#if you get the references I am kissing u on the mouth

[eethok]

think I might book a tour idk

#if you get the references I am kissing u on the mouth #dnd #dungeons and dragons art #dnd 5e #baldurs gate 3 #baldurs gate #dnd art #fantasy art #fanart #my art #art

[machinati0ns]

TT: You got the prototype? TG: yeah lemme take a looksy TG: looks p solid dstri TG: ok lemme work somea my haxxor majyk n ill get bak 2 u TT: Cool shit. TT: Let me know if it needs any modification from my end. TG: yeayea ull b the 1st 2 kno buddy TT: The only one to know. TG: i dont give half a shitte bout ur technicalities broooo TG: now LET ME WOOOOOOOOOOOOOORRRRRRRRKKKK --tipsyGnostalgic has set their status to BUSY!-- TT: Currently letting you work. TT: But I will need to know of any necessary changes before I make a second copy. TT: Be a hell of a waste of time and resources if it didn't work for half a shit. TT: I mean I guess technically we have all the time in the world to make this work but we sure as hell don't have the resources to spare. TG: OH EM GEE SHUT UUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUP!!! --tipsyGnostalgic has set their status to OFFLINE!-- TT: Alright, alright. I can take a hint. TT: Good luck, Rox. --timaeusTestified has stopped pestering tipsyGnostalgic!--

#exposition #sort of #p;logs #guess tht'll be my pesterlog tag in the event tht there are others #also using this to kick off the 'time travel' arc #uh not sure what to tag tht as #arc: but the past ain't through with you #for now #if you get that reference i am kissing you on the mouth #if u don't get it i still love u #i know there's a way with html to make actual authentic looking pesterlogs i'm just lazy lmao

[like-a-diamondinthesky]

five minutes | l.m.h

pairing... bf!minho x gn!reader tags... established relationship, disgustingly fluffy, excessive references to soondoongdori, minho is a cat personified, soft mimo!

operation put your boyfriend to sleep in five minutes is a go.

wc... 1.4k words a/n... ah, yet another domestic fluff fic featuring softy minho. a star specialty! sorry guys this is kinda my fav thing to write ever r u sick of me 😁 anywayz this was inspired by this soft thought and this tiktok like i saw it and immediately thought : lee minho.

ALSO ALSO! HUGE THANK YOU FOR 1K FOLLOWERS! i never would've thought i'd reach this milestone and words couldnt express how incredibly grateful i am for each and every one of you who read and enjoy my works <3 i love you guys thank you so much!

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

Minho turned the doorknob and pushed the front door open, greeting Soonie who stood by the entrance with a tilted head. Shutting the door, he hung his bag on the coat rack and bent down to pet his beloved cat’s chin.

“Hi, baby,” the cat nuzzled his head into Minho’s palm and circled around his arm, “where are your brothers, hm?”

Meow… Soonie walked off to the living room as if to answer Minho’s question. A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as he followed his cat toward the faint nose of your favorite series playing on the TV.

When he entered the room, Minho saw your figure strewn lazily across the couch. Dori was cuddled up against your chest and Soonie hopped up to join Doongie by your feet. His heart warmed at the sight of his loves all huddled together.

“Honey, I’m home,” Minho grabbed your attention with his gentle, sing-song tone, a cheeky smile plastered on his face.

You switched your attention from the screen in front of you to the man standing in the doorway, returning his smile and giving a small wave. “Hi, my love. How was your day?”

Minho padded over to you, scooped Dori up against his chest, and settled himself where the cat had previously taken solace in your arms.

“It was alright,” he said, scooching backward to press his back firm against your front. “Tiring, as usual, but it's fine.”

Though he couldn't see it, you nodded in acknowledgment and pressed a soft kiss to his head. You brought one hand up behind his ear to scratch at his scalp, something you had found he enjoyed.

“Do you want to go to bed already? It is pretty late.” From its place above the TV, the clock read 10:37 PM. “Maybe we should move our little cuddle session to the bedroom.”

Minho sighed and shook his head. “But, I'm already so comfy here. Plus, you wouldn't dare disturb the cats, would you?”

“Please, remember the last time we slept on the couch the whole night? I don’t think we want that happening again.”

“Y/n,” Minho called your name, dragging out the last syllable. “My back hurts so much! Remind me why we stayed on the couch again.”

“I told you we should have moved to the bed! But you wouldn’t listen to me,” you snickered at your boyfriend from the kitchen while you continued to whisk a couple of eggs for your breakfast.

You set the bowl down on the counter and walked over to Minho who was still lying on the couch. When you came into his sight, he made a show of stretching his arms and legs, akin to a cat, accompanied by a few exaggerated groans.

“I don’t think I can get up at all today. I should just call in sick,” Minho draped an arm over his face, letting the other fall limp over the edge of the cushion.

“Don’t you have an important meeting today? I doubt your boss would appreciate you missing that on account of an 'ouchy' back.”

“Well, maybe if you gave me more cuddles, I’d feel a bit better.” Minho peeked at you from under his arm, proposing this cute, yet slightly impractical, solution. “Unless you want me to miss work and stay at home with you today.”

“Alright, you big baby.” Rolling your eyes, you moved to straddle Minho’s lap, leaning forward to place a gentle kiss on his forehead. Now chest to chest, you wrapped an arm around his shoulders, letting the other one snake up his neck to play with the hairs at his nape.

The time you spent wrapped in each other’s warmth turned from seconds to minutes, the comfortable silence lulling you back to sleep. Minutes turned to hours, leaving Minho’s meeting unattended and the scrambled eggs forgotten on the kitchen counter.

“Ugh, at least give me five more minutes,” Minho offered as he continued to stroke Dori’s back, drawing a vibrating purr from the cat. “I don’t wanna get up yet.”

“Oh, come on, you have to brush your teeth anyways. Now get your lazy bum off the couch so we can cuddle on the bed.” You grabbed the throw pillow from behind your back and swung it at Minho’s side, accidentally startling Dori in the process. The cat jumped out of the man’s arms, causing him to throw a frown over his shoulder.

“Now look what you did! You’re scaring our babies.” Finally, Minho stood up, offering you his hand to pull you up as well. You met his hand with your own and anchored yourself up, giving him a sheepish smile.

“Oops.” You shrugged and skipped off to the bedroom, leaving your boyfriend with your three cats in the living room.

“Unbelievable.” Minho took a few steps towards the bathroom, paused, and turned back to look at his cats. “Well, are you coming with me or not?”

While your boyfriend finished his night routine, you lay on your shared bed and grinned to yourself. Operation Put Your Boyfriend to Sleep in Five Minutes was a go. You knew Minho was tired, and you wanted to send him off into a good night’s sleep in the most loving way you could.

The hallway light switched off as Minho opened the door to your bedroom, sporting a playful frown. It was time for Step One: Put him in a blanket.

“Come here, baby,” you peeled the duvet back and patted the space on the bed right next to you, beckoning your pouty boyfriend over to you. “Let’s get you to sleep, yeah?”

Trudging over to his side of the bed, Minho slid onto the mattress and pulled the heavy duvet over his body. Freshly washed, the warm, lavender-scented blanket immediately soothed his senses.

“You could’ve at least stayed with me while I brushed my teeth,” Minho continued to pout as he turned on his side to face you, “and, I don’t know, given me a back hug or something.”

Though his tone was playful, you recognized the look in Minho’s gaze. He yearned for your comfort, but he didn’t know how to ask for it. Reaching over, you cupped his face, gently caressing his cheek with your thumb. You peppered a few pecks on the corners of his mouth, kissing his pout away. Perfect timing for Step Two: Give reassuring pets.

“I’m here now, it’s okay.” His hair was soft in between your fingers as you threaded them through the fluffy locks. They smelled faintly of his coconut shampoo.

Tired, Minho let out a yawn, nose scrunched and eyelids shut. He leaned into your touch, humming contently.

Faintly, the door creaked open and you could hear light thuds on the carpeted floor, followed by a slightly louder thud on the bed as Doongie entered the bedroom and jumped up to join you. He stepped all over Minho’s body—drawing out a quiet yelp from the man beside you. You giggled as Doongie finally plopped down on Minho’s pillow, snuggling against the top of his head. This brought you to Step Three: Tuck him in.

With your boyfriend lying under the covers, you hooked one leg over him, moving your hand on his head to tuck it into your neck, cradling his body with no intent to stop any time soon.

For a second, the universe felt still. It was as though the ever-rotating hands on the clock had stopped moving, pausing to witness this intimate moment between you and Minho; as if even the angels in the skies above didn’t want this sweet gesture to end.

That was until Minho decided to take matters into his own hands and execute Step Four: Put one arm out for temperature regulation.

“It's too warm!” Minho whined into your neck, breaking the silence, and removed one arm from under the blanket, exposing it to the cold air. “Ah, that's better.”

He turned on his side and wrapped his now free arm around the small of your back, pulling you closer to him, if that were even physically possible.

Seeing your bodies pressed flush against each other, Soonie—who was previously lounging at the foot of the bed—crawled up the sheets and nuzzled into the barely-there gap between you and Minho, with Dori following suit.

Within five minutes of lying down, the night ended with your small family cuddled together on the warm, cozy bed, basking in each other’s comfort.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

taglist: @kflixnet @jinnixxn @elllisaaa @captainchrisstan @laylasbunbunny @starsandrqindrops @kittymaryam-thebrowniefairy @forlix @mires-empire @quesweebs

comments, reblogs, and feedback are appreciated! © like-a-diamondinthesky 2023

#k-labels #kflixnet #stray kids #lee know #stray kids x reader #lee know x reader #lee minho #lee minho x reader #minho x reader #lee minho fluff #lee know fluff #stray kids fluff #stray kids imagines #stray kids scenarios #stray kids lee know #stray kids minho #skz #skz x reader #skz lee know #・₊✧ written in the stars

[leclsrc]

it’s never over ✴︎ cl16

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

word count: 12.9k  

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

nsfw warnings under the cut!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

“Who told you about that nickname?”

“Lorenzo.”

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

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

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

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

“It’s fine.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

“Mum—”

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

“Um.”

“Because… I’ve been…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You can.”

“No.”

“Fine. Next best thing then.”

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

“Pretend you’re dating.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Charles balks. “How did you even—”

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

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

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

You both nod, hyperfocused. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Got the IT team to fortify my account.” 

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

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

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

—

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

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

“How’s uni?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You can tell me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

“I was thinking more seafood.”  

“Tuna? Make ‘em little tacos.”

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

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

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

“It is not not okay.”

“So it’s…” You pause. “Okay.”

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

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

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

—

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

“We need to talk.”

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

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

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

“Tais-toi. It’s for her own good.” 

“So you’re going to pretend to date.”

 “Ouais.” 

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

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

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

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

“So how about her birthday?”

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

“Nervous?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sure.”

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

“Dream on. On y va?”

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

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

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

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

“It’s seven,” you beam. “Dumbass.”

“Again with the competitive streak.” memory

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

“No you’re just a—hi, hi, hello!”

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

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

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

“Texas,” Charles says at the same time.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh.”

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

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

“… crazy about her forever.”

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You.”

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

“If you don’t want to—”

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

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

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

“First.” He looks away.

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

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

“Put me down, loser!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That was more than enough.”

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

“Did Papa?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Why do you care?”

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

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

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

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

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

“No, about her brand new dress.”

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then you’re quiet.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

You purse your lips. “Charles—”

“A golden shower, mate. Absolutely.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“When will you two wed?”

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

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

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

“Si, he did.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Of?”

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

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

“Now?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

“Okay, that’ll be me.”

“So that’s us.”

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

–

read an omitted scene here :)

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

[neuvistar]

I'm IN LOVE with your jingren x reader post like my toes be curling while my heart be fluttering GOSH.

Can I request blade doing the unspeakable with us then getting caught by Jing Yuan but Jing decided he just wanted to watch blade fucking our minds out 🤭🤭🤭

WITNESS IT ALL!

— featuring ┊blade x f!reader x jing yuan

— warnings / content warnings ┊not proofread, kinda sloppy n messy, male masturbation (jing yuan), dirty talk, slight degradation, blade jus being a lil jerk, uhmm. slight choking? blade referred to as “ren” here, use of nicknames, bladie being rough w u i think, overall suggestive content | 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

— a/n ┊MM IM SO SORRY 4 THE LATE UPLOAD ANON! 😭😭 but YES YES i can imagine jing yuan keepin it low at first as he watches blade fuck ur brains out, hand stroking his cock while he watches ! this has been decaying in my drafts 4 so long i’m so sorry sweetheart i got back from a mini break >:>

“r-ren! s’ messy.. you already came too much already..!” you whined, pouting as your fingers desperately tugged at his hair, a groan erupting from his throat as he bit down on your shoulder to suppress his grunts, breathing heavily against your skin as he bit you hard enough to make your body jump. two. that was two, two orgasms. he came inside you the second time, biting his bottom lip at how tight you squeezed around his twitching cock.

“i thought i heard you say that you wanted to make it a third time, precious.” was all he whispered against you before shoving himself up deeper and deeper with each thrust, trapping his cum inside your drenched cunt as his fingers tightened around on your throat, watching as your expression switched to one with need. saliva spilled from the side of your mouth, eyes widened with surprise and lust as you whimpered at how rough he was with you, legs spasming around his waist. your boyfriend lightly choked you out, not wanting to go too overboard as his hand clasped around your mouth, watching your lewd expressions with a smirk. he knew he was stretching you over your limits, stretching out your poor pussy as well in the process. blade was hungry for you, pinning your wrists down over your head as his fingers intertwined with yours, licking his lips at how full you must’ve been, stuffing you with his cum as his cock bullied itself inside your hole with your eyes rolling to the back of your head, arching your back at how good it felt.

“that’s it, princess. you like it when i hit that sweetspot of yours? you like it when i use your body in such lewd ways like this, hm? you’re such a fucking whore, aren’t you.. but I'm not complaining now am i, my pretty girl?” he muttered lowly in your ear, biting down on your earlobe gently as he grabbed a fistful of your hair, pouring his tongue inside your mouth.

blade’s eyes widened in pleasure, eyes nearly rolling into his head as he found a new angle, frustratingly thrusting faster into your stuffed cunny. “i’m gonna cum a third time if you keep tightening around me so fucking nicely, pretty. fuck.. you love getting used as nothing but a fucktoy, hm? poor girl you are..” he caressed your cheek, planting a small kiss on your nose as she chuckled at how exhausted you were, sweat dripping all over your body. “you can't do anything but sit here and get fucked absolutely fucking raw, but you like that do you? i bet you fucking do.”

“ren.. ren! p-please..” you wrapped your arms around his neck, breathing against his neck as he hooked his arm under your knee, pushing it against your chest as he grunted at how tightly you were pulsing around him now, you were close. “c-can’t..”

“you can take it, stop whining pretty. quit lying to yourself, you know how much you love this as much as i do. fuckin’ slut for my cock you are..” his hips rolled against yours, a more rougher and quickened pace as he brought his voice down to a whisper, mumbling a few things in your ear. “think about it like this, angel. how embarrassing would it be if we both got caught, hm? how embarrassing would it be to have someone see me fucking you like this. how fucking embarrassing it would be if it was none other than the general himself, hm?”

unknowing to both of you, it seems blade already predicted that exact scenario. jing yuan stood outside of the room you both were in, pants slightly tugged down as his cock was relying on his fingers.. jerking off at the sight of blade fucking you roughly. the general knew it was wrong to stay here and just get off to this, but he couldn’t stop himself no matter how hard he tried to. jing yuan bit his lip, hissing at the discomfort of his erected cock.. he threw his head back at the thought of him fucking you dumb, he could do so much better than that criminal, he thought. no! she shouldn’t be thinking of that.. he shouldn’t! but.. he couldn’t stop. the white haired male glanced over his shoulder, stroking his cock at the same rhythm blade thrusted into you. the general couldn’t help but smile at how fucked out you were, looking over the door frame seeing just how lewd you looked right now.. the sounds you made, the faces he tried to take in of you almost came straight from a pornagraphic video.

a low chuckle left blade’s lips as he watched you squirming in his touch with your mouth slightly hung open as you tightened your grip around his neck.. never putting a stop to his sharp thrusts. “cmon be shy, precious. let me hear you..." blade’s cock twitched again, breath hitching. “cum for me, cmon pretty girl.. don't be scared.” jing yuan stroke his cock faster, he was getting close as well, his breath grew heavier and heavier by the second.

the bed creaked underneath, orgasm building up quickly inside of both you and blade and before you know it.. you were already tearing up. “r-ren!” a choked whimper was forced out of you, calling out blade’s name as he spilled his load inside of you again, your stomach bloating at how full he filled you up, legs shaking from your climax as jing yuan eyed you down from the outside, biting his lip at the sight of your cunt completely filled with blade’s cum, watching at how smoothly cum dripped from your hole once blade finally pulled out. unlucky for the general, the white haired male reached his high as well, releasing on the floor as he cursed at himself for making such a huge mess on the ground. your face scrunched at how your folds were coated with stickiness and white from your boyfriend.. staining the sheets. you gasped as blade plunged his fingers in your hole, breath hitching as he swiftly inserted his dripping cum back inside your hole.

blade then paused for a moment, a smirk crept up his pretty face as he glanced over his shoulder, eyeing the door frame. jing yuan’s heart skipped a beat.. almost seen by the other male as he sighed in relief. suddenly blade opened his mouth to speak, his voice dark yet so calm.

“mm.. it seems someone was there to witness it all as well, princess. i think he seemed to have enjoyed the little show we put up.”

shit. maybe he was seen after all.

#ᖭི༏ᖫྀ maryse’s diary ૮꒰˶˃̵ ^ ˂̵˵꒱ა #jing yuan <33 #blade <33 #blade smut #jing yuan smut #blade x reader #hsr imagines #jing yuan x reader #hsr blade #hsr jing yuan #hsr smut #honkai star rail smut #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #jing yuan x you #blade x you #poly!jing ren x reader on the brain! <3

[lowkeyremi]

Happy Birthday kenma x fem!reader

note: this is my first time writing real smut, i think. tell me what u guys think. i need feedback so i can get better. also had my friends proofread this for me, that's how anxious i am lol

Word count: 1.2k

CW: smut 18+, unprotected sex, P -> V sex, quickie, kissing, kenma is a whore and a lazy mf, reader has fem parts and is referred to as a girl, creampie, you pull his hair once, pet names.

divider cred: kithsune

"Ken! They're waiting for you what in the-" Your boyfriend, the birthday boy, is hurling you down the stairs... Into the little closet under the stairs to hide from his friends.

"I don't wanna hear Kuroo and Bokuto's shitty happy birthday singing." He mumbles quietly to you. Kuroo somehow has impeccable hearing. It's easy for him to pick your boyfriend out of a crowd with no problem.

"Oh come on Kenma, you listen to them sing every year. This one won't be any different." The closet provides no light and is stuffy. Even though you can't see your boyfriend you know there's a big pout on his face.

"Please.. it's so embarrassing. They always record it because they know I hate it." He grabs your hand, squeezing softly. His face is so close to yours you can feel his warm breath tickle your skin.

"Okay, then what do you suggest we do? They're gonna start looking for us soon. I'm sure the closet is kind of an obvious spot." One thing you'd never take into account when first dating Kenma was his sneakiness. So of course when you feel his hand slip up your shirt you gasp in shock.

"In the closet?" The disbelief in your voice caused a soft chuckle to escape the gamer's throat. You've watched him become more of a man every day, little by little. His deep voice reminds you of how in high school Kenma's voice was high pitched. He was the definition of puberty.

"Yeah, I haven't had you today because you've spent all day planning this dumb party. I think I'm ready for my birthday present."

He can't see you but he knows your body well enough to find those plush lips and plant a sloppy kiss on them. You meet his lips trying to match his slow pace. If you were being honest you wanted him too.. all day long.

His hands move from your tummy down to your ass, giving it a little squeeze. "I love your ass." He says opening his mouth while you continue to give him open-mouthed kisses along his pretty face.

"I think I can tell." You wrap your arms around his neck, placing little kisses on his neck. You know he likes it.

You're still unsure of doing this, mainly because all of Kenma's friends are not too far from the closet that has no lock on it. Things could easily go south. Kuroo would love to get in on the action if he were to find you guys, he has before.

A slim finger hooks onto your waistband and slowly pulls at it. "Quit being a tease. If we're doing this, then hurry up." Kenma only smirks at your sudden urgency.

Kenma closes the distance, his voice soft in your ear, "Calm down momma." He's playing dirty now.

He knows that nickname makes you fold. Every. Damn. Time. With your brain being slightly clouded he's able to take control.

You were suddenly grateful for the lack of light in the closet because you weren't planning to wear any cute panties until all the guests left.

He caresses your thigh, dragging out the growing arousal in your gut. There's most likely a wet spot on your panties right now.

"Is it bad I'm already hard?" His voice is hoarse even though you guys haven't done anything yet.

"Stop playing, touch me, Ken." You whine getting fed up with his incessant teasing.

"Okay, princess, whatever you want." Without wasting any time your panties are pulled down and two of Kenma's fingers find your dripping cunt.

He's quick to push his fingers in. It hurts just a little bit but the pain goes away as his fingers work you open. "Hah, so good cuz of my skillful gam-"

"Fuck- if you say your 'skillful gamer hands' I'm going to leave this closet." Kenma knows you won't leave the closet, not when he's fucking you so good with his fingers.

Your boyfriend continues at a quick pace. To stay upright you have one hand gripping his shoulder, while your other reaches to rub sloppy circles into your clit.

"So pretty when you touch yourself." He moans rather loudly. It takes him by surprise when you stop touching yourself to cover his mouth. Your juices get on his face.

"Shhhh. Your loud ass is gonna get us caught." Instead of listening to your warning, he tries to push you over the edge. His other hand finds your clit that you abandoned. You would think that his movement would be sloppy, but yet here he is being precise with the way he fucks you with his fingers.

This time around you let out a moan, not as loud as Kenma's. You've concluded that your boyfriend is kind of a slut for you.

Kenma knows that you're getting close. The way your breathing changes, the way you desperately clutch to him, the way you stumble on your words, he loves all of it.

"Getting close?" He teased.

You don't say anything- or more like you can't say anything. Pleasure clouds your mind. All you want is to cum.

"Hah- can't cum yet baby. 's my birthday." With that statement, he pulls his fingers out of your cunt to admire the slick on them.

The blonde pulls his cock free from those restraining pants of his. A small groan escapes those plush lips of his when he thumbs at his slit. And he doesn't warn you before entering your pussy.

You gasp rather loudly, his cock filling you up to the brim just the way you like it.

Kenma lets out the loudest moan ever when he feels your tight pussy squeeze him. You count about a minute before he starts to move.

His thrusts aren't calculated as usual. Kenma is a very smart person and weighs out his options before doing something, but when it comes to you, he always loses himself. He calls you the most dangerous weapon.

The grip you have on his shoulders is deadly. You decide to kiss him, only to shut up his loud moans.

Kenma continues at this uneven pace, fucking up into your dripping cunt. You move one hand into his hair to pull at it.

"Shit, Mommy- feels so good," Kenma whines into your ear and you melt on the spot.

Kenma feels you squeeze his cock more than you did before. Your eyes screw shut and you see white.

"I'm gonna-"

Kenma beats you to it by a few seconds. That pretty cock of his paints your insides white, not slowing down for a second. The sounds your bodies make slapping against each other are loud and obnoxious.

You're quick to cum after him, pleasure taking over your body, which almost gave out and it wasn't even crazy sex.

"Ken, we... we gotta hurry up. I'll go change and-"

Kenma finds your panties, and pulls them back up, a sinister smile growing. "Be good mama, don't let them know what we were doing."

"You don't expect me to go out there full of-"

"Hell yeah, I do." He pulls his boxers and pants up.

In the closet, he grabs your hand while leading you out.

end note: idk how to feel abt this.. ik its my first time. but i still dont like it lol. tell me what u think

#kozume kenma haikyuu #kenma kozume haikyuu #kenma smut #kozume kenma x reader #kenma x reader #kenma kozume x f!reader #kozume kenma #kozume kenma smut #haikyuu smut #haikyuu!! smut #haikyuu #haikyuu!! #kenma kozume x reader fluff #hq kenma #kenma #kenma kuzome #kodzuken #haikyuu x reader

[shutuperce]

your fall 2023 byler reading list 🍂🍂

BIG BYLER FIC REC DUMP cause i haven't been writing a lot but i HAVE been reading and y'all need to read these! hope u enjoy as much as i did <3

got your spell on me, baby - @astrobei -Stranger Things (TV 2016) [Archive of Our Own]

Words: 7,919

TW: none

'To be fair, Will’s costume is great, now that Mike knows what it is. And, okay, wait-

“Oh, this is so good. This is so good.” Max points at Mike, wheezing. “Because you’re dressed as-”

Will’s still looking straight up at the sky. The length of his neck is very, very flushed. Mike can feel his entire face going redder than Vader’s lightsaber. He clenches his hands into tiny little fists, and says, around a groan: “I’m not Han Solo, guys.”'

THE halloween byler fic. the party at college, bi lucas sinclair content, halloween party shenanigans.

these nerds, using star wars to flirt 🙄

background lumax & their amazing couples costume, el & will power sibling duo!!!

bowie references to heal the soul

all in all one of my favourite getting-together fics for this time of year :)

what a match: i'm half-doomed and you're semi-sweet - @perexcri - Stranger Things (TV 2016) [Archive of Our Own]

Words: 28,150

TW: guns, blood, gore (just demodogs though no human gore)

'One month ago, if you had asked Will Byers what he’d do if Mike Wheeler threaded his fingers through his hair, looked him dead in the eyes, and started leaning in for a kiss, he wouldn’t have said this.

He wouldn’t have said he’d be staring right back into those yawning dark eyes, one hand on Mike’s waist, the other against his cheek. There wouldn’t have been any lightning in his veins or blood rushing in his ears.

He wouldn’t have said that Mike Wheeler would be tilting his head in the opposite direction, eyes widening just the slightest as if asking permission, his mouth slightly parted.

He wouldn’t have imagined it at all.'

SO SO GOOD. apocalypse post s4, background jancy and platonic stobin, interruption trope x10000 so it's SO SATISFYING at the end.

WILL WITH A GUN.

jonathan & mike solidarity <3

all in all amazingly well written mike and will being blushing messes. love them. fluff in the apocalypse.

take my hand, wreck my plans - @parkitaco - Stranger Things (TV 2016) [Archive of Our Own]

Words: 6,297

TW: discussion of past trauma

'"I am not taken," he says out of habit, even though he kind of is. He and Will aren't together - he blushes at the thought - but they do spend an awful lot of time together, and Mike doesn't ever find himself wishing he was anywhere else. "Will and I are-"

"Ooh, I didn't even say anything about Will!" Max crows. "Oh, this is excellent."

Mike hides his face in his hands even though she can't see him. "Oh my God. Can you put Lucas back on, please?"

Max cackles in to the receiver, the sound fading as Lucas presumably wrenches the phone out of her grip. "We gotta go, Mike," he says, laughing a little. "Max has class and I'm driving her."

"Tell her she's the worst," Mike grumbles, fiddling with the phone cord.

"Say hi to Will for me!" Lucas sings, and hangs up before Mike can protest.

Mike groans and flops back on his mattress. It's going to be a long year.'

part of a series!! byler college au, friends-to-lovers, background party friendship, AND THEY WERE ROOMMATES. OH MY GOD, THEY WERE ROOMMATES??

taylor swift title... do u really need any other persuasion

the whole series is just AMAZING. mike & will getting a break, living together at college and figuring shit out <3

i might be hoping about this - @astrobei - Stranger Things (TV 2016) [Archive of Our Own]

Words: 15,321

TW: none

'Will lets out a small squawk as Mike’s hand— his very cold, very freezing hand— finds its way around the blankets and under his sweater. “I’m sick, you weirdo,” he says, half-laughing into the side of Mike’s head, “I have a fever.” 

“I don’t care,” Mike mumbles, “you’re warm and I’m cold. This is nice.”

“You’re going to get sick,” Will tries, for the umpteenth time, but it’s pointless. Mike Wheeler is stubborn and hardheaded and he never does anything halfway— not even this.'

established byler at college!! so yeah i have a love of college byler and this is one of my top fics for sure. 2nd astrobi fic on this list because i love their writing <3

will gets sick, mike takes care of him. need i say more?

silly goofy guys living together & doing silly goofy domestic shit

this fic makes me SOFT.

accidentally on purpose - @itsromeowrites - Stranger Things (TV 2016) [Archive of Our Own]

Words: 5,019

TW: none

'It starts out with a kiss. An accidental kiss. Because Mike is sleepy and Will is pretty, and who can really blame him? And then there's another one, just as accidental. But the third? Well, that may be a little more on purpose.'

literally smiling so hard at this fic. like hello. soft secret boyfriends and loads of party content, all the kids are okay <3

established byler, how the party finds out. all fluff all the time. jonathan attempts the Talk. mike has no idea what's going on. et cetera.

background lumax, lucas & dustin being lil shits together, and el using her powers to cheat at splashing games. all in all a good time!

and if I get burned, at least we were electrified - anonymous - Stranger Things (TV 2016) [Archive of Our Own]

Words: 14,958

TW: none

'“I’ll leave you be until lunch,” Max starts negotiating, nodding at him as if that’s a good deal. Which—considering it's Max, it is, but Mike doesn’t want to give in just yet. She sighs. “I won’t laugh about the sweater anymore. Or the weak disposition that gives you stupid allergies all the time.”

Mike’s frown deepens, but she wasn’t as mean as she could have been, so he’s gonna take it. He needs to get this out anyways, or he’s going to keep running in circles as if stuck in a hamster wheeler—an accurate representation of his brain when it comes to Will, really. He presses his lips together and tries to figure out a subtle, non-funny way to say it, but he comes up blank.

Fuck, whatever: “I almost kissed Will. Again.”

Max actually has to cover her mouth with her hand, disguising a worryingly loud snort with a cough. The teacher turns their way and stares, then goes back to explaining the exercise on the board. Mike scribbles it down while Max gets herself under control.

Screw his life.'

senior year, post-vecna. the party being friends but also little shits to each other.

madwheeler bandmates!!!

will steals mike's entire closet

they are Dumb Idiots who are mutually pining from afar

and other lovable tropes. takes place in november so good fall vibes :)

#perce reads #byler #byler fanfic #fic recs #byler fic recs

[bsxcrxts]

I'm still petitioning for mommy kink spencer whenever you're up to it🚩

the people have spoken!!!

Good Vibrations

a Spencer Reid x fem!reader fic

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. my posts are for those 18+ ONLY! put your age in your bio to interact with me and my works or find yourself blocked!

Content Warnings: reader referred to by gendered terms (sorry, I usually try to avoid this but with mommy kink it's hard), porn mentioned as the way Spencer first heard of this kink but not described in detail at all, small cock Spencer alluded to (sorry I have to live my truth), mommy kink (as more of a title than anything tbh), vibrator usage, sub/dom dynamics, edging him, the vague mention of assplay but it doesn't happen (maybe a sequel idk 👀)

Word count: almost 1k <3 not proofread (sorry)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Spencer's not particularly keen on porn. He hasn't watched any since the two of you started dating, but of course before that, when he was a bit younger and it seemed like no one was ever going to give him the time of day, he'd at the least been curious.

He's a man of science, after all. He knows the value of testing a hypothesis. He likes knowing things.

Most of what he found back then was... not his style. He'd known he was into being bossed around instead of being the one in charge, liked the feeling of a person telling him what to do, and on the surface, most of the videos were rather the opposite. So, out of a certain nosiness, Spencer kept looking, but nothing ever really stuck with him.

Except for one.

He'd never gone looking for it again. He didn't need to. The majority of the contents of the film itself weren't particularly of interest to Spencer. Just what the woman had told the man to call her.

It stayed with him for years, but he could never really quite bring himself to say it, or ask you about it. He wasn't at all dissatisfied with your sex life, quite the opposite, and there was no real reason to bring it up.

So he just... hasn't. Until today. By complete accident.

You're on the bed, straddling his thighs, pinning him down with nothing but your weight. Spencer's head is thrown back and he's writhing beneath you as you press your vibrator wand against his cock, letting it tease him before yanking it away.

Spencer reacts well to being edged, you know. He gets needy and whiny and absolutely desperate, and runs his mouth like a brat before he breaks and says anything to be allowed to cum.

You lightly drag the vibrator across his cock, and his hands scramble to and from the sheets to your thighs, trying to grasp onto anything to ground himself in the sensation.

"D-don't s-stop this time," he pleads, hips trying to buck under your body.

"Aww," you coo, "you like that feeling on your pretty little cock?"

"Mhm!" he gasps. "Keep going, g-god, keep g-going."

Spencer bucks his hips uncontrollably and tries to grab at your hands and pull the toy closer to intensify the feeling.

"Be polite," you tut, maintaining the vibrator, barely pressed against his tip.

"U-uhn! I-I am polite," Spencer sasses you a bit, frustrated as he tries to wiggle closer to the vibrator, chasing the sensation.

The contact vanishes from his cock as you take the toy away for the third time in this session. His cock kicks against his stomach, pre-cum oozing from the flushed head, impending orgasm vanishing.

Beneath you, Spencer huffs out a whine. You lean over him and kiss him, but refuse to touch his dick whatsoever.

"Spencer," you murmur, when he's stopped squirming underneath you. "Are you going to be good?"

Spencer nods, but whispers, "Wanna cum."

"I know, sweetheart. I want you to cum, too. But you have to be good. Can you behave?"

"Yes! Yes," he whines, running his hands sweetly up and down your thighs, stilling beneath you.

"That's it, such a good boy," you praise, and click the vibrator up to a middle intensity as you press it against his cock.

Finally, the relief of the contact in combination with the praise has Spencer's head reeling. He can't think straight, which is saying a lot for someone of his IQ, and he delves into rambling, saying anything that comes to his mind. That's when it just... slips.

"Thank you! T-thank you, mommy!!" he cries out, immediately tensing a little when he realizes what he's said.

You blink a little, not sure what you've heard. He's never called you that before.

"What'd you say?" you ask softly.

Spencer's cheeks turns beet red, and he turns to try to hide his face in the pillows.

"I'm sorry, we don't have to talk about it if you don't want–" he starts.

"Mommy, is that what you said? That's hot, Spencer," you say. "I liked it."

Spencer's whole demeanor changes. He instantly relaxes, becoming re-aware of the vibrations on his cock. "O-oh," he stutters, "then, um, good," and then, shyly, "m-mommy, can we keep going?"

"You want more, sweet boy?" you tease.

"Want whatever mommy gives me," Spencer gasps, sweetly obedient.

His words send shock waves through your stomach to your cunt, and you crank up the intensity of the vibrator, letting it run full strength against his twitching cock, and he jerks under you, unable to stop his reaction.

"Fuck! Mommy!" he cries out.

It takes a lot to get Spencer to cuss. You like the way it sounds when he says it, especially when he's lost in his pleasure below you.

He's fucked out, returning to his babbling as you tease the length of his cock with the vibe. You're reaching down to toy with his hole, running a finger along his taint and tapping there, not pushing in, not without prep, but even the suggestion of it drives him crazier.

"P-please mommy, next t-time, you could, um! Fuck!! Anything you want, mommy, just let me cum. I want you mommy, oh god, just like that!!"

"Anything I want, hm?" you tease.

"Y-yes, mommy!"

"What about you, sweetie? What do you want? You wanna cum?"

"Mommy, I needa cum. Please don't stop," he whines.

"I won't stop this time, Spencer, you were such a good and honest boy for me," you tell him, "go ahead and make a mess for me."

"Mommy!" Spencer moans, and spills all over his stomach and your vibrator.

It's certainly not the last time he calls you by that name.

#sub spencer #becca's bs #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x reader #Spencer 🤍

[atinyniki]

Hihihi<3 I was thinking of Seungmin or Lee know (you can chose) with a idol!Gf that gets hurt during a award show.. maybe falling off a wobbly platform 8ft in the air? (We don’t brear our back). What would his reaction be? I know it’s kinda cruel but Its been on my mind for a week.. if it makes u uncomfy ignore this and forget u ever read it<3 Ty in advance<333

i'll take care of you.

group: stray kids !

pairing: idol!kim seungmin x idol f!reader

genre: hurt/comfort, angst, fluff

warnings + additional info: reader is referred to as y/n, crying, reader fractures her ankle, kissing, play fighting, seungmin wants to murder someone, reader falls from a platform, lots of petnames, just rlly cute and fluffy at the end, seungmin is really scared, injuries, established relationships, munhee is a member of y/ns gg.

authors note: ik this was supposed to be more angsty but im literally head over heels for softie seungmin so here you go :P thank you for the ask annonie !! this is also not proofread. english is not my first language, so please excuse any grammatical or spelling errors. happy reading :)

wc: 1344

“hey hey hey, don’t be nervous my love… you’ll do amazing, i know it.”

“i’ve never done this in front of such a crowd before… what if they don’t like me, min?”

“oh baby… they’ll love you, i promise. and if anything happens on stage, your members will be there to back you up, yeah?”

you give him a hug, he always knew how to calm you down in moments like these. you suppose it’s because of his own experiences, especially considering the amount of award shows he’s been at. 

“i love you, seungminnie…”

“i love you too, baby. now go! you don’t wanna miss your cue. i’ll be in the audience, i promise.”

you give him a quick kiss, shooting up from the seat to go meet your members. seungmin leaves too, sitting down at stray kids’ respective table.

“excited?”, jeongin asks from beside him.

“of course i am! i’m so proud of her…”

his eyes stay fixed on the stage, waiting for your performance to start. the lights dim, and he sits up straight. it’s time for your performance.

there’s no point in recording, he knows they’ll have a fancam. right now, he just wants to watch his baby shine. 

and you do. you look absolutely gorgeous on stage, the lights hitting you at the perfect angles. the track starts, and the crowd starts cheering.

so many people, just for five girls performing. the first song is a ballad, something slow to set the mood. it’s one of your favorite songs from the comeback.

though munhee wrote the song due to her own experiences, your voice carries the same amount of emotion hers does, and it makes the lyrics sound so much more authentic.

seungmin watches from the crowd, he truly thinks he might cry. the rest of the boys are in awe too, some members of gidle clasping their hands over their mouths in surprise.

everyone is used to you doing intricate dances with upbeat music, and they’ve truly never been able to appreciate your vocals.

then it hits the climax of the song, ending with a high note you must complete. as scared you are of heights, you know it’s inevitable. the platforms will go up, whether you like it or not.

its a small space that you have to maintain, but you try your best to focus on the song. and now, you have to sing.

you close your eyes, letting out your voice, and it sounds absolutely angelic. and then you open them again once you hear the low whirring of the platforms.

they all go up. 

except for yours.

nonetheless, you continue singing, determined to keep your professionalism throughout the entire bridge. and then the song ends. the platforms finally lower back down, and all of you wait for your cues to leave.

once you see it, you take a step.

you shouldn’t have.

all of a sudden, your platform shoots all the way up. eight feet in the air. before you have time to process, it wobbles side to side and you fall off.

thud.

seungmin stands up instantly, rushing to get backstage. he doesn’t care how many people hes pushed and shoved, but he needs to know that you’re okay.

and then a shrill scream fills the air, and his heart stops. it feels like your entire foot is about to fall off, the pressure from your fall crushing it under your weight.

he continues running as fast as he can, getting backstage before you can even blink. “baby? oh my god…”

you’re still crying from the pain, being set onto a stretcher for your leg. “it hurts…”

“i know baby… i know. you’ll be okay…”

they finally get you onto a comfortable bed, evaluating the damage to your ankle. luckily there’s no blood, the medics assume that it’s broken.

“seungmin… you’re on soon.”

“i’m not performing. jeongin’s filling in for me today.”

“what? but you practiced…”

“please… let me stay. i just want to help you feel better…”

you grab onto his hand, trying your best to reassure him that you’re okay. he doesn’t budge, so you just give up on it. 

“you did amazing, angel.”

“thank you…”

“no, really. i mean it. you kept it incredibly professional out there. plus the song was way outside your comfort zone, it was just amazing to hear you sing like that.”

“seungmin…”

“i’m going to kill whoever fucking did that to you. normally they’re more careful with these things… i should’ve had them double check or something. i’m sorry”

“hey, it’s not your fault. please don’t worry… it’s just my ankle. i’ll be fine, really.”

“but you’re hurt. if we had done a test before to check… maybe you wouldn’t have to be here…”

you smile, grabbing onto his hand and bringing it up to your lips to plant a small kiss over his wrist. “it was just a malfunction. it was out of our control, min.”

he clutches onto your hand tighter, his heart fluttering when he looks at you again. the black lightning-like streaks paint your face, eyes still slightly glossed over and nose red.

you’re so worn down, but you still look beautiful as ever. he prefers you like this, natural and authentic. you still look just as beautiful, but the black streaks have his heart clenching.

suddenly, he gets up, picking you up and moving you to the side a little. he’s extra careful not to apply any pressure to your ankle. he knows you’re in enough pain already.

he sits down in the empty space next to you, pulling your head to his chest. “you promise you’re okay? no discomfort?”

“it hurts of course, but other than that, no.”

“i’m so sorry…”

“baby, it’s really not your fault.”

he rubs up and down your arms, more so to soothe himself rather than you, and you smile up at him. you place a small kiss on the corner of his lips, as far as you can reach without moving your legs.

“i’m okay…”

“i love you, gorgeous.”

“i love you too, minnie.”

the medics finally come back, telling you that it’s only a fracture. you’re lucky you don’t need a cast, but you still need to heal for a little while.

“thank god you’re okay…”

“seungmin—“

“you’re not going anywhere without me for the next couple days, okay? i’ll take care of you, i promise…”

“seungmin, you really don’t have to—“

he cuts you off again.

“but i want to.”

you giggle again, you didn’t think he’d react this way. but of course he was going to be overprotective, what did you expect?

you lean over to plant one more kiss onto his jaw, and he pulls you onto his lap. “seungmin, i think you’re more upset about this than me…”

“of course i’m upset! they hurt my baby…”

“it doesn’t even hurt that bad anymore… im fine. you don’t have to worry about me.”

he pulls you flush against his chest, nuzzling his face into your neck. you giggle at him, a little confused as to why he’s licking you, but you stop once you realize that it’s not saliva.

they’re tears.

“it could have been so much worse…”

you wipe the tears from his face, smiling once you see him clearly again. “why are you crying?”

he sighs lightly, giggling when he realizes how he’s acting. “nothing, i’m just… glad you’re okay.”

you smile at him, holding his hand again and trying to sit up. it doesn’t work of course, seungmins arms are wrapped tightly around your waist.

“let me go!”

you thrash around in his arms, but he only holds onto you tighter, giggling as he watches. 

“seungmin!”, you whine.

“they said you needed rest!”

“that doesn’t mean you have to be completely attached to me!”

he rolls his eyes playfully, planting a kiss onto the top of your head. “actually, thats exactly what it means.”

“i hate you, kim seungmin.”, you grumble. you turn to look at him, scoffing once you see him wink.

“love you too, babe.”

<3

#atinyniki #from: annonie <3 #skz #skz x reader #stray kids #stray kids imagines #stray kids scenarios #stray kids fluff #stray kids angst #stray kids x reader #kim seungmin #seungmin #seungmin x reader #seungmin x y/n #seungmin x you #seungmin angst #seungmin fluff #kim seungmin angst #kim seungmin fluff

[jkbabiey]

mess it up • mark lee

wc: ~1.6K notes: cute little drabble for u guys starring my boi mark lee; all my gracie abrams stans will understand the references ;) it's angsty guys, so... yeah, enjoy!!

"hello?"

it was a little past 3 in the morning when mark was woken up by the ringing of his phone and your name on his screen. he hadn't given in on your first try, nor on the second. it was the third time you called him that night and mark was having a hard time not picking up.

but it wasn't the first time you did this. nor the second.

"hi," you said, your voice whispered and unstable.

you hadn't spoken in the past two weeks or so. not after you decided to play with mark's heartstrings for the millionth time, completely ignoring his undying feelings for you.

as if you had no idea they even existed.

mark and you had met during childhood, by chance, due to his inability to kick a soccer ball in the right direction - it ended up hitting you in the face and chucking your freshly-bought strawberry ice cream straight to the floor. he bought you a new ice cream (mixing up the flavors and buying a bubblegum-flavored ice cream instead). one year later, after you became self-proclaimed best friends, mark showed up by your window with a bucket of strawberry ice cream in his hands and a confession of his love for you in the tip of his tongue, promising to treat you right and to never get your ice cream order wrong again.

nothing ever worked out in mark's favor tho. you were awfully quick to dismiss his feelings, watching the disappointment settle in his eyes. crestfallen he walked back home and that same night, at around 1 am, without your parents knowing, you sneaked out to throw rocks at marks window, proposing to forget about that little bump and spend the night watching movies and eating strawberry ice cream. mark promptly accepted your proposal, letting you in.

that became the one topic neither you nor mark ever touched again. you never acknowledged the intense feelings mark nurtured for you every time you hung out at his or your house, and that became harder and harder for you, because if there was anything mark was awful at doing was hiding any emotion behind those eyes. his eyes never lied, especially when they settled on you and shined like he had never graced a more beautiful star.

so on your 19th birthday, you kissed him on the mouth, absolutely inebriated, after noticing the way he kept marveling at you as you swayed your hips side to side, with those big bright eyes of his. your lips were soft against his and you smiled at him after it ended, just to walk back to your group of girlfriends to keep dancing like you hadn't just kissed your best friend.

mark finally got the guts to bring it up again the day after your birthday, shyly muttering that he didn't think he had changed much from when he was 13 and in love with you. he remembers you just starring at him right in the eyes after the words left him, before your lips tentatively pecked his. right before your hands started wandering through parts of his body no one had ever touched before. right before you took his virginity and made him fall ten times harder for you.

just for you to ghost him for three whole months after it. you stopped answering his texts and calls. whenever mark tried to come to your place it was your mom opening the door and magically you were never home.

and then you called him one random night, crying, asking him to come over. he did. and just like that you were best friends again.

mark would always give you anything you asked from him, including the sudden kisses you stole from him, and the nights of pleasure in the middle of his sheets, from time to time. you took it all. and you took all that while still claiming to be his best friend and nothing more when your friends asked if you two were dating.

"i'm sorry, did i wake you up?" you asked through the phone. mark could tell you weren't home and had been crying.

"well, it is 3 am" he chuckled, trying to ease the nerves he knew were overflowing in your system. you chuckled too, muttering a small 'right'. "are you alright?"

"yeah... are you?"

"yeah."

it was silent after that. all you heard was his calm breathing and all he heard was your quick one paired with the sound of your sniffles. "can i come over?" you whimpered. mark could picture you with tearful eyes, biting down on your bottom lip to keep the cries from erupting.

you heard mark sigh. "y/n," he mumbled. "you can't keep doing this."

it had happened again. the running. it was as if a switch turned in you as soon as mark mentioned any type of love he nurtured for you. and you proved your avoidant nature once again two weeks ago when after a whole night spent in mark's bed, he let out the tiniest 'i love you' as he came inside you. it amazed him how you immediately freed yourself from his embrace after it was over, putting on your clothes in a rush and getting out of his room without saying a word or looking back at his resentful eyes for a second.

"i know mark, i just- please," you cried.

"dude, i'm serious. we've been doing this for years," you said, the anger he felt finally showing in his voice, even though he tried to sound as gentle as possible. "you can't keep giving me hope, just to freak out when i talk about the love you know i have for you. it's not like you're unaware of it. I've told you. and I'll tell you as many times as it takes for you to understand how i feel about you!"

"i know how you feel," you said, your voice wavering and mark closed his eyes at the sound burying his face in the palm of his hand. "i know, but I'm not ready to be what you want me to be. i can't do it-"

"well, you do a terrible job at showing that. you think kissing me is a good way of showing me you want nothing to do with me?"

"that's not-"

"y/n stop! if that's how you feel don't fucking call me at three in the morning asking to come over! just leave me alone."

"but i miss you," you cried, full sobs echoing through the call now. "I'm sorry. i can't stay away from you like that. you're my best friend!"

"that's not what i want to be tho!" he said, tone getting exponentially louder and he had to remind himself his parent were sleeping downstairs. "what do you not get? i want to be your boyfriend," he continued and heard your cries intensifying again. "you can't keep this up." he muttered, voice tired and heavy. "you come and go as you please, literally playing with my feelings. because you know i love you and I'll give you anything you want. you want to come over? fine. you want a kiss? okay. you want sex? I'll give it to you. I'll give you anything and you take advantage of that every fucking time. if you don't feel the same way, please, just stay away. let me get over this because if you just keep coming back i won't ever move on. you'll just keep hurting me."

by now, you could clearly hear mark's voice getting heavy with tears he was probably holding back for your sake.

"i know i never was the best to you. i'm sorry. i'm sorry i made you cry tonight. i didn't mean to," you said, sniffling in the middle of your words. "i love you."

and just like that you hung up. immediately, mark broke down in his bed. his back pressed against his mattress, his hands covering his wet eyes as his chest heaved quickly in the darkness of his room. the last thing he ever wanted was to make you feel bad about anything. he loved you with his whole body and soul and had to struggle with himself to not call you back after your quick 'i love you'. but then he would keep walking in circles and letting you walk all over him once again.

he wouldn't give in. not this time.

he fell asleep with a heavy heart and a pounding head - missing your fourth call.

'pick up dude' - y/n, 4:04 AM

'bro i was actually outside your place this whole time. can u come open the door? let's talk fr' - y/n, 4:05 AM

'pls it's freezing' - y/n, 4:05 AM

'do i have to throw rocks at your window again?' - y/n, 4:06 AM

'fine, i'll just go home then' - y/n, 4:08 AM

'i get that you're very angry at me, but I love you. i'm sorry if i fell out of line when i called you. I want to take this seriously, you'll just have to guide me through it all because I'm very very VERY scared. u know i never had a boyfriend, right? please call me when you see this. pls pls pls call me, even if you hate me and don't want to date me anymore.' - y/n, 4:27 AM

'can't lose you.' - y/n, 4:27 AM

#mark lee #mark lee fwb #mark lee angst #mark lee fluff #mark lee imagines #mark lee x reader #mark #nct #nct 127 #nct dream #nct u #nct drabble #nct angst #nct fluff #nct dream drabble

[parkersbliss]

I'm so embarrassed but here it is! 😭 so there's y/n who is addicted to coffee flavored candies but doesn't like drinking coffee. which five finds very confusing. She's always offering five candy but ofc, five answers grumpily like "it's not the same thing as coffee"— and suddenly goes to a part where they kiss (idk how it leads to this omg) and five is absolutely ENAMORED with her lips bcs of all the coffee candy she eats..

is this too much explaining or what.. ANYWAYS THANK YOU FOR THIS I LOVE U LOTS <3

this… this is THE request. thank you for this 🙇‍♀️

Sweet Flavor | F. Hargreeves

pairing: five hargreeves x fem!reader

wc; 637

warnings: might make you blush lololol

synopsis: five refuses to try your favorite candy, so you make him

a/n: feeding yall today 🙄 you’re welcome! half way through s3 💪 also aged up five ofc!

requests: CLOSED

Masterlist | Taglist | Prompt list 

—

Five sighs, leaning on the table as you take a seat next to him.

“Really embracing the old man, huh?” You said, referring to his unusual outfit. Instead of the academy uniform, he’d opted for a vest, flannel, and fedora combination. You honestly wondered where he found it.

Five hums. “Yes, I am. It’s called retirement.”

You just laugh at him, unwrapping one of your Werther's caramel coffee candies. Five wrinkles his nose in disgust as you hand one towards him. “Want one?”

“I’d rather save the world again. Naked,” He sassily replied.

“I wouldn’t say that if I were you,” You tease, popping the candy into your mouth and sighing at this sweet-bitter flavor.

“Why don’t you just drink regular coffee?” He asked. “Like a sane person?”

“Because coffee is nasty,” You said, sticking your tongue out at him and displaying the small candy. “These are better.”

“They’re not even close to the same thing,” He grumbled.

You raise a brow at him. “And how would you know? You’ve never had one.”

“Yeah, whatever,” he dismisses, getting up and inspecting the hotel buffet. You follow after him, popping another candy in your mouth.

“So, what are you thinking of doing since you’re retired?”

Five grabs a cup and fills it with coffee. “I don’t know. Traveling? Isn’t that what people do nowadays?”

You scoff, “Yeah, people who don’t look barely eighteen.”

He swats at you, returning to your seats. “I’ll drive.”

He pours some syrup over his pancakes, and you pout. “If you like that much syrup, you’d love the candies just as much.”

“Coffee is supposed to taste bitter, not filled with artificial flavoring.”

“You don’t know till you try.”

“I do know, and I’m telling you now, that is shit,” He points at your mouth with his knife.

You frown, suckling on the candy and its sweet flavor. You were lucky to have found them back in 1963, and now you just kept a handful in your pocket at all times.

“You didn’t like me at first, and now…”

“That’s completely different,” He defends.

You laugh. “Really? Cause you’re a bitter old man, and I’m the sweetest person ever.”

“You are far from the sweetest person ever.”

“That’s not the point, Five,” You huff.

He smiles at you. “Isn’t it, darling?”

“Just try one,” You urged, tossing the wrapped candy at his face. “Please.”

"Try a cup of coffee, and I’ll consider it.”

“I have tried a cup of coffee.”

“When?”

You roll your eyes. “Prior to when we met.”

“Then, I tried your coffee-flavored candy… prior to when we met.”

You glare at Five, and he just smirks, taking a bite of his pancakes.

“Please,” You beg.

“No.”

“But—”

“No.”

“They’re—”

“No.”

“Five.”

“No.”

You click your tongue, still rolling the candy in your mouth when a thought occurs to you. Five notices the mischievous look on your face, and his eyebrows furrow together.

“(Y/N)—”

He’s cut off when you grab the back of his neck and smash your lips together. His hands fly to cup your cheeks as the taste of the candy invades his mouth. And holy shit, he loves it. His lips press harder against yours, almost making you fall off the seat as he chases the flavor.

And then, before you know it, he slips his tongue in and relishes the sweet flavor. His tongue explores every inch of your mouth, trying to seek the sugary treat he so desires. You let out a quiet whine, brain fuzzy at the action. Five groans as you tug on his hair, tongue invading your mouth, and then he pulls back.

You’re stunned, blinking as your lips smack together. And then you notice something missing and gasp.

Five grins, sticking his tongue to display your coffee-flavored caramel proudly on his tongue.

“You little—”

— END —

🏷 five taglist: @clearbasementvoid @halfumbrella @esmedith

#i’m 😵‍💫😵‍💫 #hehe #enjoy this one #see you when I finish s3 #consider this my teaser for what’s to come #five hargreeves #five hargreeves x you #five hargreaves x reader #five hargreeves x reader #number five x reader #tua five x reader #tua five #tua fic #five x reader #five x you #five x y/n #five headcanons #five imagine #aidan gallagher #tua #the umbrella academy #tua season three #tua s3 #the umbrella academy season 3

[ohcaptains]

sit around and miss you

pairing. frank castle x female! reader. an. hello!!!! pls reblog & comment if u like !!! love u warnings. 18+. female receiving penetration, spit play (!!in mouth!!), detailed descriptions of violence, use of the word sir, references to somnophilia (but not actually happening), mouth covering? with hand. frank’s a big meany who loves you.

synopsis. frank’s antsy after a night shift, especially when his buddies were talking smack about how he’s leaving you in bed all alone.

Sometimes, Frank works nights.

It used to be his full-time gig, but now that he’s moved onto a new line of work, he only has to do it once a week. On the Jobsite for eight pm, finish at four am. In bed by five. Showered. 

His hair damp and sticking on end from where he’d shoved a towel through it, too tired to care about the consequences of sleeping with it wet.

Just wants to get into bed, curl up behind you, and breathe morning sunshine, into the skin of your back before sleeping until lunchtime.

Every so often though, he gets distracted.

When he’s wired from being on a construction site for the last eight hours, and from the coffee he’d consumed, gallons of it, you’d said, but it was more like a litre – he’s not ready to sleep.

See’s you snuggled up in your shared bed.

Blanket stuffed between your limbs, legs wrapped around the fabric, letting him see the bare skin of your legs and the little slither of skin at the bottom of your back from where your shirt has risen. Cute little sleep socks fuzzy around your ankles. 

The skin of your thighs, soft on top of the duvet, and the way your shorts didn’t really fit you anymore, but every summer night you tugged the washed-out cotton on, driving Frank crazy by the way the fabric stops just after it starts.

I think it’s time to get new shorts sweetheart.

Your smug smile as you scrunch your face up. You don’t really mean that.

He didn’t. 

Same way he didn’t really want to let you sleep. 

Wanted to tug your shorts down and stretch you open. Slip inside of you. Feel how warm you are, all sleepy and groggy, whimpering his name as he says, shhh shh, go back to sleep baby. It’s just me. I’ll be quick I promise.

Franks wired again. 

Chomping at the god damn bit. 

The guys at work were giving him shit. In his onsite office, there’s a picture of you on his desk. One taken last summer. You’re smiling at the camera, glistening from the vitamin D, and dressed in a pretty, frilly, and short summer dress. 

A bunch of guys were in his office, talking about on loads and offloads when O’Brien made a whistling sound and tugged at the picture frame. “That your girl, Castle?” “That’s my wife, O’Brien.” “Damnnnnn,” Simpson sounded, taking the frame, “and you left that in bed to come here?”

Yeah. He did. And he felt bad about it every time. Even if before he left, you’d cup his face and kiss his forehead, saying, go bring home the bacon. Even if you pouted at his sad face, saying, you’ll be home soon. 

He imagined your pouty face then, as the guys were ogling over your picture.

Imagined you saying, Frank, again? As he dripped blood onto the welcome mat. Covered head to toe in it, the stains from what was left of O’Brien and Simpson.

Last time, I promise. You said that before.

Some guys just needed to be put down.

He thought about it. He really did. Thought about taking the paperweight you’d bought for him and slamming it against O’Brien’s head. Felt the impact, feeling it rattle through his frame before breathing a sigh of relief.

Then again, maybe not.

That didn’t stop him from laughing along with his buddies, though, as he got up from his chair. Stating a level of calm as he walked around his desk, nodding, saying, yeah, yeah, I did, as he took the frame from Simpson’s fingers, and then dropped his smile. 

Going completely serious. 

Face a death mask, absolutely nothing going on behind his black eyes. The boys’ laughter turned nervous. High pitch sounds trailed off, looking at each other for help as Frank stood there silently, time ticking by.

He could do it for hours.

He hadn’t needed to, though.

“Hey, Castle—” a voice from the door, punctuated by a knock. “They need you at the drop site.”

He chooses to ignore how wired he is.

He chooses to sit at the edge of the bed you share and stare into the darkness, the moonlight cutting the room in half from the slits in the blinds. Chooses to ignore the desire swimming in his belly. 

The feeling that’s been brewing since the guys made their comments. The feeling that burns deep, so deep sometimes that it scares him. 

The feeling to take. To possess. To consume.

You blink awake suddenly, the feeling of someone in the room waking you up. There’s a white figure in front of you, turned on its side from your position. 

You let out a little breath of surprise, whispering, “Frank?” in a concerned tone. He shifts quickly, turning round to face you. Messy damp hair and fingers combing through his beard.

“Hi baby,” he greets, whispering so as to not disturb you further. Still, you sit up, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. “Did you just get in?” “Half an hour ago?” He watches you shift across the bed, the moonlight bathing you, reminding him that you went to sleep in shorts and a thin tank top. “Mm,” you begin, sitting on your knees in front of him, “and you’re just sitting there?” “Mm-hmm,” he nods, black eyes tracing your features. “Like a weirdo,” you tease, raising a brow. He doesn’t laugh, just chews on his bottom lip and watches you. Sees the way you sit on the backs of your thighs, your hands on the tops, arms inadvertently pushing your breasts together in your thin vest. “I guess so,” he trails off. “What’s up?” you frown. He gives you a non-committed shrug. “Something happen at work?”

He blinks.

Bingo.

There it is.

Still, he shrugs. Doesn’t say a word as his eyes drunkenly study your features, seeing your puffy lips, and sleepy face. The way you wait so patiently for an answer. He knows that It’s just because you’ve just woken up. 

Any normal day, you’d be scoffing, saying, I’m not a mind reader, Frank, before dramatically rolling your eyes.

His finger comes out to smooth over your hip.

“Frank,” you whisper, cocking your head to the side. It didn’t matter that you’d been together for what had felt like a millennium – Frank got quiet. Tried to hide his demons in his silence. In his hard face and busted nose. 

You reach out, now, and trace the bumps there, cooing, saying, I can’t help if I don’t know.

He smells shower fresh. His hard, scarred skin is soft and clean. Hair damp at the edges, beard a little wet, too. Pretty. His naked back flexing – tense. Muscular chest the same, yet you trail the length of his nose. Delicately lift your finger and trace the outline of his eyebrows, leaning forward. Frank stays where he is. 

Tell me, you breathe.

Frank decides to show you.

Something snaps. That tense, that clench that he was holding onto disperses into the night as his big palm comes out and collects your waist, driving your back into the pillows as his body hovers over you. 

Surprised, a shocked sound tumbles from your mouth before Frank covers it, tasting your sleep and mint with his quick tongue.

It consumes you.

You’re still in that groggy, half-awake phase and it causes you to react slowly. You’re silent and unmoving from his touch until your body awakens.

Ohhh. So, this was what he was fighting? You wonder, feeling his big, bumpy nose mesh against your cheek as he kisses you, mouth hungry and skilled, tinged with a little desperation, then a lot as your legs lazily open, his body slotting against yours perfectly.

He grumbles against your mouth, your crotch brushing against his chest. 

The sound echoes throughout the night, throughout your bewildered body, and it forces your thighs to tighten around him, feet crossing over at the bottom of his back and slackly pushing at the elastic of his sleep trousers. Digging into the muscle of his ass and across the scar there.

He pulls away, your mouth trailing after his until his big hand comes into view, tightening around your jaw. 

The ghost of a smile finds your lips, one that makes Frank go warm. Though, he frowns. “The guys at work were talking about you.” The admission makes you mimic his face. “They saw the picture I have of you…asked how I could leave a woman like you all alone in bed.”

A woman like you. A woman like me? you think. “Gosh, such a travesty,” you say, rolling your eyes. You introduce a pout, your tone twisting into a mocking sound. “Oh, Frank! What ever would I do without my man?” “Shut up,” he grumbles. Still, you carry on, a light-hearted, sleepy smile on your face as you clutch his chest. “I am lost, lost without you! Whenever you’re away, I just sit around and miss you!”

Which is not entirely wrong, if you’re being honest. Frank’s face gets hard. “It pissed me off, having them question me. Question…” my love for you. “Ohhh,” you whisper, leaning up to brush against his wanting mouth. “So, you want to show them who’s boss?” Frank shakes his head. “They’re right, how on earth could I leave you alone in our bed?” He mouths at the dip at your neck. Tongue jutting out to lick at your skin, making your mouth open to the white of your ceiling.

His large, bear-like palm flattens across your body, smoothing down your side to the small shorts. “Especially dressed like this.” He’s half-hard against you already, cock pushing against the bottom of your belly. The feel of him is a welcome one. It fuels you on – makes you act on instinct and rut your hips up into him, grinding your crotch against his length.

“Oh fuck,” he curses, the end of the word high pitch and breathy. You carry on grinding your clothed cunt against him, feeling him swell, hearing his breathing quicken and he tries to hide it, tries to muffle it against the hot skin of your neck but it’s no use. “God,” you gasp, clenching as the head of his cock brushes at your clit. The side of his face comes into view, and he moves to kiss the underside of your jaw. 

Moves lower, mouth trailing over your collar bones while his big fingers tug at the elastic of your vest, forcing your tits to spill out.

With your fingers in his long hair, he mouths at your hardened nipple, tongue lapping at the skin and sucking it into his mouth. “I nearly killed them, I swear,” he grumbles, sucking a bruise into the soft skin. Your sleepy brain remembers how this started.

He would have and don’t you know it.

But, right now, you’re too focused on the feeling of his calloused hand gently rubbing at your skin. Too focused on the wet of his mouth spreading over your breast, his teeth running over you ever so gently, forcing you to gasp his name. You rake your nails lower, over the top of his hard, muscular back. Ground-up again, hips rolling against the tense skin of his chest.

God, you’re tired. So fucking turned on, too. The drowsy feeling, mixed with the heightened sensation of his cock still pushing at your clit makes you loopy, makes you mouldable. 

He’s being so gentle with you, yet his words are venomous – tinged with hate. “Smash their heads in for even looking at you.”

He would, too.

Back then, probably. Didn’t he do that one time? …you can’t remember.

Big bad Frank Castle. Your, big bad Frank Castle, who’s leaving marks over your chest with his tongue, mumbling out, kill em, for looking at my pretty girl.

He tongues your nipple, chuckling at himself. “I will pay thousands of dollars to keep the heating on, just so you can go to bed in outfits like these every night,” Frank declares. 

You close your eyes and arch your back, a dreamy smile on your face as you tease, “What’s the point if you just leave me here all alone though?”

He stops. In the dark, you can feel his breathing fluttering against your face. Dragging your eyes open, he’s there, that big nose that you love, the wet lips you dream about. Black eyes that make you squirm.

“Hi,” you giggle, thinking it’s funny. Frank’s face is serious, though.

“You laughing at me, baby?” he asks. “No way,” you sound, shaking your head. Still, there’s delirium in your eyes. In the silence of the night, Frank watches you. Sees you chewing on your lips, and sees the way you’re lazily blinking at him.

“What’s the matter?” he asks softly. “M'sleepy.”

Suddenly, Frank feels like an asshole.

His face crumbles.

You see it happening, see his self-hatred rearing up to come and grab him.

“I’m sorry, baby—I,” he starts, and Nononono, you think. Quickly, you shake your head. Kiss his lips to quiet him, peck at his cheek, his thick neck, “m’want you, though,” you mumble against him, hoping the words seep into his skin. 

Frank’s silent, contemplative. You slide your fingers back into his hair, mould your mouth to his and hitch your hips up, sliding your clothed pussy against his dick.

“M’was dreaming about you,” you admit, and the admission forces a pained groan out of him. He kisses you back, albeit with less vigour than before. Battling with himself. “Whenever you’re gone, I always do. Think about moments like this,” you carry on, grinding your hips into him, whimpering out when the head of his dick meets your clit again and your tone is breathless as you whisper against his mouth, “think about waking up with you inside of me.” You swear he whimpers, but the sound disperses as he meshes his mouth deeper, tongue pushing against yours with his big hand wandering over your body. 

Over your tits, stomach, until he stuffs it between your legs, dragging a desperate whine from you, then the truth.

“When um all sleepy, and groggy.”

His fingers push at the damp fabric – against your clit. The pressure makes you blind, makes you carry on.

“and you’re just so big on top of me,” you sigh, tasting his spit, imaging him, then feeling him, his body a weighted blanket.

“and you’re telling me to shhh, covering my mouth and just saying, take it.” He mutters something against you, but you can’t hear it. Can just feel him, rolling your clit round and round, your slick pooling in your shorts. 

It makes your back arch, makes you sob his name into his mouth before he opens his eyes and juts his spare hand out, taking your jaw in his big palm again.

Your breath catches, pussy clenches at the sensation, and it makes you whimper out, “I want you inside of me.”

Frank says, okay baby, and spits in your mouth.

You hear it before you see it, or taste it, even. Hear the wet sound, then feel it trickling over your lips and chin, pooling above his fingers at your jaw.

Like a trained pet, your tongue comes out, silently begging, again.

You know it’s just your tired, groggy brain talking, but It feels like a fucking religious experience. He spits into your mouth again, dribbles onto your wanting tongue, forcing your cunt to clench again, clit throbbing – aching, as you taste him.

He kisses the remainder away, his tongue flat and dragging your mouth into his. He’s still moving his big finger, still dragging your clit in tight, skilled circles. 

You cry again, the sound twisting into a moan as he hits a nerve. Heat pools at your lower back. You clench again, pouting against his mouth.

“I know,” Frank soothes, and he does, can feel it, feel how wet you are, fabric slick with you.

So, he speeds up and hears your resulting cries as you clench the duvet in your fists, tits bouncing as your body shudders.

Frank bends down and takes one in his mouth. He runs his teeth over your nipple and you’re sobbing, throwing your head back and clinging to his hair. Hips grinding into his hand, nodding, whispering, “please, oh god, please.” “Shh, shh, baby,” he coos, then, he smiles, “take it.”

You come then, fingers stuffed into his hair, his name tumbling from your lips. The feeling spreads over your thighs, your cunt, in your belly, your slick leaking into your underwear. “God, oh my fucking god,” you sob, clenching, Frank’s finger’s still going, and you try and push him away, squirming, the pressure overwhelming but he’s a stone, mouth still sucking at your nipple.

You can’t come down. The feeling never ends, instead, it triples with his movement, making your nerves shot, and overstimulated.

“F-Frank,” you sob, and he must hear your tone because when you shove your hands down to push his away, he lets you.

Drags his mouth up to kiss you. Swallows down your whimpers. Says, there you go, with his damp fingers brushing over your own. He lets you sober up, even if the feeling has made you drunk. Made you liquid.

“You ready to take me now, pretty?” His dark husk asks. The thought makes you cry. “Yes please,” you shiver, reaching up to kiss him. You’re still so eager, greedy, begging him to push inside of you with your deep kiss and wandering hands. “Atta girl,” Frank compliments, the words washing over you, making you dumb. “Let’s get your shorts off, huh?”

Clothes on the floor, Frank’s lining himself up with your aching hole. You watch, legs spread open, then feel him start to push the head in. 

“Shit,” you hiss, head falling back – pussy clenching around him already. He slides his hands over the inside of your thighs and the feeling goes straight to your clit.

“Relax baby,” he whispers, eyes flicking up to yours, “or I’m not gonna fit.”

You nod, breathing, “Okay.” Then, “Okay, okay, okay.” “Shh shh shh,” he repeats, bending his head down to kiss you. Your arms come around the back of his head, running your fingers through his hair, taking his lips, and sinking back into the bed. “That’s it,” he whispers, his voice a husk, his praise melting you, making you loose and slack.

Slowly, he guides himself in. Big enough to stretch you open and the sound of your pussy squelching fills your ears, followed by Frank grunting, the grumble spilling into your open mouth. 

God, he slips all the way in. Fills you up so full that you cry, stutter a sob, breath caught in the back of your throat. Brain going cloudy, body melting into his.

“You’re so pretty like this,” Frank mutters, slotting his lips over yours, “stuffed with my cock.”

“Oh my God,” you quiver, shaking your head, begging for him to just shut up cause he’s making you lightheaded. He’s so deep inside of you, just staying there, cock twitching, forcing a pout onto your lips as he looks at you, so fucking close.

Like he’s inside of you, consuming you, and sometimes you wish he did. Sometimes you want him to climb inside of your body and take over. Wear you like a fucking puppet. 

How do you miss him when he’s right there? On top of you, kissing at your swollen lips and soothing you with his words.

He pushes his hands under your thighs and lifts your hips. The position slides him deeper. Makes his cock push up into you, into that spongy part inside of you that forces your eyes to roll back, your cunt clenching around him so tight that he hisses, groaning deeply. He shakes his head as if he can’t believe it.

“’take me so good baby, s’like you were made for me.” “I was,” you respond because he’s made you honest. In the delirium of him, you’re saying whatever he wants. Saying what you’ve had buried inside of you for so long, waiting for moments like this. 

When he slides his dick out, the ridges of him pushing against your walls, then slowwwwlyyy sinks back in, you’re spilling some of those truths.

“It’s true,” you weep, voice whiny and desperate. 

Mouth against his, kissing him sloppily, the sound of your pussy taking him filling the room.

“I do sit around and miss you,” you admit, and Frank punctuates the comment by fucking up into you, rolling his hips upwards and god you’re moaning, clutching the back of his head and his face is all fuzzy from your hooded eyes, your mouth still wet with his spit and you give it back to him, tongue sliding into his mouth to take him and take him and take him and, “I’m yours,” you weep.

Frank fucking laughs.

Laughs into your mouth, the sound of it twinged with frenzy.

He shakes his head, “I’ve trained you so god damn well, haven’t I?” and thrusts into you, splitting you open with his cock. The response bursts from your mouth -- “Yes,” you sob, nodding and chewing on your bottom lip. “You just wait here, sitting pretty in our bed until I come home, huh?” “Yes sir,” you agree, and it’s not even like that. Not once has he even hinted that he wanted it like that, but fuck the word just came out. Fell out of your pretty mouth and Frank goes wild with it, groans deep, grunts, Jesus Christ, and starts fucking you faster to thank you. “Is that how you want it?” he asks, his black eyes pouring into yours. Your pussy is still sensitive from coming earlier. Sopping wet, puffy, and swollen from his fingers and now from his cock pushing up into you. 

The feeling pulls out more truths, and they’re lined with the high pitch, desperate whines that only come out when he’s fucking you like this.

You shake your head.

“No?” he asks, raising a thick brow.

You giggle, then, and the sweet sound is twisted with a loud groan as his big fingers come down and stuff into your pussy, pushing at your clit. Your body goes white-hot.   “How do you want it then baby?” he asks. “I just wanna feel you,” you whisper, so fucked out that you’ve lost your voice. You drag your fingers across the muscles in his upper back, fiddle with his hair and carry on, “wanna feel you come inside of me.” He growls. Growls as if he’s a god damn dog and buries his red face into your shoulder, hiding from you and your effect on him.

It makes you whine, “m’wanna see you, too.”

“Wanna see me,” he mutters to himself, appearing from your shoulder.

Frank reaches back and collects your arms – pushes them behind you, his wide palm locking around your wrists. The movement makes you stutter.

“Look at me then, baby,” he orders.

He’s got you stretched out and open for him – free to be toyed with. Open enough that you feel the cool air on your hot skin. Feel his eyes everywhere, consuming you as he leans back and studies your body. Looks at the swell of your tits, the fabric of your vest stretched beneath them. 

The skin at your stomach. Spread of your pussy as his thighs keep you sprawled open. Looks at you with his Black eyes – a god damn demon – wearing that look, animalistic.

“Should take a picture of you like this,” he mumbles. Slowly, he moves his damp fingers upwards, spreading your slick across your lower stomach. “I’ll frame it and put it on my desk.”

The comment fills you with shame because you’re agreeing, nodding your head then hiding it in the crook of your arm.

Whatever he wants. Whatever Frank wants.

“That’s right, sweetheart. S’whatever Frank wants.”

Hadn’t realised you’d said it out loud, but it’s there, now, so you nod. 

Nod and nod and nod and say whatever Frank wants Frank gets and he groans, grunts, says, attagirl. My perfect girl. My sweet, sweet girl, lemme make you come again. Want you to come around my fucking cock and he leans down, spreads you open and starts speaking into your neck, fucking you steadily, fingers rolling your clit around in tight, wet circles. 

Give it to me sweetheart, you gonna let me have it?

You’re seeing stars. 

Vision blurry and white, nothing but the feeling of Frank to ground you. Words tumble out of your mouth, an endless trail of incoherent babble but it must make some sense because Frank responds. 

He nods, says, that’s it. Keeps going at his steady, skilled pace. Teeth run over the delicate skin of your throat, and you gasp, clenching around his cock, clenching tight enough that Frank curses. Says, “Shit – god damnit girl.”

Heat pools around your thighs, dialling down to your clit as Frank speeds his fingers up, pushing them into the nerve, forcing you to gush around him. 

Tight, neck straining, back arching, and god you can feel it washing over you, feel it coming up, reaching up to come and grab you. 

“Frank,” you whine, aching and breathless. It’s just his name. Brain filled up with the five letters.

“Frank, Frank – God.”

Your pussy tightens around his cock like a vice, clenching hard and unyielding and Frank groans, nodding, going, “shit, can fucking feel it.” Everything is pressurised. Eagerly, you push your hips up into his cock, locking your legs around his waist, tightening up like a clam. “God,” you say again, and It comes out as if you’re pleading. “That’s it,” Frank soothes. Kisses you, deep and long, tongue tasting your desperation and you whine around it, skin a live wire. “Don’t stop,” you beg against his damp mouth. “Please don’t stop I’m gonna come baby, I’m gonna—” Frank’s palm comes up and flattens over your mouth.

“Stop talking about it and fucking come then.”

That’s it. He bullies you over the edge with his mean marching order and you weep, nod, eyes rolling back into your head as your clit throbs, spasming, heat flooding over your groin and making you tighten your entire body around him.

Frank fucks you through it. Releases the pressure, his Cock slick with you, white and sopping and everything aches but it feels so god damn good that it doesn’t matter.

He’s hovering, inches away from your face -- watching you through wild eyes. “Shit,” he groans as your pussy carries on clenching around his cock, the feeling not stopping. 

It bleeds through your subconscious; makes you babble against his palm. Frank looks at where your bodies join, at where he’s pushed deep into your pussy. “Jesus christ--” he drags, “look at you, milking my god damn cock.”

When he pulls his hand away from your mouth, your sobs fill the room. Echo against the walls. A choking gasp muddled with his name. 

“Thank you,” you tremble, body shaking with the come down. “Oh my fucking God, thank you.”

He lets go of your hands, too, letting them come around to cradle the back of his head. He shakes it, face sincere, slowing his movements to let you catch up. Come back down to earth. “I haven’t even given you what you wanted yet, baby. I still gotta come inside.”

Coming has had you lightheaded. Has made your brain fuzzy and static, so you giggle, dragging Frank’s mouth back to yours. He makes a pleased sound, “that okay with you sweetheart?” he mumbles.

You push your hips up into him, whimpering from the sensitivity.

“s’whatever Frank wants, remember?” you whisper.

Frank grins, “Damn straight.”

#frank castle #frank castle x reader #frank castle smut #frank castle x reader smut #Jon Bernthal #jon bernthal x reader #jon bernthal smut #frank castle x you #frank castle x you smut #frank castle x female! reader #frank castle x female reader #frank castle x female reader smut #the punisher #the punisher smut

[mayajadewrites]

Levi Ackerman x Reader: Moth to a Flame

synopsis: Levi Ackerman - Captain of the Scout Regiment. He's broody, quiet, and clean. You're a scout, skilled in combat and has killed numerous titans. You dated Captain Levi briefly, in secret, in a whirlwind romance. Late nights and secrets are what kept your "relationship" afloat. Due to Levi's ideals, he decided to end things with you, but now you're moved on. But Levi hasn't.

authors note: this takes place in the AOT universe, and it will reference SOME of the events from the anime, so be aware if you're not caught up. i won't be following the timeline of the manga/anime.

characters: levi ackerman, erwin smith, erin jaeger, mikasa ackerman, armin arlot, jean kirstein, sasha braus, connie springer, hange zoe, + more.

content warnings: some chapters will be nsfw. i will put a warning before each chapter if it contains 18+ content.

ao3

C H A P T E R O N E – A U T U M N

The air was cold and crisp as it flowed through your window to the room you shared with Mikasa and Sasha. Summer is over and autumn has kissed the leafs on the trees.

Your body twitched as the air touched your skin. You made a mental note to start sleeping with a sweatshirt on. Sasha's snores filled the room while Mikasa slept silently.

You grab your watch from your nightstand and look at the time. 5:45 AM. You like to go on runs before breakfast to get your heart rate up and get some vitamin D before you had to attend training for your next mission.

After putting a t-shirt, shorts, and sneakers, you're out the door. The girls won't be up for another hour, so you didn't want to disturb them.

As you walk down the hallway, you put your hair in a ponytail, looking at your feet as you walk.

Then your body collided with another.

"Sorry." You say before you even look up at who's in front of you.

Captain Levi Ackerman.

"Sorry, Captain." You correct yourself, standing up straight.

"Where are you off to?" Levi brushed off his shirt, freshly pressed of course.

"I'm going on a run before breakfast."

Levi nodded in response, pushing past you towards Erwin's office. You sighed when you felt it was safe to, ignoring the pending thoughts in your head.

Levi Ackerman broke your heart, and you just super-glued the pieces back together.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Breakfast was usually the same in the scouts. Eggs, bread, and sometimes bacon. Everyone sits in what we call the "mess hall" and eats breakfast together before we put our bodies through the ultimate torture which is training to fight titans.

You find your usual table – Mikasa, Eren, Armin, Jean, Sasha, and Connie.

"Good morning!" Sasha said as she stuffed her face with eggs. "I heard you leave this morning, how was your run?"

"I'm surprised you could hear me over your snoring." You chuckle, pushing a piece of hair behind your ear. "It was good. The sun felt good this morning, I'm so glad its finally autumn."

"You go on runs every morning?" Jean asked, patting his mouth with his napkin.

"Yeah, I like to prepare myself for training for the day."

You didn't want to say that Levi gave you the idea to go on runs every morning. He goes on runs earlier than you, thank God, because you'd rather not have to see him more than you already do.

"I might have to start doing that. I feel like I run really slow." Eren nodded to himself. I knew Mikasa was now going to also be going on runs in the morning with Eren. They are inseparable.

"That's awesome." Jean smiled as he said your name. He's always been sweet and funny, especially with Connie. They make you laugh every day, even on your worst days.

You feel the hair on the back of your neck stick up, a wave of goosebumps to follow. Your ears honed in on the sound of his boots against the floor.

You hated that Levi had this affect on you.

He was talking to Hange about her latest Titan experiment, which he sounded less than thrilled about. You made a conscious effort not to look at him.

"Morning Captain!" Armin said with a smile. He's always so joyful in the morning, which is something you envy.

"Good morning brats." Levi nodded in approval, his eyes glazing over yours for a split second.

A memory of you waking up next to him flashed in your mind, a time when you accidentally fell asleep after spending the night talking, kissing, and obviously... other activities.

"You good?" Jean's voice was like a pin to your thoughts, popping them instantly. "You looked like you're spacing out."

"Yeah, I was just thinking about how good a cup off coffee would be right now. I'm gonna go get some." You get up from your seat, shaking off the feeling of your memory.

"I've never felt like this." Levi kissed your ear, his voice low in your ear. His hand snaked up your body to your face, taking your chin roughly in his hands and pulling it towards his face. "You're one of a kind."

Life without Levi has been tough, but you have gotten over the gash of heartbreak he left. Seeing him every day for training and missions has gotten easier, and thankfully he doesn't want to see you any more than you do him.

Or so you think.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

let me know what you guys think so far!

#levi ackerman #levi ackerman x reader #levi x reader #levi ackerman attack on titan #levi ackerman aot #levi ackerman fanfic #levi ackermanfanfiction #aot #aot x reader #levi aot #attack on titan #eren yeager #mikasa ackerman #sasha braus #jean kirstein #connie springer #erwin smith #hange zoe #aot smut #levi ackerman smut #levi ackerman x you

[sgt-seabass]

Joining in on the clockwork fan train, I have a Drabble prompt if you are interested. Nick often plays fast and loose with reader’s safety, and although he’s a control freak so he thinks of everything to prevent her getting harmed (like using air rifle etc) I wonder how he might react if he goes too far/something goes wrong and she does actually get badly hurt from one of his games. Maybe playtime gone wrong or he misjudged his strength. Would he feel guilt, or shrug it off?

𝒔𝒊𝒑 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒔𝒍𝒐𝒘𝒍𝒚

pairing — mob boss!prime alpha!nick fowler x omega!reader w/c — 1.9k this is a dark fic. 18+ only. part of the Clockwork AU. listening to — ♫ sip u slowly warnings — general dark elements, smut (dubcon due to stokholm, p in v, cunnilingus), choking to the point of passing out and bruising, possessiveness, pet names (pup, puppy, omega), a/b/o dynamics, very light medical elements, reference to past minor character death a/n — i hope you like it! thank you so much for the support and interest in the Clockwork AU! written on my phone. thank you so much to @rookthorne for helping with beta and suggestions 🥺🥺💙 this was meant to be short whoops.

Nick had been insatiable, fucking you for hours and eating you out each time in-between sessions.

After a work deal had gone awry and lives had been lost, he wanted nothing more than to bury his problems in your tight heat. With your essence on his tongue, he could be absolved of his irreverence.

Nick was angry. He didn’t take to fuck ups well.

When he’d heard about an omega retrieval gone wrong that ended with the death of a few targeted girls, he was irate.

Nick had to murder his men for their actions. They were there to capture them, not kill them - professionalism was expected, mandated, in his organisation. Nick didn’t need more red in his ledger, yet it seemed to have a way of seeping in, tainting the pages and bleeding everywhere.

His temper was no more than his inner child locked in an endless cycle of self-flagellation, so he fixated on you to distract himself. He’d created you and turned you into the omega he wanted. However, the problem with manipulating is that you deny yourself the love and support that partnership provides. Nick knew he was fooling himself by thinking you were unequivocally his, so he wanted to show you how good he could make you feel.

The urge boiled beneath his skin, an unbridled need to claim you; to fuck you into oblivion.

Barely keeping himself restrained, he’d carried you to the bedroom just after dinner, and the sun had long set. His need for you continued into the early morning.

By the time the clock hit three am, you were exhausted. That much was evident by the way your eyes struggled to stay open even as you orgasmed. The little sounds Nick pulled from you got whinier and more strained the more your body tried to get its rest.

But there was no rest for the wicked, and Nick was certainly feeling sinful.

“Give me another, puppy,” Nick growled to you, face between your legs before moaning at the taste of his seed and your wet mixing.

“I’m tired, alpha. I can’t.” You whimpered, sweat dotting your brow while your back arched against the silk bedsheets. “S’too much.”

“Uh-uh. You don’t get to decide that. I’ll tell you when it’s enough, omega.” Nick’s voice reverberated against your clit before he gently sucked it, causing your fingers to fist into the sheets from the unrelenting pleasure.

This was Nick’s favourite way to have you. Crumpled from the euphoria he caused you. You’d fought so hard against him, but at the end of the day, you ended up right where you belonged.

In his bed.

Nick started slow, drawing circles around your clit before replacing his tongue with his fingers. He flicked his finger while his mouth pressed kisses along your hip and down your thigh. Nick couldn’t help himself when it came to tasting all of you, so he bit into the supple flesh of your thigh as he kept working your sensitive clit.

Your wail only served to make Nick bite again, closer to your cunt this time. Fuck, your tears were gorgeous. “Does it hurt, omega?” When you nodded in response, Nick slapped your thigh. “Use your words.”

“Ye— Yes. Hurts, alpha.”

“Mm, but you look so beautiful with my marks.” Nick looked at the teeth marks adorning your skin, smirking to himself before turning his attention back to your clit. “Tell me what you want, puppy. Tell me what you need.”

Your thighs clenched, and Nick chuckled dryly as he ground himself against the bed, his erection painfully hard. He wanted to do nothing more than fuck you senseless, but it was worth waiting if it meant he got to see you shatter.

“I need…” You stopped yourself, and Nick could see the embarrassment in your expression. It was beautiful. “I need your mouth, please, alpha.”

“Such nice manners,” Nick praised before giving you exactly what you wanted.

He drank you in slowly, running his tongue over your folds and watching how you responded. You were so tense. As if each muscle was waiting for the anticipated precipice. And Nick would give it to you, but he wanted his fun first.

Deft fingers pulled your folds apart, and Nick groaned at the sight of you. Glistening and inviting. “Such a pretty pussy, pup. Prettiest cunt I’ve ever seen.”

Nick ran his flat tongue up your cunt, starting with long, languid licks that began to gradually get faster. Nick placed a hand on your stomach to stablise you as his broad strokes got shorter, turning into quick flicks across your clit.

He didn’t stop, not tiring even as the clock ticked away on the bedside table.

The tell-tale signs of your impending orgasm started to show as Nick alternated between licking and sucking, his hand running up and down your thigh as the other held you down. Your body tensed, and it goaded Nick to go faster, gripping your flesh tightly.

Nick hummed against your clit, and the dams burst. Like music to his ears, your mewls turned high-pitched as you came, your juices gushing down his chin. Nick had lost count of how many orgasms you’d had tonight, but each one was better than the last. He’d never get sick of this.

“My puppy does love playtime, don’t you, baby?” Nick watched as your glazed eyes looked at him, surprised at the new pet name. Baby. It’s endearing. Intimate. “You’re going to sit back and let your alpha do all the work now, right? Puppies are just too silly to do anything but lay down and get fucked.”

Seeing you so raw, so vulnerable, was bringing out the beast in Nick. The further down this rabbit hole he fell, the harder it was to keep his semblance of control. If you tried to make a run for it right now, he might actually kill you, too lost in the chase of his prey to realise what was happening. But you don’t run. Instead, you shuffled a little up the sheets, so your head rested on one of the satin pillows.

You knew you couldn’t escape, so you prepared yourself to be comfortable. Nick crawled up the bed, cock standing proud between his parted thighs, and he loomed over you. “Are you scared, puppy?”

Nick smiled when you gave him an odd look like you weren’t sure what response he wanted. “You should be.”

His words were the only warning you got before he mounted you, sheathing his dick in your dripping cunt with one swift motion of his hips. Nick let out a growl, pulling out the pillow from under you so he could grip the back of your neck. “Fuck. Fuck. You feel like fucking velvet, omega.”

The teasing nature Nick had earlier was long gone, replaced with a feral alpha desperate to breed. His thrusts were deep, rutting against your hips as his heavy breaths filled the room, mixed with your moans. It was a fucking symphony.

“This little cunt is mine, isn’t it? Tell me,” Nick snarled, pounding into your sore, used pussy without resolve.

“S’yours. All yours,” you sobbed into the cool air, tears streaking down your cheeks.

“That’s right. You’re fucking mine.” Nick moved his hand to rest on the front of your neck. He tiled his head back while his eyes fluttered closed.

It was a complete state of bliss. Nick didn’t look down as he let himself be free. No control, no thoughts. Just alpha.

You moaned with each plunge of his cock, but Nick didn’t notice the way your moans were weakening under the sound of smacking flesh.

Your hands clawed at Nick’s arm, but he didn’t even register it.

It wasn’t until you went quiet altogether that Nick opened his eyes.

Suddenly, cold washed over Nick when he looked down, his hand tight around your neck and your eyes closed. Not even a squeak came from your parted lips.

“Omega? Shit. Omega, open your eyes.” Nick tapped your cheek, but you were completely unconscious. “Puppy, wake up.”

He shook your shoulders, pulling his now soft cock out of you before he placed his finger under your nose. A sigh of relief left Nick when he felt the soft blow of your breath against his skin.

Nick’s jaw clenched, guilt awash over him. He was so lost in the moment he didn’t realise he’d begun squeezing, and he’d choked you out.

Your lack of response concerned Nick, so he sat on the bed, pulling you to his chest. He cradled you, and suddenly he was like his ten-year-old self again, holding the body of his dead sister on the living room floor. “Wake up. Please. I’ll… I’ll get you even more strawberries. You love them, right?”

You didn’t wake. Still soundly asleep and unaware of your distressed alpha.

In making you vulnerable, Nick had actually exposed himself. Desperate and alone, he was nothing without something of his own. Without you.

“Beck! Bring your med kit!” Nick’s voice boomed through the mansion, a prime alpha call.

Only moments later, Beck came barrelling through the door with his doctor’s bag. His eyes widened at the sight of you in Nick’s lap, mottled bruises already beginning to spread over your neck. “What happened?”

“I didn’t realise I was squeezing,” Nick’s voice came out monotone, devoid of emotion. His heart had begun to lock down. He wasn’t ready to lose anyone else.

Beck rushed over, gently taking you from Nick and resting you back against the bed. Your alpha moved away from the bed, arms crossed and expression cold as he watched.

“She’s alive,” Beck commented. You were obviously alive, but hearing Beck’s assurance eased Nick a little. The alpha always managed to calm him down.

There was a flurry of movement as Beck checked you over, Nick watching closely, not moving from his spot. As if he were a statue, frozen by pain.

“She’s going to be fine. I think she could use an IV with some fluids, and I can do a scan of her neck if you’re really worried,” Beck sighed, standing up. “But she’s okay. We could put her in the medical bay?”

“No. She stays here,” Nick snapped back quickly. Beck didn’t flinch, not phased by the icy mood of his boss. “Do the IV here.”

“Yeah, sure. I’ll go get the stuff from downstairs if you want to get her into bed for me. Her body is pretty run down, so I imagine she’ll wake up when she’s got some energy back.” Not waiting for a response, Beck packed his things. On the way out, he passed Nick, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Accidents happen. It’s okay.”

Without further comment, Beck left, leaving Nick staring at you. He could have snapped your neck and not even realised.

Nick ran a hand over his face, the memories of his sister still fresh in his mind; he couldn’t protect her or his mother, but he could keep you safe. You were the only thing that had ever made him feel human.

After the loss of his family, he’d turned into a hardened shell. But something about you and your homely scent cracked his defences. Around you, his heart was exposed. It meant he could love with a burning intensity, but also hurt just as much.

Body tensed, Nick maneuvered you carefully so the sheet and duvet shielded you from the cool night air. You were covered in your slick and Nick’s cum, but washing you was an issue he’d resolve after you’d rested.

Waiting for Beck to return, Nick pulled up an armchair to sit beside you. He’d never let you see this side of him, not for now anyway. He wasn’t ready. But with you unaware, Nick leant forward to press a kiss to your forehead.

“I’m sorry, omega.”

To be updated on when I post please follow @sgt-seabass-library and turn on post notifications.

#ambs answers #cherished anons #ambswrites #clockwork au #nick fowler #nick fowler x you #nick fowler x reader #chris beck #sebastian stan #sebastian stan character #sebastian stan fanfiction #nick fowler fanfiction #dark fic

[rosekasa]

“I was going for the cheek/forehead and I missed 😳” kiss for any side of the square ❤️

AHHH ANON THANK U!!!

92. “I was going for the cheek/forehead and I missed 😳” kiss - from this amazing list by @kisspromptsforthelovesquare !

Ladybug hates Hawk Moth for a lot of reasons. But interrupting the first date she's had with her boyfriend after his month away in Verona truly takes the cake.

Coming to a halt at Champs de Mars, she sets Adrien down on his feet. The power still hasn't come back on after the attack; the safety announcement hasn't been broadcasted yet, and no one has been brave enough to come back out and return to their picnic blankets.

"Thanks, Ladybug." He dusts himself off once he's out of her arms. Despite being cornered in an alleyway for two hours, he still looks gorgeous -- brand new white shirt perfectly pressed, not a strand of hair out of place. "You really didn't have to trouble yourself, though. I could've just walked."

She knows that very well -- but she wasn't about to let Hawk Moth win. He can interrupt all her dates as much as he wants, but he cannot stop her from exercising her God-given right of enjoying how attractive her boyfriend is up-close and personal.

"What are superheroes for?" she says with a smile. "I mean, I know Chat Noir is your favourite, but unfortunately you were stuck with me today."

He laughs awkwardly. "Chat Noir? My favourite?" he says. "I'd like to have a word with some of your sources. I've been a Ladybug fanboy since day one."

She rolls her eyes. "Your flirting is even as bad as his."

"You should meet my girlfriend. No one thinks my flirting is as bad as she does."

She can't help but laugh. Of course he wears that like a badge of pride. The thing he'd lamented the most while in Verona was how text messages 'didn't do justice' to his awful lines.

"Maybe you should follow her example more often and I won't have to save you from akumas all the time," she says.

He smiles. "But it's always nice to see an old friend."

She goes in for a casual, habitual side-hug. As if he's just a regular-schmegular civilian she's been saving for months and not the guy she was close to building a shrine for to get him to come back to Paris early.

Just as they begin to pull away, Ladybug leans in and presses a polite kiss to his cheek.

Except Adrien, about to say something, turns his head at the last second, and her lips land squarely on his.

They both freeze.

A beat passes, then two. He hasn't moved yet. Neither has she. One of them probably should, though.

But also... she hasn't kissed Adrien in a very long time.

No. Maybe enjoying how attractive her boyfriend is is her God-given right, but Hawk Moth would definitely have a field day if he found out Ladybug was kissing supermodel Adrien Agreste while his girlfriend was nowhere to be found after an akuma attack.

She leaps back, lips smarting. "I am so sorry."

He blinks a few times, as if she'd just hit him with her yo-yo. "No, I mean-- it's fine."

She opens her mouth to speak. Before she can, he reaches up and wipes a thumb over his chin. Pink gloss comes off. He looks at her, nonplussed. Blush shoots up to her hairline.

"You're not wearing your passion fruit lip balm?" he asks.

Silence passes over them for many seconds.

"...What?" she says.

He rubs his fingers together, pouting. "This is sparkly," he says, as if that's any kind of explanation.

"...What?"

He looks up, and his expression shifts. "Do you not... know?"

Eyes wide, she shakes her head.

More silence ensues.

"...How?" he finally says.

She stares at him. "What do you mean, 'how'?"

"I've seen you de-transform before almost every single one of our dates," he says. "You got to the airport five minutes after class ended to see me off. I thought you wanted me to know you were Ladybug."

Before, at least, she might've been able to convince herself they were talking about different things. Not after that.

"But you-- you said I'm an old friend!" she says. "You referred to your girlfriend!"

"I thought we were doing a bit!"

She sighs deeply, scrubbing her hands down her face. This is Hawk Moth's fault. She doesn't know how, but it is.

"Why were you shocked when I kissed you?" she asks quietly.

His face turns sheepish. He rubs the back of his neck, looking at the grass.

"I missed you," he says. "We haven't kissed in a long time."

Ladybug's heart leaps in her ribcage. No, she's not giving Hawk Moth credit for this.

Flying forward, she wraps her arms around him and brings her mouth to his, kissing him entirely on purpose.

The power comes back on after two minutes. While she's not sure about Hawk Moth, Twitter, at least, certainly has a field day.

#miraculous ladybug #ladrien #adrienette #ml fic #♡alizeh writes♡ #ask #anon

[midnight-lilac-blue-hues]

Good Morning!!

It's easier to wake up if you have someone next to you.

(\ _ /)

(☆u•)

Childe x fem!reader

Warning!!! NSFW below the cut!

AFAB reader, no pronouns used to refer to reader, Nonverbal consensual sex, morning sex, a little bit of clothed grinding, mutual masturbation, pet names (baby, bunny, doll), praise, oral receiving, multiple creampies, and slight overstimulation.

Note: I was supposed to have this out at the start of my winter break lmao. I wanted to do something to get me back into writing before doing the rest of the requests. I am very determined to finish them fr fr. Anyways, happy late holidays and a new year !!!

You peeled your eyes open, letting out a soft groan, and rolled over to your side but you felt a body blocking you from doing so.

“Hmmm, Ajax,” you groaned with your eyes barely open, “we have to wake up.” You heard the man beside you grumble before throwing his arm over your body. “Not funny, Childe. I have to wake up.”

“5 more minutes,” Childe said, pressing his torso against your back, “ ‘s too comfortable, and warm.” You were about to relax, but your boyfriend’s morning wood left you wide awake. It didn’t help that he was rutting right on your ass, basically trying to rub one out without you knowing. 

“Childe,” you muttered, slipping out of his hold. Pulling his boxers off and pumping his cock, causing a gasp to erupt out of Childe. “Were you really going to hide this boner from me? You were practically fucking my ass with this, Ajax,” you whispered into his ear.

“Fuck, baby,” Childe choked out, thrusting up into your hand, “keep going, hah, just like that.” His hand wrapped around your waist. His touches were so light, you didn’t realize his fingers grazed right over your cunt, rubbing generously on your clit. You moaned into his lips, suffocating your noises while riding his fingers.

“God, your fingers are too good,” you said, resting your head on his shoulder.

“Take off your pants and I’ll make you feel, real good doll,” he speaks into your ear before taking your earlobe into his mouth. You whimper at the action, before doing as you were told, slipping off your pjs and panties. Tartaglia pulled you over on top of him, but to your surprise, your pussy could feel his hot breath. Before you could comment, Childe’s fingers pungled inside of your dripping cunt, curling the digits down and hitting your g-spot. 

“Oh, archons~! Ajax~!” you whaled, throwing your head back. You tried to wiggle away but Childe’s calloused hands held you firm, “Fuck~! Too much~! I’m gonna~!”

“Gonna what, [Name]?” Childe teased, followed by his lips latching onto your clit, sucking the bundle of nerves like a piece of candy. Your hips bucked frantically up and down, trying to find some relief under Tartaglia’s control. And as you peaked, the stimulation was completely removed.

You gasped and whined, “Childeee~! What the fuck~!?” You craned your neck to look at him and his smirk.

“I would keep going, but I’d preferred if you came on my cock instead, [Name],” he said rolling you off and quickly mounting you. His heavy veiny cock resting on top of your stomach. “You’d do that for me right?” Childe kissed your cheek while rubbing up and down your sides.

“Of course, although I’m still pissed that you didn’t let me cum,” you muttered between kisses, guiding Childe’s cock to your wet entrance.

His cock went smoothly inside of you, since he stretched you out so well and got you soaked. You whimpered as the cock’s head pressed against your cervix, Childe watched your expressions as he bent down to kiss you. “Hold onto me, ok?” He pulled you up so your arms could wrap around his neck, as he adjusted his hands back to your waist.

“I’m gonna go fast ok?” His lips ghosted your own before placing a kiss on them. You nodded, bracing yourself for his brutal pace. “Fuck baby, mhhm,” he buried his face into the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent as he thrusts his cock in and out of you.

You could feel yourself quickly return back to your high, your moans increase an octave as Childe’s cock hits your sweet spot. “Augh♡~! Ah♡~! Oh♡~! FUck, Ajax♡~!” You cling onto him, feeling your face turn hot as Ajax pulls you into another deep kiss.

“Yeah? Yeah? You gonna cum?” Childe teased, sucking on your neck while maintaining his rough pace, “you wanna cum on my cock? Hm?” You whimpered and nodded, already at the beginning of your orgasm. “Yeah come on my cock, just like that,” Tartaglia began rubbing your clit, sending you crashing into an orgasm.

“AgH, fffuuck Ajax♡~! Cumming♡~!” Your legs shook violently in the air as your cunt began squeezing around Childe’s dick.

“Just like that bunny. Oh, FUck! [Name]!” his cock reached the deepest parts of you, his cum spilling inside of your womb, pumping you full of his seed. You were still trying to catch your breath, but Childe manhandled you into his lap, fucking up into you.

“Childe, wait~! I just came!” 

“Too late, I’m already wide awake. Just bare with me for a little bit, ok?”

"Ok," you muttered into the crook of his neck. Pressing your lips onto his freckled skin, before sucking in a hickey.

Still thrusting into your heat, Childe's cock was fully pressed at your cervix, pushing his cum to the sides of your walls and out. Causing a small puddle of a mix of your essence to form underneath the two of you. 

Your whimpers and pleads fueled Childe’s need to fill you up. Watching how; your eyebrows furrowed harder as he guided you on his length, your nails digging into his back surely leaving behind marks, and even your hole twitching and clamping around him after so much stimulation. Gods, he was on the verge of losing all sanity.

"Ah, Fuck! Baby!" He growled, laying you back down on the mattress. Throwing both of your legs on his shoulders, while his hands held onto your waist, slamming you back onto his cock.

"Ajax♡~ Close♡~!" You whined, hands trying desperately to bring him closer to you, as your hips humped up and down his crotch.

Ajax saw this and lifted you up pressing your back against the wall and your chest flushed against his own. Continuing to pump his cock into your dripping cunt, you felt yourself release suddenly. Clamping down around Childe, while tightly gripping his ginger hair. “Fuck, y-yES!” he choked out a whimper, crashing his lips onto yours as his cock heavily throbs against your walls, before releasing his seed into you.

Childe continues to steal your breath as he slowly brought the two of you back down to the mattress. Once resting on your bed, Ajax pulled his soft cock out of your spent hole, resulting in a chuckle from you, and soon after a soft hum from him. “Come over here, you,” he said pulling you on top of him, and wrapping his arms around you. 

You allowed his embrace for a minute, before realizing, “Childe, let me go! I have work in less than an hour!” You groaned lightheartedly.

The man below you let out another hummed chuckle, squeezing you closer to him, “I can’t, remember? I’m already so comfortable, and you’re too warm,” he said with a cheeky smile.

#genshin smut #genshin impact smut #childe smut #childe x reader #childe x fem!reader #cw smut