. Nervous. Antsy. “Did Fred say anything?”
“Got the IT team to fortify my account.”
“You think this thing’s going to be okay from a professional standpoint?” You look up and toward him; he’s already gazing at you, eyes soft. “I’m worried. Plus, with my job offer thing in London and New Y—”
“Don’t be.” He starts the car and maneuvers out of the driveway, into the dips of Monaco streets and the familiar route back to his place. “Bitter with the sweet. The only thing you need to worry about”—he takes your hand in the centre console, laces your fingers together loosely—“is your acting skills.”
“God, you’re right.” You sigh, looking out the window. “How am I going to pretend I can stand you?” Then, for good measure, you squeeze his hand wrapped in yours.
—
You visit Monaco from uni in London over spring, and for the first time in months, your schedule aligns with Charles’—though you learn this indirectly when you visit the Leclerc home. Pascale, of course, is the one who tells you his new flat’s address before she presses a kiss to your cheek and then leaves to run errands in the city. Alone, and in a burst of excitement, you make the drive there, take the elevator upstairs and shove the door open without knocking. He’s there. Your Charles. You can tell because the music he plays is loud—The Kooks—like his ears are still fourteen and not twenty-one, like he’s still in middle school and not in Formula One.
“Save your eardrums,” you say, before beelining toward the couch and leaping onto him for a hug. He sits up to match your energy, arms wrapping around you, sitting up straighter to keep you from totally falling atop him.
“How’s uni?”
“Shit,” you say into his hair. It smells like his shampoo and his favorite cologne. Clean, soapy. “Obviously. How’s the Ferrari?”
“Amazing.” He smiles. “Obviously. How’d you know I was in? Mum told you?”
“Ouais. She’s running errands. Listen, can we drink tonight?” You sigh, parting from the hug and sitting across him.
Yeah, sure. His voice is concerned, thick with worry. You shake your head—it’s not that deep, you tell him. It’s just—I had a bad date before I left and it’s put me in the worst mood.
Oh? He leans back, clasping two hands behind his head as he goes.What happened? He laughs.
You tense visibly, rolling your eyes despite yourself. “He was just weird. Nothing.”
He wiggles his eyebrows. “You shy, Snoops?”
Ha-ha. You roll your eyes, but your face is flushed and your gaze avoids him. You reach up to tuck the loose strands of hair by your ears behind them, face warm. You’d never talked with Charles about boys or flings before—maybe several times, but never in full detail. It was always vague umbrella statements, like Ryan is boring or Greg is such a prick, but never anything beyond that. Come to think of it, you don’t know why, either.
“You can tell me.”
“The—when we—I had to fake,” you say cuttingly. “You know.”
He purses his lips and smiles, eyebrows furrowing. I don’t, actually. Something unnamed trills through you—through your stomach and into your fingertips. Your first time talking to your best friend in real life after months of uni and racing and this is the topic? It’s, if anything, a sign of your growing up, you guess.
Charles lets up on the teasing and you end up rejecting the club in lieu of sharing a bottle of vodka, throwing it back raw and without any type of chaser (to really prove nothing at all; you don’t even know why any sane human would do this). You do a Just Dance party on his TV, even try out drunk sim racing and FIFA, but by the end you’re well exhausted and retired to the couch again.
His voice is wavy and tipsy when he speaks. “You really had to fake it?”
“Yeah.” You pout. “Can never—um, finish, I dunno.” Your inhibition’s gone, shame loosened and untied by the vodka. You shift in your position on the couch.
“Maybe because it was too casual.” His voice hardens.
“So you’re saying I should…” You swallow dryly, eyes fluttering. “Sleep with somebody I know?” You’ve dropped the implication and it floats up, hangs above.
His eyes flick over to your legs, folded on the couch. The hem of your shorts. Your fingers playing with your empty shot glass. He didn’t mean anything by that. He’s half-sure you didn’t.
“I am just saying that a good friend would do that for you.”
“You’re a good friend,” you say, volume low.
Five minutes later you’ve properly crashed into each other, him pinning you down against the couch, licking fire up your throat. His lips trail across your jaw.
He dips a hand into your shorts, presses against your clothed core. He’s smiling. So wet for me. He’s got his mouth pressed messily up to your jaw, when he sinks one finger all the way in, slow and stretching; and you’re clenching around him—
Come on, he’s saying. Insisting. You’re trembling, yanking desperately at his hair as he pumps his finger slowly in and out of you, aching to be full of him, to take him deeper.
He slips another one in, and you feel the cold of his ring pressed against your entrance, then he’s fucking them into you and you’re leaking around them.
Yes, yeah, Charles—you’re gasping, airy breaths tapering into whimpers that sound sinful, desperate. He knows you so well already. Presses his fingers against your sweet spot, watches your eyes flutter.
So needy, and you’re chanting his name under your breath as he quickens his pace, craving the stretch of him desperately. I know you want to cum, baby. He’s calling you baby and you’re closer, so much closer. Come on, for me, yeah?
You melt, crashing and crumpling into him and shuddering as you release all over his fingers. He presses his forehead to yours and lets you take a beat. You feel giddy and dizzy and warm, which is weird because you don’t feel drunk at all anymore. This dizziness is something different. It’s Charles.
“Are we going to do that again?” You ask meekly, hand still in his hair.
“Only if you want. Whatever you want,” he says. He’d do anything for you. He’d do whatever you wanted.
“I do, I do want.” And Charles, the good friend he is, helps you out.
—
Imola is humid, warm, and the racetrack is absolutely teeming with people. But you’re not there—clad in linen shorts and a fresh tank top, you’re walking around the vicinity of the track, cup of gelato in hand, sunglasses over your eyes. The restaurant near you is playing music out loud. Beside you, singing along and drafting a list of wedding appetizers, is Lorenzo.
“Lamb chops?” You suggest, licking amaretto off the plastic spoon. The weather is pleasant enough that people are crowding the streets without it being too unbearably hot. Stevie Wonder flows from the speakers, permeates the entire block.
“I was thinking more seafood.”
“Tuna? Make ‘em little tacos.”
“Good idea. Think I’ll go for those. Hey, are you sure you’re on board with fake-dating my brother?”
You turn sharply toward him, taken aback. He hadn’t brought it up in the week and a half this plan had been in the works—he’d been privy to it the entire time, too, which makes it weirder that he’s asking so suddenly.
“I meaaan…” You slow your pace, contemplative. A shy smile plays at your lips, brows knitted together. “It’s only going to be for a month. Ish. So, yeah. Are you—do you—sorry. Is it alright with you? Sorry.”
“It is not not okay.”
“So it’s…” You pause. “Okay.”
“It’s—yes, but I worry, is all. How sure are you that this won’t hurt anyone?”
“I don’t know, it’s… bitter with the sweet. And who’s getting hurt… like the fans?” You laugh a little. “They’ll live, won’t they?”
“Like you.” He pauses. “Like Charles.”
—
Pierre is running a comb through his hair, staring at himself in the mirror; his Narcissus moment is interrupted by a banana to the back of his head. Bonjour, he says, monotone and already knowing the culprit.
“We need to talk.”
“Could this possibly be about the news of your brand new ‘girlfriend’ over last week? Where is she, by the way?”
“With Lorenzo. Listen, here’s the thing. Mum thinks we’re dating, and I don’t know how to tell her we’re not—so I won’t.”
“Lie to your mum, go ahead.” Pierre crosses his arms and hums.
“Tais-toi. It’s for her own good.”
“So you’re going to pretend to date.”
“Ouais.”
“Should be easy. You guys are hooking up and making out or whatever all the time.”
Charles pauses and lets the silence speak for itself. When Pierre makes a noise of confusion, he gives. We don’t kiss, he says finally. She thinks it is too intimate, and we ‘are not dating,’ so sex is the only thing we do. Sex, and if you still have leftover antsy energy, you pull on his shirt and sit up against the headboard to finish a crossword puzzle. Sometimes he helps you, but most of the time he’s just there to press lazy kisses to your hair and temple, cheekbone and jaw—never your lips.
“You don’t kiss?” Pierre’s genuinely shocked. “Putain, you’re a hero. How does that even work?”
“We just do not kiss. We fuck, but no kissing.” He shrugs. “It’s always been that way.”
“So how about her birthday?”
“She doesn’t…” Charlex exhales tightly. “Remember.”
“Charles,” you suddenly say, head appearing into the doorway. “Oh, hey. Fred said you might be here. What are you guys talking about?”
“Sprint racing,” Pierre says, an easy lie.
Charles, though, is never good at the lying bit. “International tariffs.”
—
Your only memories of your seventeenth birthday are applying lip gloss and mascara, wearing your shortest skirt and tightest top, and reciting your supposed date of birth in line like a mantra. Anything after that’s been sprayed off by the ultra-clutch strength of vodka. Which, you’ve been told, was your drink of choice.
“Headache’s better,” you moan over the phone, face squashed onto your pillow. “Mum gave me an Advil but I was so sick all morning.”
“Did you snog anyone?” Charles is always teasing.
“God, I wish.” You shut your eyes and try to remember if your drunken stupor had somehow managed to get you successful in lip-locked matters. Nothing comes up and you wipe a dry hand over your face, heaving a sigh. “I really wanted to kiss Matthew but I think he left before you and I did.”
A pause. Then Charles clears his throat. “You mean you and me and the police car that escorted us home?” He snorts.
“You’re such a prick!” You scream into your pillow, laughing. “I already thanked you for being my literal savior last night.”
He smiles to himself. “You’re welcome.”
“Did you have fun?” You flop onto your back and stare at the stick-on stars on your ceiling. You make a mental note to try and remove them.
“Bit boring because I vowed not to drink at all, but I got to dance. Bitter with the sweet, right?”
—
“Nervous?”
“I mean, fuck, yeah.” You fix the hem of your dress, speaking to Giada through the phone. “Pascale’s waiting for us on the paddock. And so are, like, a hundred photographers.” You wince. “Can you even imagine Charles and me? It’s just—I dunno—it’s weird.”
“It isn’t,” she says, laughing. “Not really. It makes sense. Plus, aren’t you on the whole arrangement?” You envision her air quotes.
“Yeah, but”—you slip your sandals on—“it’s on and off, and that’s not dating. It’s sex. Two different things.”
“Is it really, though? Considering how close you are outside of bed, aren’t y—”
“Okay, input no longer needed,” you laugh. “Bye, Gi. I’ll text you later.”
You reunite with Charles just by the paddock entrance. The throng of fans holding cutouts and posters notice you two before anyone else does, inciting a collective bout of yells around the both of you. He notices your blue silk dress first, eyes unmoving. “You look like the sky.”
“Thanks, man.” A beat, and you squint through your sunglasses. “That’s a compliment, right?”
“Sure.”
“Prick.” You peek over them and to the fans, who wave more aggressively when they notice you’re looking. Nervously, you raise a hand and wave back, and the noise heightens. “I think I’m going to be replacing you.”
“Dream on. On y va?”
You turn back to him, smiling, and you both enter at the same time. His hand wraps around your waist, dips a bit lower to rest at the small of your back as you walk—the fans clearly dig it, because everyone’s yelling in a frenzy as you depart. What are you doing, you ask through your smiling teeth.
“Did you forget we’re supposed to be dating?” He maintains an equally pleasant (totally duplicitous) façade, smiling.
“I didn’t think,” you say, still smiling falsely, “that you’d put your hands on me five minutes into the whole agreement.”
“Smile, honey,” he teases. “I see at least five cameras at us right now.”
“It’s seven,” you beam. “Dumbass.”
“Again with the competitive streak.” memory
“I totally deserved to win last week’s game. You’re just a sore loser.”
“No you’re just a—hi, hi, hello!”
Your walk to the motorhome is interrupted by running into a friend of Charles’—someone from McLaren, one of the executives there. While Lando has been informed of your stunt, nobody else on that team has.
They handshake and he waves at you politely. “Whole paddock’s buzzing with news of you dating,” he says, smiling. “It’s a tad crazy! I remember seeing you as Charles’ plus one back when he was in Formula Two. And now you two are dating. How did—well, if you don’t mind me asking, where’d it all happen?”
“Oh,” you say, laughing. “Yeah, Monaco.”
“Texas,” Charles says at the same time.
Alarm bells go off in your head at the totally random, unwarranted statement out of Charles’ mouth. Texas? Neither of you have even ever been at the same time. “He means”—you say, coughing and nodding—“we went on this, um. Wild West themed, um, restaurant in Monaco, and that’s where he asked me out.” You make a face that you hope conveys you get it, and it seems to work.
“Definitely not what I had in mind, but if it worked, it worked, eh?” He grins. “I guess I always knew you two would end up together. Alright, ciao!”
You’re smiling and waving after him as he leaves, and then you’re (semi) alone again, or at least within your own space on the incredibly crowded paddock.
You turn to him, unable to hide your confusion. “Um? Texas?! What’s up with the backstories?”
“It slipped out! Sorry. But nice save.”
“You’re so f—” You try to scold him, but can’t, bursting into laughter and leaning forward to laugh into his chest. “Texas, really?”
“Sorry,” he says. You feel the vibration of his own laugh through his chest and it’s warm and nice. You peel yourself off lest you look too clingy, and resume your walk to the motorhome.
Ferrari is crowded, filled with people and strategists and guests. You’re given a bottle of water and then hounded with questions from the team who haven’t been informed of the situation at hand. David, one of the engineers close to Charles who you’d previously spoken to in one of the earlier races, asks to borrow him.
“Ciao, ciao.” They speak in one of the outdoor patio areas. “Is everything okay?”
“The car is fine. I just wanted to ask about the girl.” David punches his arm, playful. “You finally got her!”
“Oh.”
“It’s just… I remember all the times she would show up and you’d tell me about how much you liked her… I don’t know, it’s perfect for things to end up like this, no? Bravo!”
“Oh, si. I’ve just been, you know…” He looks through the glass sliding door and into the hospitality, where you’re talking to Isa and Carlos, sunglasses over your hair. Your hands are moving quickly, and you’re smiling while talking. He wonders what you’re so passionate about. When you’re caught in fits of happiness and passion, you’re extra animated. Your eyes are lively, and your lips can’t stop curling into a slight beaming smile. Now, maybe it’s France, maybe it’s crossword puzzles, slim chance it’s your job—whatever it is, he could watch you talk like this for hours. He thinks it’s beautiful, the way you transform, the way you smile, when you talk of things you absolutely love.
“… crazy about her forever.”
—
There are banners, Italian flags, and Charles’ face on every other wall. He’s done his first hat-trick of the season (of several more, you’re hoping). You’ve foregone the usual clubbing for dinner with a smaller group of people, but only because you’ve been told the nightlife is bleak and you’d rather save that energy for the next race.
Lando picked out the restaurant—he’s “on a massive Yelp high” trying to get the best restaurants in every city they get to. He’s tried two over the weekend, and is hoping this guns for first place. The restaurant’s name is long and so very Italian, to the point where your semi-fluency fails you. The food is amazing, though, and so is the wine—a whole other level of grape-flavored bliss.
You’re in-between Joris and Charles, nursing your fourth glass while Charles downs a bottle of beer. Light conversation flows through the table, but your sleepiness only allows you to hear some of it. You’re content with the white noise.
Lando is getting a new cat, Lewis bought a new pair of shoes—oh, no, shares in the company that makes the shoes—Joris bought the shoes, Lorenzo will now buy the shoes, why isn’t anyone paying attention to Lando’s cat. It’s funny, entertaining, and the perfect nightcap to your immensely exhausting day of acting.
Wine tipsy makes you loopy and snoozy. By default, your head lolls onto Charles’ body; he immediately wraps a sweater-clad arm around your frame, leans back, pulls you closer. Doesn’t miss a beat. In fact, while doing so, he’s even able to get a dig in against Lando’s affinity for cats.
“No more wine, m’kay?” He whispers quietly, angling his head to yours.
“Oh, but it was so good, though.” You mope, but nod in agreement. “I could seriously drink wine out of a keg here.”
“Sure did that a lot with beer.” You laugh, punching his bicep with what little space you’re given. “You sleepy?”
“Yeah. But I’m fine,” you respond, smiling. “Now shut up. I need to know what happened to Lando’s cat.”
Lewis leaves first, claiming he’s into this whole “sleeping at 9PM” thing, and Lorenzo follows to get ahead of an early flight tomorrow. It’s you, Joris, Charles, and Lando now, and you’re good as dead, eyes half-shut and fluttering, head slipping off his shoulder.
How was it? Lando asks, lowering his volume to keep from being too jarring. Day 1, fake dating? I actually read something like this in one of those, um, fanfiction stuff the fans do. Joris and Charles cast him a half-weirded out, half-amused pair of looks, but Lando defends himself. They’re actually pretty good, guys. I read one where I ended up with my rival or summat.
“Sorry to burst your bubble, Lando,” you croak, voice raspy with sleepiness and a day of bubbling laughter, “but Charles and I probably didn’t do your fanfiction kink justice.”
“Ignoring the emasculation.” He says, turning beet red. “What’d you do, then? Wasn’t it hard?”
“It was hard, but it’s like that.” Charles likes to substitute the phrase it is what it is to it’s like that, a result likely stemming from his trilingual childhood. “We just. Pretended. Oi, we held hands in front of the cameras.”
“Yeah, you can get a good wank in if that does it for you,” you joke. Lando hurls a cube of parmigiano at your face; it lands squarely and you flip him off, the table erupting with peals of laughter.
“In all seriousness, though—how are you two okay with this? I know I’d be second guessing my feelings every second.”
You shift, trying to hide your obvious lack of answer. It’s quiet for a few seconds, and then Charles says, “We’re both comfortable with each other, I think.”
“Yeah, comfortable enough that we can, you know, be honest.” You’re looking at Lando when you say that. You don’t know how well you could repeat the sentence if you were looking straight into Charles’ eyes.
You leave the restaurant with a generous tip, and Charles helps you pull your coat on when you’re out the door, back into the chilly night air. It’s then that all four of you catch news via text, of a club invite somewhere in the city.
“It’ll be fun, guys.” Joris and Lando stand in front of you and Charles, bumbling with excitement. “I heard Lil Tjay is going to be there.”
“It sounds very fun,” you say, smiling, “but I might pass out if I drink anything other than water, and I have zero energy. You three go ahead.”
“Wh—no, I’m not going, either.” You raise an eyebrow at Charles. “Serious! I wasn’t in the mood much, anyway. Joris, take Lando’s car and we’ll take mine.”
“Alright,” Lando whistles. “Suit yourselves, agoraphobes.”
“Joke’s on you”—Charles smiles, smug—“I don’t know what that means.”
“Not the dig you think it is, Charles,” you say, rolling your eyes. “Night, Joris, Lando. See you guys tomorrow. Use protection!”
“Should be saying that to you guys,” quips Joris with an evil grin that he closes the car door on.
The climb into the car feels like a chore in itself with how tipsy and sleepy you’ve become. Charles likes to bring his Ferrari to race weekends, but you convinced him to use a different car for this one, because you honest-to-God can’t stand the low seats anymore.
“You want dessert?” He asks when he’s rounded the car and settled into his seat. “Gelato, a cone, biscotti…”
“No, no,” you say, voice thin. A palm covers your shutting eyes; blindly, you reach for his hand. It’s easy because he sees you searching and takes your hand to cut it short. “I’m good. So sleepy. Can I sleep at your hotel room?”
“Sure.” He starts the car, waves to the wait staff idle by the entrance, and drives off. “How was the day as my fake girlfriend? Anyone ask about me?” He wiggles his eyebrows, flickering his gaze to your figure beside him. “Wasn’t too tough, I hope.”
Imola whizzes by, trees and city, and a poorly stifled yawn escapes your lips, wine stained. You laugh sleepily. “It was a bit awkward, but bitter with the sweet, right?” He smiles, nodding, and you continue. “Yeah, few strategists, some people who knew you from Prema. I was talking to Isa and Carlos, too, earlier. Even if they know it’s fake.”
He recalls seeing you talk to them through the glass. “About?”
“You.”
—
The sun is merciless on the clay courts, and so are your shoes, shuddering against the surface in your continuing attempt to beat the opposing team. Charles cowers behind you—he’s scored less than half of your points thus far—but you’re on a mission, like your competitive self always is when you’re put in a position to be able to win.
You’re two points down now, and the noontime is becoming increasingly itchy and unforgiving; across you both, Giada and Joris call a mutual time out. “That’s not allowed!” You say, petulant.
“This is a practice session,” Charles says gently, nearing you. “Mate, none of us are actual players.”
You wipe sweat off your forehead. “Right. Désolée. I’m just—I’m in the zone.”
“Ouais, I get it. Relax, m’kay? We got this.”
You shake yourself off and hop a few times, skirt bobbing by your waist as you go. Your braid bounces on your shoulder and you nod, turning your racquet over in your grip.
Charles pings the ball hard and it soars over to land just shy of the line, seemingly scoring a point for you two and securing your win. Giada and Joris chime in with protests, claiming that the ball’s out. You throw your hands up in question.
“Okay, what? That was clearly a point!”
“Snoops, I think they might be right. The ball looked out to me,” Charles says, wrapping a sweaty arm around your red shoulders.
“What are you talking about, Charlie? That ball was in! I saw it!” You elbow yourself out of his grip, aghast.
“How about…” He suggests quietly. “We let them win? You did win the last”—he pauses to count—“five sets. Come on, Snoops. They need this. Bitter with the—”
You take a deep breath, staring into his eyes. “Fucking sweet, right, okay. Fine, fine.”
Charles thinks he’s in the clear and he’s managed to extinguish your flames of frustration—that is, until you walk into the Leclerc household for lunch an hour later and, after greeting Pascale and Hervé, you point squarely to the jar on the kitchen counter. “Five euros.”
He splutters. “Five? Wh—non, non! I was trying to calm you down.”
“You were blind and gave Giada and Joris a fake win,” you say playfully.
“Saluuut,” Lorenzo greets, sitting at the stool beside yours. “Quoi de neuf?”
“Charles has five euros for the jar.” The jar, the infamous jar, sometimes dubbed the Dumbass Jar when Pascale’s out of earshot. It was Lorenzo who first made it up after three straight instances of Charles pulling a push door (three different establishments).
Arthur’s joined in at this point, but its biggest indirect donors are definitely Lorenzo and Hervé, who view it as just about the funniest thing in the world. Out of pity, you don’t call dumbass too often, but the tennis loss is bruising enough that you warrant the usage.
“You heard Snoopy. Five euros. We’ll be able to get milkshakes with this money after next week.” You high five. “At this rate, Charles, you could open a restaurant in Paris.”
“He’s going to race,” you correct. You both watch a begrudged Charles junk a bill into the nearly-full jar. “What race driver is going to open a restaurant?”
—
You meet Yuki Tsunoda on a flight to Nice. You’ve seen him several times before, not too frequently but enough that his name and face are familiar on your mind. Also a personality trait that Pierre would bring up in fond conversations with you and/or Charles: he loves food, apparently.
“Yuki’s volunteering AlphaTauri to be your hideout,” Pierre tells you and Charles, across him.
Turns out, the hardest part (insofar) of this whole schtick: the officially appointed paddock photographers are being extra sneaky with it, finding the best vantage points to snap pictures of an unwitting you and Charles.
They’re like hawks, watching for even the slightest glimpse so they can post the photos on Instagram and get clicks.
So, just a few hours earlier, Charles asked if there was a place you and him could talk if needed where photographers wouldn’t be awaiting you already, and this was the answer.
“If it’s too much trouble, feel no need to… you know.”
“Nonsense.” Pierre smiles goofily and Yuki pokes him to stop, pausing his session of eating a quesadilla (where he’d even acquired it, you’re clueless). “Yukino would be happy to.”
The flight lands and the drive to Monaco is infected with notoriously slow traffic; you pop an Advil to try and alleviate the motion sickness. Pierre and Yuki, it seems, have joined you even outside of the flight. They’re in the backseat offering bits of conversation.
“Oh, mate, we should totally play tennis while we’re here.” Pierre sighs. “Didn’t you guys play before?”
“Mmm, yeah,” you mumble with a lilt of amusement at the memories from basically a decade ago. “At the country club. Doubles always, otherwise I’d knock Charles out of the park.”
“Hey, I won a couple times!” He protests weakly. “Like… twice.”
You laugh out loud. “Anyway, Pierre, do not bring me into tennis. I get all competitive and develop anger issues.”
“I had to calm her down twice a set,” Charles says; you swat him lightly to silence him. “Still do.”
“You know, if the Dumbass Jar still existed,” you say cuttingly, “I swear I’d be able to buy off Ferrari with that money.”
—
Monaco is swelterinly hot today. You know this because you know the weather here, you know the curves and ups and downs of it—this is your home. And today is hot. Every few minutes a breeze filters through the air and you can hear journalists or PAs sigh a collective breath of relief before they’re all subjected to the inane, high-degree weather again.
It’s also, according to Arthur, a good day to kiss in front of the cameras. He says it easily over a plate of sliced kiwi, with a devious smile, because he assumes your friends-with-benefits arrangement equates to constant kissing. But the truth is you’ve never kissed Charles, and it intimidates you.
“Do we have to kiss?” You play with his bracelets, sitting beside him on the sofa. The talk of kissing entertains the thought of sex and you can’t help but mentally complain at the remembrance that you haven’t gotten laid in weeks.
“If you don’t want to—”
“I do.” You splutter, eyes going wide, face warm. “No! I mean I don’t mind. If it sells the thing.”
“D’accord, then we will.” He smiles. “That okay?”
“Sure. First kiss,” you say. Your voice feels as clammy as your hands.
“First.” He looks away.
You take your woes off the kiss by playing a friendly round of tennis with your favourite opponents, Giada and Joris. They bemoan your competitive nature (that, to be fair, allots you and Charles three straight wins), and Giada incites a protest for a girls versus boys round.
You both embarrass Charles and Joris, heckling them as you win another two straight games. Charles runs over to you when you throw up the L sign on your hand, lifting you up and making you squeal.
“Put me down, loser!”
Giada and Joris exchange a look. Amused, knowing. “Charles! You’re such a cunt.” You kick hard, and manage to snag his abdomen, so he gently places you onto the clay again. He laughs and paces back over to his side, and you play with the tail of your braid as you watch.
You play set after set, but the kiss comes anyway. When you know photographers can see you—by the entrance—and it happens faster than your mind can muster. He’s leaning in, you’re reaching up, and your mouths slot together. It’s—and it feels crazy to say it, but—
It’s perfect. It’s lovely. You smile against his lips like they belong there and like they’re familiar and yours and like maybe this is all you’ve ever wanted, and like they deserve the smile, because they do. You feel your need to pull away before you can’t help but keep him tethered to you always. It’s strange and it’s not platonic—you’re mature enough to admit that, but not enough to label exactly what it is.
You spend the day with your fingers pressed to your lips, like you’re sealing the memory. Hours later, Charles wins. There’s massive uproar and you’re in the crowd when it happens, in the sea of strategists going to congratulate him on winning Monaco, which—that’s—it’s winning Monaco. Your ears ring by the end of it and your throat’s dry from your own cheering. Carlos comes in second, and the outlook for their team is going much better than it’d been at the start of the year, so there’s a lot to celebrate.
And celebrate you do. It starts with being pinned up against the door, hungry kisses along your jaw and neck. One kiss, it seems, has broken the dam from the few years you’ve spent abstaining from the kissing. He’s just finished interviews. He’s only just changed into his polo, and now he’s tugging it off again, feverish.
This is rushed and dirty, down low and dark. Only one light’s been switched on and he’s hiking your dress up, panties down with one hand to tug his cock out with the other. He’s kissing you—kissing you stupid, almost. Like he’s waited forever to taste your lips and now he’ll starve if he’s away for just a moment. He needs you. So have me, you want to say, all of me, push me up against the wall again and cover my mouth with your palm. Or don’t, don’t—so everyone knows I’m yours.
He presses your chest against the wall so your back’s turned to him, thrusts in with a breathless, throaty grunt.
“S’ big,” you’re saying, clawing at words the pleasure bars you from finding.
“Barely even in,” he whispers. “Slow down, baby, come on, take it.”
Your toes curl. You’re high on the win, on the kissing, on Charles, on the slow delicious stretch of his cock. “I’m taking it, I’m taking it,” you say, shaky. He thrusts, slow and deep and dirty, until he’s bottomed out and you’re tiptoeing from the overwhelm.
“I feel you,” you’re whimpering, moans and gasps leaving your mouth. You blindly search for his hand, find it against your hip, drag it to your abdomen, under your dress that he hasn’t even fully removed. “I feel you there,” you say, an edge of teasing to your voice.
His cock’s bulging, almost, out of your stomach, and it’s getting you both all lightheaded. He thrusts harder, a devious smile felt against your neck.
I need it, Charles, you plead, please, please fuck me harder. You feel it coming, the familiar pleasure intensifying so quickly—you don’t usually cum so early, he’s always making you wait for it—pussy squeezing around him.
Jesus, already? He’s groaning but a laugh escapes, breathy and amused and taunting. He’s fucking you harder, faster. It’s so good, each hit getting you closer. Taking me so well, you’re bruised all over now, baby. You hate how well he knows what turns you on; memories of mornings post-sex spent inspecting the purple marks on your hips flash through your head and you’re even closer now, shaking, whimpering, begging.
You’re half-sure someone can hear, but it doesn’t even phase you. Harder, deeper— and you’re collapsing, legs spasming uncontrollably, orgasm so intense it’s on the brink of totally hurting. Tears roll down your sweaty face and he kisses them away, cumming onto your back to wipe off in a few minutes.
“I never even”—you pant, tired—“got to say congratulations.”
“That was more than enough.”
—
Charles is elated when you tell him his family has thrown a party for him the day next. He’s boyish in that way, optimistic and kiddy, the kind of person who’s up at five-thirty to announce their own birthday.
He drives you both to his childhood home, a route so familiar he could drive with his eyes closed. (“I hope you’re not driving closed-eyed,” you’d warned.)
Even if he could, anyway, he’d rather not. The scenery of Monaco is stunning, ever-changing, and he never tires of it—the buildings, the skies, the trees and shrubbery, stores lining the streets, clean entrances.
And you—in the passenger seat, humming softly to a song of his choosing. Drives are always better when you’re in the passenger seat.
The turnout is generous: extended family, and several friends from school. There’s bowls of fruit, salad, plates of salmon and racks of lamb, knobs of butter with warm bread. Pascale commands the kitchen—visible in how she leaves it cluttered with bowls, ingredients, whisks still dripping with syrup or batter, spoons licked for tasting. The good kind of clutter.
Lorenzo has also taken reign of the AUX, because it’s 70’s music playing, which is what he’s fond of for family gatherings like these. It’s My Cherie Amour now, Stevie Wonder mellowing across the lawn and into the house.
Charles knows you love the kitchen as much as his mum does, so when you get to the house, he’s not surprised to see you leave him in favor of checking out what damage has been done to your favorite marble countertops. He watches Pascale turn from the gas range, her eyes lit when she sees you, inviting you into an embrace.
You look like the song playing, pretty and lovely, breeze in the summer. He almost loses himself in thought before his great-aunt Eden places two bony hands on his arms and greets him in feeble Italian.
He flits his eyes away from you, if just briefly, and faces the woman with a smile on his face. “Ciao, zia,” he says, voice buoyant, happy. “You came here to see me, no?”
All five-foot-one of her shakes in disagreement. She wags a finger for extra measure. “No,” she says. “Sono venuto a vedere la tua ragazza.”
His eyes widen. “She’s—” He pauses. He debates telling Eden you’re not actually his girlfriend, that this was a setup to appease Pascale and, by extension, tifosi. But he backtracks.
He shouldn’t, but he gives in, lives out his dreams for a bit. “Ah, she’s over there, zia. Con mamma.” He points to the open door, and to you on the far end of the room inside, holding a spoon. “Beautiful, yes?”
“Molto,” she says proudly. “You marry her?”
Fact: his great-aunt has the worst memory. She forgot Charles’ name twenty times, let alone niche facts like this one. Another fact: she rarely shows up to family events. Maybe now, because it’s a racing thing; but baby showers and funerals, she’s at home. So he indulges a bit more.
“Si, we’re engaged. But—it’s a secret, zia.” He grins. “Non dire a nessuno. Okay?”
“Sei fidanzato?!” She claps once, excited. “Ay, Charles. I waited my whole life for this moment, si?” And she’s wobbling away, still muttering under her breath.
—
“How is my son?” Pascale’s voice is teasing. She sighs happily. “For years I wondered if this would happen. And it really is.”
“Oui, sure is,” you sing-song, laughing a bit awkwardly. “We’re—he’s okay. We’re great. In love.”
“Oh, in love,” she swoons. She leaves you, after fifteen more minutes of detailed discussion, with half a spoonful of vinaigrette to taste-test, departing to check on the guests for a few minutes. In her place arrives Lorenzo, already bearing a shit-eating grin. “Saluuut.”
“Mmm, good to see you, too.” You taste the liquid and add lemon to the bowl. “How’s wedding planning?”
“Think we’ll throw a shower. Is that pretentious?”
“No,” you say, mulling over it. “Sure, a bit. But just don’t make it a whole thing, you’re golden.”
“I see.” He sighs fondly. “You know, many a conversation we’ve had right here at this counter. About anything.”
—
You loosen your school tie, slicing an apple like you so often do, waiting for Charles’ karting practice to end. Pascale had fixed you a bowl of something, Hervé a glass of orange juice. And somebody else would always, without fail, steal your food. A hand swipes two slices form your chopping board and your head whips up.
“Lorenzo!” You stomp your foot. “Stop stealing! That is my apple.”
“You mean the Leclercs’ apple.” He laughs, pops another slice into his mouth, smiling.
You roll your eyes, shaking your head. The braid beside your head shakes with it as you continue slicing it into perfect quarters. He pipes up again: “How was school?”
“Shit, as usual.” You lower your voice and smile, leaning in. “Pascale scolded me earlier, for saying that word.”
“Did Papa?”
“Obviously not. He fist bumped me.” You share a laugh, both chewing on apple slices now. “Anyway, I aced a math test, had aubergine for lunch… got driven here by Charlotte’s mum.”
“Charlotte?” Lorenzo hums conspiratorially, making a mmmm sound. You look up from the yellow chopping board, furrowing your eyebrows. He persists: “Mmm. Cha-r-lotte.”
“What’s up with Charlotte?” Bit impolitely, you ask, in-between chews.
“I think she likes Charles, a little.” You nod slowly, trying to follow. Charlotte liking Charles. Your Charles. Wait, no. Not your—or nobody’s, really. Just Charles. Yeah.
“What? Bull!” You narrow your eyes. “Says who?”
“Why do you care?”
“Wh—I don’t!” You squeak, caught. “Just… I think I’d know, Lorenzo.” You make a tch noise, crossing your sweater-clad arms. “So—says who?”
“I saw her leering at him during his birthday party.”
“You’re wrong,” you say, but you don’t really know who you’re convincing. He reaches over for an apple slice, and you move the chopping board out of the way sharply.
“Mon dieu, you’re snappy. Fine, fine. I might be wrong,” he relents, shrugging. He gets up and slides beside you to be able to acquire more slices. “I talked to her during the party, too.”
“Weirdo,” you tease, allowing him to take a few more. “About Charles, yes?
“No, about her brand new dress.”
“You’re the funniest Leclerc brother, I assure you.”
“She told me…” He says, louder this time, shushing you effectively. “She told me she ‘finds Charles cute.’” Air quotes, shrug. “But that they ‘probably won’t’ date.”
“Huh. Did, um. Did she say why?” You play with the tail of your braid, shuffling back and forth on your flats. You don’t know why you’re so fidgety—you aren’t nervous, you don’t think.
“Because…” he says, chewing to allow for a pause. “She said every time she looks for Charles to try and ask for time alone, or on a date, or something, he’s already following you around like some puppy.”
—
You comb your hair into a bun and venture into the patio, having avoided a good chunk of the noon heat. You greet some relatives politely along the way, and receive a hand squeeze from great-aunt Eden. At one of the tables is Charles, beside Joris and another friend, and Giada and Charlotte across them, an empty seat beside the latter.
You seat yourself in it and Giada kisses your cheek. “Hey. Ça va?”
“Fine,” you say, smiling. Then you lower your voice to a whisper. “Do you remember when I told you about my crush on Charlie? For the first time?”
“Yeah,” she whispers back. “Around… 2013.”
“Ouais. And… and it disappeared after that,” you say. “Right?”
“You said it did,” she says. “A year later. When we were sixteen.”
“Right.” You think. Seventeen onwards—you’d never formed a full-fledged crush on Charles. “Okay. It’s nothing. Just a memory. I was just. Yeah, oui.”
“Oui, let’s eat.” The memory fades and so does your running mind. Charles’ eyes meet yours across the table, and suddenly you feel a little less like your thoughts have ripped you open.
—
When you and Charles were younger, you adopted the adage “bitter with the sweet.” Charles will have people believe it was made by the both of you, with philosophical minds stretched so far beyond their years. Well, revisionist history. The truth lay in the Carole King song of the same name you’d heard on the stereo.
Those are the exact words Charles tells Ted when he’s interviewing for the Spain Grand Prix. It’s a hot day and you’re especially doubled down on by the fact that he’s finished ninth.
You’d been fake-dating for the cameras all weekend. At all costs, you try and avoid interviews, but the damned Drive to Survive producers insist on a soundbite and start following the two of you around everywhere (only to find your conversations sound very weird and niche, and not scandalous or sexy).
Pascale also called—Charles first, and when he didn’t check his phone, you. You spent an hour on the phone just talking about the race. About the penalties and the nasty headlines that followed, and just everything.
“I’m glad you’re there,” she says. “God knows he needs you.”
You end up biking to try and relieve the stress, posing with fans for pictures.
“I’m such a big fan. I stalk Charles’ Insta like, all the time, and it’s crazy how you guys are dating.” A teenaged girl laughs nervously. “Where’d it happen?”
“Texas!” He, again, tries out the bit to appease the fans but you have to extinguish the flames of his blatant lies.
“He’s kidding,” you interject. “It’s just—it just happened, really.”
How does something just happen? Someone told you once, in a Paris bar, that love is like an echo. It’s always there, in the underbelly, underneath it all, and then one day it echoes, like a bass drum or a cymbal. And the echo—the echo is you feeling it. You feel the echo, the all-encompassing echo, even if the love itself’s been there all along.
With Charles, it’s out of the question. You love him. He’s your best friend. You trusted him before you even learned what trust meant, for Chrissake.
How could you not love him? That seemed impossible. The love was there. The love’s always been there and it’ll never go away.
It echoes at half-past-two in Barcelona, when he whips past you on his bike and says on your left. The breeze pulls your hair to the left, covers your face, and when you rake it away he’s stopped to check if he accidentally bumped you in his rush to look cool.
You’re creepily observant; you’ve been told this many times before. What people don’t know is with the observance comes even more questions. Ifs, whys, wheres, whens, hows, God the hows. The questions keep coming because there’s never an answer.
“Are you okay?” He asks. Green eyes glittering like a lake. Smile like the sun. Hair curly at the ends. “Did I hurt you?”
Then you realize. In the matters of love, every question—every single question. Every single one. The answer is Charles.
“Of course not,” you say. And you smile.
—
You almost drop your book in your rush to scurry past the paparazzi. They’re still busy on the two figures (Alex and Lily, you think) on another end of the paddock, which allows you only a few moments to try and evade them.
Others are stationed near the Ferrari hospitality, which means you’re going to need your hideout. Yuki had texted Pierre who had texted Charles who had told you that it was all clear to go there for a few minutes while waiting for the photographers to clear out.
Hurry, Charles is saying. Laughing. His hand’s gentle in yours. You want them there forever. You want to drag the tip of your nail over the barely-perceptible grooves of his fingerprints so he knows how much you need him.
The days post-Spain were spent biking, watching shows, listening to music, eating food. The travel to Canada—long, cold, compression socks. Pascale had called mid-flight to check on her “favorite pair”—you maneuvered yourselves into a much more cuddly position to appease her, and her giddy smile was incentive enough to stay that way for ninety minutes.
You’d been in a weird mental state trying to grapple with your rapidly returning and intensifying feelings for him, which have dawned on you all at once.
But he makes it better. You’re still laughing when you wedge yourselves in, eyes meeting.
And then you’re quiet.
The gaze you share is intense, but almost unsure, like you’re supposed to be looking away anytime now. You step backward shakily, and his hand moves from your waist to the small of your back to keep you from stumbling any further. You’re closer now. But this shouldn’t feel as strange as it does when you two have been in much more scandalous positions before—what’s different?
He’s so close, so so close, his green eyes looking right through you. You lean closer, ready to kiss him like you have before, ready to feel his mouth slot softly over yours, comforting and safe and Charles.
Funnily enough, it’s then that the illusion breaks, his grip loosening and the distance between you increasing. He coughs twice, awkwardly.
“Shit—sorry,” you say profusely, clearly having read the moment wrong. Embarrassment wells up in your system, warming your face. You laugh to diffuse the tension but it barely does anything.
“No, don’t—” He exhales, squeezes the bridge of his nose, trying to find words. “It’s not that I don’t want to kiss you. I do.”
“So kiss me,” you suggest simply, looking around for anything that might stop him. The embarrassment ebbs away, replaced quickly by confusion.
“I don’t want to kiss you in an AlphaTauri stock room,” he mopes, burying his head in his hands in clear frustration. “An AlphaTauri stock room.” He repeats it in a hushed whisper, disbelief etched all over his pretty face.
“Charles,” you begin, smiling already, the quaint way that makes his knees go weak every time. “You’re acting like you and I haven’t kissed before.”
“This is different.” He says firmly, looking away lest he lean in involuntarily. He interjects with conviction, not realizing what he’s implying until the implication’s hanging in the air. The longing kills him softly, and he feels if he looks at you a second longer he’ll kiss you anyway.
It’s a wonderfully confusing feeling. You open your mouth to respond but you can’t; your brain tacks itself onto his sentence, the division created between the kisses before now and the kiss that might happen anytime soon.
“H…” you trail off, throat drying. Blinking, you try again, “How different?”
He looks up, eyes conveying all the things his lips never will. This is different. You know it. I love you this time.
The answer is exchanged and accepted wordlessly. You slip out of the room when Pierre tells you it’s okay to, and it’s only then—only then—that Charles’ hand leaves your body. You seem to burn alive with its absence.
It’s a Ferrari 1-2. You snap a thousand pictures with Isa and Carlos holding Carlos’ trophy while Charles is doing interviews, and they invite you to join them for the break. You’re open to it—the win, the good standings, they definitely warrant a celebration for the few weeks’ break. So your original itinerary is Portugal—beaches, coasts, food—but the jet re-charts a route and the flight is cut much shorter because you’re in New York City.
—
Somewhere in Manhattan, a wedding shower is thrown on an outdoor rooftop. “This is one hell of a wedding shower,” you squeal excitedly when you spot him, bringing Lorenzo in for a hug. Your yellow dress flows in the wind. “I thought you guys were going to throw it in Monaco?”
“Yeah, well… why not here, right? It’s beautiful.” He gestures to the skyline, smiling. “Plus, Charles, Arthur, and Mum were already near the country for work, so we got ahead of it. Everyone was happy to fly out.”
“Well, for what it’s worth, I love it.” You beam. “I can’t believe it, either. When’s the final date?”
He opens his mouth to reply, but the wind is knocked out of him by Charles barreling into his arms for a hug. You roll your eyes at the latter’s childish behavior, smiling despite yourself. They part and Charles finds his place beside you, arm snaking around your shoulders. “What a wedding shower!”
“Don’t flatter me, dipshit,” Lorenzo jokes.
“It’s a lovely one.” Lorenzo thanks him. “An amazing shower. You know, it’s a total golden shower!”
You purse your lips. “Charles—”
“A golden shower, mate. Absolutely.”
That garners at least three odd looks and you calmly place a hand on his chest to whisper don’t ever fucking say that again it means something completely different please don’t embarrass me or your brother.
For all your embarrassment, you make up for it in having the literal time of your life. The food is good, the city view is amazing, the weather is fair and the music—Desafinado now—is amazing. “I could see myself here,” you say offhandedly to Charles, who nods back with a faint smile. He’s half-distracted.
“You look beautiful, by the way,” he says, squinting from the sun in his eyes. “Very.”
You part ways at some point—Pascale whisks him off, no doubt for another long round of questioning about your relationship, and you meander around with a glass of champagne.
You’re halfway through swiping a mini quiche when a hand wraps around your wrist and squeezes to get your attention—Charles’ great-aunt Eden. She speaks only intermittent English, and your Italian fails to carry you through well enough, but you smile and greet her. “Ciao, Eden!”
“Ciao, bella.” She smiles. “Flight was long.”
“Oh, yeah. New York’s far. I might work here someday. I’ll hear results in around two weeks, but I’m hoping for London instead.” You slow your speech.
“When will you two wed?”
“Wed?” Your face warms and you stutter through a giggly mess of a sentence. “Oh, Eden—zia—no, no! We’re just friends.”
“My Charles told me you two are to be married.” You both crane your heads to the right, where Charles is leaning against the terrace railing talking to one of your friends, Matthew, animatedly. He meets your eyes, sees Eden beside you, and seems to connect the dots.
Jokingly, perhaps, he raises his hand and wiggles his empty ring finger. You can’t help but smile as you turn back to the old woman. “Oh, did he, zia?”
“Si, he did.”
“Well, we’re just going to let it happen, then. You’re invited. Front row.” You kiss her cheek and she smiles, wobbling off to drink more wine before any of the adults can stop her.
It’s announced then that the dance floor is open, and many of Pascale’s friends filter through to show off their moves to the 70’s music. You watch, amused, at the display of dexterity to Frankie Valli and Aretha Franklin. You cheer them on, content to watch them against the backdrop of the New York sunset.
When Ain’t No Mountain High Enough plays, the dance floor grows, because nobody can resist the song—not even Charles, apparently, who takes your hand without preamble and takes you, squealing, to the centre.
You sing each of the parts, like you always do when the song comes on. It’s semi-tradition at this point: you take Marvin Gaye’s, Charles takes Tammi Terrell’s. You both exaggerate your dance moves and pretend you’re performing.
His hand’s in yours, winding you around and pulling you close. At some point he starts robot dancing to entertain you. It works—you laugh out loud, your eyes half-shut and faced to the stars above. He could write a poem about this. Or a song.
The song ends and you lean onto his shoulder to take a breather—then the photographer swoops in and takes a picture. “That’s going into the RSVPs!” He says, accent unmistakably American.
“Does he know we’re not the couple here?” You ask.
Do we know we’re not the couple? Charles asks himself.
The night escalates as the “oldies” leave, and Matthew, Joris, and Giada join you both for one last round of drinks again. You’re all standing at the exit making conversation; Lorenzo attends to his friends at the other end of the terrace.
“I feel young again,” Matthew says, liberated by Tito’s vodka. He takes another swig and pulls his coat on.
“You’re twenty-five, calm down,” you joke. “Dodged that bullet.” You’re poking fun at the semi-massive crush you had on Matthew in secondary school, and a laugh passes through the four of you. “Anyway, you three be careful. No driving.”
“Jesus, but really—I haven’t been this drunk since you”—he points at you, laughing—“turned seventeen at that club, Amber? No?”
“Oh, God. Y’know, same.” You fail to notice Charles and Giada share a look. “I remember nothing from that night! Or, like, the first two hours at least.”
“I remember drinking my body weight because of heartbreak,” he jeers.
“Heartbreak? Were you—were you with anyone?” You ask, confused.
It happens before anyone can stop it. “No, when Charles kissed you. And you kissed him after. Alright, night mates! Lorenzo—merci!”
Oh, fuck, you hear in the back of your now-muddled brain. Giada’s voice.
You open and close your mouth. “Ch—wait, he—what?”
“I—let’s talk here,” Charles flounders, dragging you to a more secluded spot and facing you. The three of your friends exit; Giada waves, apologetic. “When… we were at Amber… and you were absolutely hammered, we kissed. It was twice—just twice. And you didn’t, um. Remember a thing.”
You’re unsure. “In Amber?” You blink, confused. “What do you mean?”
“We… I don’t—I mean, I understand why you don’t remember. We kissed that night.”
“So that’s… Charles… You didn’t tell me.” Your voice quivers, like a wire flicked. “Why didn’t you say it at the time?”
He doesn’t give you an answer. He just looks at the counter, imagines the way your eyebrows furrow, your lips move, eyes glitter. He can’t give you one. He doesn’t want to hurt, disappoint, sadden you. He wants to get on his knees and root you here, so he’ll have all the time in the world to come up with an answer.
“Charles.” But he loves you, and he can at the very least be honest for you. “Look at me.”
“I was scared.” His eyes gravitate to yours.
“Of?”
“It felt stupid, is all. That you didn’t remember, and maybe you did but you were pretending you weren’t. I didn’t—it didn’t—sorry.” He laughs, stutters. “I convinced myself it didn’t mean anything because we didn’t have feelings for each other.” He pauses. “Then.”
“Well,” you say, slow. Eyes stuck to his. “How about now?”
“Now?”
“I love you, now. I mean, isn’t that all this is? Loving? Even if? De—despite of?”
And this—God. This is how it feels. He’s looking at you and you’re telling him you love him because you do, and finally he’s been over with reassurance.
You love him, too. That way. He trembles with it. His hands are shaky when they lace into yours, like you’re a shrine, a prayer, and he feels like maybe these are the emotions that swirl through the human body when one wins the lottery and gets struck by angry lightning at the same time.
This is it, he thinks. Profound and lovely and an echo of sweet memories. He’s yours. Here in a city unfamiliar to both of you, yet to be conquered, your fingers lace lightly and you smile, smile, smile at each other, as if you’re the last two people on Earth. He’s yours, so foolishly in love with you.
Even far from home, you’re both filled with warmth, with longing. Extended stares, pits of your stomachs welling up with something lovely in between homesickness and nostalgia. Here again, you again, us again—it’ll always be us again, your heart seems to say, surrounded by the same love the same hurt the same sad the same everything, you and me, all the love in the world, all the confusion, we’re here. It’s never over.
Across the terrace, Lorenzo watches. Two figures, laughing, emanating happiness, gentle unkowing love. You two have finally made it here, after what felt like a thousand trials and dreams and stories.
So even if you’re taller, in high heels and a yellow dress—and Charles is broader, in a suit and tie—Lorenzo thinks he can blink and see the two little kids who hosted a tea party in the backyard. He can blink again and see you hugging, eyes shut, his lips pressed to your forehead to convey the intimacy nothing else will do as well.
“So what now?” You ask. Again with the questions. In your defense—it begs so many follow-up questions. A love so many years in the making—layer after layer after layer—of course it begs all the questions, almost to the point of overwhelming capacity. What’ll we tell Pascale? The fans? The family? Everyone?!
But one look and he makes it better. His green eyes, bright against the deep black of the skyline. You’ve grown. You’ve done it. You’re here. “We’ll figure it out.” He smiles. “We deserve this kind of ending, don’t you think?”
—
“He has my name.” A tubby finger points to the boy on the greeting card. “That one.”
“And who’s the dog?” Asks the girl beside him, hair wound into a plait. She likes this boy. He’s cute. She plays with the end of her braid and stares, eyes flickering in-between him and the card they’re staring at.
“The name’s right there. They’re best friends.”
“Okay, that’ll be me.”
“So that’s us.”
“Oui.” She smiles. “Charlie and Snoopy.”
–
read an omitted scene here :)
#f1#charles leclerc#charles leclerc smut#charles leclerc fluff#charles leclerc imagines#charles leclerc fanfic#charles leclerc drabble#charles leclerc x reader#f1 x reader
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Trust Me
Pairing(s): Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader
Summary: You haven’t been able to sleep in a couple weeks, and Natasha knows just the way to get you to close your eyes.
Word Count: 1.5k
Warnings: None? (If anyone finds any feel free to message me!)
Author’s Note: Heyy guys! I know I haven’t posted a fic in like 6 months, but I got writers block and it just never really went away. I’m not sure when I’ll post again, but I’ve had the idea for this fic for a while and I finally got the motivation to write it. It might not be that good but I hope you enjoy it at least a little! Think of it as a little Christmas gift :)
Author’s Note Pt. 2: Also, this is not proofread because I just wanted to get it posted so there might be some spelling and grammar errors!
You heavily sighed once again for probably the fifth time in the past five minutes. It’s been a few hours since you and Natasha had called it a night, and yet here you were at nearly three in the morning still lying wide awake.
Although it’s not as if you were surprised or expecting anything else. You’d been having trouble falling asleep since the first night you and Natasha arrived in Norway.
Despite not having gotten many hours of sleep lately, for some reason you still weren’t tired and still could not fall asleep.
When your girlfriend came to you a week and a half ago and told you she had no other choice but to leave the states in order to evade the government after the whole incident between Tony and Steve, you instantly decided you’d be going with her without a second thought and left no room for her to disagree.
After all she should’ve known you’d follow her anywhere, but you guess it’s taken a toll on you.
You wanted to sleep, and yet you weren’t sure what was keeping you up. Maybe you were worried about something happening to Natasha?
‘What if she gets caught? Or what if we both somehow get hurt?’ you thought.
But you knew she was more than capable of taking care of herself and keeping you safe at the same time.
Even with the amount of times you told yourself not to worry, your mind wouldn’t listen.
You eventually sighed and turned your head to look at the redhead behind you. Her arms were wrapped tightly around you and no matter how much she shifted throughout the night, she never let you go.
The mere thought of that would be enough to bring a smile to your face if you weren’t so frustrated with yourself.
Deciding you’d had enough of laying there awake, you carefully unraveled your girlfriend’s arms from around you and slid out of bed.
You almost shivered at the cool temperature of the trailer as your bare feet touched the floor and you made your way into the kitchen.
The random plastic bags on the counter rustled as you rummaged through them in search of something to snack on, finally coming across a bottle of water and a pack of chips you’d never heard of.
As you went to open the cap of the bottle, a pair of arms slipping around your waist startled you. The yelp you let out made the person behind you chuckle, and you relaxed recognizing the sound.
“Sorry, malysh (baby).” Natasha said and you turned to look at her to see the apologetic look she had on her face.
You gave her a slight smile before shaking your head, “It’s okay. But what’re you doing up right now, Nat? You should be asleep, you need to rest.”
She dipped her head down to press multiple kisses to the skin of your neck, “I could ask you the same question because so do you.”
You should’ve known you wouldn’t be able to leave the warmth of your shared bed without her noticing.
“I just couldn’t sleep.” you said, making her eyebrows furrow as you opened your water bottle and took a sip. “But I know you’re still tired so you should go back to bed, I’ll be there soon.”
“No, not without you.” Natasha was quick to disagree, “What’s going on, dorogaya (darlin)? You were yawning quite a bit before we went to bed. Why can’t you sleep?” she rested her chin on your shoulder, ready to listen to what you had to say.
You sighed realizing that you were going to have to have this conversation now. Your shoulders shrugged, “I don’t know.” was all you offered.
Natasha stayed quiet, giving you the floor for when you were ready to add on. A moment later, you did.
“I haven’t really gotten any decent sleep recently, so I’m not sure why I can’t fall asleep or why I’m not tired.”
Your girlfriend pecked your shoulder blade, acknowledging that she heard you.
“How long has this been going on for?” she asked.
For a second you went quiet, not exactly wanting to answer when you remembered that now that she knew, she wasn’t going to let it go until she made it better.
“Since we left the states.” you admitted.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Once again, you shrugged your shoulders, “I didn’t want to worry you.” you said. “You already have a lot on your plate with this whole situation and I didn’t want to add more to it.”
You heard Natasha sigh and now you appreciated that fact that you weren’t standing face to face at the moment.
“I guess I’m thinking too much.” you added. “At night I finally get the time to actually think about stuff, and I worry about you and if you’re going to be okay.”
Natasha was also glad you weren’t standing face to face right now because if you were, you would’ve seen the way her lips pulled into a smile.
“Well if you’re going to worry about me then I think I have every right to worry about you.” she chuckled and you fought back a smile at it.
“I’m sorry.” you said.
She didn’t say anything for a few moments until you heard her soft voice with that hint of rasp speak up.
“Look at me, krasivyy (beautiful).”
You craned your neck to see green eyes which were filled to the brim with love and tenderness staring at you, the singular warm light above the kitchen sink allowing her to see your sad ones.
The frustration that’d been building up in you beginning to melt away ever so slightly.
“I want you to talk to me about what you’re going through.” Natasha spoke. “I don’t care about what you think I might have going on, you’re always my first priority, okay?”
You nodded as she raised a hand to caress your cheek, brushing a hair behind your ear in the process.
“I love you too much to have you worrying that pretty little head of yours all alone when I’m always right here for you.” she pressed her lips to your temple to emphasize her point. “So promise me next time you’ll tell me if somethings wrong?”
“I promise, and I love you too, Nat.”
“Good,” Natasha smiled and leaned in to connect your lips in a loving kiss, pulling away shortly after and leaning her forehead against yours. “I’m going to be okay, so there’s no need to worry. We’re both gonna be okay, yeah?”
“Yeah,” you agreed. You knew Natasha would make sure of that.
“Alright, do you think you’re ready to head back to bed?”
You weren’t sure how to answer that. Even though you were relieved Natasha knew now and you talked about it, you still weren’t even close to being able to go to sleep.
“No,” you spoke quietly. “I’m still not really tired, and I honestly don’t know if I will be until this all blows over.”
Natasha went silent for a few moments, thinking. She turned you around to face her and moved your arms to wrap around her shoulders.
“Nat, what are you—”
“Shhh,” she interrupted your sentence, “Just trust me.”
So you did.
Her arms snaked back around your waist and pulled you into her. You weren’t exactly sure what she was doing until she began swaying with you from one side to the other.
You’d danced together before, but at Tony’s many parties. Not when you were trying to make yourself fall asleep.
“Nat, I don’t think—”
“You’re supposed to be trusting me. Do you not?”
“I do, but—”
“So shhh,” she said and you couldn’t help the little giggle you let out. “You said you were thinking too much, right?”
“Yeah.” you confirmed.
“So just relax and let me do all the thinking. I don’t want you to worry about anything except trusting me.”
“Okay.” you whispered, giving in and resting your cheek on her shoulder, allowing her to move you.
A few seconds later Natasha began humming. It wasn’t a song that you knew, but you recognized it as one of the many Russian lullabies she’s hummed and sometimes sang to you before.
The way she hummed them always made you feel relaxed and peace, and this time was no different. Because soon you started to lean into her more as you became more and more weary.
Your heavy eyelids fell shut and your head found security in her neck as you cuddled closer to it, happily letting her comforting scent soothe you.
After a couple of songs, Natasha finally looked at you to find you pretty much sound asleep.
She grinned to herself and pecked your head before lifting you into her arms, making her way back to your bedroom.
“Told you to trust me.”
~ end ~
#natasha romanoff#natasha romanoff x reader#natasha marvel#natasha romanoff x fem!reader#natasha romanov#natasha romanoff mcu#natasha fanfic#natasha x reader#natasha romanoff fanfic#natasha x you#natasha x y/n#natasha alianovna romanova
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Midnight snack - Luke Hughes
luke!hughes x fem!reader
Summary: y/n getting up in the middle of the night to make a snack and accidentally waking up Luke because they didn’t stop the microwave’s obnoxious beeping in time.
request: yes/no
A/N: Hi! We have here a new fic a short one, this time with Luke. I hope you'll like it. And because we have reached the 100 followers milestone I decided to make an AU with Jack!! I'll post the introduction with the fem!reader on saturday so keep an eye on it!
likes are good, reblogs are better <3
gif not mine
word count: 0,86K
warning(s): weird food cravings, sleepy Luke, moody y/n because of cramps
masterlist | wip's
You’ve been staring at the ceiling for a whole hour. Your stomach has been making weird noises for the past ten minutes, but you’re too lazy to get up. And another thing is Luke’s arm lying across your stomach.
You know how clumsy you can be, and if you’d try to remove his hand you would probably wake him up, but with your rumbling stomach, there is no other option.
Slowly, you take ahold of his hand, moving it in slow motions down your body, until it drops down on the bed. Luke let out a quiet snort as he turned on his back, placing his head over his eyes.
You let out a sigh of relief that you didn’t wake him. You walk over to the circle armchair where is lying your nightrobe. You slip your hands in the holes and tie it around your waist.
You make sure Luke is still asleep before you leave the room with a quiet click as you close the door. With quick but quiet steps you almost run into the kitchen while your stomach still makes the weird noises.
As soon as you’re in the kitchen, your eyes immediately wander to the pancakes you had for dinner.
You take the plate and place it on the table, you take one of the pancakes in hand and take a bite. You walk over to the fridge and pull out whipped cream, pickles, and Nutella.
Yeah, weird combination, but your period is supposed to come in two days. As you’re eating the pickles, you get a terrible taste for cacao. You pull out the milk and pour it into the biggest mug you have. You put it in the microwave for a minute so it’s warm enough. As the time counts down, you pull out the cacao and place it next to your food as you put some Nutella on the pancakes and place pickles on it.
You’re so distracted by the food you completely forget about the milk in the microwave until the last two seconds are on and the annoying beeping sounds through your apartment.
“Shit!” you let out as you run to the microwave trying to turn off the sound. “C’mon!” you groan when the sound goes on. When you finally turn it off, two strong hands wrap around you, making you let out a squeak.
“Hey, calm down, ‘s just me,” Luke whispers in your ear in a sleepy voice, kissing your neck.
“I’m sorry, I woke you up,” you sigh and pull out the warm milk. “I didn’t mean to.”
“‘S okay, but what are you doing here?” he looks around and you cock your brow as if it wasn’t obvious. He let out a laugh at your reaction unwrapping his arms from you.
“Very unique food cravings,” he points out to your pancakes. You just shrug and walk over to the table to continue with your snack.
“You want some?” you reach your hand with your food towards him. He shakes his head as he yawns, guilt forming in your chest. Luke has early morning practice today, yet he’s here with you because you woke him up. If it wasn’t up to your food cravings, he’d be still sleeping.
Luke must have noticed the change in your mood, ‘cause you to put the pancake back on the plate, chewing slowly.
“Hey, baby, what’s up?” he whispers as he pulls you in a hug.
“Nothing.” you shake your head forcing a small smile to form on your lips.
“Hey, I know you,” he cocks his brow. “So tell me, what’s wrong?”
“I…just…you have morning practice,” I sigh when I see his confused look. “You have early morning practice yet you’re here, because I woke you up, just because of my weird cravings. You’ll be tired and just because of me.”
“Hey, ‘s okay. I don’t mind I’m here. You know I’ve told you multiple times that you can wake me whenever you want if you need anything.” he says kissing the top of your head.
“But it’s not okay. I don’t want to be the one, who you are tired because of.” I mumble a tear sliding down my cheek. Jesus, stupid hormones. I wipe it quickly away but more and more starts sliding down.
“Hey, hey, hey, it’s alright. Don’t cry, my love. I promise I’m not tired. And even if I’ll be, I don’t care, you’re my priority. Always,” he bends down kissing your lips. “I don’t care if you wake me up at midnight that you’re craving hamburger or whatever. I don’t care if you wake me two hours before my alarm, that you need pads. I’ll get up and get you whatever you want. I just want you to be happy and alright.” he smiles down at you.
You nod and pull away from him, to take the pancake you were eating. He laughs at you and takes one himself. He squirts some whipped cream on it and with a full spoon of Nutella he starts eating.
“I love you,” you mumble with full mouth. A smile forms on his lips as he nods.
“I love you too, baby.”
#nhl#luke hughes x reader#luke hughes#lh43#nj devils#new jersey devils fic#nhl hockey#nhl fanfiction#luke hughes fic#luke hughes imagine#luke hughes blurb#hockey fic#hockey#new jersey devils#new jeresy#luke hughes fluff
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HEADKANONS BI HAN | SUB ZERO MK1 WITH S/O
A/N: I'm going to write headcanons about all the men in MK, I'm going to write one shots, fanfic, I'm going crazy and more horny for each one of them... I'm gay as f*ck. Do you want to make a request? Read my blog rules in the pinned post.
TW: sfw, headcanons in general, afab reader, smut.
He is an aggressive lover. I mean, he's not going to hit you or anything, but he's extremely cold (I laughed after remembering that he's fucking sub zero lol), he's the type to talk the basics, even to you, so don't do it "silly" questions for him, if he's okay or if he ate, he'll answer: "-I'm here in front of you so obviously I'm fine." "-Don't worry, I know how to take care of myself, I'm not a child."
He likes to show his love for you through actions, like buying you something you've been wanting for a while, like giving you a bouquet of flowers, small but meaningful, Bi-Han doesn't know how to express love for anyone, I'm sorry, But it's the truth, but he tries for you, even if it's not the best.
Bi-Han cares about you even if he doesn't express it, he knows that he is a frustrated and wrong man in several actions, even if he wants to lie to himself that he doesn't, you both know that, but if you haven't given up on him, and You're still on his side, it means you love him, and he values that.
Bi Han won't let you work outside of his sight, that is, he will want you at home, you can beg or try to argue, he will say: "-Your job is to be my husband/wife, take care of our house, me and yourself, I can't allow you to go around." -He spoke calmly, but seriously, and that was really his thought, he just wants you to be close to him, he is afraid, terrified, of losing you one day. -
Bi Han is insecure, even if he never admits it, he gets jealous very quickly, he knows that you are a beautiful person, so he knows that many ninjas lust after you, even though you are married to him, so please don't flirt with other men or women, this man is capable of crazy things and the silent treatment he will give you after that will be for an indefinite period of time.
You are always on his mind in every mission, Kuai Liang and Tomas sometimes notice their grandmaster looking into space and perhaps, a transparent smile appears quickly, while Bi-Han looks at the landscape on the horizon, thinking about you. "-I hope (Y/N) is okay" -He said to himself, shaking his head soon after and returning to the mission.
When he notices that you are sad he becomes worried, but he just crosses his arms under his chest, and looks at you waiting for an explanation for such behavior, if you are upset about something that someone from the Lin Kuei clan did to you, consider that person dead, your grand master husband will immediately leave the house forming a deadly ice dagger in his hand, returning some time later, with a determined and blood-stained look. "-Okay, wipe your tears, the problem has already been solved, let's have dinner." -He spoke seriously and calmly, as he wiped the blood from his hands on a cloth, heading to the kitchen with heavy steps and giving you a look, so you could follow him.
Bi-Han lies down on the bed next to you, but he can't sleep for several nights, he finds himself watching you, your face so peaceful next to him, the ninja monster of the lin kuei, you look so good and comfortable next to him, he really wonders why you married him, you deserve someone better.
He covers you more with the sheet, caressing your cheek lightly with his thumb, while whispering on rare occasions, that he loved you.
"-I really love you, you know that? I'm sorry I'm not the best man for you (Y/N), I really want you forever by my side, and I'll protect you from this world, whatever the cost, what do I do and for me and for you." -Bi Han told you while you slept, he placed a chaste kiss on your forehead, while looking at the moon soon after, it would be another night that he would be haunted by his own demons.
Bi-Han's favorite couple's activity with you is strolling to a lake on the Lin Kuei clan's estate, sitting with you on the cool grass as the two of you watch nature, the swans on the lake, the cloudy sky announcing an upcoming rain. would soon come, the trees swaying to the rhythm of the wind, as Bi Han talked about his mother, he really loved her, and he is happy to see that you were really interested in listening, as he talked about childhood memories, making little sculptures of ice with his fingertips to represent the story he told, it's these moments with you that make everything he did, even the cruelest things, worth it.
He may not be loyal to the clan, but he is to you. He's the type that if someone comes at him, he has to be held back so he doesn't punch them for such audacity. Ex:
"-Bi Han, are you going to come with us-"
"-I'm a married man"
"-Bi Han, we just asked-"
"-I'm a married man, I told you." -He says pointing to the wedding ring and leaving. They were just going to ask him to drink a little, but as Bi Han said, he is a married man to you.
He doesn't like nicknames, only during sex, other than that he will call you by your name, or "my husband/my wife", he likes the idea of being called "husband" by you too, so if you If you refer to him like that, in public, he will melt inside, and smile slightly sideways behind the mask.
He is a wild man in bed, taking out his frustrations and anger on your beautiful pussy, mouth and body in general.
Bi Han loves blowjobs, if he could, you would be kneeling between his legs 24 hours a day, with your pretty face taking his entire cock in your mouth - I feel sorry for you dear, this man's cock is big and thick, he's literally going to hit it down your throat easily, leaving you breathless while your husband enjoys watching you choke on his dick like that -
He likes to degrade you in sex, it's a way for him to mark you as his and release his frustrations too, he will fuck you roughly, especially fucking you with his dick stuck in your pussy, with him lifting you easily while his hips they aggressively pound against your tight hole.
"-You're a great slut, you know? Taking my cock like a desperate bitch."
"-Oh fuck, you feel so good, don't you? Your pussy was made for me, the grand master lin kuei, and only mine, only I deserve you, do you hear? I'm just going to fuck that beautiful pussy until you can only think about how You want my dick inside you."
"-Do I really have a little whore as my husband/wife? How lucky for me then."
"-I'm going to fill you up... I'm going to fill that tight pussy of yours, and you want that, don't you? You want every drop of my cum, you're a hungry slut."
He loves to call you: "slut", "dirty bitch", "private whore", "nymph", "good boy/girl with a tight pussy". Most of the sex sessions you have with Bi Han end with him cumming on your face, pussy or belly, painting everything with his cum and leaving you panting with your legs shaking - for him, sex really is only good when you are weak from cumming on his dick, and overstimulated, with a swollen clitoris - He loves many sexual positions, but he prefers:
Cowgirl’s Helper: He likes to see you on top of him, your hands on his chest, while one of his hands squeezes your ass, and the other is behind his head. Bi Han watches you get impaled on his dick, stretching your pussy slowly, as your pussy drools on his pulsing dick, he looks at you, smiling smugly when he sees the rise of his dick in your womb. He would just groan in response to your desperate moans, watching your body move as you whimpered to cum - he wasn't going to let you cum yet, and if you did, he was going to punish the hell out of you, giving you at least five painful orgasms and pleasant that night -
Stand and Deliver: He loves seeing you bent over, your waist is sore from being bent over for him, but he loves seeing your ass and waist on top, thrusting into your pussy while pulling your hands behind your back, he would go so hard on your hole that your feet would leave the ground, you could feel the burn of the speed of Bi Han's dick in your pussy, but he wouldn't stop, he wouldn't stop until he left you a trembling mess full of cum - while calling you a desperate slut his cock -
©YANDERESTARANGEL 2023
#yanderestarangel#afab reader#bi han sub zero#bi han x reader#bi han#bi han mk#bi han x you#bi han mk1#mortal kombat imagine#mortal kombat smut#yanderestarangelheadcanons#mortal kombat fandom#tw smut#smut x reader#bi han smut#sub zero#sub zero mk#sub zero x reader#sub zero smut#mortal kombat fanfiction#mortal kombat#mortal kombat 1 scenarios#mortal kombat 1 x reader#mortal kombat 1#mk1#mk1 2023#mk sub zero#mk bi han#sub zero x you#bi han x afab reader
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"Its not gonna fit!" with Geto, Choso, Toji and Gojo! (NSFW)
Just posting this because ive been thinking about writing it for weeks. Enjoy this tiny drabble while I stress over college!
Cw:.. fem!reader x various jjk men, they're mean :(( (toji, gojo too kinda..), choso being too sweet, cunilingus (choso), bad grammar ofcourse, SEX SMASHING INTERCOURSE BABY MAKING FUCKING MAKING LOVE i hope you get the point.
/MDNI//NSFW UNDER THE CUT!!
Gojo is so mean to you. If you say absolutely anything related to his size, or not being able to accommodate to his girth, hes seizing the opportunity to brag and belittle you while doing so.
"Awh baby.. it can't fit? hmm? Is my cock too big? Its okay, cutie, I know I know.. Maybe we just need to pay attention to your little clit, and we'll stretch you out too yeah? Im gonna make sure your little cunt remembers every single one of my veins no matter how long it takes to get in aallllll the way."
Geto (sighs dreamily) I LOVE THIS MAN. Totally much nicer than Gojo, but unintentionally mind-breaks you. His voice btw is so sexy can you imagine how husky it is duirng the deed??? drooling rn.
"Oh, what was that? It wont fit, hm? Thats okay, love. We'll find our way around it. Just gotta stretch you out some more so i can hit that spot you love so much, mhm? Right there isnt it? Yeah, I can tell with the way you're tightening around me. Or what about this? Maybe I'll touch your clit a little more. God... I love seeing you like this. Thats a good girl.. lay down juuust like that. You dont need to think for yourself anymore when I've got you."
Toji is SO mean, and incredibly cocky. Despite knowing damn well he's way too big to bottom out immediately in you, he takes this opportunity be snarky fun of you while destroying your insides.
" 's too big? We'll make it fit, doll. Stop moving like that, you know its just gonna hurt more. Give it a few minutes and you'll be crying like a bitch in heat. Fine. I'll be nice i guess, but im still going all the way in. 's not my fault your pussy's too damn tight. Fuck.. so good.. Yeah, see? Told you you could take it, wipe those tears 'fa me and keep your legs up here on my shoulders, yeah?"
Nanami... ah. He tries so so hard to be nice to you, by slowly bullying his way in your walls, but no matter how many times you do the deed it seems like you can never keep up with his size
"Too much, honey? Its okay, sweetheart. Look, I'll put a pillow just under your back here.. and it'll make you feel much better. Whats that? Feels nicer now? Ill take it slow as always honey, just take your deep breaths... God.. you're always so tight... It feels nice when I touch you right here doesn't it?..Feels deeper? Yes, love, thats the pillow under your back helping you relax. We're gonna have to use that trick next time wont we? Thats it, sweet thing, see? Im almost bottomed out and you haven't even noticed at all."
Choso is too much of a sensitive lover to even think about ever possibly pushing your boundaries. If he ever heard you say anything along the lines of 'too big' he'd pull out immediately and instead eat you out as an apology. (even though you've told him its just something you said in the heat of the moment) (he still leaves you shaking tho.)
#toji x reader#choso x reader#gojo x reader#geto x reader#nanami x reader#jjk smut#im in kahoots for geto rn.#going through my geto phase#(its not a phase.)
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