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leclsrc · 1 year

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it’s never over ✴︎ cl16

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

word count: 12.9k

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

nsfw warnings under the cut!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

“Who told you about that nickname?”

“Lorenzo.”

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

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

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

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

“It’s fine.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

“Mum—”

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

“Um.”

“Because… I’ve been…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You can.”

“No.”

“Fine. Next best thing then.”

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

“Pretend you’re dating.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Charles balks. “How did you even—”

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

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

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

You both nod, hyperfocused.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Got the IT team to fortify my account.”

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

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

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

—

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

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

“How’s uni?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You can tell me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

“I was thinking more seafood.”

“Tuna? Make ‘em little tacos.”

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

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

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

“It is not not okay.”

“So it’s…” You pause. “Okay.”

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

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

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

—

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

“We need to talk.”

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

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

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

“Tais-toi. It’s for her own good.”

“So you’re going to pretend to date.”

“Ouais.”

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

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

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

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

“So how about her birthday?”

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

“Nervous?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sure.”

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

“Dream on. On y va?”

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

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

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

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

“It’s seven,” you beam. “Dumbass.”

“Again with the competitive streak.” memory

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

“No you’re just a—hi, hi, hello!”

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

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

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

“Texas,” Charles says at the same time.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh.”

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

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

“… crazy about her forever.”

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You.”

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

“If you don’t want to—”

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

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

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

“First.” He looks away.

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

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

“Put me down, loser!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That was more than enough.”

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

“Did Papa?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Why do you care?”

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

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

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

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

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

“No, about her brand new dress.”

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then you’re quiet.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

You purse your lips. “Charles—”

“A golden shower, mate. Absolutely.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“When will you two wed?”

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

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

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

“Si, he did.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Of?”

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

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

“Now?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

“Okay, that’ll be me.”

“So that’s us.”

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

–

read an omitted scene here :)

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

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runnning-outof-time · 1 year

Note

Cia!! Thanks so much for sending this my way! I always appreciate your lovely GIFts 😉😉 I’m sorry this one took a bit…I struggled with figuring out a plot for it. This could be read with the couple from my series Birmimgham, but there’s nothing specific that locks it down to them…so it’s a regular Tommy x Reader as well! (I just wanted to write a little something more with those two) I hope you enjoy! :)

PLEASE LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK!

Not How I Wanted It To Go

Tommy Shelby

Warnings: language

Tommy’s initial plan of calling the men into the kitchen gets thwarted when the someone, who’s not supposed to be present, walks in.

“Right, boys, you’re all here,” Tommy started as he took one last drag from his cigarette before removing it from between his lips and stamping it out in one of the bowls on the kitchen counter.

“Shoulda had a fuckin’ map done up,” Arthur commented on the vastness of the house that his younger brother now owned as he and the other men filed into the space.

“Party’s still goin’ on out there, Tom…why’ve you got us in here?” Johnny Dogs questioned while eyeing up one of the trays that the cook staff was busy preparing.

“I wanted to let you all know before I go and do it…” Tommy trailed off, taking a deep breath as he rested his hands on his hips, “I’m going to propose to (Y/N),” he announced his plan, making the room burst into cheers and hollers.

“Fucking finally!” John exclaimed, a wide grin on his face.

“It took ya long enough!” Arthur added, getting in on the teasing, walking over to clap Tommy on the back.

“Is this why we’re all packed into this crowded house?” Uncle Charlie asked, his brows raising.

“Fuck you callin’ crowded, Charlie? This place is bigger than all of our houses on the lane combined and then rebuilt two times over,” John jumped in before Tommy could respond, refuting the older man’s statement, “and let’s not get started on the fuckin’ stables…can fit half of the King’s horses in…”

“Oi, John!” Tommy cut his brother off, sending a warning glare in his direction, “enough,” was all he had to say before John fell back into line. Tommy huffed at the tangent they’d just been taken on before responding to the original question, “it’s one of the reasons, yeah.”

He and (Y/N) were hosting a party at their new estate; a housewarming celebration. (Y/N) had wanted to have it so that she could finally invite all of their friends and family over. Tommy thought that it was a good place to finally propose to her.

“So you’re gonna do it then, Tommy?” Jeremiah was the one to bring the group back to the original topic of discussion.

“Yeah,” Tommy nodded his head in a definitive manner.

“When, brother?” Arthur wanted to know the details.

“Today,” Tommy’s voice still held confidence. Surprised expressions formed on the faces of the men in the room. Tommy looked around once before he continued talking, “I’m going to do it today and I pulled you all in here to let you know where you fit into it…” he paused, looking around the room once again, “it’s going to happen later, which means you fuckers can’t do anything that will embarrass her or make her upset…”

“This is (Y/N) we’re talkin’ ‘bout here, Tom,” John interjected with a grin on his face.

His words made Tommy zero in on him, “anything,” he repeated, his eyebrows raised to show the seriousness in the situation, unhappy that John was still joking. He looked around the room to see the men watching him intently. He ran a hand over his face before continuing, “no taking bets, no stealing stuff, no sizing up her extended family…”

“What if they come at us?” Isiah cut into Tommy’s speech this time, looking to the right then so that he could send Michael a grin. Those two had gotten into enough fights together.

“What?” Tommy spun to look at him, his brows now furrowed in confusion. He was slowly but surely slipping to the end of his rope with the questions and interruptions.

“What if they start the fight?” Isiah asked his question with slightly different wording.

“You step away. We’re not fighting tonight…do you understand me? No fighting…” he paused as he moved over to the line of men, moving down and pointing at each one of them as he repeated his statement, “no fighting, no fighting, no fighting…” he paused again, moving to the middle so that he could look at the entire group again, “no. Fucking. Fighting!” he barked his order, the frustration slipping through in his words. Isiah’s question had been the one to set it off. Silence fell in the room after his outburst, and he took a few deep, steadying breaths as he looked at the men again, “are there any other questions?” he dared to them to continue, knowing that the next person who tried to would most likely get their head chewed off.

“Let us see the ring then, Tom,” Arthur’s words came out as a statement rather than a question, and it served to cut the tension.

Tommy huffed out a sigh then, rooting in his trousers’ pockets to retrieve the box as the men all began chattering again; this time about catching a glimpse of the ring he was going to give (Y/N). He opened the box as soon as he pulled it out, showing the men that had gathered around him.

“She’s gonna love it, brother,” Arthur commented, patting him on the back as he smiled proudly, “the last of the Shelby men to get married…besides Finn over there,” he said then, nodding his head at their youngest sibling.

“Though Finn might have married (Y/N) if you didn’t get around to it,” John added with a grin, his words making the boy they were talking about blush profusely.

It wasn’t hard to tell that Finn had a bit of a crush on (Y/N)…he’d been starstruck by her from the time that she helped him with his maths those few years ago.

“So you’re doing it tonight then?”

“Yeah, later. I wanted to have it so that she’s not overwhelmed by everyone after it happens,” Tommy explained more of his plan, smiling as he looked down at the ring.

A voice came from the entrance to the kitchen before anything else could be said. “What’s going on in here, Tommy?”

Tommy looked up from the ring upon hearing it and his throat went dry as his eyes fell onto (Y/N). Shit. “Uh…what’re you doing here, love?” he asked, feeling his heart rate increase. The ring was still out in full view…there was no way she didn’t see it!

“I came looking for you. Some of my family were getting ready to leave and wanted to thank you for the invite…what are you all doing?” she asked, trying to look anywhere but at the box in his hands.

“Might as well do it now, brother,” Arthur mumbled behind Tommy as a tense silence hung in the air.

Tommy glanced to his side, seeing his brother nodding towards (Y/N). He took a deep breath and let it out slowly as he decided to go forward with it. He took a few steps toward (Y/N) then, the jewelry box still clutched in his hands. “This is not how I wanted this to go, (Y/N)…” he started off, keeping his eyes locked onto her as her lips parted slightly in surprise, “I wanted to do it in a way that would make things more special; a way you deserved. I’ve never in my life loved someone as much as I love you, and there is no one I’d rather spend the rest of my days with…”

“Yes, Tommy,” (Y/N) breathed, beating him to the punch and making his brows furrow in response.

“I’ve not even gotten down on one knee, love,” he pointed out.

“I don’t need that. My answer’s yes,” she shook her head, a wide smile present on her face.

“(Y/N)…”

“Fuck the particulars, just put the ring on her finger!” John yelled from where the men were still gathered, his words cutting off Tommy’s hesitancy.

Tommy turned and shot a glare at his younger brother, who was wearing a shit-eating grin, before looking at (Y/N) once more. “Will you marry me, (Y/N)?” he asked her even though she’d already given her answer.

“Yes!” she nodded her head, reaching out to wrap her hand around the back of his neck so that she could pull him into a passionate kiss. Tommy took hold of her waist with the hand that wasn’t holding the ring, steadying himself as he kissed her back with equal passion.

A chorus of cheers broke out behind them as they broke away. Tommy took the ring from its holder and slid it onto her left hand, looking up at her with a big smile once it was sitting comfortably at the base. (Y/N) smiled back at him, tears pricking the corners of her eyes as the men moved in to begin congratulating them.

It may not have been the original, extravagent proposal that Tommy had been planning, but it was the perfect proposal for them.

———

Tagged: @mgcldydrms @the-anxious-youth @cloudofdisney @look-at-the-soul @elenavampire21 @mrsalwayswrite @julkaamazing @evita-shelby @lilyrachelcassidy @notyour-valentine @shelbydelrey @december16-1991 @onlydeadcells @peakyswritings @just-a-blackhole @watercolorskyy @strayrockette @peakyduchesss @alexxavicry @captivatedbycillianmurphy @yummycastiel @dark-academia-slut @tommystargirl @stevie75 @lyarr24 @signorellisantichrist @zablife @anotherblinder @midnightmagpiemama @cillmequick @rangerelik @dandelionprints @letal-y-poetica @itscheybaby @gypsy-girl-08 @insanitybyanothername @depxiety @raincoffeeandfandoms @dragons-are-my-favorite @acewritesfics @forgottenpeakywriter @cilliansangel @cljordan-imperium @areyenotfondofmelobster @little-diable

MASTERLIST

#tommy shelby #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby x y/n #tommy shelby imagine #tommy shelby blurb #tommy shelby fanfiction #tommy shelby fanfic #peaky blinders #peaky blinders x reader #peaky blinders x y/n #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders blurb #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfic

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mirrorballhughes · 7 months

Text

I MISS YOU IM SORRY:

so it goes by taylor swift (luke and adelaide’s version)

TW/CW: slight smut, use of the word slut. a little praise, edging, toxic el and luke ( just wanna get you worked up and bothered) thats all i think?

also ik the song wouldnt take that long to go on but idc its a fun little fanfic okay !!! this is also more plot then smut im sorry!! this was also my first time writing smut! im sorry if its not great

18+ down below

Adelaide had just finished curling her hair, looking at herself in the mirror. she smiled at herself, fixing her black dress then headed out her room door grabbing her purse. the blonde walked down the stairs passing quinn on her way out. “della where are you off too?” the older hughes brother asked, causing adelaide to look at him. “mark texted about a party. sooo im going.” she smiled, getting a confirming nod from the older guy. quinn was in charge while the hunter and hughes parents were not at the lake house yet.

“alright. be safe, if you drink don't drive. text or call me or jack if you need a ride, or even better ask lu-“ “okay bye quinniee!” the girl interrupted sending him a smile not wanting to hear her ex boyfriend come into play. tonight was supposed to be fun for her, she was not supposed to be thinking about luke hughes. the hunters girl was carpooling with storm and a couple other people storm knew.

they got to the party, parking a few houses down as it was busy. adelaide booked it to the kitchen to make a drink, also meeting eyes with mark estapa and ethan edwards. “you came!” “i did!” she smiled as mark pulled her into a hug, “you look good addie!” mark said, ethan nodding his head in agreement. “made you this ad” ethan said handing her the other cup he was holding, the girl smiled and took it. “thanks edwards.” she sipped it, her face scrunched up from it being a bit strong causing the two boys to laugh at her.

“its good!” she said laughing a little, “havent had alcohol this summer yet.” “hmm sure u havent addie, but let's go dance!” mark said, pulling the girl away from the kitchen and into the living room. the pair were dancing together in the middle of the room. Adelaide felt his eyes somewhere, but was definitely not gonna meet his eyes. if she met those eyes bad things would be happening.

A few dances and many more drinks later, the pair was now sitting on a couch. adelaide sitting on Mark's lap as the pair was talking to some of the other umich boys. mark was peppering kisses on the girls neck, the pair being a little too drunk to care. the kisses did turn into little love bites causing adelaide to let out a breath, getting mark smirking as he looked at her.

mark was now settled back into the other guys conversation as adelaide was sipping from her cup locking eyes with luke. “see you in the dark” the hughes boy was staring right back as some other blonde girl was talking his ear off as she kept running her hand down his chest. “all eyes on you, my magician.” el had just realized he most definitely was watching mark suck on her neck. her eyes not leaving his, the girl smirked and grabbed marks face kissing him sloppily.

the team of hockey boys hooted and hollered, causing everyone else to look over at the pair. “all eyes on us.” the kiss grew lustful, luke rolled his eyes and looked away bringing his attention back to the girl in front of him. the hunter girl realized she won, smirking to herself she pulled away licking her lips as she looked at mark. “woah that was just woah.” he whispered, pecking her lips then went back to talking to his friends like nothing happened.

luke looked back at the pair, seeing estapa’s hand resting on the girls thigh, rubbing it slowly as his hands moving up her dress. adelaide locked eyes with the boy, moving the cup to her mouth. “you make everyone disappear and” the faint sound of taylor swift’s so it goes was playing as the couple stared back at each other. seeming as though there was a spotlight on each other, and everyone else just went away.

adelaide blinked, bringing her back to reality, looking away from luke. he looked so fucking good tonight. she had some bad thoughts happening in her head. mark smiled at the girl as she kissed his lips, causing the groups of boys to laugh at them. they weren’t sure if it was the drinks or if something was actually gonna happen between them. el looked back over at luke, who was practically eating the blonde girls face. “cut me into pieces.” the hunters girl gagged looking away from that pair, as luke came back for air he smirked seeing the girl look away upset.

the hughes boy wanted his el to himself. that black dress was made for her. he had his eyes on her the whole night, just watching over her. he hated seeing mark all over her like that. “gold cage, hostage to my feelings.” she was the only thought he ever had. In the corner of his eye, he saw adelaide get up and said the word bathroom to mark, the other boy nodded kissing the girl on the lips. adelaide giggled and headed up the stairs. “i'm gonna go to the bathroom.

i’ll be right back alright?” luke said loudly over the music, to the girl who’s name was lacy. “Yeah, that's fine! i'm gonna go find my friends! meet up later?” she asked, as luke nodded and headed up the stairs. surprisingly, luke had beat el up the stairs. “back against the wall.” as adelaide got to the top, basically falling up the steps. the girl was a little tipsy she thought she was imagining luke against the wall.

god who let him look that good? adelaide thought, giggling herself. she then turned to look at luke and just simply thought of when she was left without him at umich. “trippin’ trip-trippin’ when youre gone.” “hey.” luke said, looking back at the blonde. “bathroom free?” the girl asked, tucking her hair behind her ear. “no. but my friend lives here so i can take you to the guest bedroom and u can use that one?” the boy added, making adelaide nod grabbing lukes hand as he led her to the guest room. “cause we break down a little.”

“but when you get me alone, it’s so simple.” luke opened the guest room door, letting adelaide walk in first. she looked around the room as luke admired her from where he stood. “cause baby, i know what you know.” “that little act out there. that was for me huh?” luke said, getting adelaide to snap her neck to look at him. “we can feel it.” the lust filled tension in that room was ready to break. “what? no. god luke you are so obsessed.” adelaide rolled her eyes, lying to the boys face with a smile on her face. brats have more fun right?

lukes tongue poked his cheek, shaking his head as he made his away over to el. “and all the pieces fall right into place.” taylor blasted through the room, as the pair’s lips were now attached together, el tasted the beer on youngest hughes brothers lips as lu tasted some fruity cocktail mixed drink on the hunter girls lips.

adelaide pulled away smiling at luke seeing his swollen red lips and his lips being smudged with some of her lipstick. “gettin’ caught up in a moment, lipstick on your face.” adelaide licked her lips she was taking mental pictures of luke, knowing its been a while she seen her shade of lipstick on his lips. “what?” luke breathed out, checking the girl out his eyes moving slowly up and down, drinking in her body. “so it goes.”

“I'm yours to keep and I'm yours to lose.” the ex couple was enjoying this quite a bit. they knew behind this closed door, they were each others but once they walked out they weren't. “do you need to go to the bathroom?” luke asked, causing adelaide to smile. “mm not at this moment, no.” she said, moving closer to luke pecking his lips. luke grabbed the girls hips moving her closer to him as she found her way on his lap. “you know i'm not a bad girl, but i do bad things with you.” el moved closer to luke as the two kissed it slowly becoming more heated. “i can feel you love. calm down.” luke chuckled one moving hair out of her face, and the other hand rested on ass slowly rubbing it. “so it goes.”

luke grinned as she looked her up and down, grabbing the girls ass. adelaide moaned, her head going back a little. “god this dress el. it looks so fucking good on you. no wonder it was my favorite.” luke spoke moving closer to the girls lips. “black has always looked good on you.” adelaide blushed hearing his voice get a little raspy. “come here dressed in black now.” adelaide bit her lip looking at luke. the boy was smiling then took a look at her neck. light hickeys were all over her neck, luke scoffed, eyes darkened as he looked at the blonde. “so it goes.” adelaide smirked, realizing he was mad at the hickeys mark left.

“baby. this isn't a very good girl of you yeah? my slut let some other guy suck her neck?” luke said, causing adelaide to look down, “no. eyes up here.” luke barked, causing el to look up quickly. “answer me baby.” he said as she locked eyes with him. “yes- yes sir. i'm not a good girl and i let mark suck on my neck. what are you gonna do about that?” she smirked. luke rolled his eyes as he pushed her off his lap gently. “strip slut.” he spoke, eyeing her up. el got up and slowly started to strip out of her dress. “faster.” she nodded and let her dress fall down to her feet leaving her in her matching lace red thong and bra set. luke drank her body up, licking his lips. “my pretty girl knew she was getting fucked tonight yeah?” he said letting his hands roam on her body.

“yes baby. mark was supposed to.” she smirked knowing that wasn’t true but lukes face scrunched he was pissed. He could never get used to looking at her perfect body. He grew harder in his pants adelaide drooled a little watching his member. “oh really now?” luke spoke, grabbing the girls hips fastly moving her down on the bed. “gonna make you feel better then mark has ever will.” he spoke, kissing the girls lips slowly moving down to her neck. he licked her neck then started sucking on it. “mm” the noise came out of the girl's mouth. luke groaned hearing the noise, he missed hearing that knowing he was the only person who could get her feeling this good.

luke smirked as he moved his one hand to her pussy. feeling a pool of wetness on her panties. “god so wet and pretty. all for me right slut?” adelaide nodded, “words. use em.” luke unhooked his lips from the girls neck to look at her. “all for you pretty boy. this pussy is all yours.” adelaide spoke, licking her lips bringing her hands to tease her nipples through her bra. lu smirked bringing his lips back down to the other side of her neck, sucking on it. his fingers gently brushed her lips, he teased just rubbing her slowly. “fuck pretty boy. stop teasing!!” she whined causing luke to stop his rubbing all together. “sluts get teased, baby. rules are rules.” he smirked as he continued to suck her neck then pushed side her panties. he entered two fingers at once. moving them in and out fastly. “fuck babe.” el moaned not used to the two fingers. luke entered another as she squeezed against them. luke groaned from feeling that and from addie scratching down his back.

“scratches down your back now.” luke smirked at his artwork on the girls neck then brought his attention to the girls breasts. his other hand kept fingering her, the squelching noises were music to both of their ears. luke stripped her of her bra, tossing it beside her. then he kissed the girls lips then brought his mouth to one of her perky breasts, tongue swirling around her nipple causing her to moan. “mm fuck i think im close lu.” addie said as luke left hickeys on both of her breasts. luke smirked, licking his lips, feeling her grinding against his calloused fingers. “im gonna come lu-“ luke pulled his fingers out smirking as he stuffed them in his mouth to taste the girl.

“what the fuck lu?” adelaide whined, “bad girls don't get to come el. i thought you knew that baby.” he replied getting up. “you’re leaving??” adelaide sat up, “sorry baby you were bad tonight. if you want to continue; be a good girl for the rest of the night and we can see what will happen okay?” he replied smirking and then was walking out the door. “so it goes”

adelaide sat up and got back into her bra. she went to the bathroom, once she finished she saw herself in the mirror. “you did a number on me baby, but whos counting?” her neck hickeys were more prominent than before, and she noticed she had some hickeys where her boobs sat. “damn it hughes. left me this and couldn’t even let me finish what the fuck.” el spoke under her breath as she got back into her dress headed back downstairs. “i did a number on you baby, whos counting?” is what was heard when luke got downstairs he smirked to himself replaying that moment with adelaide in his head.

luke saw adelaide leaving the kitchen with a fresh drink in her hand as she made her way back over to mark. luke rolled his eyes then went to go find ladie? saide? thats just variations of adelaide what the fuck. “lacy!” luke spoke seeing the girl standing in front of him. his eyes were still on els. “oh shit i didnt realize i did all that to you addie. im so sorry” mark spoke, talking about the girls darkened hickeys. adelaide's face flushed, “its okay mar, things happen.” she giggled kissing the boys face. “you did a number on me baby, whos counting?” ade’s eye contact with luke who smirked at her almost causing her to spit her drink out. they both knew what truly went down but she was gonna let mark thing this was his whole work.

the pair shared longing and wanting stares with each other for the rest of the night. they wouldn’t be able to keep their hands off each other once they finally get to each other at home.

and all the pieces fall (pieces fall) right into place gettin caught up in a moment (caught up, caught up), lipstick on your face so it goes im yours to keep (oh) and im yours to lose (baby) you know im not a bad girl, but I (I do) do bad things with you so it goes.

#luke hughes #adelaide hunter #luke x adelaide #i miss you im sorry fanfic #luke hughes smut #hockey smut #nhl smut #umich smut #joss writes

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notiddygxthgf · 1 year

Text

8. night together

★ pairings: plug!wakasa imaushi x f!reader

★ synopsis: the one where you have the hots for your dealer, and Wakasa is always eager to please a customer. (don't let your bf stop you from finding ur hubby)

★ content warning: smut, angst, lotta porn w a lotta plot, car sex, dealer wakasa, cheating, oral sex, sneaky link, vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, sex while high, consensual drug use, mentions of abuse, unprotected sex, so much more..., PUSSYDRUNK WAKASA, unprotected sex, slight angst (but it has nothin on what's coming lol).

★ a/n: SORRY FOR THE LONG DELAY HEHE!! this chapter was originally one big one, but then I split it into wo, and then I just put it back into one big old chapter bc why not yall deserve it -- HAPPY 4/20!!!!! next chapter prob gonna be coming in the next few days bc its already basically done lol. THANK U ALL 4 UR SUPPORT!!! ITS A LONG ONE, ENJOY <;33 ;) (YOU KNOW THE DRILL. COMMENT UR THOUGHTS/WISHES!!)

★ w.c.; 10.4k

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THIS WASN’T SUPPOSED TO HAPPEN. For the sake of your own emotional well-being, you had sworn off intimacy – not including sex, of course – with Wakasa until further notice. Non-sexual intimacy was dangerous territory for a hopeless romantic, and you knew that. This little hot fling the two of you had would turn serious real quick. The two of you were supposed to be drinking tea together – well, actually, you had sent Waka off to take a shower. Alone. Yet, somewhere along the way, one thing had led to another, and the next thing you knew your clothes had disappeared and the two of you were pressed against one another beneath the hot water. He had been placing a series of wet, open-mouthed kisses on your damp skin, bringing his arms around your bare waist.

So much for the whole no-intimacy thing.

Wakasa kissed your lips. He pulled back, licking his own, then he reached for one of the bottles on the shelf next to the two of you. Double-checking that it was shampoo, he poured some into his palm. He gave it a quick lather before smearing it over your hair. His hands – skilled, strong – worked the shampoo into your scalp, massaging your skin in a way that had your eyes fluttering shut.

He reached behind your ears. “Tilt your head back, baby,” He told you.

For some reason, you obliged, letting him tilt your head back beneath the waterfall. His fingers scrubbed the tender skin of your temple. The warm water washed away the shampoo residue in your hair and on your scalp.

His touch was so gentle, like he was afraid to hurt you.

How did we get here? You wondered.

“The bathroom is gonna be the first door on the right,” you sighed, dropping a stack of neatly folded clothes and towels into his hand. “Holler if you need anything.”

Wakasa pursed his lips. He set the towels down on the table, keeping his eyes trained on you. He made no sudden move to go to the bathroom. Instead, he brushed your hair out of your face with a gentle hand.

“Might I request you join me, princess?” He hummed.

You felt your face burn.

Wakasa kissed your forehead, squeezing the rest of the shampoo out of your hair.

You took the bottle from him, offering, “Can I wash your hair?”

His eyes widened. For a moment, you noted, he looked to have been caught off guard. Still, he reached for the ponytail in his hair and tugged it out, letting his pretty golden locks fall over his face and his broad shoulders. The purple hues patterning his hair darkened beneath the weight of the water almost immediately.

He looked so beautiful like this. His pretty, girlish face was slightly damp, tinted pink as tiny beads of water rolled off of his lashes. As he let his hair get wet, running his hands through it, he looked so serene – then promptly flipped his hair back. This was the first time, you realized, that you had seen his whole face. Better yet, the first time you’d seen his whole body. He was perfect, chiseled like he had been sculpted out of marble. His tattoos glistened beneath the steady stream of water. You watched the droplets roll down between his pecs, down his toned abdomen, and further down unto –

“You just g’nna stare or do you wanna help me?” He asked, snapping you out of your daze. He had this all-knowing, shit-eating grin plastered right over the lower half of his face.

You rolled your eyes, dripping a generous amount of your expensive shampoo into your palm and then promptly slapping it onto his head. His hands slid around your waist, head tilted back while you massaged the shampoo into his hair.

He sighed, letting his eyes close.

You felt your chest warm at the slight movement. He trusts me.

One of the most feared men in the entirety of Tokyo was in the shower with you, breathing slowly like he’d waited his whole life to feel so calm, so intimate. One of the most feared men in Tokyo was letting you put your girly-smelling shampoo in his hair.

He had put his trust in your hands. For a minute, you were scared you would drop it.

You turned the two of you around, bracing your hand on his chest while the water washed the shampoo away. He moved his hands from your waist to scrub the remainder out, strong arms rippling and dripping with water as they reached behind his head.

He was mesmerizing.

Subconsciously, you found yourself wandering closer to him, closer to the valley of flesh left exposed after he threw his head back. Your lips, more specifically, found their way to his neck, licking and sucking the skin. Wakasa’s teeth flashed when your teeth slipped over the mark you were trying to give him, though he didn’t flinch or even open his eyes. When you elected to run your flattened tongue over the junction between his neck and his collarbone, applying some light suction there, he leaned into you. For the first time, you could taste him, down to the slight saltiness of his skin. It was intoxicating.

You wanted more.

“ Mmm,” he hummed. “I’m s’pose to be the one spoilin’ you tonight, doll.”

You pulled your lips from his skin, but you didn’t go very far, keeping your nose pressed to his skin as you inhaled sharply. You could still smell his cologne – albeit very faintly. In a moment, he wouldn’t smell like him . He would smell like you, like your strawberry-scented bath soap.

“Don’t see why we can’t do both,” You murmured into his skin. Reaching behind him, you pawed around until you felt the shower gel bottle brush against your hand. You tugged it off the rack, then moved away from him.

Wakasa watched with soft, downturned eyes as you put some into the palm of your hand. You gave it a quick lather before placing your hands on his shoulders, then you set off on your mission to coat his entire chest in the pink, strawberry-scented foam.

He turned his nose up at the smell.

“You don’t like?” You hummed. Honestly, it didn’t matter what his answer was. This was the only soap you had. You were going to get him nice and clean, even if it meant he smelled like strawberry shortcake afterward.

“Nah, it’s cute,” He replied. Still, he looked away from your focused face. After a brief silence, he offered. “Would you believe me if I told ‘ya no one’s ever done this for me?”

You knitted your brows together. “You’ve never showered with anyone?”

Wakasa chuckled, licking his lips. “‘Course I have,” he said. “You’re just the first one who's ever gotten so close.”

Despite the fact that you were currently feeling him up – washing him, you were washing him – you felt your face begin to get a little hot. “Don’t like people touching you like this?”

He shook his head. “Nah. Too intimate.”

But we’re…

You paused your scrubbing motions. “Do you want me to stop?”

There was a pause, then he explained, “Feels nice when you do it.”

His voice turned you on like crazy. You couldn’t deny that much.

So you continued lathering him up, reaching beneath his arms to spread the soap onto his back, and then back to his torso. Too intimate. He was right. This was way too intimate considering the two of you were currently walking a thin line. A very thin line.

“Kay,” You smiled. You were okay with that.

Whatever the two of you had, you didn’t want it to end.

Raking your nails over his skin gently, you followed the curves of his waist down to his hips. All of a sudden, the air shifted again. That tension from earlier was back.

So, instead of letting it drip on that way, you brought him in for a slow, passionate kiss. He leaned into you immediately, letting you lather more soap over his navel. When your hand brushed past his crotch, small finger catching on the large appendage he had between his legs, his breath caught.

You could have continued on as if nothing happened. You should have. But, for some reason, you couldn’t move your hand on its own. You brought it down over the sensitive skin again.

This time, his hand caught your wrist.

“Baby,” He spoke, voice a little deeper than before, “Don’t start something you won’t finish.”

You froze for a moment. Finally, feeling your heartbeat quicken ever so slightly, you melted into him. “Who said I wouldn’t finish it?”

He smirked at you, taking a moment to drink in your flustered appearance. Still, he let go of your hand, allowing you to continue exploring the lower half of his body at a pace that suited you.

This is okay, you thought to yourself. Then, as you felt something begin to press into your hand, you affirmed yourself once more, This is okay.

His lips moved for yours. You let him slip his venom into your mouth, lord knew you were poisoned long before you stepped into the shower with him. He pulled away, resting his forehead against yours and breathing in perfect synchrony with the rapid beating of your heart. His hungry lavender hues drank you in.

You had never felt so vulnerable in your entire life. Subconsciously, your arms folded over the front of your bare body, shielding you from his passionate gaze.

“Lemme see, princess,” He pried your hands away. When you let him brace his strong hands on your hips and back you into the corner of the shower, he sought out your lips with newfound passion. Through a mouthful of you, broken into syllables, he mumbled into your lips, “Fuckin’– breathtaking– y’know?”

You found yourself melting into him for the hundredth time.

“Wish I could paint a picture of ‘ya like this,” He breathed, words heavy with lust and… something more, it seemed. He kissed you again. “You don’t know how long I ‘been dreamin of you, sugar.”

Sugar. He was so sweet that you felt tears begin to pool at the corners of your eyes. Quickly, you brought yourself back down to earth. You had already made the mistake of stepping out. You wouldn’t ruin what you had with Wakasa over some ambiguous feelings – no, that would mean it was all for nothing.

One day, just as all good things did, your time with him would come to an end. You knew it. Flings like these rarely lasted. You knew that was most likely for the best; maybe, by some random stretch of luck, Wakasa would vanish from your life altogether, leaving it the way it had been before you had met him. Maybe, just maybe, things could go back to the way they were.

But you knew deep down that wasn’t what you wanted. You knew deep down that there would be a 5’2 gap in your heart when Wakasa decided he was done having his fun with you. He would pick up and leave one day, just as you knew he had done for so many others before you, and he would leave you with little more than the fleeting memory of his touch on your skin. Perhaps months, years, decades afterwards, you would look at your skin and – just as you did now – see his lips pressing little memoirs of his passion into your skin. Perhaps you would feel his kisses on your lips, his devilish tongue pouring empty promises and words of endearment into your parched mouth; the way his lips would curl into a smile because he knew his words made you weak.

He made you weak in the best way imaginable.

It was then that you realized that you didn’t want him to leave; not a week, month, or year from now. Even if it was all fake, you wanted to stay – wanted to stay here with him in this pretty little illusion the two of you had created together a little longer.

You opened your mouth, and the words almost left your mouth like some desperate, bubbling plea.

‘Stay with me’

The realization struck you with the force of a trainwreck; you were falling for him.

Wakasa hooked his finger beneath your chin, tilting your head up so you were looking him. You hadn’t even realized you had looked away.

“You’re so beautiful,” He smiled weakly, like the sight of you had taken his breath away. “You make it so hard to leave.”

You ached for him. “Stay the night,” you breathed.

Wakasa captured you in another dizzying kiss. It was slower this time, passionate, intimate. It had you reeling for more. You wanted all of him tonight – for all you knew, tomorrow would come and he would leave you. He would leave you to be conflicted by your lonesome, and all of this would be a foggy memory.

You wanted to paint an image of him so vivid in your memory that you would never forget it – that you would never forget about this night, about how he looked, felt… tasted.

So, without another word, you dropped to your knees. Splaying your hands out over his thighs, you craned your neck up to look at him. He peered down at you with the element of surprise playing at his features.

You wrapped your hand around his semi-hard shaft. “Wanna taste you,” You licked your lips. “Can I?”

Wakasa mirrored your action, flitting his tongue over his pink lips while he slicked some more of his violet tresses back – revealing more of that beautiful face you wished you could call your own. “Go ‘head, pretty baby,” he purred, petting his hand over your hair to brush it away from your face. “‘M all yours.”

His words – however fictitious they may have been – made your heart squeeze.

You pressed a kiss to his tip, gauging his reaction. When you saw him lazily smiling down, you took him into your mouth without any further warning.

He exhaled sharply, leaning over you to brace a hand on the shower wall. Th e muscles in his arm tensed as he tried to gain stable footing. Hungrily, you raked your eyes up his navel, the roses and ink tatted on his toned chest, his broad shoulders – you wondered if he knew you burned for him.

Sucking him back into your mouth, you hollowed your cheeks. You worked up quite a bit of spit near the back of your throat, pulling off to spit on him before practically swallowing him back up.

Wakasa sighed. He brought his spare hand town to caress the side of your face, to make you look at him while your lips were stretched around his length. He throbbed in your mouth, growing bigger as you felt him get harder.

“Fuck,” He breathed. “Y’look good with my dick in your mouth, baby.”

You felt that way. When his hand slipped behind his head to guide your head gently, bobbing you back and forth on his dick. You were struggling to fit the whole thing in your mouth, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes, but you were determined. His shudders and sighs spurred you onward.

If this was going to be the last night you ever spent with him, you wanted to make it memorable.

“Takin’ it so well,” He purred, guiding your head while simultaneously allowing you to set your own pace.

You felt that fire in your core reignite, making you press your legs together while you pulled back for a moment to slurp on the tip rather unceremoniously, spit dripping down his dick. You tilted your head to the side, wrapping your hands around what you couldn’t fit into your mouth to work the rest of him. Your tongue swirled around his dick.

As you braced your hands on his hips to sink your head the rest of the way down, you met some resistance, eyes watering as you felt yourself gag on him. He pulled you back a bit. You swatted his hand away, pushing him back into your mouth with determination.

Above you, the muscles in Wakasa’s arm tensed. With a blissful sigh, he leaned his head back. The water ran over his hair and down his face, sticking his lashes together in bunches. He was so fucking pretty, it made your heart skip a beat.

His chest rose and fell steadily, water droplets streaming down his body. It made for the perfect lubricant. His tongue darted out to wet his lips, which parted soon after to release a trembling sigh of your name.

Then his hand fisted itself in your hair, and you felt yourself mewl. Just when you went back for more of him, he tugged you off. His dick sprang free with an uncharacteristically funny pop. A glance to your left made you realize that the clear glass of the shower door had fogged up.

You knitted your brows, peering up at Wakasa through lust-ridden eyes. “W’happened?” You asked, still a little breathless. “Was it bad?”

“No, shit, you were doing great,” Wakasa shook his head. Judging by the way his thigh trembled beneath your grasp, he wasn’t lying to save your ego. He reached for your shoulders, tugging you up onto your feet. He pressed you further into the wall. He sealed his lips together with yours, bringing his hands around the small of your back. “Wanna feel you,” He sighed into your mouth. “Made me miss your pretty pussy.”

You chuckled, though you felt the river between your legs trickle down your thigh at his words. You wouldn’t have been surprised if Wakasa revealed that he was some sort of incubus all along. “You just had it an hour ago, baby.”

Baby. You froze. The nickname had slipped out.

He knew it. With a small grin resting on his lips, he pressed your noses together. “I know,” he panted. “Think ‘m addicted.”

“Yeah?” You played dumb. Easing into his touch, you allowed his hand to slip between your bodies. “How’d that happen?”

“Been cravin ‘ya like an addict since I first met ‘ya. Got me actin’ a fool, ‘s like an itch,” He hummed. His fingers squished the chub of your stomach, and then traveled down further – towards that ache between your legs. He kissed you again, for the hundredth time. “Only ‘that pussy can scratch.”

You let him bury his face in your neck, placing hot kisses on your sensitive flesh. Tangling your fingers in his bi-colored locks, you sighed. “What a shame. How should we go about resolving this problem?”

And then, as he roughly gripped your hips and then promptly turned you around – pressing your face into the wet wall – you gasped.

“Depends,” He continued, like nothing had changed. His voice was deep, vibrating between your own ribs. Slowly, carefully, he pressed into your backside – a reminder of his desires sitting hard and warm against the meat of your ass. “You g’nna deny a poor addict his fix?”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” You arched into him. With a smile, you continued playing along with him. “Someone’s got’ta satisfy those cravings.”

He nudged your legs open with his foot. You let him.

“You’re playin’ with fire, baby,” He purred, words playing at the soft spot you had for him. “You wouldn’t mind me keepin ‘ya up all night, would ‘ya?”

All night . You would handle everything that came with being his, even if that meant losing some sleep in the process. Well, that, and your ability to walk.

“Bring it on,” was your answer. “I can take it.”

“Yeah? Think you can handle me, pretty girl?” His hand reached around your torso to cup your breasts, shielding your sensitive nipples from the ice cold wall of the shower. The comfort was only brief, however, as he began kneading the flesh with his strong, warm hands. “Now’s the time for any objections.”

It was hard to focus on him when his tip had already coaxed itself in between your folds. You shuddered, pressing back into him.

Turning your head around, you brought your foreheads together. The way his lips gravitated towards you was remarkable. You locked lips again, wordlessly sealing your fate – parting only to mutter your final request. “Pull out, okay?”

He groaned at your words, pulling you back until your ass was flush with his hips. His grip, unrelenting, would surely leave bruises tomorrow. You didn’t care.

“Tap me if it hurts, princess,” He crooned, warm breath sending chills down your bare spine. Then, without so much as a warning, he lined his tip up with your aching hole and pressed his hips forward. Despite the burning stretch, it felt so good to be filled by him. It was as if your body had been made for it.

★

“ Waka , please, I– ” You pleaded with the man. Your hand had found its way down to his head, gripping his damp, disheveled locks like your life depended on it. In a matter of seconds, he had single-handedly reduced you to a babbling mess. “ Mnnnh -”

He groaned into your flesh. With your thighs pressed against both sides of his head, he made for a pretty sight. His hair was tied into a bun, though you had ruined most of it with your ruthless rutting. He did nothing to stop you as you clamped your legs over his ears, shamelessly riding his face.

Prying your legs away from his face, Wakasa gasped for air. His face was flushed a pretty shade of red. His eyes were wild, lustful as your juices dripped off the sides of his face. “Taste better than I dreamed of,” he panted.

You lifted your hips away from his face in an attempt to make it easier for him to breathe. Your efforts were in vain. He gripped your hips harshly, seating you on his face and then continuing to eat you up like a man starved.

You found it difficult to pry your eyes away from him. He looked so happy to be trapped between your thighs like this, like he had been waiting ages for it. The way he sucked and slurped expertly at your dripping cunt had your legs trembling around him.

“Sit,” he mumbled through a mouthful of your clit.

“Don’t wann’... ngh,” You leaned forward, bracing your hands over the bed frame while he dragged your hips back and forth, back and forth over his face until the friction was almost too much to bear. He had been eating you out for the last two hours straight, stopping only very briefly between orgasms. “G’nna crush you.”

“Sit,” he affirmed. You were in no state to disobey. “Ride my face.”

You reached one hand down again and tugged on his hair. To your shock, he liked it. You felt the vibration of his deep, guttural groan against the mess he had made between your legs.

“Ka… Kasa , please–” You managed to get out through a string of broken moans.

He moaned, pushing your hips up against his nose. He never stopped his incessant licking and sucking, tongue working you up to what would be your fourth orgasm of the night. Your pussy was sensitive, so sensitive, yet he wasn’t going any easier on you. At this rate, you were convinced you would have to beg for mercy.

“Can’t…” You panted. You weren’t sure you could finish another time. You were sore and tired, and you were beyond overstimulated.

“C’mon, princess,” he paused his desperate licking to beg. “Just one more.”

You licked your lips, feeling tears begin to well at the corners of your eyes again. It was all so much… too much. “I can’t,” you gasped.

“You can do it, baby,” He purred. Sucking harshly on your clit – and then making up for it with a few gentle licks – he added. “Jus’ one more for me, ‘kay?”

On cue, he slid his hands up to your waist, flipping the two of you over until it was him pinning you down at the foot of your bed. The towel he had laid out beneath the two of you was drenched. You weren’t sure if you could take any more.

“Waka, I don’t–” You began, abruptly cutting your own sentence off with a gasp as he took two digits and plunged them into your hole. “ Fuck .”

Wakasa’s long fingers immediately found your sweet spot, rubbing a slow, steady circle to ease you into the sudden intrusion before he began curling them upward. You saw stars.

You raised your head off the bed, trying to rest your weight on your trembling elbows so you could get a good look at him. You would never forget the sight of him on his knees like that, hungry eyes devouring your sweaty body while he worked you open like some sort of expert. His lips were red, shaped in an ‘o’ as he struggled to catch his breath. His hair – despite having been ruined by your legs – framed his pretty face the same way it usually did. His face was dusted with a gentle, rosy hue again.

You were embarrassed, oddly enough, and dropped your head down to cover your face with your hands. He couldn’t be real. There was no way this was real. It was too good to be true. “‘ Kasa, ple-ease ,” you stammered. It was getting hard to form coherent sentences when he was in your guts like this.

He curved his fingers up into your cunt, marveling at the way you gripped him.

Somehow, despite the odds, the coil in your gut was drawing tighter and tighter. He was reaching deep inside of you and undoing you from the inside out like the lace strands of a tightly wound corset. You wanted more. No, fuck, you needed more. But in all honesty, you weren’t sure you could take any more. The brutal pace of his long, dextrous fingers was making your mind go blissfully blank, slurred words and broken moans pouring out of your mouth a mile a minute as you struggled to hold on.

Then, something happened. He curved his fingers up sharply at just the right angle, thrusting his hand up and down, and – before you knew what was happening, you felt yourself squirting all over his arm.

“‘ Kasa -aah– ,” You whimpered as if that name were the only thing anchoring you down to the present. You chanted it like it was a mantra. Ignoring your cries, he moaned at the display, giving you only a few seconds to recover before he was doing the same thing again. “‘Kasa, ‘Kasa, ‘Kasa – fuck !”

“I know, baby, I know,” He reassured you. He began kissing his way back down your thighs. Somehow, his hand found yours, a firm grasp comforting you while tears poured from your eyes. “Y’er doin’ so good. Think ‘ya can do one more for me?”

Him. Do it for him.

It felt so fucking good – but it was so much. You didn’t know how to vocalize your feelings.

He reached over you, onto the nightstand, and then produced your phone. “Gonna give you something to watch when I go home,” He mumbled.

You saw the flash go on, and then he continued fingerfucking you.

“Say hi to the camera, baby,” He crooned. Pressing a kiss to the outside of your thigh, he added, “Taking it so well.”

You hid your face. “Waka,” You whined.

He tilted his head, grinning at you.

In a brief moment’s width, his lips joined his fingers, tongue licking quick stripes over your abused clit while he pressed on that spot that made your vision go white.

“ Waka, wait,” You gasped. “Feel like ‘m g’nna pee.”

“Just relax, baby,” he mumbled into your dripping wet cunt. His lips departed from your flesh briefly, but only to roughly scoot your ass closer to his face. Then, completely disregarding your concerns, he quickened the pace of his fingers. His hair was tangled in your fist while the rest hung in strings over his face – for a moment, you didn’t even care that he was recording anymore. “‘M g’nna take care of ‘ya,” He groaned, the sound muffled by your trembling thighs. “G’nna make you feel real good, promise.”

“ Mmmfuck – wait,” You gasped. Your body, however, gave a different signal. You yanked his hair and then trapped his head between your thighs with your legs. The moans – increasing in pitch – were falling out of your mouth uncontrollably now. He had taken you to the point of no return, to the point where broken pleas of his name were the only thing coming from your lips. Your legs spasmed once more before you gushed all over his wrist again, spraying him in the face this time. He eagerly licked you up. Thankfully, he had moved your phone out of the way just in time. “‘ Ka-sa! ”

“Want ‘ya to see how perfect you look with my fingers in ‘ya,” Wakasa moaned against your clit, but the sound seemed to be swallowed down every time he sucked on the sensitive bud. “Keep goin’-- doin’ so good.”

The flash disappeared behind your thighs.

He gasped as you tugged harder at his tresses in response. You could feel your guts clenching around his finger like you were trying to push him out. The sheer power this man had over you was near absurd. In a span of six hours, he had gotten you to completely abandon your morals. Not only that, but he had you rocking your hips back on his fingers like a desperate whore, chasing that sweet sweet release you so desperately craved.

“M’gh… fuck–” You pleaded, sentences reduced to mere gibberish. “‘Kasa, baby...”

He pulled away from your pussy, letting his fingers work you open, pressing deep into your g-spot. “I got you, baby,” He panted, peering up at you with such feverish hunger that it made you squirm. “Feel good?”

Desperately, you stumbled to find the right words. What came out, whatever, was a broken cry of “Mhm”.

“Why don’t you tell the camera who’s makin’ you feel good, hm?” He hummed, continuing to abuse your hole with unwarranted strength.

“ Wakasa ,” It slipped out. Truly, you had never intended to let it slip. Yet, still, when his fingers curled up against a particularly sensitive spot with all of the ease of a harpist plucking at the strings of your core, your lips spilled praise of his name. “‘Kasa, m’gn’na cum, fuck . ”

“Good kitty,” His smirk grew in size. He licked some of you off of his lips, and then hummed, “Cum for me.”

Instantaneously, somehow, his fingers pressed the right spot – just the right amount of pressure – then it snapped. The coil of your release snapped with all of the power of a freight train, your orgasm slamming into you in a way that had your back arching up off of the bed. Your hips jolted up against his fingers and his tongue, lips chanting his name like a mantra while feeling every last stroke of his long fingers against your walls. You could feel the shock tear through you in waves, tearing trembling gasps from your lungs while you expelled your juices all over his hand and the bed. “‘ Kasa,” you gasped again once the pleasure had cleared long enough for you to think. Not Takeomi, Wakasa.

It felt so good to breathe his name, to claim him – even if he wasn’t necessarily yours.

“Fuck, ” You mewled. Finally, you laid your head back. You felt fucking ruined . The drag of each of his knuckles against your hypersensitive walls as he fucked you – albeit much gentler than before, as if easing you down from your high – through the aftershocks of your orgasm was making you shake even harder.

The flash turned off. He set your phone somewhere off to the side.

He slid his fingers out of you slowly, savoring the way you clenched around them one last time before pulling out. He sucked the slick of your arousal off of his fingers.

“You’re a movie star, baby,” He teased, fixing the shorts you had lent him – Takeomi’s shorts, ironically enough – before collapsing next to you on the bed. The two of you panted, desperate to catch your breath. You were too weak to say anything as he turned your head to the side, pressing a passionate kiss to your lips. You could still taste yourself on his tongue – tangy, warm. “Did so good.”

You whimpered weakly in response. Wakasa chuckled, throwing his arm over your shaking form.

“You okay, pretty girl?” He hummed, tucking your hair away behind your ear.

You were still too weak to respond, letting your trembling legs to the talking.

“Gimme a sec,” he pushed himself off of the bed, sliding off the side and disappearing behind your bedroom door. The world seemed to spin in his absence, chest heaving slowly while you came down to earth. Everything was buzzing.

When Wakasa returned, he had a glass of water in his hand. He knelt beside you on the bed, picking your spent body up and then offering the cup to you. “Here, drink up,” he said. “Don’t pass out on me.”

You let him tilt the water into your mouth, dry lips lapping at the cold beverage like you hadn’t drank in days. You sighed. Fuck, that was refreshing.

He moved you back to the front of the bed, laying you down on the pillows while he tugged the towel out from beneath you. You were half expecting him to leave. He didn’t. Instead, he held you close to him, pulling the sheets over your body. His lips pressed kisses all over your forehead.

It was… almost too intimate. Takeomi had never done anything like this for you before. The feeling had your face burning up. There were so many thoughts swimming around in your head now that you felt almost overwhelmed by your own emotions.

“‘Kasa…” You finally said.

“Hm?” He hummed. He was so warm. The bed was barely big enough for the two of you.

“I can’t feel my legs,” You noted. “I can’t make it up to you.”

He shook his head. “Jus’ relax, doll.”

“You sure?” You asked again. “I don’t wanna give you blue balls.”

“I’ll be fine, princess,” He replied.

You whined, poking him in the side. “Stop. I wanna make it up to you.”

“Yeah?” He hummed. He paused briefly while his eyes scanned the room, and then he turned back to you. “Y’know what would really make my night, doll?”

“Wha…?” You trailed off, voice teetering on the verge of a whisper.

“You got any of that Wedding Cake left over?” He asked. “I’ve been moving into a new penthouse. Lost my stash in transit.”

You felt yourself begin to smile. A smoke did sound nice right about now. “Yeah, you’re gonna have to spark though,” You sighed, nestling into his side. “Got a pipe and a grinder in the nightstand.”

Wakasa laughed. You rested your head on his bare chest, relishing in the way it felt. For a moment, you could pretend his heart was beating for you. “That beat, huh?”

You nodded wordlessly. It was cold for a moment when he left your side, but it wasn’t long at all before he returned, this time with your glass pipe and grinder in hand. “‘There a lighter in there?” He asked.

“Mhm,” You giggled. You could stay here for hours with him sitting next to you on the bed, your head resting in his lap. Days, even. If only reality permitted such luxuries.

You tilted your head upward, watching him hold your pipe between two fingers while he popped open the grinder and placed a nug between the prongs. He ground it up, and then lightly tapped the side of the metal container. You watched carefully as he pinched some weed between his fingers and patted it down into the bowl. He repeated this process one more time until the bowl was full.

“You’re gonna have to sit up,” he chuckled, tapping the side of the red pipe. The glass curvatures sparkled beneath the dim lamp on your nightstand.

You followed his command – very weakly. He held the opening of the pipe up to your lips, instructing you to pinch the hole closed. He flicked the lighter once, twice, and then there was that familiar, faint sizzling sound as the flame finally took to the pipe.

You sucked in, breathing the smoke in and then holding it there before exhaling. Immediately, you felt calm.

“Mmm,” you hummed. You took one more hit before snuggling into his side. To your surprise, he let you. One of the most dangerous men in Japan was letting you cuddle up next to him.

His lips formed a seal over the end of the pipe, lifting his arm up to light the bowl. When it began to sizzle, he let out a few small puffs, then took one big hit. You watched him eagerly as he rested his head against your headboard, exhaling the smoke up and away from the two of you like a chimney.

His features relaxed a bit. Then he smiled and looked at you, and you felt yourself freeze up. He was so perfect, so beautiful, you wished you could remember this moment forever.

Somewhere along the way, your thumb had begun to trace the intricate linework on his tatted chest.

He sparked up for you again, letting you suck two more hits out of the pipe before fanning some of the smoke away. The exchange continued for five or ten more minutes.

“I’m supposed to see Takeomi tomorrow,” You sighed, but you never once shifted away from him.

Wakasa chuckled. “Don’t remind me about your boyfriend.”

Your hand traveled down, over his abs. You let your finger trace the lines there – he had a six-pack.

“Do you have any tattoos other than the roses?” You asked him. You realized you had never really seen his back before.

Wakasa nodded. He pointed to his left arm, the one you weren’t leaning on, and tilted it towards you. “Got a dragon here,” He traced a finger over the ink – the face of a traditional dragon grinning back at you from his arm. “And I got a leopard on my back. Wanna see?”

You nodded, releasing his arm from your grasp. He leaned to the side, revealing his toned back, and – sure enough – there was ink. Colored ink. A white leopard stood immortalized on his back, standing on a bed of roses. The sheer detail of his backpiece had your mouth agape.

Seemingly moving on its own, your hand splayed itself over the leopard on his back. When he didn’t move away from you, you continued tracing it. “Did it hurt?” you asked.

He shook his head. “Nah. Burned, though.”

“Do they have a meaning?” You asked, referring to all of his tattoos, even though you couldn’t bring your hand away from his chiseled back.

“The dragon means I’m loyal to the Black Dragons. Got roses ‘cus I’m’ma rose kinda’ guy,” He hummed. Turning his head to the side, he undid his bun. His smooth blond locks cascaded over his back. He gathered his hair to the side, draping it over one shoulder so you could continue looking at the ink on his back. “Got that one so people know who they’re talkin’ to.”

The leopard glared back at you. You paused your gentle tracing motion. “The White Leopard,” you breathed.

“Smart girl,” He chuckled, sitting back against the headboard. You watched him smoke again, exhaling through his nose this time.

He offered the pipe to you.

This whole exchange was so intimate. You had never – not in the entirety of your relationship with Takeomi – been in a situation anything like this before. The way he draped an arm over you to pull you closer to him, the way he let you wash his hair in the shower, the sny comments here and there. This all seemed too intimate.

It begged the question: was this really just a hookup?

“Waka,” You felt yourself begin to ask before you understood what you were saying. It could have been the weed. You felt like your mouth had a mind of its own. Although, it could have been that your mind was too foggy for you to think anything of it. Your lips parted to utter the forbidden question. “What is this?”

He knitted his brows. “What do you mean, doll?”

“ This ,” You gestured to the lack of space between the two of you. “What are we?”

He pressed the pipe to your lips, torching the bowl. You took a deep breath and then breathed out more smoke. It was hard to focus with his hands so close to your face. His hands that still smelled a bit like you.

“‘Dunno,” He answered honestly. “Wha’d’ya want it to be?”

What did you want this to be? You didn’t know. Part of you wanted him to leave. Part of you wanted him to stay. Part of you wanted to be his, even if you tried to suppress those urges.

“I don’t know,” Was your honest response. Really, you didn’t. “I don’t know what I want.”

“You don’t have to,” He noted. His eyes met yours. “We can fool around as long as you like. Jus’ casual fun, long as Take don’t find out.”

Casual fun. You were reminded, once again, that you were merely a placeholder. Wakasa was probably seeing other women.

You swallowed. “‘Kasa…”

“Yeah?” He hummed.

The words left your mouth on their own.

“I think ‘m falling for you.”

The room got so quiet you could hear a pin drop. You felt your own heart sink in tandem. The energy in the room shifted, it was tense, and you knew you had said the wrong thing.

“That could be a problem,” He noted.

Your stomach churned at his words. Shit. Shit.

“I don’t care,” You replied. “I just want to know how you feel – where we stand.”

Wakasa helped himself to another much-needed hit. His eyes flitted upward, towards the ceiling as he held his breath. “The real question, doll, is where you stand,” he remarked, letting the smoke pour from his mouth. “For the sake of your relationship, I don’t think ‘ya want to know how I feel ‘bout you.”

You furrowed your brows. “I do want to know.”

“Don’t matter, princess. At the end of the day, you got a boyfriend,” He said. He took one more hit, and then added, “The moment feelings get involved, shit gets messy.”

He was right. You knew he was right, and yet you couldn’t help but feel your heart squeeze almost painfully at the realization.

You figured you would try one more time, even if it meant embarrassing yourself. “If Takeomi weren’t in the picture…” You trailed off. “Would it be different?”

“Honestly, yeah. ‘M not a fan of being the side guy, especially not to Takeomi,” he said. Then, he turned to look at you. “But I do it for you.”

That comment made your head perk up, gazing back into his violet hues with wide eyes. “Why?”

“Dunno,” He sighed. His exterior dropped and, for a moment, you could see the truth in his eyes. He couldn’t tear them away from you. It was as if he was hooked on you too. “It’s stupid. I gotta be stupid… but ‘s like you’re my weakness. Can’t stay away from you.”

“This… this isn’t just casual sex, is it?” You swallowed, choosing to restate the obvious. “Do you feel it too?”

Wakasa averted his eyes, setting the pipe on the nightstand and laying his head on the pillow. “Yeah,” he finally said. “But what does it matter?”

You nestled next to him, pulling the blanket over the both of you. Wakasa, to your surprise, leaned into your touch. He seemed so vulnerable in the moment, like you made him weak. As weak as he made you. In the moment, he appeared to be the truest version of himself – a man with emotions who had dug himself a hole perhaps a little too deep.

“Casual sex is all I ‘ever known,” He added. “But you feel like home. ‘Never felt that before.”

You drew your body closer to him. It felt nice, to be so close.

“I know that makes me a moron,” He said. His eyes were trained very closely on the ceiling. “But you haven’t left my mind since the moment I first laid eyes on ‘ya. I thought it was g’nna be quick, y’know? The typical cliche of the unhappy girlfriend gettin’ her pleasure from someone else,” Here he paused, turning back to you. “I can handle that. Jus’ wasn’t expecting this.”

The tears returned to the corners of your eyes, beginning to pool as you struggled to hold your breath. You felt like one moment, one slight movement was all it took to break the bond the two of you shared. If that were the case, you would stay by his side as long as you could.

“I know he treats you like shit. I ‘seen the way he talks to you, and, just–” He trailed off. The way his hair fell into his face as he snuggled his head into the pillow was almost hypnotic. “I could treat you better. So much better, ‘know I could. I’ve never felt that for anyone before.”

He breathed in slow and then exhaled.

He could very well have been lying. Chances are, he’d probably said something similar to the last girl. And the one before that. And the one before that. But you couldn’t bring yourself to care. However superficial, you drank up his words like you were thirsty and his lips were a fountain. You hadn’t even realized you were tearing up until you felt a teardrop roll down your cheek.

Why did life have to be so unfair?

Amidst the tranquil beauty of a dimly lit bedroom, the two of you laid side by side, locked in a silent embrace. You were undeniably confused, torn between your six-year relationship with a powerful kingpin and your undeniable affection for your forbidden lover.

Wakasa was enigmatic and alluring, with a mysterious air that drew you towards him like a moth to a flame. He was everything Takeomi wasn't – spontaneous, daring, and adventurous. You were captivated by his charisma and found yourself falling deeper into his spell.

Wakasa’s dark eyes gazed into yours, filled with longing. “I wanna make you mine,” he murmured. “So bad. Can’t help myself when ‘m with you.”

Your heart clenched. You knew you were betraying your boyfriend, but your feelings for Wakasa were too strong to ignore. "I want to be yours," she confessed, her voice wavering. “But ‘m scared.”

Wakasa’s thumb caressed your cheek, and you leaned into his touch, feeling torn between two worlds. "I know," he said softly. "It would be unfair for me to take this any further than we are right now. Don’t wanna do that to ‘ya.”

You closed your eyes, feeling torn and conflicted. You never imagined yourself being stuck in this situation, torn between two men, unsure of what to do. Your mind was a whirlwind of emotions, and your heart was in turmoil.

Wakasa peered into your eyes, his gaze heavy with conflicting emotions. "I don’t wanna be the reason for your pain, but I jus’ can’t bring myself to leave you alone," he said softly, his voice tinged with sadness. "I wanna be with ‘ya more than anything in the world, but it’s not that simple.”

You nodded, tears, building up in your eyes. You knew he was right, but the thought of remaining casual with him when you had all of these feelings swelling in your chest was unbearable. At the same time, however, you couldn’t imagine giving up what the two of you had. “I know,” you said, your voice choked with emotion. “But I don’t know if I can keep my emotions out of what we have… You’ve been so good to me, and I just…”

Wakasa cupped your face, his touch sending a jolt of electricity through your veins. “I wish I could run away with ‘ya, doll, but we gotta be realistic,” he said, his voice filled with longing. “There can’t be a happy ending for us. You know that, don’t ‘ya?”

Your heart clenched as you thought about the repercussions of your forbidden affair. You knew very well that Takeomi could easily send his men after your head. You would spend the rest of your life running. You weren’t sure you could handle that. "You're right," you said softly. "We can't continue like this."

Yet, still, as the of you sat there side by side – with the tension so thick you could have cut through it with a knife – you couldn’t shake the feeling that he didn’t really want to give you up. You could feel your heart pounding in your chest as you turned to look at Wakasa, the desire and longing in your gaze mirroring his own.

Wordlessly, Wakasa closed the difference between the two of you, his hand tilting your chin up so your faces were aligned. Your lips met in the middle in a searing kiss, filled with all the passion and intensity that had been building between the two of you for so long. You couldn’t resist.

Your hands found their way to his shoulders, letting him pull you over his body and into his lap. You paused briefly before deepening the kiss, your lips moving hungrily against one another as if this were the last. Time seemed to stand still. Slowly, you felt yourself get lost in his lips.

Your bodies pressed up against one another, the heat and urgency of your longing evident in every delicate touch. You could feel the gentle ripple of his muscular torso beneath you as he breathed through the kiss. You knew you shouldn’t be indulging in him so shamelessly, not after the conversation the two of you had just had, but you couldn’t help it.

As he finally pulled away, breathing ragged, you looked into his eyes, chest heaving with emotion. “You’re making this harder,” you whispered, voice trembling. “Quit playing with my emotions.”

The intimacy beneath his touch was going to send you head over heels into a whirlwind romance. You didn’t need that. He didn’t need that.

Wakasa chuckled, though it didn’t quite reach his face. His eyes, filled with a mixture of desire and resignation, raked themselves over your half-naked body. “Sorry, doll,” he said, his voice hoarse. “Can’t help myself. Needed one more before I could go back to playin’ pretend.”

You took a deep breath, trying to halt your tears. “I know it’ll only complicate things further,” You said rather passionately. “But I don’t want to stop doing this with you. I don’t care if we have to sneak around.”

Wakasa smiled almost sadly. He looked as if his heart was aching. “Me neither,” he murmured, voice gentle. “We can keep seeing each other. Jus’ leave our personal feelings out of it, yeah?”

You nodded. You understood what he meant, even though it hurt. You couldn’t afford to let your emotions take control and jeopardize everything you had. You had to be careful and keep your feelings in check. One misstep could ruin this entire arrangement for both of you.

You sighed. “I don’t want him goin’ after us.”

Wakasa’s hand found its way over to yours. “I’ll keep ‘ya safe. Promise,” he said.

You didn’t care if it was an illusion. He looked so ethereal beneath you, hair splayed out on the pillow around his face like a halo. He was so vulnerable, so perfect. Wakasa’s eyes were filled with a mixture of longing and determination. “And if ‘ya change ‘yer mind about being with him,” he said huskily, his hand reaching up to caress your cheek one more time. “I’m a call away.”

You felt your resolve crumble as you crashed your lips down on his, mouths melding together for what must have been the hundredth time that night. You moaned softly, moving your hands from his waist to the pillow beneath his head as you felt him brace his hands on your hips.

You drew a hand back to slip between your heated bodies, dragging down the tatted flesh of his chest with a new purpose. When you felt him harden beneath you, you began to rock your hips back and forth.

“Mmh,” he hummed happily, letting you explore his body. “How do you feel about another round, princess?”

“Very strongly, actually,” You teased, already reaching for the drawstrings on his shorts – Takeomi’s shorts, actually. Wakasa laid back, letting you free his growing erection from the constraints of his clothes.

You spat into the palm of your hand, wrapping it around the head of his dick and then working the spit over the shaft – getting him nice and wet for you. Not like he hadn’t already been dripping from eating your pussy for two hours straight.

“G’nna ride me, pretty girl?” He asked, sliding his hands up your waist while he watched you hover over him. This was moving quickly. Not like you had any objections to that, of course. Clearly, he didn’t either.

You didn’t grace him with a response, instead positioning the tip in line with your dripping hole and then sinking down on him. After the third time that night, there was hardly any stretch. He had worked you open real good.

He gasped, letting his eyes fall shut. You lifted your hips and then sank down on him again. You were still wet from the last two hours of your night with Wakasa, yet the filthy squelching sound your cunt made as it squeezed around him caught even you off guard.

“Think your man knows’is girl is bouncing on my dick right now?” He tutted, though he let you set the pace, sliding back and forth in a way that had the both of you panting for more. The stretch felt amazing – like you could feel him in your stomach. “Raw?”

Fucking back onto his dick, you couldn’t fight the strangled noises that seemed to tear themselves from your core. “‘S big,” You gasped. It took all of the strength you had not to collapse from the force of your tremble as he braced his feet on the bed. Sensing your struggle, he fucked up into you, meeting your thrusts in the middle and sliding in even deeper. “ Fuck , I feel it in my guts.”

“So wet, baby,” he moaned – sinful, sultry, beautiful. When you looked down, his brows were scrunched together, face contorted with concentration. You slowed down to savor the way your hole sucked him in. He hissed, “G’nna make me finish too soon if you don’t cut it out.”

“Mmh,” you giggled, letting him do all of the work for you. He was so good to you. “Want you to cum inside.”

So good, in fact, you thought you might give him a treat.

His eyes widened. “Yeah? I- hah, ” he breathed.

You nodded.

“Fuck,” he groaned, arching his head off the back of the pillow. His lips parted to make way for an uncharacteristically high-pitched whimper. “G’nna… be the death of me.”

You could say the same about him.

I obviously do not own tokyo revengers or anything related to it. please do not reproduce, copy, or translate my works anywhere. dont fk w me im a bruja.

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joined-by-stars-afar · 1 year

Note

Sure thing! How about something like Douma nsfw headcanons during bath? He asks you if you could help him bath but he's plotting and scheming something sexy with you :) Thank you again!

oh definitely >:D I gotcha! thank you for your request! btw again sorry these are a bit short qwq ima try to work on longer lists! hat and in general ngl my nsfw headcanons tend to run dry pretty quick -w-; i hope you like these nonetheless!! kinda rushed >w>

(also i got an enmu oneshot im workin on with a ✨funky lil idea✨ i got so keep an eye out for that, dears!!)

Douma bathes with you (+ fucks you LMAO)

You heard your lover holler down the hallway from the bathroom and you curiously headed upstairs with an extra bottle of shampoo

"Did you already use up the damn shampoo??" "Wh- no! Darliiing, I need your help~" "Don't know how to take a shower?" "You're no fun, my love."

He managed to get you with all his whining, and it didn't take long

You're in his arms the moment you undress and step in with him

He can't keep his hands from roaming the body he loves most

Likes to hold you riiiight up against him, skin on skin

Holds you against him the entire time, making sure he can hear all your noises over the running water (or splashes, if you're taking a bath rather than a shower)

Expect him to be marking up every bit of your skin that he can reach (if you let him bite you/mark you)

He finds it cute when you can't even hold yourself up against the shower wall, only pressing right up to you with his back pressing you against the wall, happily leaning in and nipping at your bare shoulder

Finds it even more adorable when your feet continue to slip and slide, nearly bringing you to your knees several times ("Careful, darling, as much as I love how you are on your knees for me, I don't want you hurting yourself.")

You can't tell me this man doesn't LOVE hearing every single sound made from you two echoing in the shower

The moment you two finish up though he's already cleaning you up, aftercare god <3

Wraps you up in a fluffy towel and whisks you away to bed for cuddles!

#douma x reader #kny #demon slayer #kimetsu no yaiba #doma #douma #douma headcanons #doma x reader #douma demon slayer #douma x y/n #kny headcanons #demon slayer headcanons #kimetsu no yaiba headcanons

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daisynik7 · 4 months

Text

Hanging by a Thread

Pairing: Takashi Mitsuya x Original Female Character

Rating: Mature (please heed content warnings as this chapter contains potentially triggering content - violence, dialogue that suggests SA, blood)

Word Count: ~6.5k

cw: angst, underaged drinking, dialogue that suggests SA, violence, blood, canon divergent, explicit language, suggestive sexual content, switching POVs (2nd and 3rd person)

Summary: After leaving the Tokyo Manji Gang, Mitsuya feels like his life is on the right track. They have their fearless leader Mikey back to his usual self and Mitsuya’s relationship with Hana grows stronger day by day. They graduate, ready for the next big step in their lives. But with everything said and done, the past will always haunt the brothers of Toman, for better and for worse.

Author’s Note: I know this is a drastic change in tone from this otherwise romantic plot. However, this is how I’ve always imagined the story to play out, so I apologize if I’ve blindsided you by this dramatic turn! Thanks for all the support I’ve gotten so far on this. Please let me know what you think in the comments.

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“Takashi Mitsuya!”

Despite his request to them earlier in the week to not cause a ruckus, his friends and family are the most obnoxious bunch during the graduation ceremony. From the stage, he spots Draken standing with Mana sitting on his shoulders, the both of them hollering as Emma attempts to quiet them down. Mikey is next to her, lifting Luna up by the armpits, who’s yelling enthusiastically with her tiny hands surrounding her mouth to emphasize her cheers. Mitsuya’s mom, dressed in her best kimono, cries into a wad of tissues, unable to contain her happiness.

Today, he’s an official high school graduate. He bows politely to his homeroom teacher and the principal before accepting his diploma, holding it gingerly in his hands like a prized possession. He never imagined feeling this way about a simple piece of paper, yet here he is, the proudest he’s ever been of himself. He beams at his cheering squad, then at Hana, who’s seated in their student section. She winks at him, cheeks round and eyes shining, clapping emphatically. He blinks away tears, in disbelief that this is all actually happening. His dreams have become a reality.

When it’s Hana’s turn shortly after, his friends and family are up on their feet once more, shouting their encouragements for her, enough for everyone in the audience to hear. Mitsuya peeps Hana’s parents, standing up and clapping. Her father glances to the back, his expression wary for a split-second, then he smiles proudly at his daughter walking the stage.

Since he formally left the gang, Hana’s father has relented his stance for them to break up. While there is still that awkward tension between them, there is no longer animosity, and Mitsuya considers this good progress. He’ll continue to work hard to prove to Mr. Shimizu, and to himself, that he’s capable of being the loving, supportive boyfriend that Hana deserves.

When the last student’s name is read and the traditional graduation song is sung, they file into their homeroom for one last class with their teacher, who congratulates them with high praise. It’s during all this hustle and bustle that the couple find a sliver to time for themselves, holding hands in the back of the classroom, squeezing each other lovingly. They sneak in a kiss while everyone else is distracted, and for this fleeting moment, it’s the two of them in their own little world.

Soon, there’s more commotion when they’re all dismissed to prolong the festivities in the courtyard. Mitsuya joins his mother and sisters to take pictures. Luna and Mana wear the dresses he made for them specifically for special occasions, making his heart swell more than it already has. He poses for more photos with his Toman brothers and Emma, who rib him for being a “nerd with a diploma”.

Hana’s mom approaches them first, introducing herself to Mitsuya’s mother and crouching down to meet his sisters. Mr. Shimizu does the same, the usual tension in his brow apparent. They all come together for a group photo, Hana and Mitsuya in the middle, his hand on her waist keeping her close, the two of them surrounded by loved ones. “I love you,” he whispers to her. It’s a picture-perfect memory that he’ll never forget.

The two of them part ways, agreeing to celebrate separately with their own families. Draken and Emma graciously host, serving a homecooked feast courtesy of the father-to-be, who prepared special dishes to honor the new grad, including the nostalgic beef karubi-don from when they first met as kids. Others join them, including Takemitchy, Hina, Hakkai, his sister Yuzuha, and Chifuyu. Their apartment is filled to the brim with people celebrating Mitsuya’s accomplishments. When it’s time for Luna’s and Mana’s bedtime, his mother bids them all farewell, making sure to warn her son, “Don’t get too crazy tonight, okay?”

“I won’t,” he assures her, kissing her on the forehead, waiting for them to board the bus, waving at the window as they head home.

He returns to the apartment, kitchen counter now stacked with bottles of liquor, ready to be consumed. Hakkai is halfway through a beer when he embraces Mitsuya jovially. “You are the fucking man, Takashi! I want to be you when I grow up!”

Yuzuha, who graduates in a week, pats her brother’s back, laughing. “It’s a too late for that, don’t you think? You’re a high-school dropout.”

“It’s never too late for anything!” he slurs, tipping the remaining alcohol into his mouth.

She rolls her eyes, prying him off Mitsuya. “Don’t make me take care of you when you get drunk.”

“Too late!” he hiccups, skipping into the kitchen to retrieve another, where she follows him, annoyed.

Mitsuya chuckles, amused by the two siblings and their usual banter. He examines the room, noting how all the most important people in his life are by his side, despite no longer being in Toman. Draken sips on a sparkling water, refraining from drinking alcohol in solidarity with his pregnant girlfriend, who sits on the couch with a sober Hina, gossiping. Mikey torments Takemitchy and Chifuyu in a game of Mario Kart on the television. An unusual sense of peace washes over him, and though he’s surrounded by his friends, he finds himself missing Hana immensely, wishing he could share this sentiment with her.

There’s a knock on the door and his wishes are miraculously granted. She steps inside the apartment, donned in her favorite jean jacket, the one with the heart they stitched together on the sleeve. Her gaze immediately meets his and they reunite in a big hug. “What are you doing here?” he asks, surprised and elated.

“Emma texted me and told me you were still celebrating,” she explains. “We finished dinner early and my parents told me it was okay to see you.”

“I’m so happy you’re here. I missed you.”

“You really can’t go a few hours without me?” she teases, nuzzling her nose to his.

“No, I can’t,” he admits, completely serious. He kisses her, instantly melting into her lips.

“Oi! Get a room, you fucking perverts!” Draken calls out, smirking. Emma and Hina giggle as Mitsuya flips the bird at his Twin Dragon.

They don’t partake in any drinking tonight, Mitsuya already love drunk and Hana too afraid to get caught by her parents later when she goes back home. Nonetheless, the party is full of merriment, especially when Mikey suggests karaoke.

Past midnight, Hana rests her head on her boyfriend’s shoulder, fingers laced seamlessly, listening to Takemitchy perform a particularly heartfelt ballad to Hina. Most of the others have left, except for Mikey, who nods along to the music, and Chifuyu, who finishes off the cake they had for dessert, eating it straight from the box. Draken sits on the other side of the couch with Emma’s head on his lap, sleeping soundly to the tone-deaf warbles of Takemitchy’s voice. His hand gently massages her pregnant belly.

Before it gets too late, Mitsuya and Hana say their farewells to their friends. They ride the near empty streets of Tokyo on his bike, enjoying the bright lights as they whiz through the city. She holds him closely, her warmth a comfort he’ll never take for granted now that he has it. They park a couple houses down from hers, kissing each other under the stars until they’re breathless. He walks her to the front door, sneaking one more kiss, wishing her a good night, already missing her once she’s inside. And although he has plans to see her again later for the festival, it isn’t soon enough.

There’s this perfect balance that Mitsuya has somehow achieved amidst the chaos of being a delinquent. He’s always struggled to find that until Hana came into his life and changed it for the better. She gave him a reason to do something different in his life, to accomplish the dreams he had so often deemed impossible to attain. He can’t imagine a future without her now.

He doesn’t know yet how quickly it can all change in a flash.

~~~

There’s always this rush you wake up to in the mornings, a feeling that blossoms in your chest, has you staring up at the ceiling with a soft smile on your face. And it has everything to do with Takashi Mitsuya.

It’s the way he greets you with a cute good morning text without fail, always the early bird to prepare breakfast for his sisters. You’ll never get tired of seeing his name on your screen, opening your notifications to read his message. Evidence that your love for one another exists, palpable and tangible. Not a dream you have to wake up from, but a reality you’re lucky enough to wake up to. You grin at his text, accompanied by a selfie of him, Luna, and Mana, posing with fluffy pancakes on their plates. This is the life you get to live now, and you wouldn’t trade it for anything.

His mother has this weekend off and plans to take the girls to their grandparent’s until Sunday, leaving Mitsuya free to attend the local festival tonight. It’s one more celebration before you start university later in the week. Another opportunity to make more special memories with him to add to the collection.

You were dreading graduation, unsure what will happen to your relationship. School became a welcomed part of your routine, mostly because it gave you the chance to see Takashi on a regular basis. However, yesterday made all your concerns fade. It became clear to you that being with Takashi is as easy as breathing. You don’t need to think about it. The two of you find all the little ways you can be with each other. A lingering glance in the middle of a crowded auditorium, a secret kiss in the back of the classroom, holding hands at a party with their friends. A picture with your two worlds together to prove that all of this is real, that this love is real. You laugh at yourself for being worried over nothing.

You head downstairs, dressed casually with your tote bag hanging off your shoulder where your yukata is tucked neatly inside for later. Takashi invited you to his house before the festivities start, giving the two of you some much needed alone time. Your parents sit on the couch, watching one of their favorite cooking shows on TV. You approach them, sticking your head between theirs from behind. “I’m heading out now,” you announce, giving them both a smooch on the cheek.

Your mother smiles at you. “Have fun at the festival, dear.”

“Be careful,” you dad mutters, staring straight ahead.

“I will. I love you.”

“We love you too, honey. And tell Takashi we say hello!” she adds, returning to her program. Your father snorts, making you chuckle. He hasn’t quite warmed up completely to your boyfriend, but it’s definitely progress.

You take your time during the stroll to Takashi’s, enjoying the crisp air of the welcoming spring season. Sakura blooms around you, soft pink petals falling slowly until they paint the ground in their beautiful pink color. You make it to his house, knocking on his door twice, excited to see him. When he answers, you immediately launch forward to give him a hug.

He laughs, squeezing you tightly. “Hi sweetie.”

“I missed you,” you say, burying your face into his collarbone.

“Now who’s the one who can’t go a few hours without me?”

You pout. “Yeah, you got me there.”

He laughs harder, scattering sweet smooches all over your face. “You’re the absolute cutest, you know that?"

The two of you cuddle on the couch, indulging in your favorite snacks while watching a movie that you barely pay attention to. Instead, you focus on Takashi’s lips on yours, his usually steady breathing becoming uneven as you deepen your kisses. His hands explore your body, slipping beneath your blouse to graze the plush skin of your belly, inching closer and closer to your bosom.

“Takashi,” you whisper, tugging at the collar of his shirt, unsure if you want him to keep it on or off, leaning towards the latter. You haven’t had sex yet, though you’ve gotten excruciatingly close to it, especially in heats of the moment like this.

He pulls back, removing himself from you, blushing. “I’m sorry. We should…we should get ready now,” he murmurs, running his hand through his hair, catching his breath. Before you can respond, he stands up and rushes into his room, closing the door.

You sit up on the couch, confused and concerned. You don’t want to stop. You want this. You want him.

“Takashi?” You tap your knuckles gently on the door, which is ajar and not shut all the way like you expected.

“Come in,” he answers. He’s sitting on the edge of the bed, elbows to his knees, head bowed, like he’s ashamed.

“Takashi,” you repeat, taking a seat beside him. “I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for. I’m sorry. I don’t want to rush this. I don’t want to do it if you’re not ready. I just…can’t control myself with you.”

You pull him close. “Then don’t.”

“What?”

“Don’t control yourself.” You kiss him, placing his hands on you, giving him full rein. “Make love to me, Takashi. I’m ready. I want it.”

“Baby,” he gasps, kissing you back eagerly. “Are you sure? Are you absolutely sure?”

“Yes.” You lift your arms for him to hoist your top off. “Absolutely sure.”

It’s clumsy and messy, even a bit uncomfortable at first. But Takashi is careful with you the whole way, takes his time treasuring you as if you’re the most delicate, precious jewel he’s ever held in his hands. And while it feels good to be this physically intimate with him, it’s the way he looks at you that makes this more special. He doesn’t say it; you see it in his eyes. You’re safe with him, you always will be.

You snuggle in bed, gazing at each other with goofy grins on your faces. He cups your cheek, tracing the outline of your lips with his thumb, unable to contain his smile. He turns to reach for his phone on the nightstand, checking the time. “I guess we should start getting ready,” he suggests, clearly more comfortable being here than anywhere else.

“We still have tonight. After the festival,” you mention, trying to sound nonchalant.

He tickles you under your chin, covering you in smooches. “You naughty girl! You really can’t get enough of me, huh?”

You giggle, putting in minimal effort to shrug him off. Honestly, you’re completely content with the idea of spending the night in with Takashi, then you remember the commitments you made to your friends who are expecting you. Eventually, you both get up to slip into comfortable clothes underneath your yukatas, appropriate attire for the occasion. As you inspect your reflection in the mirror, Takashi stands behind you, his hands on your waist, his mouth grazing the back of your neck. “You’re beautiful.”

“You are too.” You reach behind you to pat his head, noticing something hanging from your sleeve. “Oh no, there’s a loose thread,” you point out, showing it him.

He examines at it carefully, tugging on it. “It’s not too bad,” he reassures you, giving you a peck on the cheek. “I’ll fix it later.”

When you’re ready to leave, you hop on the back of Takashi’s impulse with the helmet on your head, bunching the robe up your legs. He does the same, starting the ignition and driving off. It’s another lovely night, the bitter cold of winter replaced with the warm breath of spring. Everything seems so perfect when the two of you are together; maybe this is what people mean when they talk about being in the honeymoon phase. It may not be perfect forever, but to be able to experience it in the first place is enough for you. You’re the happiest you’ve ever been, and it’s all thanks to Takashi Mitsuya.

You arrive about half an hour later than you said you would. Draken is the first to spot you, beckoning the two of you with a wave. Emma has her arm linked to his while Takemitchy and Emma hold hands next to them, everyone adorned in yukatas. They don’t question why you’re tardy, though you catch Draken nudging Takashi in the ribs, snickering.

Mei and Keiko are also here; you retrieve your phone from your purse, texting them that you’ve arrived. They’re quick to respond, sending you their location so that you can meet with them. This seems like a great opportunity to introduce them to your new gal pals, so you, Emma, and Hina bid farewell to your partners.

Takashi smiles at you. “Have fun. I love you.”

You kiss him sweetly. “I love you, too.”

Draken points into his open mouth, faking a gag, while the two girls coo at how cute the two of you are. Your boyfriend gives you a wink, watching you leave with the girls.

It doesn’t take long to find your friends, who are waiting at the carnival games for you. They introduce themselves to Hina and Emma, hitting it off right away when they compliment each other on their yukatas. Together, you make your way to the food stalls, everyone craving something different. Hina and Emma decide to stand in one of the longest lines for fresh strawberry mochi, which the soon-to-be mother claims is what the baby craves. Mei and Keiko have a hankering for okonomiyaki while you are undecided, wanting to peruse your options. “I don’t know what I want yet, so I’m going to keep looking around,” you tell them.

“Are you going to be okay by yourself?” Keiko asks, concerned.

You nod. “Of course! I won’t be gone long. These two will probably be stuck here another half hour.”

“Maybe, but at least we’ll have delicious mochi in our bellies,” Emma teases, sticking her tongue out at you.

You laugh, waving goodbye to them, setting off to explore on your own. At the third booth, you find a menu item that catches your eye. While you read the description, you’re bumped by someone from the back. Startled, you glance at the stranger behind you, the gold glint on his wire-framed glasses glaring amidst the festival lanterns.

“Sorry about that,” he says, not sounding apologetic at all. It’s an unfamiliar voice, one you don’t recognize. Still, you have a sick feeling in your gut that something’s not right about this. In fact, something is terribly wrong.

Nervous, you focus on the menu in front of you, avoiding him. “It’s okay,” you mutter, not really meaning it.

He continues to stand there, encroaching on your personal space. You can feel his eyes bore into you, watching you intensely. “Hana Shimizu. It’s you.” It isn’t a question, he doesn’t need a confirmation. He knows exactly who you are, as if he’s been seeking you out. Takashi’s Toman crash course from a few weeks ago replays in your mind and it’s now that you realize the man currently stalking you is Tetta Kisaki. Your heart races, terror stuck in your throat. You don’t respond to him, praying with every fiber of your being that he goes away, leaves you alone, as long as you ignore him.

His body presses against you, his mouth stifling on your ear as he whispers, “It’s dangerous to be out alone like this. Isn’t your boyfriend aware of that?”

You’re frozen in fear, feet rooted to the ground, unable to move. Trembling, you ask, “What do you want?” You desperately search for the vendor behind the table, who’s too busy speaking to another customer to aid you in your panic.

“I just want to talk. In private.” He grabs your wrist, holding you firmly.

“I’ll scream,” you threaten him, with as much conviction as you can muster at this point.

He barks a harsh laugh. “Kinky. I can see why Mitsuya likes you so much.” His grip tightens, enough for you to start losing circulation. “But you won’t. Because if you do, Shuji will do exactly what he wants with those stupid friends of yours. He has his eye on sweet Keiko. He might try her out first.”

“No!” You face him, tears in your eyes, pleading with him. “Leave them alone. Please. I’ll…I’ll go with you as long as you don’t hurt them.”

His eyes narrow, the awful grin on his face widening. “Good girl.” Without taking his gaze off you, he reaches into his pocket for his phone, holding it to his ear. “I got her. Let’s go.”

You swallow thickly, resisting the urge to vomit as he leads you through the crowd of people who have no clue the danger you’re in.

~~~

The festival is huge, one of the biggest in the district. There are food vendors on either side of the fairgrounds and the boys happen to be on the opposite end where the girls are. Mitsuya stands between Draken and Takemitchy, all three of them munching on takoyaki they stood twenty minutes in line for. When Takemitchy spits one out because it’s scorching hot, they laugh at him, giving him some of theirs to replace it.

“So,” Draken muffles, mouth full of food, “did you and Hana finally fuck?”

Takemitchy nearly chokes on another octopus ball, outraged by his friend’s lack of tact. “Draken! You can’t just ask him that!”

He shrugs, unbothered. “Why not? They were obviously late. Might as well have a good reason for it.”

Mitsuya chuckles. “It’s okay. I’ve learned a long time ago to accept this dude’s crude behavior.”

“So, I’m right, aren’t I? You two…” This time, Draken makes a fist in one hand, then pokes into it with his finger, deciding this obscene gesture was more appropriate.

Mitsuya smiles to himself, remembering it fondly. “Yeah, we did.”

“That’s my fucking boy!” Draken beams at him proudly. “How was it?”

“Draken!”

The younger boy is ignored while Mitsuya muses, “Amazing. She’s amazing. I love her so much.”

Draken jokes, “Damn, Taka. At this rate, Ken Junior might have a friend to grow up with.”

“No, no. We were safe.” He stares down at his shoes, still smiling. “I mean, that wouldn’t be the worst thing. I’d love to have a family with her someday.”

Takemitchy gawks at him. “Mitsuya, you’re really serious about her!”

He nods. “I’m seriously in love with her, yeah.”

When they’re about finished with their food, Mitsuya’s phone vibrates in his pocket. “It’s Emma,” he announces, confused. He picks up, and without waiting for a greeting, she asks, “Is Hana with you?” She sounds distraught.

“No. Why?”

“Oh my god,” she gasps, inaudible as she hands the phone off to someone else.

It’s Hina now, shaky though a tad calmer than Emma. “We can’t find her. She’s not answering her phone.” She gulps loudly. “Mei and Keiko said that Hanma introduced himself to them at one of the booths. Gave them really weird vibes.”

At the mention of his name, Mitsuya’s heart sinks and panic immediately sets in. It’s his worst nightmare coming true. “Is Kisaki there?”

Keiko answers in the background, “Yes, he mentioned being here with his friend Kisaki. Mitsuya, what’s going on?”

Without thinking, he tosses the cell to Draken, who catches it, a concerned expression on his face. “Takashi, what’s wrong?”

“They took Hana!” he yells out, making a dash for the exit.

“Who did?” They trail right behind him, doing their best to keep up in their robes.

“Hanma and Kisaki!” he shouts, sprinting faster.

“Those motherfuckers,” Draken curses, putting the phone in his pocket. “Takemitchy, stay with the girls. Keep a lookout for Hana and for those assholes!”

“Got it,” Takemitchy responds, changing course to follow his new orders.

The Twin Dragons reach the parking lot, splitting up to hop on their own motorcycles. Draken rides his Zephyr next to Mitsuya, waiting to follow him wherever he goes. When he puts his helmet on, Mitsuya can hear his own blood pounding against his eardrums. His stomach turns with dread. How could he have let this happen?

Suddenly, Draken cuts the engine off, reaching into his back pocket to answer Mitsuya’s vibrating phone. He shows the screen to him, an unknown number displayed. He quickly grabs it from his friend’s grip, answering it without speaking, certain who it is.

“Hey there, Little Taka.”

He clenches his teeth at the sound of Kisaki’s voice. “Where is she?”

“You shouldn’t have left her alone. Shuji warned you someone would come along and take her.”

“Where is she?!” he yells, spit flying out of his mouth.

Mitsuya can practically hear the snide grid on Kisaki’s face when he sneers, “We didn’t take her far, don’t worry. Your friends will find her soon enough. I’m surprised they didn’t hear her screaming already – ”

“I’ll fucking kill you,” Mitsuya seethes through ragged breaths. “I’ll fucking kill you and Hanma. Make you fucking regret what you did until you’re both rotting in fucking hell.”

The other man snorts, unvexed by the threat. “Consider this payback for not minding your own fucking business.” Before he hangs up, he mutters, “I guess I’ll see you in hell.”

Mitsuya’s hands shake violently, his entire body convulsing in a fit of rage. Just as he’s about to slam his phone into the pavement, it vibrates once more, Hina’s name flashing across the screen.

Her voice is quiet and solemn on the other line, fighting back a sob. “We found her.”

~~~

Mitsuya isn’t sure how long it takes them to reach Hana. Five minutes, thirty, an hour. Whatever it is, it’s too late; the damage is done and he has to see it with his own eyes. She’s sprawled on the ground, her yukata undone with the sleeves torn, her clothes underneath shredded and roughed up. There are scratches all along her arms, as if she was dragged across the pavement of the alleyway they currently gather in, outside the festival grounds. Her lip is split, cheek swollen, her right eye puffy and bruised. Blood trickles from her brow line down her face. He can’t bear to look at her, heart breaking each passing second as he holds her limp body in his arms, cradling her delicately. She’s unconscious, but breathing, and it’s the only solace he finds in this nightmare come true. He doesn’t realize that he’s screaming until Draken pulls his face into his chest to muffle his anguished cries, distracting him while the paramedics lay her out on a stretcher.

It's all a blur, his memory in fragments. Draken shoving him in the backseat of Hina’s car. Keiko and Emma consoling him while he sobs, “It’s all my fault, it’s all my fault!” over and over again. Mei in the passenger seat, breaking the news to Hana’s parents, barely able to keep her composure. They make it to the hospital, Draken and Takemitchy following soon after on motorcycle. None of the girls can get Mitsuya out, so the two Toman brothers hoist him up by their shoulders and drag him inside the waiting room.

When her parents arrive, Mrs. Shimizu is in hysterics, immediately demanding the staff to lead her to her daughter. Mr. Shimizu marches directly to Mitsuya, grabbing him by the collar and shoving him against the wall, hard. “This is your fault, you son of a bitch! You let this happen!”

Mitsuya doesn’t try to defend himself because he’s right; this is his fault. “I’m sorry,” he stutters, unsure what else to say. “I’m so sorry.”

Draken attempts to separate them while Takemitchy pleads with Mr. Shimizu, “Please, sir! It’s not his fault!”

Ignoring them, he snarls, “She should have never given you a chance! You ruined her life, you good-for-nothing thug!” He loosens his grip, wrestling away from Draken’s hold. “Don’t ever come near my family again,” he threatens, following his wife past the double doors leading into the ER.

Mitsuya slides down the wall, tucking his head between his knees, bawling into his hands. He hasn’t stopped sinking into this darkness since she went missing, an abyss he didn’t even realized existed.

Draken kneels besides him. “Hey man, don’t listen to him. It’s not your fault.”

“No, he’s right,” he snivels. “I ruined her life.”

Takemitchy and Hina chime in with their own words of comfort, but nothing they say will make any of this better. Eventually, they leave him alone while they wait for any updates on Hana’s condition.

Only the sound of Mr. Shimizu’s voice brings Mitsuya back to reality. He glances up, noticing him talking to Mei and Keiko as they follow him out, presumably to take them home. Emma is asleep on Draken’s shoulder while Hina has her boyfriend’s head on her lap, massaging his temples.

Suddenly, Mrs. Shimizu pokes her head through the doors. her eyes catching Mitsuya’s, her expression serious. She nods, beckoning him. He gets up and follows her through the hallway of the ward in uneasy silence. Finally, she says, “Hana is still unconscious, but stable. I thought maybe you’d like to see her.”

He stares down at the linoleum tiles beneath his feet, his entire body moving in auto-pilot. Still, he manages to utter a quiet, “I’m sorry.” He doesn’t expect forgiveness from her, not right now, maybe not ever. He can’t even forgive himself.

She doesn’t respond to his apology. It’s quiet between them until she stops in front of an open door near the end of the hallway. “Five minutes,” she states sternly, looking directly at him. “You have five minutes to say what you want to say. After that, you leave. I don’t want you near our daughter ever again. Do you understand, Takashi?”

He nods, unable to look at her, biting back tears.

“Five minutes,” she reminds him, stepping to the side to let him through.

He forces his feet to move, slow languid steps into the dimly lit hospital room. Hana’s in a gown, the scratches on her arms covered in ointment and gauze, in the process of healing. Her head is bandaged up, stitches noticeable on her right eye socket, where she must have been punched. There’s an IV and heart rate monitor attached to her, beeping steadily. He studies the way her chest rises and falls with each breath, ashamed to feel relief at a moment like this. She’s stable. She’s alive.

Three minutes into his allotted time frame, he finds the will to speak. His throat is sore from screaming, his voice coming out in rasp. “You didn’t deserve this,” he starts, already sniffling. “This should have never happened to you. I’m so sorry, Hana.” He takes a step closer, carefully placing his hand on hers. “You have to forget about me. You have to find someone that will protect you the way I couldn’t.”

Flipping her palm face up, he tugs off his earring, dropping it into her hand, closing it into a fist. “I love you.” He brushes his thumb against her, relishing her soft skin one last time. “I’ll always love you.”

He leaves promptly, his gait quicker than it’s been all night, a fury ignited in him that can only be dealt in one way: revenge. As soon as he returns to the waiting room, he approaches Draken. “Give me the keys.”

He refuses. “You can’t go like this, man. It’s not safe – ”

“Give me the fucking keys, Draken!” he yells, startling the others.

Takemitchy tries to reason with him. “What do you think you’re going to do, Mitsuya? Kill them? Go to jail? Get yourself killed?”

“I don’t care what happens to me anymore. I’m going to make those two pay even if it does kill me.”

“You’re being crazy right now! Let’s wait until the morning to figure it out –”

“Please,” he begs, tone changing to one of desperation. “Just give me my keys.”

There’s a heavy pause. Finally, Draken sighs, reaching into his pocket and tossing them to him. “How are you going to find them?”

Mitsuya retrieves his phone. “They want to fight. All I have to do is tell them I’m ready for one.” He selects the unknown number at the top of his call list, typing out a simple message: Let’s settle this.

A minute later, he receives a response, a pin to a familiar location displayed without any additional message. Mitsuya scoffs, oddly amused at how easy it is. He knows the game Kisaki is trying to play.

“This is crazy!” Takemitchy exclaims. “You can’t go there by yourself!”

“He’s not,” Draken says. “I’m going with him.”

Emma tugs him by the wrist. “Ken, are you sure?”

He kisses her on the forehead. “Don’t worry, sweetie. The Twin Dragons are gonna rough them up, enough to scare them off. I’ll make sure Mitsuya doesn’t do anything reckless.”

“Fine, then I’m coming too!” Takemitchy puffs his chest out bravely.

Hina makes a noise in her throat, but Emma pats her back. “They’ll be fine, Hina. Toman boys always know how to handle business.”

~~~

The three of them head to the location, Mitsuya on his Impulse and Draken on his Zephyr with Takemitchy riding with him. They end up at the empty parking lot of his school, where they were just at yesterday for the graduation ceremony. He ignores the tragic irony behind this to focus his attention on the two men standing in the center of the lot under a lamplight. “This doesn’t seem fair, does it?” Hanma jeers, sauntering towards them with his hands in his pockets. “It’s three against two. We’re outnumbered.”

“You didn’t care about that when you attacked Hana,” Draken counters, scowling at them, clenching his fists.

“Fair enough,” he shrugs, revealing a pocketknife, casually tossing it in the air to catch by the handle. “Oh well, we’re still going to kill all of you.” Hanma pounces first, throwing a dangerous jab at Draken, who dodges it smoothly, the blade barely grazing him. He launches a kick, sweeping his opponent by the ankle, knocking him to the ground.

Mitsuya homes in on Kisaki, running at him in a full sprint, wrestling him into the pavement. He’s stronger than him, especially on an adrenaline high like this. The mere thought of Hana covered in injuries sends him into a fury, his fists sinking into Kisaki’s face easily. What’s strange is that the other man doesn’t seem to want to fight back, taking each blow with a bloody smile.

He wraps his hands around Kisaki’s throat, squeezing tight. “What the fuck is wrong with you?!” he shouts, disturbed by the persistent look of satisfaction on his face.

With a few teeth missing now, he smirks, voice barely a whisper as he chokes. “I told you, didn’t I? Told you I’d see you in hell.”

It’s too late to realize that Takemitchy is yelling his name, keeled over with blood leaking from his mouth. Too late to notice Draken is sprawled on the ground, a gash in his stomach that’s pooling crimson all over his yukata. As soon as Kisaki utters those words, Mitsuya is lifted back up to his feet, grabbed from behind.

Hanma’s breath is hot on his ear, the blade cold against his throat. It’s cutting into his skin already; any slight movement and he’s dead. “She put up a pretty good fight, you know,” Hanma whispers into his ear. “Kicking and screaming the whole time. I had to drag her all the way into that alley before I could shut her up.” Then, he laughs, depraved and sinister, lacking any of joy or mirth. "Bet she’s just as feisty when you fuck her. If I had more time, I would have found out for myself.”

“I’ll fucking kill you,” Mitsuya seethes through gritted teeth, every breath he takes making the knife dig deeper into his neck.

Hanma’s cackle suddenly stops, his grip loosening on the weapon, causing it to fall to the ground. Mitsuya turns around to find Draken holding a knife, the blade stuck in Hanma’s back.

“What the fuck…” Hanma stammers, blood sputtering out of his mouth, collapsing on top of Mitsuya, who catches him. Draken stumbles, his wound worsening by the second. Police sirens are blaring in the distance, and it’s only now that Mitsuya realizes that Kisaki is gone, driving away from the scene of the crime on his bike.

Hanma continues to cough up blood, dying in Mitsuya’s arms. Takemitchy is beaten, but not as badly as Draken, whose injury could be fatal if not treated soon. In this split second that Mitsuya makes a decision, fond memories from his life play in his head like a movie in fast-forward. Luna’s first steps and Mana’s first words. His mom’s homemade cake for his seventh birthday. The day he reunited with Draken, finding out they both had dragons tattooed on their heads. The summer they found Toman with Mikey and the rest of his friends. The night he confessed to Hana and every day he’s had with her until tonight, when he had to say goodbye. I’ve had a good life, he thinks to himself. It’s a short one, but in the end, he’s lucky to have experienced it in the first place. Now, it’s time for him to return the favor to all the people who’s gotten him this far.

“Takemitchy,” he calls out, removing his yukata and throwing it to his friend. “Take Draken’s bike and get him to a hospital. Wrap this around his wound so he doesn’t lose any more blood.”

He nods, obeying his orders and draping Draken’s arm over his shoulders, hobbling with him to the motorcycles. “Okay, we’ll see you there.”

Mitsuya shakes his head. “I’m not going.”

“What?”

The police sirens grow louder. “They’re going to wonder who did this. We can’t let them know it was Draken.”

“It was self-defense though!” Takemitchy argues.

“It doesn’t matter. They won’t let him off the hook for that. So, I’m going to take the fall for it. Watch after Luna, Mana, and Mom for me. And Hana. Please.”

Draken lifts his head slowly, clutching the robe against him, groaning in pain. “Fuck that. Come on, Takashi. Let’s go.”

“You’re going to be a great dad, Draken. And you’re going to do great things, Takemitchy. I’m sure of it.”

“We’re not leaving you behind!”

In the distance, Mitsuya can see the flashing lights and they’re out of time. “Get out of here, now! Emma and Hina need you! Please!”

At the mention of their names, Takemitchy and Draken stiffen, not arguing any further.

“Get out of here!” he repeats, desperately pleading with them.

Takemitchy rubs the tears away from his eyes, hauling Draken with him, who tries to protest, but is too weak. Mitsuya watches them leave on the Zephyr with a satisfied smile on his face, the sirens ringing loudly in his ears, finally at peace.

#cw blood #cw violence #cw sa implied #tokyo revengers #tokyo rev x reader #tokyo rev x you #tokyo rev smut #mitsuya takashi #takashi mitsuya #mitsuya x reader #mitsuya smut #mitsuya fluff #mitsuya x you #takashi mitsuya x reader #takashi mitsuya smut #mitsuya x oc #mitsuya x original character #lavender & velvet series

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littlemisslipbalm · 9 months

Text

Demonology - Part 4

Just Like Heaven -- Jake x f!Reader x Josh

Series Summary: A new demon has come to Nashville. Josh and Jake's ways of life have been thrown off by her arrival. The angel and demon have lived with an understanding of one another, but with Y/N stirring up trouble and asking questions, they're forced to work out a new normal. And why is she so powerful for a human turned demon anyway, that's unusual, right?

A/N: heyyooo new chappie! I do not have the next one written at all unfortunately so it may take awhile to upload but thank you to all who read...to all those who have been wanting to fuck angel!josh...lets just say your prayers may have been answered. lmk what you think :)

Chapter Summary: Flashbacks and angel sex and demonic anxiety attacks OH MY!

Word Count: 3.9k | Warnings: Smut (pretty explicit) 18+ always!!!!, explicit language, alcohol consumption, dubious understandings of demonology like always (sorry!), Josh and Jake chapter yay!, angst and plot!

Join the Taglist! | Masterpost (catch up on the rest of the story here)

Part 4: Just Like Heaven

1972. Los Angeles, California

4 years before she died.

Y/N was having the time of her life. Rori was in her arms as she sat on the side of the Forum stage, atop an amp, swinging her legs back and forth to the guitar riff Jimmy was winding down.

She hollered and threw her head back, in awe and joy. She was coked out of her mind and a little drunk but she was oh so free.

At 21, she’s been in this world of musicians and lovers and adventure, making trouble, for around six years. From lead singers to roadies and fellow fans, she’d made a lot of friends. Everyone around most of the theaters in LA and Inglewood recognized her by then.

She didn’t have to say her name at a single door or even have a name on any list. When people saw her coming they let her in, knowing a wicked good time was about to be had by everyone. No one ever had a bad thing to say about her either. It was incredible. Wicked.

So it confused her when she was taking a smoke break at the side stage door and a guy in a black leather duster and dark sunglasses didn’t seem to notice her at all. People loved talking to her, she often felt like a bit of a celebrity. And her hazy mind made her feel a little indignant that he didn’t even chance a look as she stood beside him smoking a cig looking as sexy as ever.

Half way through the smoke, she glanced to her right still feeling his presence and growing more agitated. It was strangely just the two of them out there. Both smoking. She couldn’t bear the quiet.

“Hey, cowboy.”

He finally looked over when she spoke and she grinned her best smile. He nodded a curt nod and took another drag, turning to face forward again.

She worried her brow and twisted so she was fully facing this guy. It was curious rather than malicious when she asked: “What’s your deal?”

He threw another glance her way but she couldn’t see his eyes with the dark-tinted sunglasses he wore. “Sorry?”

“Are you new over here? I’ve never seen you around before.”

He chuckled and she wasn’t sure what she had said that was funny. He flicked the butt of his cigarette across the alley, the cherry fizzing out as it glowed for a moment and faded into the night.

“C’mon man,” she whined. “Give me a clue.” He couldn’t be a rockstar even though he had the look about him. She knew them all. Intimately.

“Friend of the devil.” He shuffles his glasses to his breast pocket and in the light it looks like there’s a flash of yellow in his eye, but she thought that was just the drugs messing with her as she tried to focus on the stranger.

“Oh! Dead and company! I’ve always wanted to make it up to San Francisco. They just keep me so busy here.” She is alight with excitement. The Grateful Dead were pretty incredible even if she’d never seen them.

“I’m usually out in Nashville. But San Fran sure is…a scene.” He shrugs, noncommittal in his words, unsure himself why he was entertaining this conversation.

“So you really don’t know who I am?” She’s simpering, teasing in tone as she twists her legs, lengthening her body against the brick wall.

He won’t look at her but she can’t stop looking at him. His hair is long and pretty, a little unruly, but he’s beautiful. His silhouette is illuminated by the street lamp, leaving him in intense shadow and light. His prominent nose, his strong jaw, and his sunken eyes. He was the prettiest thing. She thought she’d never forget him.

“This is Los Angeles, correct?” He chuckles again, looking down his nose at her. “I find it hard to believe that you think any old stranger would just know who you are.”

“I’m pretty notorious.” She leans her head to the side, still showing herself off for him, but he doesn’t seem affected.

“So am I, doll, and you didn’t know me,” he raises his eyebrows. “So maybe let’s call it even.”

“Deal,” she grins, extending her recently freed hand towards the man. She shook it at him as he looked at it reluctantly. “C’mon, baby.”

He shook his head in disbelief. She was strange. A mix of sweet and sour. Pure and evil. Strange but he took her hand nonetheless. She bit her lip at the touch. He was cooler than she’d expected but it was welcome.

“You wanna come?” She asks after a moment, not letting go of the stranger's hand, nodding towards the door she’d exited less than 10 minutes ago. “I can get you in to meet Jimmy and the boys. Jimmy’s real nice.”

He chuckled again, removing his hand from hers with a tug. “Another time. I was just passing through.” He pushed off the wall and chanced another glance back at her face as he moved to place his sunglasses back on.

“Catch you on the other side!” She called when she caught his eyes, gleaming yellow once more before he disappeared. She hadn’t realized the corner was so close but she didn’t think about it twice, hearing one of the boys calling her name from inside.

Present Day. Nashville, Tennessee

47 years after she died. 4 months since she’d been back. 30 minutes since she’d left the dive bar. 1 hour since Jake had left her.

The moon was still high in the sky when Josh got home from the bar and was in the middle of taking off his blood-ridden shirt in his entryway. He wasn’t sure if it was salvageable and as he was inspecting it with disinterest, the last thing he expected happened. A soft knock sounded. Y/N was at his door.

Hurrying to the door, he opened it a crack, eyes wide and mouth ajar. Shirtless despite his efforts to stay behind the wood. She smiled shyly, unlike herself.

“How did you know where I live?”

“You said ‘come over, anytime I need’. Is now not anytime?”

Josh chuckled, “Yeah, I just hadn’t expected you to take me up on that invitation, what, a half hour after I’d extended it.”

She bit her lip, feeling the emotions flowing off Josh already. “Well I need it. Can I come in? I think we have some unfinished business.”

“Damnit,” Josh sighed to himself, hanging his head and opening the door wider. She made him weak.

She smirked and tried to channel her excitement into casual cockiness. Like she’d always known he’d fold. “Isn’t swearing wrong, Joshua?”

“Shut up,” He shook his head, locking the door again and meeting her in the dimly lit hallway. “I can’t believe you came here. Like this.”

She had changed on her way over. A body-hugging slip dress barely covered her skin. It was an iridescent light blue satin. Josh couldn’t take his eyes off her body. She had dressed it up for him.

“I realized I wasn’t ready to say goodnight.” She replied, allowing him to back her up into the cream wall. Her hands reached up to play with his necklace, fingering the shiny beads. “And I can feel that you wanted to see me too. I felt you at the bar, watching me and Jake. How you wanted it to be you. I can feel you.” She breathed the words softly, their breath mingling with the faces inches apart. She pressed her hands against his warm chest. “You radiate towards me. Constantly.”

Josh hummed, fingers dancing over the silk concealing her waist. Beneath was the skin he couldn’t take his eyes off of all night. She was right. Because of Jake, because of her, but mostly because of himself, he was about to screw his greatest temptation. Maybe still half in spite of Jake tonight.

Josh thought she must have come to his apartment immediately. She must have known his resolve was at his weakest. A few drinks in and jealous, needy for her touch and here she was stepping onto his doormat, presenting herself for the taking. She made doing the wrong thing too easy. But, Jesus, all he thought about at night was her and the images she’d shown him, wishing they were real. Wishing he could forget all about her.

She pushed her hips towards Josh's, pressing them even closer together as he rested his forehead against hers, taking a deep breath. Exactly how he’d wished he’d been in Jake’s place at the bar.

“This is wrong,” Josh’s voice is shakey, fanning hot against her skin.

“This isn’t wrong. This is right, I swear. Can’t you feel it,” her voice is sickly sweet again, whispering just for Josh. “It’s okay, Angel. It’s okay to want me. I want you, too.”

“What about Jake?” Josh selfishly wanted to know where his brother fell in this equation. He took solace in the fact that she was with him instead of Jake but he didn’t know if that should actually reassure him.

“What about Jake?” She repeated. Her eyes stare into Josh’s with a scary intensity he’d never seen from her. She knew he’d overheard what Jake had said. Never again. He must have heard it.

Josh swallowed and she caressed the skin around his throat where his Adam's apple had moved. She smiled.

Maybe he was trying to prolong the inevitable. The sin he was about to commit. That he couldn’t come back from. Maybe if he talked about Jake enough she’d leave him for his twin. It was something he both wanted and couldn’t stand. His voice is choked up, pinched. “Won’t he mind?”

“He made it clear he doesn’t want me…again. But if you’re worried about him, Angel, it can be our little secret. Now kiss me, sweetheart. I know you want to.”

The way she called Josh that pet name made it sound like a curse but it still made him press his lips against hers. Fervent and desperate to taste her again. He pressed into her more and she opened her legs, allowing his to slip between hers, slotting them closer than ever before. Immediately she ground down onto the thick of Josh’s thigh, relieving the pressure growing in her core minutely.

“Dear god,” Josh gasped when he pulled away from her for a moment.

He could feel her wetness on his thigh already and the press of her hardened nipples against his chest. She grinned at him, her smile fucked out and devious. This was exactly what she needed. He was exactly what she needed.

“They’re not here…Take me to your bedroom, Joshua, and have me anyway you want me. My treat.” She nipped at his lower lip and he felt an ache in his chest and his pants. She was sin incarnate and he couldn’t wait to taste it any longer. “Please.”

“Oh,” He whispered, but she caught it. He was too close to miss a thing. The ‘please’ had gotten him.

His fantasies were becoming reality and grew tenfold in front of his eyes as they made their way to his bedroom. Drapes of white and cream extended around it. Votive candles in golden vases and holders were scattered around the room and offered a warm light. They illuminated his floor to ceiling bookshelves, filled with hundreds of books, and paintings of foggy serene landscapes in lilac and robin’s egg blue. It was beautiful, but she couldn’t be fucked to take the time to appreciate it all. Her mind was filled with Josh.

“You’re so wet,” Josh mumbled, pressing his thigh into her center again as he laid her gently down on his sheets.

She grinned up at him, her hands wrapped around his neck, curling into his soft hair. “So this isn’t your first rodeo, angel?”

Josh pecked her lips and moved to litter tender kisses on her cheeks, jaw and neck. “I’ve had a few committed relationships over the years,” he mumbles. “They couldn’t exactly last, though.”

She nodded in understanding, petting over the nape of his neck and over his broad, strong shoulders, creamy skin. Soft as silk.

He inhaled deeply, taking her in. “This dress,” He ran his thumb up and down the fabric on her hip.

“Just for you, angel. I know how you hate all my black and red.”

“S’not that,” He kisses down her chest, kneading her breasts through the fabric and then slipping a hand down between her legs.

“Then what is–oh! Oh fuck!” Her hands gripped for purchase on Josh’s shoulders. Her thoughts derailed.

Josh’s fingers had slipped between her folds and swirled around her clit. “So wet,” he repeated and she groaned, in disbelief this was happening. “No panties.”

She hummed in agreement, body beginning to work with his fingers with small thrusts. “Was hoping I wouldn’t need them. And I was right, wasn’t I?”

“Dirty, dirty demon,” He whispers, breathless at the feeling of her heat. How his fingers feel inside her, thinking about what it will feel like when he sinks in. He burrows his face into her neck, laving kisses into her skin, feeling thankful. “So good, baby. Oh, wow.”

She whined at his words. She wanted to worship Josh as he began to fuck into her every way he needed after he made her cum the first time with his fingers. He was so strong and powerful, yet so gentle with his touch. It was long, a strong ocean wave, pounding into her steadily, filling her with his heavy cock. Angelic strength and stamina. The room seemed to glow a golden light emanating from every inch of Josh’s skin. The same gold as the fading sun on that same rippling sea, where the light catches the movement just right and it’s pure reflected light. She came three more times before she began to feel Josh let up. A little. She was feeling euphoric.

He wanted to switch positions. It was the one his fantasies often drifted to. Her dress had been discarded on the floor a long time ago. Her beautiful body was on full display for him as he whispered in her ear how he wanted her and she giggled, practically purring in compliance.

As she moved to turn around, her eye caught something in the dresser mirror. The golden light that emanated from Josh, bathing him in a shiny glitter that stuck to his skin, had fallen onto her own skin. Together, they were both bathed in liquid gold. Instead of angels and demons, she swore they resembled gods, gods caught in the most human of acts.

Hands and knees on the bed, she presented her ass towards Josh and stretched her back. Lengthening her torso, she leaned her head down into the sheets. Josh watched her move, lithe and practiced. Breathtaking. Unmatched. He was catching his breath at the side of the bed, one leg already bent on the bed and the other keeping him standing. His eyes couldn’t leave her body. He would’ve fucked her forever if he could.

She wiggled her ass and whined his name, effectively getting his attention and breaking his reverie. He thrust into her from behind and she moaned out and he grinned, smoothing his hand down her naked ass and lower back. She pushed back on his length, meeting him in the middle.

“Good girl.” He mumbled. His hands spread her ass checks and got lost in the trance of their bodies meeting. How he disappeared inside her and how her body welcomed him, never wanting him to leave, sucking him in deeper and begging him to never leave. How could something feel so right be so wrong?

“So good, Josh. Fuckin’ me so good. Thank you, angel.” She breathed, eyes fluttering shut in ecstasy. “Love it, love you…”

Josh was sure he misheard her. Surely she hadn’t just said–he was distracted by his imminent orgasm that led him to a different headspace all together. He moaned as he came inside her and she whined in agreement. “Let it all out, baby.”

She hadn’t even heard herself.

When Josh woke up the next day, he was naked and alone in his plush bed. His eyes scanned the room, feeling calmer. Maybe that had just been a really weird and vivid dream. He tried to believe himself until he saw the satin blue dress on his floor. Oh fuck.

He threw himself back into the pillows and covered his face with his hands groaning into the silence. He’d gone somewhere he couldn’t come back and now he was left in the after of it all.

Picking up the evidence of the previous night, he wandered around his home, muttering to himself and feeling immense shame. As well as another emotion. He longed for Y/N. Why had she left him before he had woken up?

No note. Just the dress which he assumed she didn’t want now that it had done its job. It wasn’t her color after all.

Josh showered off the remainder of the evidence from last night, gold flecks drifting off his skin and swirling down the drain, a river of gold shame.

She tiptoed back into her apartment around sunrise after leaving Josh’s. She couldn’t bear to face him in the light of day. He had bestowed the exact gift she had longed for since she’d laid eyes on his glowing skin, but it felt wrong to lay with him afterwards.

She had waited for his breathing to even, his mind going to another place, before she untangled from his angelic body. Something had been repeating in her head the moment he had finished in her for the final time.

She wasn’t good. She was wrong. She had led him astray.

She had expected pure bliss to continue flowing through her when he had laid beside her, caressing her skin gently with sweet innocent kisses placed against her temple as he mumbled a song under his breath. It was beautiful and tender. She wanted to be at peace.

Instead, she felt disgusting shame. Like she has done something terribly wrong. It made her skin crawl. She didn’t understand the sensation. She didn’t feel this feeling. Ever. As a demon or as a human (or whatever Josh and Jake think she was).

So he eventually fell asleep and she fled because maybe if she got away from him the feeling would go away. She didn’t have time to test that theory.

Jake was sprawled across her couch with Rori wrapped around his chest in his chupacabra form, cooing to the animal until his yellow eyes flicked up to her figure.

Clad in last night’s original red and black outfit and covered in gold, she stood in her doorway frozen.

“Your animal was feeling neglected.” Jake lifts the dog off of him and sits up. “How was dear brother Josh?”

She opened her mouth but no words came out, she just stepped inside and Jake shut the door behind her with his mind. She closed her mouth.

Jake continues, eyes still gleaming as they flicked up and down her face and torso. “He’s all over you.”

“Why do you care?” She finally manages to get out.

“I don’t.” Jake smiles wickedly. “Just making conversation based on observation, kid.”

“Get out of my apartment, I’m not in the mood.” She decides that being punished by Jake wasn’t helping her situation.

“I’ve heard celestial fornication creates something of this,” he pauses, finger swiping along her collarbone, suddenly at her side. Their opposite shoulders were beside each other as he inspected the fine gold smattering of flecks that had come off onto his fingertip. “Sort. But I wasn’t an angel long enough for me to ever find out first hand. Not that they’re supposed to…is he okay now that he’s got his wings wet?”

“Wh-what?” She steps back from Jake, still reeling from the night with Josh and the information at the bar and now Jake in her apartment. It all was happening too fast, she felt her head swimming. The room was too hot. Jake was too similar to Josh in this moment. Her eyes were blurring, it was like Jake’s face was shifting or morphing into Josh’s as she stuttered. Spinning around and around. “Wings…wet…what?”

Jake’s eyes widened, the smirk on his face quickly sliding off as he watched Y/N, her eyes flickering in her head to black. She took another step back from him and this time Jake took a step forward, following after her staggering body.

“My head,” She groaned, clutching a hand at her forehead, and Jake grabbed for her elbows, realizing she was about to collapse.

“Woah, woah,” He says, carefully easing her body weight into him. “It was just some light teasing for bagging my angel brother, don’t go discorporating on me.”

He carries her to her couch as carefully as possible despite his awkward hold on her, adjusting her so that he can sit by her legs and lean over her, staring into the abyss of her still black eyes. Rori is on the back of the couch, staring down at his master. One of Jake’s hands is smoothing over her forehead and then down over her hair as he inspects her. She can make out his snake-like eyes shifting quickly back and forth between hers.

“Can you hear me, Sal?” He asks weakly, giving away his distress.

Her lips part, “Did you just give me a fucking demonic anxiety attack?”

“I don’t think so…asshole,” He adds with a joking lilt in his voice, glad she was able to joke, meaning it couldn’t be that bad. “I don’t know. Maybe. This has never happened before?”

“No,” She murmurs, reaching out to her dog to scratch at his ears–that servant of hell might’ve been wrong, this little monster might end up being her ESA. She takes a deep breath, still feeling a little overheated. “Maybe don’t ambush your colleagues from now on.”

“I thought you were made of stronger stuff, kid.”

She huffs and Jake bites at his inner lip at his ability to bother her, just a little. His demonic self couldn’t help the pleasure it brought even if he was also genuinely worried about her well-being.

“Sorry,” he says half-heartedly. “Just wasn’t expecting to see you come home in eau-de-Josh.”

“Yeah, well I wasn’t planning on it,” She says. Her eyes were slowly fading from black and back to her average color. “Going or you seeing me right after the fact.”

Jake almost smiled and then quickly suppressed it, leaning back from her as she shuffled up onto her elbows. “Well this settles it.” He says with a finality that she doesn’t understand at all.

What she wanted was some peace and quiet, but it seemed the universe–and Jake, had other plans for her.

“What do you mean?”

“Now we really need to figure out what you are because my bet is that your little mystical panic attack is linked to the questions surrounding your powers and true parentage.” He runs a hand through his hair, before tapping his fingers against his lips. She could see the thoughts rapidly racing through his mind.

“That seems like a leap,” She says, unsure.

Jake leans closer and they are once again within each other’s breathing spaces. “Like I said last night. The things you do, including this, aren’t normal for demons. You are not normal and I fear that means you may be in serious trouble that we cannot even begin to fathom.”

Her eyes flutter at his words hitting her face. His voice was low and raspy, urgent. She licked at her lips and watched his eyes flicker to the movement.

“So no pressure, huh?”

To be continued....

Taglist: @ofthecaravel @gretavanfreaky @sinarainbows @jaketlove @mysticalstarcatcher @whiterosekiszka @sacredjake @beingextraisfun @malany-gvf @joshysgirl @ascendingtothestarssasone @amygvf13 @myownparadise96 @josh-iamyour-mama @alwaysonthemend @lvnterninthenight

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yellowkitkieran · 1 year

Text

Surprise (Martin Ødegaard)

Masterlist

Word Count: 700

Genre: fluff

Summary: Requested by anonymous. You and Martin both play for Arsenal teams, and you make the most of the little moments where you can.

Being a professional footballer has plenty of perks. For one, you have unbreakable friendships with more than a dozen women. Another is that you get to do what you love every day and get paid handsomely for it to boot. Little girls across the country tell you that you're their role model, which is perhaps your favorite perk of all.

Up until recently, the worst part about your life has been living away from your boyfriend, Martin. Now that you've signed with the Arsenal women's team, you bump into each other from time to time and it makes it much easier.

Today, you've checked the schedule ahead of time. You know the men's team will have the grounds after you finish up in an hour, and you've got a plot cooked up to scare the daylights out of your boyfriend. Martin takes his job as captain very seriously, and you know he likes to show up early and help get the field set up before the rest of the team arrives. So once you've finished your training and have showered up, you decline your teammate's offer of catching a ride home in favor of hiding in a ball cart.

Your temporary home is cramped and dark, but you only have to wait a few minutes to be rewarded with the sound of Martin's voice.

"...thanks mate, I've got it!" The cart moves and you clamp you hand over your mouth when Martin swears. "Faen- this is heavy today innit! Hey James! Good to see you again yeah! How's the kids?"

You roll your eyes at how adorable Martin is. Honestly he's the most endearing man you've met. How many footballers remember the names of the entire staff, let alone their family structures? You'd bet you can count them on one hand, but Martin is certainly the best at it.

Muscles cramping, you bide your time until Martin laughs and the cart begins to move again. The next time it stops, bits of sunlight peek through the holes in the cart and you're sure you're pitchside. The lid is pulled back and you smile to yourself, waiting until a shadow passes over the top to jump up and let out a wordless yell.

"Ah- fucking hell!" Martin jumps back, his eyes wide as he stumbles. You're fully aware of a few team members staring, some laughing along with you as you clutch your stomach with the force of it. "Elskling? Oh my god- you scared me! What are you doing in the ball bin?!"

"Scaring you, duh! Clearly it worked!" You wipe at your eyes before climbing out, the remnants of your laughter continuing to shake your chest. "You should've seen your face- oh it was hilarious. I should've had a camera on!"

Martin's cheeks are red and he shakes his head, running a hand through his hair. "Right, well- you got me! I had no idea… I mean I did think it was awfully hard to move that cart but I never thought someone would be hiding in it! You're lucky I love you, you know!"

You shake your head and wrap your arms around his waist. This close, you can feel his heart hammering against his ribs, letting you know how surprised he'd been. You peck his lips and hear a camera click off to the side, grinning to yourself.

"Ah, I guess maybe I caught you on camera after all. I'd expect that to be posted on all the socials in an hour or so."

Martin groans, head tipped back with a rueful smile, "you're out to embarrass me, aren't you?"

"Mmmm, maybe." You tap your chin thoughtfully, "or maybe I'm just creating plots to kiss you as often as I can."

"Well in that case…" Martin firmly holds your hips and dips you backwards, giving you a deeper kiss whilst his teammates begin to file out. They hoot and holler, shouting encouragements at their captain. The while thing makes your cheeks burn, as does the sparkle in Martin's eyes when he pulls away, "I'd say keep it up elskling, because your plot is working."

#martin odegaard #martin odegaard fic #martin odegaard fanfic #martin odegaard imagine #martin odegaard fantasy #arsenal fc #footballer fic #footballer fanfiction #footballer fluff #footballer imagine #jac writes #alt timeline lover

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sehtoast · 9 months

Text

Nyquil and Bribery (Depowered Homelander x OC Sickfic) All of You is Left to Love ch10

Word Count: 1.1k

Summary: No plot, just sickfic fun. Nyquil is gross.

Warnings: None.

Fic Directory

Misery.

This was pure fucking misery.

"You're not dying, Johnny."

And that has to be a lie.

But surely it couldn't feel this bad, right? All of his life, seeing the roaches around him with their little ailments– their sniffles and sneezes, their disgusting coughs– convinced with every fiber of his being that they were being dramatic.

So he must be dying. That's the only thing that made sense with every violent cough that rattled him.

His one comfort: the cool hand pressed to his forehead, checking his fever before another round of medicine.

"I mean… it's your first time having the flu, so it's gonna feel bad, y'know?" Ben murmured as he poured a bitter, blue liquid into a small plastic cup.

Homelander cringed at the sight. He hated the taste so fucking much. Couldn't taste half of what he ate, but his tongue could register the vile medicine just fine– go figure.

Ben had told him it would be like black licorice if it were dipped in pure menthol. It was accurate, but somehow so much worse– enough to make him gag and beg for mouthwash of all things.

"You're not makin' me drink that again, are you?" His words slurred slightly, voice nasally and unbecoming of the man who once held more power than God himself could ever dream.

"Mm, no." Ben hummed, his smile sympathetic. "Just pouring it out so it's ready for bed. Lucky for you, just some Tylenol and Mucinex for now."

"Oh thank god," he whined, leaning back against the mountain of pillows damp from fever sweats. All of the air conditioning and fans blowing on him did nothing to help, and his body worked hard to sweat it out.

Absolutely miserable.

"Actually, I was thinking of swapping out the sheets so they'd be dry for you. Maybe toss you in the tub for a bit," Ben ran a hand through his damp locks, ruffling them slightly. "Up to you."

A dry bed sounded nice…

He nodded.

It was a chore to get out of bed. His body ached, especially his back. But, as sure as the sun would rise, his little spider was there to snatch him off his feet and carry him.

As humiliating as it had been, he'd needed help on the first day. He'd felt so horrible that he didn't eat or drink all day. That, combined with the fever, and… well.

He learned the hard way that walking while dizzy was dangerous.

Since then, Ben practically became his nurse. He took off work– shirked his heroic duties to stay home and take care of him to the point he outright ignored the occasional sirens.

He only left for cold medicine and takeout.

The bath water wasn’t quite hot, but not cold, either. Something about not agitating the fever– but it felt incredible nonetheless. Bubbles floated at the top, the scent pleasant even through his congestion.

"M'gonna leave the door open. Holler if you need me, okay?"

He nodded and sank down into the water, eyes fluttering shut.

In a perfect world, he'd be able to hear every breath, every movement Ben made while stripping the sheets and covers from the bed. He’d hear the way Benny bickered with the fitted sheet that he could never quite get right on the first try, or maybe he’d smell the little specks of lemongrass oil he liked to fling on the mattress.

The humming as he worked.

The sigh of sympathy as he removed damp pillowcases.

The intense deliberation between flannel or microfiber sheets.

Instead, he got to sit there and shiver– body frozen despite the heat both in and outside of him. Simply trying to submerge further, damning both his height and the cramped tub that he couldn’t sink fully into the warmth.

He got to dwell on all that he'd lost– and how he wouldn't be like this now if he'd never let his guard down.

Vulnerable.

Weak.

Human.

Homelander hadn’t heard the shuffling of sock covered feet enter the bathroom, nor did he notice the fingertips that dipped into the water.

“You ready?”

He’d have jumped if he didn’t know better. Instead, he just groaned.

Ben insisted he not lift a finger to help– that he only sit there and tolerate his coughs and sniffles while being towel dried.

“I’m not totally helpless, you know.” Homelander blurted out, a hint of irritation in his voice. He gazed down at Ben, who had knelt before him to dry his legs. He meant to say more, but was stopped by a cough rumbling deep in his chest.

“Since when don’t you like being doted on?” Ben asked, eyebrow arched. He meant nothing by it, of course, but the look on John’s face told him all he needed to know.

This was a matter of wounded pride.

Of course it was. Being sick reduced Homelander to a state far weaker than he already was. Reminded him that he could always be knocked down another peg, even when he was sure he’d already reached rock bottom.

Ben rose, standing on his toes to press a kiss to the tip of John’s nose.

A million words danced on the tip of his tongue, but none would remedy feelings like that. So he settled for just leading Homelander back to bed, where they stayed for the rest of the afternoon to relax.

Until, of course, it was time to go to sleep.

“No– Ben, no! I’m not doing it!”

“C’mon, you know it helps you sleep.” Ben had straddled him, holding that little cup of foul medicine as though it wasn’t pure evil. He giggled at John’s protests, wondering if this is perhaps how his parents felt trying to convince him to take his medicine as a child.

“I…” Homelander seemed to pause as if to weigh the options of sleeping or coughing all night. His expression fell, becoming even more serious. “Sweeten the pot, Benjamin. You gotta do better than that.”

The wall crawler feigned offense.

“Fine. How about a kiss?”

“Not good enough.” John groaned, leaning back into his throne of pillows. “Do better.”

“Johnathan!”

“It’s like drinking sewage!” He countered.

Ben sat back for a minute, deep in thought, eyes flicking to Homelander’s face every so often until the perfect idea hit him.

“What if I…” He leaned forward, coming in close to whisper promises of bedroom shenanigans so filthy he dare not speak them aloud. “...and I’ll even let you tie me up with my webs. Deal?”

Without a second of hesitation, Homelander snatched the cup and downed it with all the enthusiasm of a shot. He didn’t even cringe.

“Deal!”

#homelander #homelander x oc #homelander fanfiction #depowered homelander #lowkey not my finest work bc the stress has been real lately but i was going for more fluff and fun vibes so hopefully i managed idk #i've been overdue to finally do a sick fic though #tbh it's (knock on wood) been so long since i've been sick i feel like i just cursed myself to catch something by writing this #the benlander agenda

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laceyamethyst · 7 months

Note

HELLO i am crash-landing in your inbox to declare that have ✨ BIG FEELINGS ✨ about the 2nd chapter of “he built a fire” and that i might leave an uber long comment on ao3 about all the big and small bits i absolutely loved if that’s ok, but if you’d rather i sent them here please let me know!! i stayed up last night to read it instead of going to bed early for work (and read it again anyway over breakfast, i am late, whoops 😬)

i just wanted to share/ask before i forgot

- i was kinda bummed you unalived i mean fired Brian off camera so easily, i wanted him to try reprimanding Oscar for his hilarious, politely sassy - but very public - comments during the Qatar GP and for Lando to come swooping to his defence 🫣 idea? maybe a leftover Brian Lackey? we all know Lando would throw hands the first chance he gets to defend Oscar

- also, imagine the Mexican GP in this universe - more importantly, the 5 F2 rookies driving in FP1 and your lore about how F2 drivers all look up to Oscar? Fred would be normal about it but imagine just 4 wide-eyed eager puppies following Oscar around and Lando just going full caveman banging pots and pans hollering in the town square declaring “THAT ONE MINE NO TOUCHY” in the background while Oscar’s just ☺️ ‘it’s really great to have them here’

- i was done with those two points but then i remembered Oscar inviting Lewis to an RC-car race after his win in Suzuka and I just 🤯 ??? Lewis IRL is so hugely supportive of the LGBTQI+, I just can’t help imagine how he’d fit in the Mission universe (accidental reluctant relationship guru? ‘don’t make the same mistakes i did?’)

thank you for your consideration i will now go back to floating on cloud nine after chapter two 💗 have a spectacular week, you deserve it after making mine so awesome ❤️

oh my goodness, this was just... the nicest most wholesome wonderful thing to wake up to?!? thank you SO much, you have no idea how happy it makes me that you enjoyed the fic 🥺

firstly, i would absolutely love to hear any and all thoughts you have about that chapter because it fills me with so much joy to see which parts of my fics readers like most (and it also helps me decide what plot points to focus on next)! so please feel free to comment away on here or on ao3, and never ever worry about it being too long

and secondly, serious question: are you in my brain?! because, listen:

let me tell you how i had a whole dramatic ass scene planned involving a very public takedown of brian courtesy of one (1) lando norris, but i had to cut it out bc the chapter length was getting out of hand 😭. i adore your idea of oscar's qatar comments getting him in trouble and lando jumping to his defense (on live TV, perhaps? ahem)

oh please the rookies hero-worshipping oscar at the mexican gp and lando having absolutely None of it? that image is sending me

ok yeah you absolutely are in my brain because how did you know i had a whole scene planned where lewis talked to oscar after the race (bc he of course crashed into him in monza), firstly to apologize but when he realizes osc and lando just fought he was going to be all 'don't you dare let racing tear you apart you will regret it forever *cough* i still love nico *cough*.' but yes i love lewis and im trying to work him into a future mission fic!

i'm sorry for this very long and unhinged response, i'm truly vibing with these ideas and am super appreciative of you taking the time to share them with me 🧡

#this was truly the sweetest thing to wake up to #thank you sm lovely 🧡

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felikatze · 2 years

Text

finished season 9 it didn’t make me nearly as insane as season 8 but i still really really liked it. ninjago has no right to be this good actually it feels weird.

first off my fav moments of this season were: jay’s mental break in the first two episodes, mystake fucking with dareth for no reason, and also cheering/hooting/hollering/etc “YO SICK SEASON 3 REFERENCE” throughout the entire later half of the lloyd v garmadon confrontation

onto Thoughts, in slightly more chronological fashion:

i loved both plots this season! the main four + wu in the first realm and lloyd with the resistance in ninjago city were both great! normally, with split plots, i tend to get invested in only one of them, so whenever it switches to the one i dont care about, i get super impatient to get back to the good one but none of that here!! both are good!!!

the two plots have a lot of parallels! the theme of leadership between garmadon and the iron baron, the main group being largely on the run, scrounging for allies, learning new skills, yadda yadda. the thematic parallels work well since the environments of the two settings are so vastly different. the first realm is kinda boring looking, and i don’t think that setting could carry a season by itself, so it’s good that. it doesn’t. yeah.

um my thoughts arent very structured hold on i gotta think. about my thoughts. putting them into words is hard but if i dont they’ll rot and i don’t want mold in my brain

ok first of all let’s talk abt characters instead of actually going chronologically.

mystake! she was. incredible. she’s so fucking funny. in previous seasons she was just Mad All The Time and a plot device so it’s super cool to see her fleshed out. her being an oni explains how she gets all those weird fucking teas, i think. and how she’s buddy buddy with wu (even if she yells at him a lot). She’s like a funnier version of Wu. you get the cryptic wisdom, and if you don’t heed it, she gives you violent dirrhea. i dont know how to spell it and i’m not going to google it. brown ninja, in fucking deed. rip dareth.

loved when she Unveiled Her True Form and just went ham on garmadon also. this old woman is down to fight. she’s just here for a good time. she’s amazing and i adore her.

skylor! she’s always good! i’m right! her scene in season 5? great! season 6? amazing! here? INCREDIBLE. i love her always but i adore with how the show actually remembered her powers this time and used it in such fun ways. combining powers for camoflague was GREAT i loved that scene. i really liked the plan lloyd hatched to have skylor yoink garmadon’s power to control the giant stone guy, and it backfiring feels logical. like, she stole the power of a demigod. it’s kind of amazing she’s alive.

that plan in general was great fun with the gang kidnapping harumi, taking good advantadge of both mystake’s and skylor’s abilities. again, mystake is a riot, when pretending to be harumi, too. twas rlly good. even if it failed!

character wise i liked skylor too bcuz season 4 parallels. she’s the one kickstarting the resistance, consisting of the elemantal masters introduced in season 4, whereas in that season, she was a traitor to it. it’s clever. she’s scrappy, too, making use of her restaurant and the trash heap for a variety of things. skylor ily thanks.

cole n wu were fun i think. i snorted when cole in disguise mode introduced wu as his son. having the dangerbuff bluff actually work was a great continuation of a joke from season 8 and a great source of humor in the early episodes. generally a lot of good jokes in the early half because that’s when everyone’s Down In The Fucking Pits (sometimes literal pits) and this season has a hopeful swing to it that necessitates relieving the tension set by s8 somewhat.

generally i liked how wu n the ninja worked together. season 7 set wu up to be like, actually fallible. fallable? fail-able. english. it shows growth for the ninja while playing into wu’s current arc for them to be the ones teaching him lessons that he takes to heart both in his final interaction with the iron baron and his fight against garmadon. “did you use my words against me?” “they were my words first” time is a flat circle it’s fun. Wu Has Learned The Power Of Lying And Violence.

as mentioned in the beginning i thought jay’s mental breakdown in the first 2 episodes was funny as hell i gotta mention it again. season 6 said jay anxiety disorder rights and when you get sent to another dimension apparently set in some sort of mad max / how to train your dragon fusion parody and you’re This Close to starving, anxiety just Loops around to being calm again. only when things look a bit up and then down again to emotions re-emerge. I’ve experienced this before every single exam i’ve had in high school.

OKAY NEXT (i swear jay’s not becoming my fav of the og four i swear he’s not [grits teeth]) nya and pixal. women. i feel they were a bit under utilized this season esp pixal and misako getting arrested halfway through. nya had good scenes esp fight scenes aand uhh. yeah. they were mostly there to help out lloyd which WAS cool but also kinda sucked. do you understand me. do you.

moving on to lloyd. great amazing arc this season, Smooth Continuation of his season 7 arc. kinda feels like Ninjago Movie..... 2!!!! in the “the real power was inside us all along” which like Works but i dunno. ANYWAY. i like how he started out kinda Super Insecure despite his dramatic in the season 8 finale because Shit Sucks at the start of the season. as stated before the entire season is an upswing whereas season 8 was a downward spiral, so lloyd got to climb out. it’s Cool to yoink his powers since the whole green ninja destiny shit was so important in the past and he has to get a solid sense of self outside of that. i enjoyed the scene where the gang break into the Big Tower and hijack ultra violet’s tv show and the whole “finding your voice” thing. again natural continuation of season 7 of lloyd as a leader and him trying to inspire others is nice. plays into well with the teamwork themes mainly shown through wu, with how lloyd still needs the help of everyone else in the resistance, like the same scene where harumi plays lloyd’s epic pwnage from season 8 on a screen and he falls silent on live tv until nya tries to get rid of it.

lloyd as a good leader also works super well as a contrast to both the iron dragon n harumi and garmadon since those groups are. Falling Apart Live. i’ll get into this later kk.

SPEAKING OF harumi. super happy i called early on harumi yoinking garmadon as her own dad because that’s like. goddd. you wanna kill me with this shit ninjago you really want to hurt me this time. at first harumi gets a bit of just deserts when garmadon almost kills her with his new powers (hello star wars much. did you know this is a star wars reference. do you.) and she’s like Afraid For Her Life. and then mister e fucking DIES bye. but THEN the scene where she offers garmadon her sword happens and she’s like Ready To Die but he just holds the sword next to her shoulder like those pledges of knighthood? yeah. it’s kind of fucked up since harumi has so many parental issues and has probably been projecting that on garmadon for YEARS at this point and garmadon is kind of a shambling corpse who’s. not doing too hot mentally either. scrampled eggs up there.

harumi makes me insane actually cuz i am SO HAPPY when in episode 9 when the skylor and garmadon fight over the stone monster she Realizes She Fucked Up. like YEAH it’s super On The Nose when she runs into the building and she sees parents trying to shove their son into a full elevator and she only hears her own voice in the screaming. again SIMPLE BUT EFFECTIVE, since the show makes a big show (badum tsch) of showing (i’m not good at words today) of civilians running from the stone monster and my first thought was “i bet some people died down there” and then harumi saves the family and she just Stares In Horror at the stone monster as it stumbles, toppling buildings. The foundation shakes under her because her foundation has shattered and she sees for the first time that she never got revenge for anything, that she’s the bad guy here, that she’s enacting the fate she rued upon others, innocents. harumi makes me kinda insane.

fucked up additonally how garmadon goes off the shits once harumi dies (this is a fake-out death i feel it in my heart they dont have the guts to end it like this) bcuz it reminds me a LOT of how garamdon was for lloyd in season 1. the harumi garmadon dynamic makes me sick in a good way.

didnt mention this last time but sometimes i’m sad this IS a lego show bcuz garmadon just casually has some ribs sticking out which is never addressed like he IS a shambling corpse. could’ve been a lot of horror in that but you don’t even notice much since it’s a flat texture. his blood is Purble.

mentioned s1 parallels with harumi buuut like i mentioned in the beginning i wanted to scream holler yell yodel whatever when lloyd turned the tables on garmadon by Not Fighting. FIRST OF ALL this is a big turning point for lloyd since he’s been hyping himself up to fight his dad all season and he Hates doing that generally (hi season 2) BUT ALSO BECAUSE. HE LEARNED THAT FROM GARMADON. THAT’S SO GOOD. remember season 3???? DO YOU REMEMER SEASON 3???? I DO!!! I DOOO!!!!!!!!! the art of the silent fist or whatever. THAT’S SO GOOD OK. garmadon’s brief bout of pacifism returns to kick him in the ass and it’s like. symbolically. think abt it. lloyd’s had to accept that the father he loves is essentially dead but he still has the memories. he still has what he learned. the time he’s spent with his father doesn’t suddenly vanish. it’s sweet. AND garmadon who’s been trying hard to ignore and suppress his past basically disowning lloyd getting his ass handed to him by his own lessons, by who he used to be. ninjago don’t do this to me i’m already mentally ill.

i’m done talking abt single characters time to talk abt factions.

the resistance and the elemetal masters. liked them. i always like it when side characters come back for some reason and it added to the hopeful atmosphere of the season and the “you’re never alone” message. karlof great. yeah. even if they all got arrested partway through i liked having a couple more scenes for these bozos.

i mentioned lloyd being a good leader is a parallel so like. i love how the two villain factions of this season kinda shot themselves in the foot with their whole “rule through fear” thing because it stops working when people stop being afraid of you.

the existence of the dragon hunters kind of baffles me. did not expect the Mystical First Realm to have Just Some Guys in it. they don’t look human which i like. weird ashen skin in yellow lego land and glaring red eyes that make me question why Faith Specifically has one regular lego eye. who is she. good visual storytelling how they all have various scars. i think they may be a cult, a little bit.

it’s a really good setup for the iron baron to have the plot twist be that the oni are just. Gone. and how you can’t build trust on lies n shit. the main bozos for the dragon hunters were distinct enough but i’ve forgotten all their names by now. I liked Faith even if the name puns this season could be. less. (take a shot every time they say some variation of “have faith”.) like again how the dragon hunters fell apart as a threat once their teamwork started flagging was great and they’re visually distinct.

again parallels yadda yadda the sons of garmadon lowkey fell apart in a similar way. the main general guys started being Afraid of garmadon and only harumi had his respect and you could tell. ultra violet’s tv show was kinda funny as hell. reminds me of when jay was a tv show host both of them are twitch streamers.

I HAVE probably more things to say but i’ve run out of word juice so this is all. k. yeah. this season was good. nice payoff on buildups from season 8 and it just felt good to watch. again hopeful swing hopeful message. the season 8 finale was the darkest hour and it has passed. everything can be rebuilt, no matter how dire the situation is. it can always get better, if you believe it will. it’s nice.

#Feli speaks #ninjago posting #kind of dizzy rn but. this season good ok #hey why is this show so good now what's happening #well it's always good but there's a lot of narrative shit going on that's actually smart #thanks ninjago for being good.

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erscogadatabase · 10 months

Text

8: The Overly Long, Frequently Interrupted Chapter (Part 3)

Date: 1-2017 - 2-1-2017 IDST

Nalitie: *blinks as she holds the gift box* What just happened...?

Dukermin: I don't know but I keep hearing Mettaton 's voice in my head

Mettaton: *won't shut up, trying to get Dukermin's attention*

Dukermin: SHUT UP FOR A SECOND AND LET ME THINK

Mettaton: ... *shuts up*

Nalitie: What were we doing...? Oh yeah. *writes a to and from on the gift box* To the Tartines!

Dukermin: Yay to the Tartines *to the place*

Nalitie: *runs into their door headfirst* OW

Vella: *answers the door* Nalitie...?

Dukermin: AnD DUKERMIN

Vella: Oh, hey Dukermin.

Nalitie: WE HAVE A GIFT FOR YOU! *proudly displays crappily wrapped gift box*

Vella: *takes it* Thanks...?

Dukermin: You're welcome! *to naltiie * What next

Nalitie: THE VOltas! We need to give them back the fake lightsaber I was fighting with... It's Shay's... Oh, and they can help with DunkelVision©.

Dukermin: K cool then we can actually explore there.

Nalitie: YAY *running to the Volta's house* *also runs into the door headfirst*

Mettaton: *in Dukermin's head* You should probably check her for a concussion after this, darling...

Dukermin: Yeah...

Hope: Oh, hello again.

Nalitie: *dizzily presents lightsaber, then passes out*

Dukermin: *slaps her awake* We brought this back, and we need help with some other stuff...nnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn

Nalitie: *jumps up* DUNKELVISIONNnnnnn.

Hope: DunkelVision?

Dukermin: We need a thing to see on the place. It's really dark there.

Hope: Have you tried flashlights?

Dukermin: Its still not light enough. We were imagining goggles of some sort...

Nalitie: The planet is literally made of darkness, so there's nothing for light to shine on.

Hope: Well, do you know how the planets' inhabitants see?

Dukermin: I'm not sure, but I think they're made of darkness as well...

Nalitie: We could bring one of them here? Oh, and you know that scientist that helped you with the Riewa shield? She can help too!

Dukermin: Cool, cool... so uh... should we do that now?

Nalitie: Yes. *opens a lunchbox* Shall we?

Dukermin: *lunchbox*

*and then they were on Dunkel*

Nalitie: Now, uh... how do we know where we'regoing? How are we gonna find someone?

Dukermin: Would it be a bad idea if I started hollering? *turns on a flashlight even tho it wont do any good*

Nalitie: Probably no... but knowing our luck we're gonna summon something other than what we want... let's try it though.

Dukermin: *hollering* COME OUT COME OUT WHEREVER YOU ARE! WE ARE FRIENDS

Dunkelians: *aren't seen, but can be heard talking in confusion, their voices closer than expected*

Dukermin: *to nalitie* Do these guys speak English? from what I remember no...

Nalitie: Well there was that one person, right...?

Dukermin: Oh yeah *somehwta quieter hollering* Anyone hear good at English? We have a business offer, I guess...

Dunkelian from Earlier: I know a little English.

Dukermin: Hello. We need someone to come with us to a different planet. Its for science.

Dunkelian: ... different... planet...?

Dukermin: Its fine. It's totally safe. And its pretty awesome. Would you be willing to come? Meet some new people?

Dunkelian: I cannot leave my... child? Is that the word?

Nalitie: Yep.

Dukermin: Do you know of someone who would be willing to come? Or you could bring your child with...?

Dunkelian: *hesitating and thinking* ... I will come with my child.

Dukermin: It'll be a great experience! Your child will love it probably!

Dunkelian: *grabbing Dukermin's hand so she knows where they are*

Dukermin: Oh hey... *time to lunchbox*

*And so they went back to Aeuton, where Hope (and Alphys) are waiting*

Dunkelian: *looks vaguely like a silhouette of Magnolia* *confused and squinting in the light*

Dunkelian Child/Baby: *looks like Tobias/Tasha from the fake Overmother VR crap*

Dukermin: *senses a plot twist on the horizon*

Nalitie: Alright then. May I ask your names?

Dunkelian: I am Ominglai. My child is named Stobia.

Dukermin: Nice to meet yall. *introduces Hope and Alphys*

Alphys: H-hello! We-we're going to, um, study your eyes, i-if that's alright.

Ominglai: *nods as permission*

Alphys: Great! *leads them into Hope's house*

Nalitie: What should we do in the meantime?

Dukermin: Anything else on our to-do list?

Nalitie: *pulls out their horribly long to-do list*

Mettaton: *in Dukermin's head obviously* I do still need a body...

Dukermin: Yeah and I need you out of my head.

Nalitie: Who are you talking to...?

Dukermin: Mettaton still needs a body.

Nalitie: We need Alphys for that... but you can talk to him in your head?

Dukermin: Yeah. What else have we got on the to-do list?

Nalitie: Oh yeah *looking* Power cap, big lunchbox portal construction, space jungle, Nervous Heights, Arlene Kirkland, Building your house, and war plans but... not yet. Hey, could I see your guys'sSOUL, too? For science?

Dukermin: Umm sure... Power cap is still far from ready... We could probably set up a construction crew for the portals... But IDK maybe we need our scientist for that?

Nalitie: Nah, the Shellmound people and I were doing okay... *multitasking and trying to summon Dukermin's SOUL*

Dukermin: Well, are the shellmound people working on anything right now? That's the chronological thing to do...

Nalitie: We can go over and ask while we're still here, yeah. *studying Dukermin+Mettaton's SOUL(s?)*

SOUL: *looks like Dukermin's normal SOUL, but with an upside down white part in the center* *there's also a spot of green in the center, with a shadow of multicolor in the very middle *

Dukermin: *wowed at intense SOUL* Um... to Shellmound I guess?

Nalitie: *puts Dukermin's SOUL back* Yeah... You have a lot of SOULs, by the way... *to Shellmound!*

Dukermin: *calling to a group of Shellmound people*

People: Yeah...?

Dukermin: We have a construction job! Who should I talk to about that?

People: *points to... behind by the beach? Where the crane is...*

Dukermin: *heading over there*

Construction Crew: *chilling*

Dukermin: BREAK TIMES OVER We need giant lunchbox portals installed at the poles. Please.

Crew: Oh yeah. Nalitie left, so we took a break. We'll get back to that. *lunchbox themselves back to the one they were working at*

Dukermin: *to the lunchbox they all went through* Umm thanks. Kay... anything else we can get squared away? *idk if thats an appropriate usage of the phjrase but YOU KNOW WHAT*

Nalitie: Your house, um... The space jungle... I've been wanting to check my space station anway.. Um... getting Arlene and Nervous Heights, but I'm kinda tired of going places outside of Erscoga...

Dukermin: Arlene and Nervous Heights would both be in the Miscellaneous dimension... we can do that later. So my house or the space jungle.

Nalitie: Wanna check out my space station? My couch is how we get there and dthat's on Termata, so we'd be there for yuour house after. All we need to do is plant a couple of seeds.

Dukermin: K cool *lunchbox time*

*and so they were at Nalities house*

*and then they probably got on the couch and launched into space*

Dukermin: So we are planting seeds now?

Nalitie: yep! I don't reall know how, but Homeless Henry referred me to someone who sells Space Juungle Seeds... He might be the same guy who we bought our tree from, actually... *second thoughts*

Dukermin: *flashbakcs to the christmas tree* Oh boy... *throwing seeds everywhere, probably reciting that old sunday school story bout the farmer planting seeds*

Nalitie: *also planting* Plants need water, sunlight, and nutrients... We havve LuxLight... U... *throws plant nutrients that she had from feeding Flowey*

Dukermin: now... water... Hmm... How to make it rain in space... Or super intense manual watering...

Nalitie: Can you do anything?

Dukermin: *summons a portal from idk the amazon jungle if thats a thing... A RAINFOREST OF SOME SORT to make it rain*

(A little bit of rain filters through the portal and onto the seeds. They start growing at a rapid pace.)

Dukermin: Whoooooaaah ITS BEAUTIFUL

*AND THEN THERE WAS A space jungle!*

Nalitie: I'm gonna go make sure my space station's systems are stil running, and then we should build you a house.

Dukermin: Yay! *to the space station*

Nalitie: *checking the stuff, and also trying to figure out what's happening with the weird goo on the floor*

Dukermin: *looking at the goo* Is that normal?

Nalitie: No... They appeared a while back, when I was showing the Plutonians around the space station... But like... only the main characters.

Dukermin: *magically produces a test tube and scoops up some* Maybe I'll inquire about it at a later date... Whenever we find ourselves back on Pluto...

Nalitie: Yeah. And when Alphys isn't busy. *sits on the couch* back to Termata?

Dukermin: Yup *couch*

(Back on Termata)

Dukermin: *running off to find the warehouse*

Nalitie: *following*

Dukermin: Okay... So under this crappy warehouse will be a man-made cave system... With an elevator... And also a secret staircase that leads to a secret room (WHERE THERE WILL BE A DRAGON SOMETIME MAYBE)

Nalitie: Alrighty then. *gets out her construction tools* *and also some low-power ground severers for digging*

Dukermin: Yay *time to ground sever!*

Nalitie: *carefully ground severing because nobody is going to come after them angrily if they see what's happening FINALLY*

Dukermin: *starts ground severing in a hurry instinctively but stops self*

(This Construction Montage™ is brought to you by.... McDonalds!)

Dukermin: That's pretty much it!

Nalitie: YAY! *phone buzzes* *looks at it* It's from Alphys. She says that she thinks she and Hope figured it out!

Dukermin: WHAT CONVENIENT TIMING Shall we go back to Aeuton then?

Nalitie: Yep! *already halfway in the lunchbox*

Dukermin: *more lunchbox time*

Hope, Alphys, Stobia and Ominglai: *waiting*

Alphys: *hands them some pairs of goggles when they get there*

Hope: You'll have to test them to make sure they work, and there's only four pairs, but here they are.

Dukermin: Awesome thank you! * sticks goggles on her head*

Nalitie: Yay! *grabbing Ominglai's hand and putting n her DunkelVision Goggles©* *reopens portal for Dunkel (pff)*

Dukermin: *portaling*

*and so they landed on Dunkel, right in the middle of town, with a bunch of Dunkelians who look like shadowy versions of people on the other planets and whose appearances shift a little once in a while sometimes*

Dukermin: *to Nalitie* This is a little weird... I recognize them... but don't...

Nalitie: Yeah... that one looks a little like you *points*

Dukermin: *goes over to meet doppelganger* Hello Wait I need an interpreter. *Calls to Ominglai*

Ominglai: *coming over* Yes?

Dukermin: Would you mind translating for me? I want you to tell my doppelganger that I would like to take a picture with them and ask their name.

Ominglai: Enha ies Dukermin. Uhwa reya polo?

Dukermin's Dunkelian Self: Eh yal Neirmkedu.

Ominglai: She is called Neirmkedu. *to Neirmkedu* Dukermin veumen uin panotag.

Neirmkedu: *nods in an affirmative*

Nalitie: *pulling out her phone*

Dukermin: lets hope this shows up *poses with doppelganger*

Nalitie: *puts her goggles over the camera, hoping it works* *takes the picture* Alright, cool. Either it's gonna be you guys... or Dukermin posing with nothing. *puts her goggles back on*

Dukermin: Either way it'll be a great photo. Thank you Neirmwhatever and Ominglai.

Omingali: *to Neirmkedu* Dukermin epen merna.

Nalitie: Shall we explore? *watching as Ominglai... shifts shape a little into someone who both looks the same and looks a little like Toriel at the same time*

Dukermin: Uh... Alright then. Hey, Ominglai, will you join us? Maybe show us some of the hot tourist attractions?

Ominglai: H...ot tourist attractions...?

Dukermin: Where do the cool kids hang out around here? Any interesting places?

Ominglai: *confused because English is not her native language but understands the last part* You want to know Dunkel?

Dukermin: Very much, yes.

Ominglai: Okay. *starts walking towards the center of the town*

Nalitie: *watching a Dunkelian who looks a little bit like Christine*

Dukermin: *notices* *to nalitie* I wonder if she watches people sleep too. I wonder if Dunkelians sleep?

Nalitie: *shrugs*

Ominglai: This is the town center. *gesturing around*

(You are standing in... well, a town center. There's a fountain and Dunkelians are roaming about.)

Dukermin: *using phone and goggles to snap pictures* *wishes she was wearing a button -down floral shirt*

Nalitie: Hm. Hey, Ominglai? Why does everyone look like people we know?

Ominglai: The Pondecle borrow parts of appearance from creatures on other planets and mix it with their appearance.

Dukermin: Pondecle, huh? Do you know if there are any living things on Dunkel other than the Pondecle?

Ominglai: Yes. They live in the... wilderness.

Dukermin: Ooh. Interesting. So... anything else we should know about Dunkel?

Ominglai: Do not go into wilderness without a weapon. You will die.

Dukermin: WOW THAT SOUNDS LIKE FUN! I really want to go there. And we've definitely got weapons *BC NECKLACE*

Mettaton: *still in Dukermin's head* Are you sure that's wise, darling?

Dukermin: I DON'T KNOW But it's interesting.

Nalitie: Mettaton again?

Ominglai: *thinking Dukermin is insane*

Dukermin: *Doesn't know of a way to explain SOULs to a non-english speaker so she can think whatever she want so think*

Nalitie: Dukermin is two people. Someone died, and they went into her.

Ominglai: *confused but whatever* The... what do you call them... beasts? They are not easy to kill.

Dukermin: OOH BEASTS! Beasts are cool. I do need an excuse to use my necklace.

Nalitie: But what if they don't die physically? Remember those things you fought in the VR? *thinking back to the very first Erscoga doc*

Dukermin: We don't have to go now. We can do more research. And we always figure it out...

Nalitie: True. Anything else we need here? Oh! We should talk to the leaders because... ALLIANCES!

Dukermin: YES I love alliances. Ominglai! Who's in charge here? Is there a mayor or president or king?

Ominglai: You want to meet the leader?

Dukermin: Yes, please.

Ominglai: I will take you to the Cinmpaden. *going in another direction*

Dukermin: Also, is there anything we should know about the Cinmpaden?

Ominglai: ... She will explain much... the Cinmpaden is very nice. Her name is Etommt.

Dukermin: Oh thank goodness. Does she speak English?

Ominglai: A little. I can help.

Dukermin: Awesome. *to nalitie* we need to find a way to repay her after all this.

Nalitie: We do... Hey, Ominglai? What kinds of things do you like? Also, does Dunkel have a currency?

Ominglai: The Pondecle have money, yes. I like warm blankets... and science. That is why I came to your planet. *goes to talk to the guards in front of a big-ish building*

Dukermin: *To nalitie* So we could get her some cool merch from our planets

Nalitie: Yeah, alright. I wonder if Alphys would have anything for her...

Dukermin: Probably. Also, we could get the two of them to hang out some more. They'd probably like each other.

Nalitie: Yeah, that works.

Ominglai: *gesturing* Come. The Cinmpaden will speak with you. *starts walking inside*

Dukermin: Awesome. *follows her in, and probably high fives a guard as she passes*

Nalitie: *following*

Etommt: *standing inside* You are the outside people, correct?

Dukermin: That sounds accurate, yes.

Nalitie: We're Nalitie and Dukermin, and we're the leaders of the dimension that your planet and also Lux are caught in.

Guard: *staring at Nalitie intently*

Etommt: Ah... You do not wish war, do you?

Dukermin: NO! Absolutely the opposite. We would like to be friends.

Etommt: You wish to ally? *appearance shifts a little bit, but she still looks sorta familiar*

Dukermin: Yes. And we would like your support in a, well a war, from an outside source.

Nalitie: A being named SAM wishes to wage war against our dimension, and we need every planet's support.

Etommt: ... Are you allied with... Lux?

Dukermin: Yes we are. Is that a problem?

Etommt: Lux is our sister planet, yes? The light one?

Dukermin: Yes.

Etommt: Then I cannot agree.

Dukermin: Why not?

Etommt: They are not our friend. A few... er... *looking to Ominglai because her English is better* Orbiaton...?

Ominglai: Years.

Etommt: A few years ago, they brought us war, and so we are enemies.

Dukermin: Oh boy. That wasn't while you were in this dimension was it? *time is difficult*

Etommt: I do not know. We do not what world we are in, if nobody comes to us. We move a lot.

Dukermin: Well, there will not be any enemies within our dimension anymore. We're all in this together *hsm ref*. And we ask that you ally with us, because we can uh make sure that nothing bad happens while you are in this dimension of ours.

Etommt: *still frowning?* Does the...

Ominglai: *whispers* queen

Etommt: Does the Queen of lux agree?

Dukermin: They didn't mention you, I don't think, when we discussed the alliance.

Etommt: I will not agree unless she promises not to war on us.

Dukermin: I'm sure we can get her to agree.

Nalitie: We can go ask her right now...

Dukermin: Should I write up a peace treaty or something?

Etommt: A written... treaty... will work, yes.

Dukermin: Okay. We will go talk to the lumoae or whatever .

Nalitie: Yep! We'll be back, and thank you for seeing us.

Ominglai and Etommt: *nod*

Dukermin: See you in a bit *to Lux*

Mettaton: *as they're leaving* Their queen is pretty beautiful, by the way, if I do say so myself... *commenting on the fact that she's basically his Dunkelian self, but a lady instead*

Dukermin: Mhm. *would ship it but it would basically be with himself*

*AND THEN THEY WRE ON LUX*

Nalitie: *hissing at the light and replacing her goggles with sunglasses* THAT WAS NOT A GOOD TRANSITION

Dukermin: *blinking and squinting* Bluh... Okay so *probably starts walking in the wrong direction*

Nalitie: *following because she doesn't know either*

Lumoae Guard: *halts them* Weh oar yao?!?

Dukermin: Um... *doesn't exactly know what was asked but introduces self anyway* I'm Dukermin.

Nalitie: ... English...?

Guard: Ingles... Ah. You are trespassing on the land of Gaval. Why do you intrude?

Dukermin: We were looking for the Lumoae palace. Do you know where it is? Is it around here?

Guard: The Lumoae have many palaces. Which land do you speak of?

Dukermin: Uuuuh... There isn't like a supreme palace or anything? Nalitie?

Guard: There is a Planetary Council, yes, but they do not have a single palace.

Nalitie: Where were we last time... Llllllicvitis...?

Dukermin: Oh that sounds familiar. By Menards.

Guard: Menards? That is the place that appeared in the Wild Lands. Licvitis neighbors those lands. I will show you to their border. *starts walking off in the direction they came from*

Dukermin: Awesome thanks. *following*

Nalitie: *follows too* *to Dukermin* I'm glad this guy knows English... We're going to have to learn a lot of language...

Dukermin: Yeaaaah. Hey Guard guy, what's your name?

Guard: I am Aalok.

Dukermin: Nice to meet you. So, do you know the deal around here? Like, if there's any internal conflict, or external conflict?

Aalok: Our countries are not fighting now, but there are a few who do not like each other. We have not had conflict with an outside force since the War of DunkeLux.

Dukermin: Hmm. Okay. Do you know if there are still ill feelings? Like, obviously everyone's not going to be elated about war, but if there are still a lot of hostile feelings toward Dunkel?

Aalok: There are a few who do not dislike Dunkel. But they are few and far between. Our planets have been adversaries for a very long time now... We are opposites, and it is the way things are.

Dukermin: Well that's a bummer cuz that won't work for us.

Aalok: This is the border. The Capital is straight ahead.

Dukermin: Thanks a lot, Aalok. *heads to capital*

Nalitie: Yeah, thanks! *following*

Aalok: *nods and returns to duty*

(One MTT-Brand Timeskip later...)

Sage: *is patrolling the capital* *sees Dukermin and Nalitie* You are back.

Dukermin: We have PAPERWORK! We're heading to the capital.

Sage: ... You are in the capital.

Dukermin: Palace, is what I meant *pfft*

Sage: Ah, you wish to speak with the Queen again?

Dukermin: Yeah... About Dunkel and alliances

Sage: ... Dunkel... Do you wish me to lead you?

Dukermin: Sure, it would be nice to catch up.

Sage: Of course. *leading them to the palace*

Dukermin: So... how's life been?

Sage: It is good. We have had many births in the previous months, but the Princess has not returned.

Dukermin: Hmm. So what, she's missing?

Sage: She ran away, and the guards have not been able to find her. Her sister continues to send letters, but she has not replied to them...

Dukermin: Do you know why she ran away? There was no chance she was abducted or something?

Sage: *a little bit too quickly* No. I do not know anything about the Princess's motives, but she was not taken from us.

Dukermin: *suspicious* This seems like kind of a big deal...

Sage: *almost coldly...?* It does not matter. The kingdom has Adr--Princess Adrienne.

Dukermin: *quietly to Nalitie* Um yeah, so this Adrienne girl seems like a shifty character. *assuming that adrienne kidnapped her sister so she could be queen and covered it up cuz all is fair in love and POLITICS*

Nalitie: *shrugs*

Sage: *leading them up the steps of the palace and inside silently*

(later, inside with the queen)

Anora: Ah, Dukermin, Nalitie, do you need something?

Dukermin: A little bit yeah. Would you be cool with negotiating a treaty with us? About Dunkel and NOT warring on them?

Anora: We were not planning a war.

Dukermin: Yeah, we figured that much. Dunkel isn't convinced though. We brought PAPERWORK! So if you're alright with it...

Anora: And you are sure they will not attack us?

Dukermin: Dunkel doesn't want war. We'll make them sign a treaty as well. Once we can promise that you won't start a war, they'll ally with us and then we can make sure there is nothing but peace in the dimension *YAY*

Nalitie: We need every planet's support in order to defeat and defend against SAM, and Dunkel won't ally with us unless you make peace with them as well.

Anora: ... I suppose it would not hurt... We are having... issues here in Licvitis, and it would be nice to not worry about Dunkel.

Dukermin: Is it about the princess? *handing her the papers*

Anora: ... It has been a long time since I have seen my daughter... *signs* You will need the Plannetary Council to agree as well.

Dukermin: Yeah. Thanks a lot. And we'll do what we can about the princess. Because allies.

Anora: You needn't worry about that... you are preparing defense against SAM, yes? And I will have the others sign, if you need.

Dukermin: Sometimes we get bored while our scientists are doing stuff, so you never know. And other signatures would be great.

Anora: I will collect them. *sends the treaty off with a person to the Council*

(ANOTHER MTT-BRAND Timeskip later...)

Anora: *hands them the now signed treaty* I have done what I can. If Dunkel does not wish war, then we do not either.

Dukermin: Great! So Dunkel then.

*TO DUNKEL*

(On Dunkel....)

Dukermin: *strapping on goggles* *starts heading off to the Cwhatever*

(Back with Etommt... and Ominglai is there too because REASONS)

Dukermin: Lux agreed not to war. They weren't planning on war anyway. You agree not to war, as well?

Etommt: You have the treaty?

Dukermin: Mhm. *gives it to her* So if you agree not to war, you can sign here.

Etommt: ... Very well. *signs*

Dukermin: Great! So, are we allies now?

Etommt: yes.

Nalitie: *celebrating silently*

Dukermin: Yay! *wishes she had champagne to pour or somehing* So... We've got some other things. Like... We have lunchbox portals if you'd like to travel to other planets...

Nalitie: *grabs a couple and offers them to Etommt* They're really easy to use. You just pick where you want to go and step inside.

Etommt: *takes the portals*

Nalitie: And do we have permission to build on Dunkel maybe? Because we would like to construct bigger portals on all of the planets, right?

Dukermin: And of course we won't build anything without your permission... But yeah, bigger portals...

Etommt: You may. And you wish us to fight agains this SAM, yes?

Dukermin: I mean, it would be great if you would... But if you do not wish to fight, it's nice just to have your support, or maybe you could supply us...

Etommt: We will support you when the time comes. Is there anything else you wish?

Dukermin: Ummm... Not that I can think of... We can explore everything right...? Nalitie...?

Nalitie: I mean, I don't see why not.

Etommt: You may explore as you wish, but respect our temples and places of history, and it will be wise to stray from the wild.

Dukermin: Of course! We're always respectful and NEVER destructive AT ALL!

Nalitie: Yep! Totally safe to be around!

Dukermin: So, yeah! It's been great meeting you!

Etommt: Likewise. *English knowledge has suddenly improved*

Nalitie: *gets a text from the workers on Termata* Oh, hey, they just finished the first of the portals.

Dukermin: Yay!

~•*•~

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#story document #arc 1 #Erscoga

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mileapokp1677 · 2 years

Text

Three Steps to Win You (CH 7)

Title: Three Steps to Win You

Rating: M

Pairing: DaddyChan/Tankhun, Kinn/Porsche, Vegas/Pete

Category: M/M, AU Nerd-Jock

Summary: Accidentally, scientist Tankhun Theerapanyakul embarrassed footballer Captain Chan "Daddy" Knight in front of his coach, teammates and fans. He had to fulfill three tasks from the captain before his apology was accepted.

AN:

In this story, Gun is NOT related to Vegas and Macau

Chapter 7

(Tankhun POV)

"NOOOO~” shouted Chan, with a look of disbelief, Tankhun had lost count of the number of times the captain had yelled since the fanfiction crash course began. He could only look at him with pity and amusement.

“I’m sorry, P’ Chan, but what P' said is true, your wing backs, both of them, are really shipping Vegas and Pete like that ,” restated Porsche, he really took his job as a teaching assistant in "this class" seriously.

“Do I even want to know about that last term, the ETL trope? What does ETL stand for, anyway?” asked Chan, he’s drinking his second Cosmo now.

“Enemy to Lovers,” answered Tankhun calmly.

“Ah yes, of course , why not inject half-truth into the combo, right? GOD!!!” replied Chan as he covered his eyes with tips of his fingers.

Tankhun was about to open his mouth to react to Chan’s statement, but someone was ahead of him, someone he didn’t expect at all.

“Now that I think about it, since Vegas is a former BSFC’s arch-enemy player, Arm and Pol really have a good plot for their fanfiction.”

“Ei, Kinn~” squealed Porsche as he snickered. “Now that you know about fanfiction and all, you suddenly became an expert?”

“Just an observation,” said Kinn happily, his big smile filled half of his face and it made Tankhun feel very content. He will never stop being grateful for Porsche’s presence in his younger brother's life. Otherwise, the big smile that had been missing since their Ma died 15 years ago, would never appear again. Ever since he took over the company 100% from their Pa, Kinn is getting quieter, colder, just so immersed in business, the highest level workaholic. Thank God, he met Porsche.

“Kinn! Not you too~” hollered Chan, making all three of them burst into laughter. “I know this must be very funny to you guys, but I'll be the one dealing with the four of them. How can I be sure my face doesn't change the next time I see Pol and Arm, or Vegas and Pete?”

“You know what people say, if you can't fight it, then join it,” stated Tankhun with a straight face, though deep down inside he almost died holding back his giggles, particularly after seeing the face of the mighty captain turning pale.

“I think of all of them as my younger brothers, every one of them. Who the hell is capable thinking of their little brother like that? Please, I beg you, let's end this conversation here.”

“Yes, Sir!” said Porsche. “Another Cosmo, P'?”

“No, just water, Porsche. I still have to drive, and a new season is just around the corner.”

“And here I thought, this mighty Captain aka the rebel , is going to max out my credit card tonight.”

Again Chan gave him an amused look, and honestly, those looks started to exasperate him. Tankhun wanted to annoy Chan not to charm him. And if he kept this up Tankhun could start thinking of things he didn't think of before.

“We can always count this as half-a-task, so you have to take me drink one more time before-”

“In your dream, old man!” cried Tankhun, cutting off whatever words Chan wanted to say as he stuck out his tongue at him.

For the love of God, stop giving me that look!

"First of all, P’Chan, I'm sorry for bringing up this topic again, but this matter continues to pique my curiosity," said Kinn suddenly. “I can't believe there isn't anyone who writes fanfiction about you, considering you're one of the most famous footballers in the country.”

OMG Kinn~ what are you doing?

Tankhun tried to steal glances at Porsche because he needed an ally to handle this, but the little shit was already hiding behind Kinn's wide upper body.

”Tankhun? Nobody writes about me, right?” questioned Chan, his eyes actually begging Tankhun to give him the answer that he wants.

Should I lie?

No one said anything for almost two minutes and things started to feel awkward…

“Maybe I should just show you’,” said Tankhun, eyes sparkling with mischief.

“P’, don’t…” warned Porsche, still hiding.

“Wait, wait, are people truly writing about me? Are you serious?”

“Ah, shit~ I should keep my mouth shut,” stated Kinn, now feeling a bit uneasy.

“Let me see,” requested Chan, even though looking slightly worried.

Tankhun hesitated for a while, but in the end he handed his cellphone to Chan.

One… Two… Three…

“T-there… are… hundreds of stories about me here,” whispered Chan, his eyes were wide open.

Tankhun really thought Chan’s response this time would be exactly like his response earlier this evening – when he finds out the meaning of those terms. He would be shocked as hell, then yelling in disbelief, and in the end they would have a good laugh. Yet, it must have been really bizarre to read someone's imaginary story about yourself.

“FUCK! THEY WRITE STORIES ABOUT ME AND GUN!?”

“ETL trope, P'Chan, remember?” Porsche reminded Chan about the lesson.

“He’s like the nastiest sleaziest motherfucker!”

“Yeah~, he’s the worst,” acknowledged Porsche, finally emerging from his hiding place.

“We HATE each other!”

“But, hate sex kinda hot though,” blurted Tankhun, waiting for Chan to wail, but the wailing never came.

“P’!”

Chan must have been really shaken up at the time, because he just quietly sat there on the stool, not making any sound, not even a pip. At that moment, Tankhun realized that he might have crossed the line. Sometimes he really hated his smart mouth.

“Chan,” called Tankhun softly, “I’m sorry.”

Chan was still sitting in silence, his body didn't move an inch.

“Hey, Chan,” called Tankhun once again, this time he gently put his hand on Chan’s arm. “I shouldn’t have shown that to you.”

“I’m sorry, P', I shouldn’t bring that up again,” added Kinn.

“No, no, you guys misunderstood, I’m not mad about the fanfiction,” responded Chan. “Well, it was shocking but what can you do, right? I guess everybody has their hobby.”

“But, P’, you look-”

“It’s Gun,” stated Chan as he cut Porsche off. “I never tell anyone else about this but your Pa, Porsche. Remember the old Captain of BSFC?”

“Of course, P’, you’re his co-captain then.”

“Yes. Gun is the one who tackled him illicitly and ended his career. At that time, the referee was too far away so didn't see what happened. Gun didn't get any punishment, not even a lousy yellow card when he should be suspended! My captain decided not to prolong the matter. He said it was time for him to retire and I was ready to replace him.”

Tankhun winced. “I’m sorry again for my potty mouth, it looks like I'm endlessly apologizing to you tonight.”

“Just forget it, Doctor, nothing to forgive,” replied Chan, his amused smile back in place. “At least now I won't be clueless anymore if those boys throw unknown terms at me.”

“Good to know.”

Chan sighed, a very long one.

“You know what sucks, though? I don't even know who to blame for those stories,” said Chan.

“Blame yourself for being too hot.”

FUCK ME! WHAT DID I JUST SAY?

Choking sounds attacked Tankhun from two different directions and he didn't even need to lift his head to know that the giggling sound belonged to Porsche. However, Tankhun Theerapanyakul needed to get the situation under control immediately.

"Why are you guys so shocked? I'm a scientist, we only stated the truth and nothing more," said Tankhun casually, while deep down, it was a totally different story. "He is a good looking man."

Fuck, Tankhun, you and your stupid mouth!

“Why, thank you, Doctor,” replied Chan sweetly as he got up from the stool where he was sitting and walked closer to Tankhun. “Are you ready to go?”

“No, you go ahead. I still have something that I need to talk to them, Kinn and Porsche will take me home."

"Oh, I almost forgot," said Chan. He took out his cell phone from the right pocket of his black jeans, unlocked the screen and gave it to Tankhun. "Since you still owe me two tasks, I need your number, honey."

Before Tankhun could protest, Chan had corrected himself, "My bad, Doctor. Your number, please?"

Tankhun took Chan’s cellphone, entered his phone number and then gave it back to the captain.

“Good night, boys.”

“Good night.”

“Drive safely, P’!”

“It’s Doctor!”

TBC

#daddy chan #tankhun theerapanyakul #chantankhun #kinnporsche #vegaspete #kim theerapanyakul #kpts #kpts fanfic #au nerd_jock #slow build #everybody is a footballer #slow burn #team as family #kpts boys #fanfic #kinnporsche la forte

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msookyspooky · 3 years

Text

Sequels Suck

Part 6

word count: 3,026

"Why do I feel like we're going to die or something?"

"Now, why would you say that!?" Halie scoffed and lightly hit your arm.

"Sorry! Bad habit. "

She sighed. "Look, sweetie. I know you've been dealt a shitty hand in life the last few years but you gotta let it go. Not everything is a plot to a horror movie and not every guy is a psycho killer."

"I get it but...Shit. I'm seeing things and-"

She stopped you outside the theater doors. "Listen. People have been calling us non-stop. I'M going nuts from it; I can't imagine you! Not even a week in college and you gotta deal with these sick jokes. It's no wonder you're seeing things...Have you been getting enough sleep?"

You shrugged. "4 hours is enough, right?"

She gave you an unamused stare. "You're going to look 45 by the time you're 25 at that rate. You need to take care of yourself...And whatever awaits us on the other side of these doors-" She pointed to them before giving you a smile. "They gotta get through me first."

You gave a small smile before taking a deep breath and going in. Surprised to see half the room filled with college kids. Rowdy, talking, and lounging in the dim lighting. You were led by a guy to the front row of reserved seats. You cautiously looked at Halie, terrified it was going to be like Carrie but she grabbed you by the hand and led you there. You trusted her but not as much as you did Randy. You wished he was here with you...But after he left earlier, you didn't see him for the rest of the day.

You and Halie sat as you saw rustling through the curtains. You prepared yourself as you saw the curtains pull and one of the guys you recognized from the other day come out. You watched as the other two came out as well.

They held up a piece of paper to read it outloud. "We are gathered here…" He hesitated and a frat boy yelled out from the crowd. "SPEAK UP!"

He gritted his teeth. "...To say we were wrong."

The other one chimed in. "Now we have to stand here…"

The third finished, outstretching his arms and dropping the script. "And let the grenades go long!"

You looked down at the tomatoes sitting in a bucket at the seat. Halie released a long chuckle. "OOOHHHH they're pulling out that punishment. They must've really pissed off the elder brothers then."

"...They are seriously going to let us throw tomatoes at them?? Isn't this wasteful?"

Cici chimed in, overhearing from two rows up. "All donated by a local farmer. We paid for the good ones. The rotten ones were free."

"Well thank god for the Zeta's supporting small business." You sarcastically gave. "But seriously. We're allowed to chuck rotten tomatoes at them?"

"Oh, not just allowed. They gotta or they are out. I'd say them doing that to another brother's girl was a giant no no."

"I'm not his girl-" You didn't finish as you both ducked and squealed as tomatoes went flying over your heads, one hitting your seat and exploding.

"What if I said I was allergic?!" One guy on stage yelled and a frat boy yelled back. "You ate a BLT yesterday with extra tomatoes. Shut the hell up and take it!"

They dodged on stage until one hit one of them right in the face. "Is that all you got?!" He hollered as his frat brothers showed zero mercy.

Halie picked up a tomato and encouraged you to do the same. You grinned and didn't hesitate. Aiming right for their heads. Yelping as a tomato splashed on your arm and got on Halie. She scoffed in outrage. "Who did that?! This is new!" A girl from the top row gave her a smug look and Halie threw hers back up at her. "Oh fuck no, Tiffany. Eat it, bitch." You ducked as a downright war happened. The guys on stage were completely covered. Wiping their eyes and spitting out tomato guts from their lips.

You went to throw another, aiming right for the one's face. You hesitated when Derek stepped out from the stage. He outstretched his arms. "I deserve-" He didn't even finish as you hurled one and it smacked him right in the mouth. He gave you a disbelieving look, wiping his mouth. "Okay, I deserved-" You threw another that got his chest.

"Yeah, you do." You gave.

He went to walk towards you to talk among the chaos when he slipped on tomato guts and slid off his feet and off the stage. You instantly rushed to him as he laid on the ground half laughing half groaning in pain. He looked up at you from the ground with a mix of a grin and grimace on his face. "Well, that hurt."

"You okay?" You asked, helping him sit up and trying to talk through the noise.

He had tomato on the side of his face as he nodded. "Yeah...Listen YN. I had nothing to do with what these jerks did. Did I have anything to do with it, guys?" He yelled back at the stage. You heard one call back as he dodged a tomato to the face. "NOPE! All us!"

He gave you a look as he held your hand in his. "I'm still sorry, YN. It was between this or singing. The guys let me pick."

You chuckled. "I like this better."

You helped him stand up as he mumbled. "You really didn't hesitate, huh? Right to the face."

"Nope…And I'm gonna do it again." You grabbed a still whole tomato off the edge of the stage and smirked at him. He laughed and bent his knees to dodge. "Now YN, I apologized!"

"True...But your face is an easy target." You went to throw it and he dodged out of the way, picking one up off the ground and giving you a grin. "Okay, no more nice guy. You're getting it."

You gasped and dodged it only to get one to the back of the head from the crowd. The screams and laughter was contagious until it finally settled down and people ran out of produce to chuck.

Derek's white shirt was orange as he got up on stage to the three still there. "What do you say to YN for being douchebags?"

They hesitated before coughing. "Sorry...It was a dumb prank."

You looked at Derek. "Do I get one more hit?"

"Bombs away." He smirked as you held onto one last tomato, chucking it right at the one's face that was the biggest smartass.

The crowd died down. A few girls complained about tomatoes in their hair, Cici was giving beauty tips that it helped your complexion. The fraternity almost left but Derek stopped them. "Come on, guys! Gus will kill us."

They all argued amongst each other until Halie convinced a few sorority sisters to help. As a charity thing and to get time with the fraternities. It soon turned into a major clean up as they all talked.

You went up to clean the stage when you saw Mickey trying to sneak out. You didn't hesitate to grab some tomato and fling it at him. He gasped as it hit him right upside the head. He turned to you with raised brows. "...Seriously?"

"Seriously. You thought you could hide behind that stage and not get pelted, wuss?"

He gave a mocking scoff. "Wuss?! Those are fighting words." He picked up a tomato and flung it at you. Another war was almost waged before Halie scolded you both. "Damn it, I am not in sticky ass clothes washing floors for you two to make more messes I gotta clean! Pick up a rag and scrub."

You before cringed, picking up the mop again. "Sorry!"

It took you all an hour but the theater was cleaned. The directing teacher none the wiser as everyone started leaving. Rushing out as one of the girls suggested a sprinkler run while their clothes were a mess. The fraternity didn't hesitate to see the sorority in a wet t-shirt contest. Leaving you, Derek, Halie and Mickey to yourselves.

You were putting the mop away as Derek came up to you. "YN...Am I forgiven?"

You sighed with a smile. " Doing all this for a girl you barely knew? Yeah, I'd say so. I've been super stressed and that prank sent me over the edge...I think I just need to take a breather. It's going to be hard to do with Stab airing."

He smiled, holding your hand. "Whatever you need, I'm here."

You slowly smiled up at him. What Randy said ran through your mind and you shoved it away. Derek was willing to do all this for you to talk to him? It was more than you could ever hope for. Taking a risk and reaching up to peck his cheek. He dropped his smile, staring down at you before you both kissed. It was slow, chaste and sweet. His lips were sticky and had the taste on them from the tomato war. You smiled to yourself as he cupped your cheek. Both of you were a mess.

"This is so fast for me. At least, it is right now."

"We can go slow. It can just stay in this stage if you want. Whatever you need."

You both heard Mickey. "Hey, love birds. This water isn't going to dump itself."

You both smiled at each other before helping. You were on cloud 9.

—————————————————————

You and Halie showered. She was in there while you laid on the couch with a robe on the phone with Randy. "You missed so much fun, Ray! I got Mickey right in the back of the head and Derek square in the face." You giggled to yourself and Randy hummed in agreement.

"Yeah...Yeah sounds like a real blast. Guess that means you're forgiving Derek, huh?"

You sat up. "Yeah, of course."

"So you get to throw a few tomatoes at a guy's head and that makes up for it? That talk we had was just wasting oxygen, huh?"

You rolled your eyes. "Randy, he wasn't involved. I believe him. And of course it wasn't!... What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"Bull. You rushed away like you saw a ghost today and now you're being super defensive."

"Maybe I did…"

You paused. "...Wait, what?"

He groaned on the other line. "Nothing!...I just...Are you a thing with Derek now?"

"No. I mean we kissed but-" You heard the scoff on the other line. You raised a brow at that. "...Randy. Is there something you want to get off your chest?"

"Just the fact that you've barely known him for a few days and you're just enraptured by the guy. At this rate, you'll be engaged and ready to raise a suburban family of 3 by next year."

"Randy, I think I can make my own choices."

"Can you? You don't have a good track record-"

Your nostrils flared and you closed your eyes and interrupted him. "Randy….I appreciate your concern but I can make my own decisions. Okay? Besides, it just happened. I'm not dating him or anything. It was a kiss, that's all."

He sighed heavily on the other line. "Fine...But I will tell you I told you so if he breaks your heart for a second time."

You changed the subject. "Randy, enough about me. What did you see? I know you saw something or someone that freaked you out."

He was eerily quiet on the other line. "...Randy?"

You heard him hesitating before it came out. "I think your paranoia is rubbing off on me."

"Why?"

He was silent for a few more moments. "...Nevermind."

You groaned to yourself. "God, you're annoying. Just say it."

"I thought I saw someone but there is no way... Just drop it."

You bit your lower lip before releasing it with a sigh. "...You saw who I saw, didn't you? You saw Billy or Stu."

"I saw someone that reminded me of Billy. That's it."

You smacked the couch in frustration. "Randy, Billy had the scar I gave him. What are the odds of a guy looking identical to him with that scar?" He was eerily quiet. Your breath caught. "Oh my God...He had it, didn't he? The scar I gave him on his right cheek!"

"YN, I don't know! It was too far away...Anyways, this is your first weekend at college AND right before this Stab movie comes out. Wanna hang out or something?"

You rolled your eyes at him deflecting but nodded to yourself. "...Yeah, sure. Where at?"

"Bowling?"

"Bowling? Really?"

"Hey, it's $1 beers. They never card. All you can eat pizza. Just saying. It's right up the road from Windsor. It's become a thing."

You both talked a tad bit more before you hung up. Halie came out with a towel on her head in a robe. "Randy?"

"Yeah, he wants to go bowling this weekend. Of all weekends."

"Hey, don't knock it. Besides, it might do you good."

"Yeah, I guess."

"So...Is it just a you and him sort of thing?"

You sighed. "Halie, I swear. Randy is just a friend."

She smirked. "Yeah. Just like Derek is. Nothing wrong with passionately kissing your friend on the mouth in front of everyone."

You blushed as she chuckled and you covered your face with a pillow. "Listen, I don't know what to do. I didn't expect to have a guy like Derek so interested in me my first freakin week! And if Randy is too what am I-"

You paused mid sentence as the phone rang. She gave you a look, going to unplug it. "God, these phone calls are driving me fucking nuts!-"

You stopped her. "Let me answer. It might be Randy. His number is super weird and isn't coming up on my ID."

She sighed to herself as you answered. "Hi, if this is Ray or any other normal person. If it's a loser with no life but harassing a survivor; by law this is a penalty of up to-."

"Oh? Normal like you, YN? We both know you aren't. Your hands are stained red."

You rolled your eyes. Starting to become desensitized to all the constant calls. "What? No 'What's your favorite scary movie' shtick? Well, you get a 9 out of 10 for originality, I'll give you that much."

You brought it away to hang up.

"Hang up and someone fuckin dies! Maybe Halie? Or Randy? Or even that Derek you're so hung up on? Is that what you want?! They won't make it to your opening act as Cassandra."

You paused, even when Halie tried urging you to hang up.

They continued. "Remember what happened to your last boyfriend? Woodsboro police said it was the worst they had ever seen. It was the best other than Casey...But none of them was as satisfying as Sidney. She was a masterpiece. A plot to rival Hitchcock."

Your heart dropped to your stomach. Your hand shook as Halie looked concerned. "...Who is this?"

"YN. No one will be as satisfying as you. You're the new girl in this movie. Congratulations. The next Stab will have you getting exactly what you deserve."

"...Billy?" You couldn't help it. Halie sat back with raised brows at you as your voice trembled. "If this is you or Stu, you're both done! Just like last time! I'm not fucking with you!!"

"And what if I'm not them? Then what, YN? Or maybe I am? What are you going to actually do either way?...Watch out. Everything you touch dies, YN."

They clicked off and the phone practically fell from your hand. Halie grabbed it, yelling into it to demand who it was but they were gone. She rubbed your shoulder as you told her what they said.

"YN, plenty of people read Gale's book and Stab is coming out. So, they read it and assumed they knew you. Those two are long gone."

You got up and shook your head, a distant look in your eyes. "I don't think so...I'm going to bed. Goodnight." You excused yourself, barely sleeping that night.

—————————————————————

The weekend came. You had just come back from bowling with Randy. It was fun and just you and him. He never made a move and you swore to yourself Halie was just fishing for a love triangle.

Halie wasn't home, out on a date with a frat boy barking up her tree. You locked the door and plopped onto the sofa. Smiling to yourself at how perfectly normal the weekend was.

'Maybe they're right? Stu and Billy died in that fire. I mourned them for 2 years just as much as Tatum and Sidney. The odds of Randy being here was astronomical, let alone them surviving and seeking revenge...Randy would tell you it sounds like a bad plot to a sequel just to have the fans favorite characters come back.' You huffed to yourself as you flipped on the tv to unwind before getting ready for bed. 'You're stressed, the pranks are ridiculous right now...Maybe it's all in your head? .'

You were flipping channels. Suddenly, you saw the news. Almost turning it until you saw a news anchor outside a stab movie premiere.

'I thought that wasn't until tomorrow night?'

"Two victims were found dead inside the movie house on West street during the early release tonight. We have no new details of the victims ' names or the killer at this time."

You dropped the remote, your mouth hanging open. You instantly dialed Randy's number. He didn't answer and you pressed call again. He finally answered with a rushed voice.

"YN? I just walked in the door what-"

"Randy, turn on channel 6. Right now."

He grumbled to himself as you heard him find his remote. You could hear it in the background and how silent he was.

"Randy. It's happening again."

#scream fanfic #scream fanfiction #scream #scream 2 #ghostface #ghostface x reader #slashers #billy loomis #stu macher #randy meeks #yn fanfic #she her yn #yn fanfiction #reader insert #reader fanfiction #sequels suck #fanfic

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stusbunker · 3 years

Text

Laws Unspoken

A Supernatural A/B/O Fan-fiction

Featuring: Omega!Teacher Reader x Alpha!Lawyer Sam

Written for: @calaofnoldor for my 1k Jam Basket Fic Exchange

: @spnabobingo

: @supernatural-jackles Tell Me a Story Bingo

A/B/O Square filled: Daisies/Fresh Bread/Pine

TMASB Square filled: Quote C “Yeah, that’s it, baby, just like that.”

Word Count: 9908

Rating: Teen to Explicit real fast

Summary: You’re a single Omega whose mother lost her mate early. She always warned you to never let a mate determine your life. Your grandmother, your favorite person in the whole world told you different, spun tales of romance and everlasting love of a bonded pair since you were very young. At 30 you were ready to give up hope, until a dashing lawyer, and widower, Sam Winchester agrees to help you petition to save the local wetlands.

Warnings: Death of a spouse, mild angst, fluff, drunk Sam, protective brother Dean, hinted masturbation, smut, knotting, Hallmark level plot and gooey-ness.

A/N: Sweet, sweet Cala. I am so incredibly sorry this took me MONTHS longer than I had intended it would. I really hope you find it satisfactory and that enough of your jams were included. Thank you for putting up with me! xoxo Thank you to @cracksinthewalls @rockhoochie and @lastactiontricia for helping this in all its various forms!

Sundays were the best day of the week. A day of relaxation and reconnection. The day you set aside to visit your grandmother for brunch, no matter how busy you got, you made time for her. She was your favorite person, and though she’d never admit it to your cousins, you were hers too.

You arrived just after ten, having spent the night before out with friends. The house smelled of eggs caked in cheese and freshly baked bread, warm and as inviting as ever. She hollered at you to join her and soon you were wrapped in the comfort of her embrace. You were at once five and fifteen and the thirty year old you presently were; her love and your bond were timeless.

You ate while telling her about your previous week and catching up on the gossip from her neighborhood. Her crass talk was only equaled by her compassion and it was such a relief to feel her acceptance after your last phone call with your mother. She grinned at you in a way that only meant trouble.

“How ‘bout we forget the dishes and get some fresh air?”

Sam Winchester didn’t exercise as much as he’d like. On the off chance he didn’t have work overflow onto his weekends, he made sure to get a long run in. Sundays were best because they were quiet and the trails were nearly empty. It gave him time to think, to breathe and to feel alive. Something he would never take for granted again.

He began with a rushed stretching session, however thorough. The gravel was still wet beneath him from the nightly spring dew. Sam inhaled, letting the cool air clear his head. He checked his watch and started down the eastern trail that looped around the entire wildlife sanctuary. Sam had the whole day and he wasn’t going to waste a single second of it.

By his third mile he was rounding the bend, returning to his starting point, the juncture of all of the trailheads. Just as Sam turned to take the smaller inner loop, for a more picturesque route a gravelly feminine voice huffed out conspiratorially, “now that’s an Alpha.”

Sam looked back to see an older woman with her daughter or granddaughter turn and giggle. Embarrassed at their acknowledgement, and perhaps a little empathetic for the younger woman, Sam grinned, but didn’t reply. He continued to run, but his mind was elsewhere. Something about the women’s blatant objectification of his sweaty self gave Sam pause. It had been a long time since he thought of himself that way. It almost felt like a joke. But the longer he thought it over, the longer he felt flattered.

He slowed to a walk for his cool down, again taking the outer trail with deliberate hope that he would run into the women. What was he doing? Going out of his way for a chance at an ego boost? Real mature, counselor. But he couldn’t help it. Something about the brief encounter made Sam curious. And that was not something he ever left unfulfilled.

Forty minutes later and Sam had given up on seeing the pair of catcallers again. It was a silly venture anyway, but it had given Sam such beautiful scenery along the way. Which only reinforced his drive for the coming work week.

The town council meeting was scheduled to begin at six thirty on Thursday the twelfth. You arrived at six fifteen, hoping to get a good spot, skipping dinner in the process to make it in time after work. The meeting hall was already half filled, while the council member chairs were empty. Security casually stood at each exit, giving the air of formality you weren’t used to. You swallowed and held your bag close, filing down the center aisle to an open spot in the third row. You didn’t recognize anyone from the school you worked at or from growing up in town. Suddenly you felt very out of place.

Out of habit you scrolled through your phone until a quick gavel knock and amped voice announced the start of the meeting. You soon realized it had become standing room only. Making the reason you were there all the more desperate, because if all of these people had an opinion, you wanted to make sure your concerns were heard at the very least.

They read the minutes from the previous month’s meeting and did some other formalities until the council chair began to read the agenda for the evening.

The development proposal for the wetlands was near the end of the list, which meant if enough people spoke, it would be pushed to next month. Something that would plague you for the interim, you needed to shut it down as soon as possible to stop the greedy bastards from pushing their agenda any longer.

Two hours and only three topics had been voted on. Leaving you and twenty or so others crabby and vocal about the remaining agenda items. It was then that a tall, well-dressed man stepped out of line and spoke to the council out of turn.

“I’d like to move for the Morningstar Wetland Development to be discussed next.”

“You can’t just cut in line, Sam.” The man heading the council reprimanded. “We’ve got protocols for these things. What kind of lawyer are you?”

The man ducked in front of the microphone at the front of the line, whispering his apologies to the grumpy Karen type who had last aired her grievances. “Sorry, Bobby, it’s just a big deal. And not just to me, but it was to Jess.”

The entire room was silent. Clearly, the two men knew each other. The councilman looked empathetic. You didn’t know who this Jess was, but it touched a nerve. There were whispers throughout the room as everyone waited for the man to reply.

“Yeah, I know it was. But we’ll hear your pleas next meeting.” Bobby then spoke to the whole room, “we will hear all of your pleas next month. Thank you, but this meeting is adjourned for time. Good night and drive safe, folks.”

The room erupted in protest, but logical brains won out. Letting the outrage simmer as everyone gathered their belongings and slowly moved to the exits. You knew the parking lot would be a mess, so you stayed put, hoping to catch up to the disruptive attorney. You potentially had someone on your side and you couldn’t lose that hope.

As the room cleared, you spotted him deep in conversation with another Alpha, also in a well tailored suit. You inhaled deeply and marched up to the men, determined to get to the bottom of your suspicions.

“Hey! I’m curious, what is your stance on the wetlands development proposal? Because that was what I wanted to speak on, not that I got the chance,” you interrupted the conferring men, both a little wide eyed at your brazenness.

“Decidedly against,” the towering Alpha with long hair replied. Something told you that you knew this guy, but you couldn’t place him. Meanwhile the man beside him was not so discreetly eyeing you suggestively. “Sam Winchester, and you are?”

You introduced yourself, taking his large hand in a firm handshake. “Now, I’m no lawyer, but my grandmother lives in The Veil Villas and I can’t stand to have some shopping monstrosity built next door.”

Sam looked at the other man and chuckled before returning his earnest gaze to you. “The kind of grandmother that catcalls younger Alphas out on a morning run?”

You instantly blushed, the heat and revelation coursing through your veins. “Maybe. Oh Christ, that was you?”

“Guilty.”

“I’m gonna go find Bobby. Talk to you later, Sammy,” the other Alpha bowed out respectively. Which oddly made you feel more comfortable, being one on one.

“I’ll see you at home, Dean,” Sam answered without breaking eye contact with you.

Once the other man was out of earshot, “I don’t know many Alpha couples,” you pointed out fondly.

“Me neither. He’s my brother,” Sam replied glibly. Again, struck with embarrassment, you found yourself shifting on your feet.

“Look, I’d love to get your help on this. Want to grab a drink and discuss what we can do before the next council meeting?” Sam offered just as your stomach growled audibly.

Sheepishly you giggled. “Make it dinner and you’ve got yourself a deal.”

“Deal,” Sam promised with another firm handshake.

Sam couldn’t help watching the clock on the wall. He hadn’t hated that clock until now. But tonight, it wasn’t moving fast enough. He waited in his office after work for a strategy meeting on community organizing against the recent wetlands project. With a very particular Omega that had thrown him for a loop.

Why was he so nervous? It wasn’t a date. Even when you two had gone to dinner after the previous week’s town council meeting you had been painfully professional. He didn’t want to lose your help, but he could feel his feelings rushing past attraction and straight to affection for you. It was unsettling to say the least. Sam hadn’t had feelings like this in so long. Not since Jessica.

It had been over two years since her death and Sam had forgotten the thrill of getting to know someone that made him like this. This being internally flustered and outwardly excitable. Eighteen minutes, Sam just needed to keep it together for a little longer. He didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. After all, you had work to do.

Once Sam had his desk reorganized and his tie and jacket resituated, he heard a gentle knock on the doorframe.

“Hey, Sam,” you called out, smiling bright as Sam stood hastily, knocking back his chair. “Whoa, everything alright?”

Sam, obviously flustered, righted the chair. “No---- it’s fine. I’m--- good. You? How are you?”

You chuckled at his awkwardness, it was actually pretty cute, not that you were letting yourself think that. “Good. Tired. Same old, same old. Whatcha got for me?”

You eyed the stack of manila folders on the side of his desk, hopeful you could be of use. Sam smirked and sat back down, trying not to breathe in your scent too deeply. “Lots. How do you feel about canvassing?”

And he did his best to convince you to join him on the huge undertaking of collecting signatures of the people living around the wetlands. It wasn’t a struggle exactly, but you had a lot of questions. Questions that often came when Sam was looking into your eyes instead of listening to your words. He was doing his best, he really was. At the end of it all, the entire proposal and explanation, a mere thirty minutes had passed.

“When are we going to do all this?” You asked, slightly flustered, eyes wide with the reality of your already limited free time.

“Whenever we can. I know my work schedule is a little demanding, but I try really hard to keep my weekends open. I was hoping we could start Saturday. If you’re free.” Sam raised his eyebrows and almost puckered his lips. Hoping you had the time to spare, for saving the wetlands, of course. He only needed your help, he didn’t need to see you. At least that is what he told himself.

You exhaled through your mouth and opened your phone’s calendar. “I have to drop off some things for a fundraiser Saturday morning, but I should be done before nine, since that’s when the event starts. I don’t have to be there in person, per se. But it is for work.”

“The school is having a---?” Sam asked, curious and slightly impressed by your generosity.

“A bake sale and rummage sale, nine to three,” you explained with a sigh.

“Why don’t we do a booth? I mean, if that’s okay? I can have information printed and that way you’re there, you’re supporting the school and hopefully getting some signatures. If it doesn’t work, we can go out for real on Sunday?”

Sam internally kicked himself. He just asked you to spend your entire weekend with him.

“You’d do all that?” You asked, clearly surprised by the lengths he would go.

“Absolutely. Besides, I have a brother who eats pie by the tin. I owe him after ditching him last week. And what better way than a trip to a bake sale?”

“So, Dean will be there too?” Sam caught a touch of disappointment in your voice.

“I doubt he’ll stick around. But he’ll help us set up. So? What do you think?” Sam was earnest, the possibility was intoxicating. Both of spending time with him again and of stopping the development.

“I’ll check with the PTA, but since we’re not asking for anything monetary, I think we should be good. I’ll text you when I hear from them?”

“That’d be great,” Sam smirked. “But for now? Let’s just plan on me picking you up on Saturday morning around 8:30.”

“Let’s say 8, we can stop for coffee on the way.” You returned his easy smile.

“Deal.” Sam had to look away, the butterflies in his stomach were beginning to give him false hope.

You made it inside your apartment and exhaled, for what felt like the first time all day. Seventy-two signatures and seven and a half hours after Sam picked you up, you were exhausted. You don’t think you had ever talked so much in your life and all you wanted to do was relax. But instead you had to shower and get ready for dinner with your mother, who had called in the middle of the day nearly demanding to see you.

Might as well get it over with.

It wasn’t that you didn’t get along with your mother, but as an only child you had dealt with her every expectation and worry for as long as you could remember. And the interruption of your day by her phone call had put a definite kink in your momentum with gaining support and signatures. It would be good to see her, it would. You just needed to psych yourself up for the task.

An hour and a half later she was buzzing to be let in. Her timeless Omega beauty still notable into her fifties, she smiled softly at your frenzied appearance.

“Is everything alright?” She just had a way of reading beneath the surface, especially yours.

“Yup! Just had a long day is all,” you answered, slipping into your light jacket before grabbing your keys. “How’ve you been?”

“Oh, you know me, nothing too pressing. Ready?” She hugged you and kissed the side of your head.

Dinner was decadent, the restaurant your mother had suggested was new and certainly lived up to the hype you’d seen on your friends’ socials.

“Isn’t this great? All locally sourced and owned and operated by people who get what the town wants,” your mother conspired over her entree.

“Funny you should say that, I’m working on a new project.” Your mother’s face lit up, she always liked to hear that you kept busy. “Community focused. I’m working with a local lawyer gathering signatures to stop that awful development from going in by Grandma.”

She barely paused. “When’d this all happen?”

“Last week, but we just started the petitioning today. That’s why I’m so tired--- lots of talking.”

“Who’s the lawyer?”

You started to fidget. “Um, younger guy, but also local. Though I don’t remember him from school. Sam Winchester?” You took a drink of your water, trying not to make a big deal of it. Praying your mother didn’t deduce how impressed and invested you were becoming with Sam himself and not just the project.

“Winchester, sounds familiar. But I can’t place it. When do you need to gather the signatures?” She was clearly working out a timeline for following up with you. Not micromanaging at all.

“Next town council meeting we hope to present them. Though we’re not sure it will even make a difference. That’s a lot of revenue the town could lose if we stop it before it starts.”

“Well I’m glad to hear you’re being level-headed about it. You know I hate you to get your hopes up.” She seemed to miss her cue for encouragement.

“Of course,” you added shortly.

“And it’s not interfering with work?”

“Not at all. Sam works even more hours than I do. We agreed to keep it to nights and weekends.”

“So, it’s only the two of you?” Now she was really sinking her nails into this thing.

“For now. I suppose we should discuss recruitment when we get together tomorrow.” Why hadn’t you thought of that?

“I see. That’s an awful lot of time to spend with someone. Is he an Alpha?”

“Mom!” You huffed in annoyance.

She raised her hands in mock surrender. “I just want you to be safe---.” She stabbed at the last bit of her meat. “And smart.”

“Yes, he’s an Alpha. But he’s a widower, so I don’t feel like I have as much to worry about, overall. You know?”

Your mother froze midchew, giving you a wet grimace. She didn’t have anything more to say on the matter. It was a low blow for you to use Sam’s loss against her, but it was the clearest path. She could understand his situation in a way no one else could. Your father had died when you were a toddler and, as your mother always told you, you were the only thing that kept her going. The loss of a mate was unbearable for her and so she raised you to be independent, to never let an Alpha try and solve your problems.

She had your best interests in mind, but it left a lonely life path laid out for you. You’d dated Beta’s, but they always grew too insecure in the end, your Omega needs and tendencies too overwhelming when you’d let your guard down. You didn’t want to end up like your mother, especially without pups of your own. But you didn’t dare disappoint her either.

She changed the subject once the emotion had left her features, and the rest of the meal went smoothly, however clouded.

In the end, recruitment hadn’t been necessary, not once you had revealed your plans to your Grandmother during your weekly brunch. So, that is how the following weekend Sam was stuck playing twenty questions with her while they canvassed her neighbors. You were paired with Tonya, a fellow teacher from your school. You went door-to-door along the manicured lawns of the houses on the far side of the nature preserve. There weren’t as many people home as you’d hoped for a Saturday, but you still managed an additional two dozen signatures.

“Ninety-seven?!” You gaped at your grandmother over lunch. You looked to Sam for confirmation.

“It would have been ninety-eight, but Glen Wilson died last week,” she clarified. “But got his wife to sign anyhow.”

“You’re cruel,” you teased.

“She’s vindictive,” Sam pinpointed it. Everyone laughed.

“Tonya, honey, maybe we should partner up this time? Us pro’s ought to show the slow pokes how it’s done?”

Vindictive isn’t the only word you wanted to use for her. Your grandmother was none too shyly playing matchmaker and it instantly made you warm in the cheeks.

“Samuel, you’ll have to teach my granddaughter some tricks. Those puppy dog eyes are a real clincher.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Sam agreed, grinning bashfully.

Two hours and Sam and you had already matched your morning total.

“And I thought it was just schmoozing old ladies! You really know how to say what people want to hear,” you praised in near dismay.

Sam waved off your compliment with the clipboard. “Comes with the territory. Knowing how to lead a witness or sway a jury---,”

“I thought you handled corporate law?” You stopped in confusion.

“I do. It’s--- I--- I was a prosecutor. Almost the next Assistant D.A. actually. But someone I got locked up killed my wife.” You gasped. “It’s okay. I mean--- it’s not--- it will never be okay. But, anyway, I switched focus after that. I couldn’t do it objectively anymore. I just kept seeing monsters instead of people.” Sam exhaled and started moving once more.

“Sam, I’m so sorry! I had no idea,” you apologized for bringing up such a dreadful subject.

“I know. Jess is why I had to get this thing stopped. She loved this place.” Sam turned, sighing as he looked over the sunkissed pond. “We used to come out here when we were kids. ---- Dean and whoever his significant other was at the time, Me and Jess, our friend Garth and his Alpha Bess. Just spend the day.---- The trails are all I use anymore, but there’s lots of love left behind here. I can’t lose that too, you know?”

Hearing Sam talk about his late wife hit you with a wave of emotion, sympathy, awe and that forever present loneliness. Which then made you feel guilty and ashamed. He’d been through such horror, you couldn’t envy him his memories. They were all he had left.

“My father died when I wasn’t even three.” Sam inhaled audibly. “I don’t remember him, it’s okay. But my mother--- from what I gather--- was never the same. So--- I just wanted to say that I think you’re an amazing man, Sam Winchester. Losing your Omega so young and working to preserve her memory---- I’m glad we’re doing this. I’m honored to help.”

You didn’t realize you had grabbed Sam’s arm until he leaned into your touch. He bit his bottom lip before he started to speak,” Thanks. And I’m sorry for your loss too.”

You gave him a gracious smile before turning to head back to the sidewalk, but Sam didn’t follow.

“It’s--- I--- well, Jess wasn’t my Omega. Yes, she was my entire world. But we fell in love before either of us presented. She never did. Jess was my wife, but she was a Beta. So--- whatever your mom went through--- it was probably a lot different.”

You took that all in, nodding dumbly as he caught up to you. Sam hadn’t been mated, he’d only been married. Only?! But your mind wouldn’t stop playing with that part of his story. What kind of person were you, feeling something akin to relief in someone else’s tragedy?

“Shall we?” Sam gestured you to the next walkway. You stepped forward to lead the way, still lost in your own thoughts.

One thousand eighty three signatures, seventeen walked miles, two late night dinners turned philosophy sessions, and several blisters later, you and Sam arrived at the town council meeting, together. Dean escorted your grandmother in on his elbow, while Tonya and your mother promised to meet you there. It was show time. Sam had filled you in on how he knew Mayor Singer, a crotchety family friend who won his position as a write-in candidate. Which gave you hope that he’d be lenient to your pleas. But the unamused look on the man’s face as he took the center seat made you rethink all of your aspirations. He didn’t seem like the type to suffer fools.

The meeting began, much like the previous month’s, except this time you were on the edge of your seat. Sam looked over everything, whispering under his breath as he reread his proposal. If anyone could get this thing stopped, it was Sam. You had seen his brilliance and his tenacity in action. Your faith in him, in his abilities, had only grown over the past few weeks.

It was the “it’s just business” defense that you were banking on plowing over everything you all had worked for. Because no matter how many people were on your side, or how many more you could still gain, money always spoke first and loudest. Dean cleared his throat and nodded Sam toward the back entrance. Sam’s face dropped and a deep growl escaped his chest. Taken aback, you spun to see who had set him off. A smarmy looking man, maybe ten or fifteen years older than you swaggered in late. He was blonde and he looked like he felt he was too good to be there.

“Morningstar himself,” Dean muttered for your benefit.. The competition had arrived.

Your mother mouthed at you down the row, ‘who is that?’. You just shook your head, a clear ‘not someone we wanted to see’. This shifted your agenda and Sam turned and whispered in your ear. “I want you to open. We’re going to make this about the town, about regular people.”

You looked at him in panic, but he only gave you a wolfish smirk. He shouldered out of his suit jacket and rolled up his sleeves, showing off the bottoms of his upper sleeves of tattoos. The cords of muscle on his unmarred forearms drew your focus and you had to swallow the drool that had filled your mouth. You closed your eyes against the pleasing sight and willed yourself to focus.

You looked over your shoulder, passed Dean, to your grandmother, she gave you an encouraging, if knowing smile and two thumbs up. You rolled your eyes playfully but held her gaze. She believed in you, even if it was for an entirely different reason than the one you were looking at her for. It was enough.

You were ready. You followed Sam into the aisle and queued behind three other citizens waiting to bring their items before the council. Many of the attendees had returned from last month’s meeting, their familiarity gave you the clarity to speak candidly. All too soon, it was your turn at the mic.

You introduced yourself and Sam, stating your addresses and occupations before you truly began. “And we’re here to ask the town council to deny the rezoning plea for the Wetlands and to stop the negotiations with Morningstar Investments for their proposed commercial developments of the area. It is not right for this town and it is certainly not right for the pond and the countless species that call those acres home. My grandmother included.” You earned a few laughs, of which you knew one was from Dean. You looked up at Sam and he gave you a mischievous dimple.

“In all seriousness, for those of us who grew up here, who can remember a summer without a dip in Crowley Pond? Or a spring without a class field trip to collect tadpoles or a founder’s day picnic before the weather turned each fall? That land is as part of this town as the people are, because it helped make us who we are. We can’t give that up for the sake of progress or more buildings. Buildings and jobs don’t make a town. Memories do. People do. Those connections with the natural world keep us human. Don’t let big city money come in and try and change us, just so they can use us for more tax breaks. Please, Mayor Singer, council members, my fellow citizens, please deny their rezoning application and stop these absurd negotiations.”

You paused long enough for a barrage of applause to rage around the room. Sam grabbed your shoulders encouragingly and you stepped to the side to let him close.

“Over the last few weeks we have gathered over one thousand signatures from voting citizens who agree this deal needs to end now. I present them to the council in good faith.” Sam held up a manila folder and Mayor Singer waved him forward. They shared a brief exchange, but each man kept his poker face. “We’d like this item to be voted on tonight. But are prepared to come back until the council is ready to take this issue seriously.”

The room stood silent as the mayor glanced through the collected petition. He passed it to the alderwoman on his left and let them each assess the presented information. You felt your entire body thrumming in suspense.

“For the record, I’ve known Sam Winchester since before he was born. So I’m airing my biases for public transparency. I’ve also been fishing at Crowley Pond longer than that. And I’ll be damned if I see it turned into a hoity toity boardwalk with designer shops that I can’t even pronounce the names of. But it’s not just up to me,” Mayor Singer explained honestly.

Another alderwoman in the last seat at the right end of the council stage spoke into her mic. “I represent 70% percent of the residents that live on or near the wetlands. The amount of calls I’ve received, both on my home phone and my office line, over this deal have tripled over the last month. The vast majority, upwards of 4 out of 5, do not want this thing to proceed. Call it N.I.M.B.Y or just plain stubbornness, I don’t care, but I am prepared to call this item to a vote, Mayor.”

“Thank you, Jody,” Bobby obliged. “Alright, seconded?”

The lone black man on the council leaned forward and replied. “I second this motion.”

“Thank you Rufus,” Bobby continued. “All in favor?” Five more alderpeople spoke up. “All opposed?”

A single voice spoke up. You won, it was seven to one, not counting the Mayor’s vote. The room erupted in triumph. You jumped into Sam’s embrace, feeling his strong arms jostle you in victory. “We did it, huh?” His voice rumbled through his chest into your very being.

The gavel silenced your celebration, causing you to break apart from Sam’s hold. “On the second item. Ceasing any and all negotiations with Morningstar Investments on a proposed commercial district within town limits. I believe it is too early to vote on this matter, as the petitions were about the aforementioned wetlands. Anyone else think we should table this for future discussion?”

The council members whispered among themselves, hands over their microphones. Sam’s arm hung heavy over your shoulder, but you faced the deciding members head on.

“I move that we wait for more information, sir. It is too early in the process to stop any sort of deal with Morningstar or their subsidiaries. We have no clue what else they could propose,” the lone dissenter pressed.

“Seconded,” Linda Tran, your alderwoman agreed. The crowd murmured, but the council moved forward with the vote. Five to three the council voted to table ceasing the negotiations. It took the wind out of your sails a bit, but it wasn’t the crux of the battle for you. Sam thanked the council and you both returned to your seats, and the flood of congratulations from your ragtag group of supporters.

“I think the tats sold it, Sammy,” Dean teased, flicking Sam’s tricep.

“Whatever, it was all Y/N,” Sam argued, giving you a proud smirk. You felt higher than ever, too excited with your combined success to feel self conscious over his praise.

“We did it, all of us,” you affirmed with a stage whisper.

“Harvelles’ to celebrate?” Dean asked Sam over your head.

“Definitely.”

You rolled out of bed the following Sunday morning feeling the twisting ache of an upcoming heat. You’d been on suppressants for years, so they didn’t come regularly, but you never were completely free of them. You mentally started making plans for your usual substitute teacher as you got dressed to go to your grandmother’s. It was one of the perks of working for a small school district, knowing the entire pool of substitutes and being able to have your pick. It kept things consistent for your students and smooth for both you and the sub.

After sending out an email to your principal, you made your way across town. You were a little late, so you didn’t notice the familiar Charger parked near the end of the street, but you certainly smelled Sam the moment you opened your grandmother’s patio door. He had always smelled good to you, but it was thicker today, like he was excited about something. Once you calmed down your body’s response to Sam’s scent, your mind caught up. What was he even doing there?

“Hi?” You called out as you slipped into the breakfast nook, keeping your distance.

Sam looked up from his coffee nervously, a tee shirt clung to his chest and everything clicked into place. He hadn’t been expecting to be there, but your grandmother had dragged him in off the trail to have brunch. Talk about pushy.

“Sorry?” Sam sifted in his seat, visibly breathing shallowly through his mouth. He could already smell your simmering heat.

“It’s okay. I mean, who could have known?” You offered, tugging your cardigan tighter around your neck.

“Known what?” Your grandmother made her appearance. “Young Omega, you did not show up here on the cusp of a heat. What are you doing out?! We have a guest!”

You rolled your eyes. “I see that. MAYBE I wouldn’t have come over if I had known you were going to force feed Sam breakfast.”

“That’s the hormones talking, she doesn’t get lippy with me like she does her mother,” your grandmother explained to Sam, who looked more uncomfortable by the second, with his large body overflowing her tiny chair.

“Sorry, Grandma,” you acquiesced. “Can I help with anything?”

She looked between you and Sam and sighed. “How about we eat on the veranda? Samuel, think you can manage the table?”

Fifteen minutes later and everyone was something closer to relaxed. The spring breeze was strong enough to keep your mingling scents from becoming too powerful. Your grandmother led the conversation, asking Sam about his family, his summer plans, his work, always working in an anecdote or a sly boast about you in the meantime.

“Grandma, when does your shuffleboard league start up again?” You started off diplomatically enough. “I think you have too much time on your hands these days.”

Sam choked on his French toast.

“What about yourself? Now that this wetlands ordeal is over with. You going back to your usual nightly Netflix binge?” You should have known better to even question her; fire with fire was one thing, but she was a blow torch.

“This is an amazing recipe, I bet Dean’d love it. Would you mind?” Sam started asking your grandmother, but she was not amused by his segue. He promptly shut up.

With little fanfare, your grandmother stood and collected her place setting. “Look, I think you two need to talk, so I’m going to start the dishes. I do not want nor do I need your help. There are a lot of them. Take your time. Do you understand?”

You squirmed under her directness, but you nodded as you nibbled on a slice of bacon. Sam mumbled a ‘yes ma’am’, which only earned him your side eye. Once she was out of earshot, you drooped against your seat back.

“Again, I’m sorry for intruding on your meal, I just ---- I wanted to check in after you ditched us at the bar,” Sam began.

“I didn’t ditch you, it was a school night! Tonya left too,” you deflected.

“Totally understandable, but I haven’t heard from you since--- I kind of thought--- did I do something wrong?” Sam soldiered on.

“No, of course not, it’s just---.” You didn’t know how to explain your upbringing without insulting his Alpha status or making assumptions about where this conversation was going.

“Just, what?” Sam looked at you with a soft curiosity and you pinched the inside of your knee to stop yourself from getting too comfortable under his gaze.

“I guess, I didn’t know what this was? Now, you know? Now that we accomplished what we set out to do. I didn’t want to make you feel obligated to my friendship or---,” you talked with your hands, thoughts and words stumbling over each other.

“Hey, no one is obligated here, okay? I enjoy spending time with you,” Sam said it like it was easy, simple even. You sighed at his certainty.

“I like--- spending time with you too,” you agreed, a bit fuzzy. He smiled shyly and looked away.

“You know, this doesn’t have to be just friendship, right? If you’re interested, I mean, of course,” Sam didn’t quite meet your eye. Damnit. He was leaving it all up to you. Of course you were interested, but it didn’t mean you could do anything about it.

“I really wish it was that easy,” you whispered, dejection hugging you tight. “But I can’t exactly let an Alpha in, not with my mother and not with my mind so fuzzy. I know you’re a good man, Sam Winchester, but I don’t want to be the next woman you lose.”

Sam’s eyebrows shot to the sky, his face dropped at the rough path your words cut through him. “Well, I guess we’ll just have to stay friends. For now.”

“Sure, if you’re going to be okay with that?” You were surprised by his olive branch.

“I am if you are,” Sam looked you straight in the eye, silently pleading for something you didn’t know how to give.

“Good,” you broke off, almost like a question. Even with the warm wind, you found the air to be stifling on the porch. You quickly cleared yours and Sam’s plates, leaving him to his thoughts for a few minutes of reprieve for you both.

Your grandmother was scrubbing a glass pan when you brought in the last remaining dishes. She didn’t have to look at you to know something was wrong. “Please don’t lose this one. He’s good for you, sweetheart.”

You hadn’t realized you’d been silently crying until you sniffled. “I can’t have an Alpha, not after Dad, Grandma, you know that.”

“Can’t or won’t?” She turned, leaning her sudsy hands against the lip of the sink. “Your mother filled your head with only the worst case scenarios. There is so much more to love than loss. It’s just a part of the journey. Sam knows that and if he’s willing to try again, you’ve got to be brave enough to try at all.”

“You act like this is easy! Like taking a dive into Crowley Pond on a dare! This feels like suicide, like I’m digging my own grave.” You screech at her, gasping when a sudden wave of cramps knocks on your heels.

“Now’s not the time to be too rash. Let’s get you home? Do you think you can drive yourself, yet?” She quickly wiped her hands on a dishtowel and looked around for her purse.

You nodded, too afraid to answer as you worked to gather your emotions.

“Okay, let’s just take Sam the leftovers and call it a day?” Your grandmother had bundled all of the extras for Dean afterall. But when you both had made it back to the patio, Sam was nowhere to be seen.

You didn’t know which emptiness was worse, the one in your core, or the one in your chest.

You didn’t remember answering the phone, but suddenly, in your hormonal haze, Sam’s voice was in your ear.

“I’d be able to protect, you know,” Sam sounded off, a bit slower and gruffer in pitch than normal.

“Sam? What time is it?!” You squinted in the dark of your bedroom, knowing it was the middle of the night.

“It’s late. But I just needed you to know--- that. That I’d be a good Alpha. I’d take care of you. I wouldn’t let you get hurt, I’m stronger now. Since Jess.”

Oh, boy.

“How much have you had to drink?” You sat up, swallowing against a sudden wave of nausea.

“Some--- and then some more. I’m fine. Dean’s here. He says hi. He’s got a black eye, but it’s my life, you know?”

“Hey, Sam?”

He hummed in pleasure. “I like the way you say my name.”

He’d be really annoying if he wasn’t so adorable. “Can I talk to Dean for a second? Just a quick sec, then we can talk some more.”

“Dean didn’t want me to call you, but sure, go ahead, talk to my brother, why not, right?! It’s not like you’re my girlfriend or anything, can’t get jealous over nothing.” You had a growing suspicion that Sam was going to regret this phone call in the morning.

There were some muffled voices and something that sounded like a struggle, but soon Dean’s voice came on the line, smooth and placating, “I’m really sorry about this, but the fucker cold cocked me when I went to hide his phone.”

You laughed at the grown men behaving like teenagers. “How long has he been in the bottle?”

“Since I got home from disc golf around 3. I know it’s not really my place, but what even happened?” Dean’s big brother worry was endearing, but you really didn’t want to embarrass yourself or Sam any further.

“Let’s just say I messed things up and now Sam thinks I think he’d let me die--- or get hurt--- or something if we were together,” you hoped that made any sense whatsoever. You covered the mic on your phone as a sudden cramp made you groan, gasping, you tried to catch all of Dean’s response.

“--- a big baby. I don’t know what you know about Jess’s death, but you gotta know he did everything he could. The low life was never gonna stop. He got the death penalty. He’s never coming back. Anyway, just know that my brother is the best there is. And I hate seeing him like this. So either state your case or make a clean break, because I am not putting up with him like this for long.”

You rolled over and reached up to turn on the bedside light, vertigo slowing your movements. You didn’t know where to go with this conversation. “Understood. Can I talk to Sam again? If he’s lucid enough, I mean.”

You heard Dean bark at Sam to take the phone. You tried to breathe through your pain.

“Y/N? You there?” Sam sounded panicked.

“I’m here. How you feeling Sam?”

“Sleepy. How are you feeling? Are you okay all alone? Does it hurt? They always say it hurts. But I don’t know if it’s worse or better than a period. God you guys really have it bad. All we get is ruts, and that’s not even that bad. Just messy and---,”

You interrupted before you started down a path from which neither of you would be able to resist continuing. “I’m fine, Sam. I’m used to being alone for this.”

“Oh, yeah, I guess you’re right,” Sam conceded. “Dean says I should let you go. But I don’t want to.”

Your heart crystallized inside your chest. “He, uh, I think he means to hang up, Sam. You don’t have to let me go-go.”

“Yeah?” He sounded almost euphoric.

“Yeah. Hey, I’m going to call you tomorrow. I’m not sure when I’ll be up. But I’m guessing you’re going to be calling in sick for work anyway. Is that okay?”

“You calling me is okay, but I don’t understand why you can’t just talk to me now,” Sam had a point.

“Because, one, you’re drunk and two, I really need to take care of things here before I can talk to you again.” You laid into the innuendo.

“Okay, sure, yeah, you go take care of things. I’ll--- I’ll, uh, talk to you tomorrow,” Sam chuckled. You could picture his face, eyes slightly unfocused, but still earnest, still sweet.

“Okay, goodnight Sam. Drink lots of water for me, okay?”

“Dean’s already got me covered. Sweet dreams, Y/N,” he sounded more alert than he had the entire call. You tried not to feel good about turning his mood around, since you had sent him into this spiral in the first place.

“You too,” you hung up just in time for a chill to run down your spine. You reached for your side table and prayed you had enough batteries to last you the rest of the night.

Sam knew this was a bad idea, showing up at your place. But you said you’d call and you never did. You hadn’t answered your phone, from either his or Dean’s number. He just had to be sure that you were okay. Once he reached your apartment door he could barely stand from all the blood rushing to his groin. Your all too familiar scent of daisies, fresh bread and pine had sweetened with your heat and permeated the entire hallway. With a quick glance around, Sam adjusted his hardening cock in his pants before he knocked.

With his ear flush to your door, Sam listened for signs of life. He heard something vaguely like footsteps and a groan. He tried to remember if you had mentioned any pets, but before he got too far into his guessing game, the door opened a crack. Your scent was so powerful, he could taste your slick through the four inch window your chain lock granted him. Sam couldn’t move, he was struck dumb by your needy stare.

“Al---What are you doing here?!” Your voice was rough as if you’d just awoke.

“You didn’t call.” Sam shrugged, trying to be casual. “I thought I’d check on you.”

You had forgotten about your promise, the mindless hours between sleep had left you barely human. You tried to remember where you’d set down your phone. You shifted and then said the first thing that came to mind.

“Do you want to come in?”

Sam swallowed and tried to stop himself from breathing. “If I do, I’m not going to leave.”

You shut the door in his face. Sam closed his eyes and accepted your rejection. Before he could turn to leave, he heard the scraping of the chain unlatching and the door reopening before his very eyes. “By all means.”

He had no idea how you sounded so strung out and sexy at the same time, but his feet followed while his brain was left in the hallway. Sam was on you before you could relock the door, one hand on your jaw and the other gathering you to him at your waist. He stopped just short of kissing you blind, needing to see the consent in your eyes first. You whined against his lips and pecked at him, once, twice until Sam could do nothing but open up for you. Your kiss was everything he had been missing, hot, sweet and unbelievably soft.

Your body melted into his as you stood on your tiptoes, letting him feel the hard press of your nipples through your thin cami. He reached lower to grab a handful of your ass, hauling you tighter against him. His fingers instinctively curled into the crease of your thigh, teasing the hem of your ruined panties.

You broke the kiss in sudden panic. “Sam! I’m so sorry. I never thought you’d get me hurt. That’s not what I meant when---- I can’t lose you. Please!” You kissed him again, desperate and sputtering. When your voice grew too tight with want and you breathed out a choked, ‘Alpha’, Sam set you back on your feet. He exhaled and looked you in the eye, hands cupping your cheeks.

“I know, Y/N. Let me take care of you and we’ll figure the rest out?” You pouted your kiss swollen lips and nodded up at him, eyes at half mast. Sam smirked down at you and kissed you again. He chuckled at the lazy purr that left your mouth once his lips slithered down your jaw and onto your neck. “Why don’t you show me your room, Baby?”

You hooked your index finger around Sam’s and dragged him pointedly down the hall. Sam would have been able to find it blindfolded, the sheets were so sullied with your slick. But he wanted you to let him in, in every sense of the word. He was the sober one tonight and he would only give you what you asked of him and nothing more.

You tugged at his coat, and then his shirt. Your hands roamed his body with enthusiastic admiration. He rubbed your arms, feeling the skin pebble from his touch. When your tiny fingers started undoing his belt, Sam let his head fall back, letting the sensations rush over him. Soon enough you had freed him from his shorts, your warm palm stroking him to full hardness. God, your hands were so soft, he shuttered from it all.

“They weren’t kidding about how big you guys are,” you whispered conspiratorially.

“Not all Alphas,” Sam cracked, but stopped once you reached down and cupped his balls. “Omega, please, let me?”

With the most willpower Sam had ever used, he unfurled your grip on his dick. Slowly, Sam dragged your wrist above your head while walking you backwards toward the bed.

You giggled once he dropped you onto the tangle of sheets and pillows, your pathetically erected heat nest soon demolished by the frenzy of his touch. Sam took notes, watching as you shivered or moaned. He kissed every place he could reach until you were completely bare to him. He took in every gorgeous inch of your flesh, hot and shuttering, glistening and firm; his eyes devoured you. Then his mouth did too.

Sam knew Omegas were made to be the most desirable, the most fertile of partners, but when he finally, truly tasted you on his tongue, he forgot everything he’d ever learned. It was as if you were made for him, there was simply no other explanation, no other thought besides pure bliss. He lapped up your juices, sucking on to your clit for dear life only to delve back into your sopping cunt at last. Sam tongue fucked you as you mewled somewhere above him. He had no bearing on what was up and where was down, there was only you. And he needed all you could give.

You came in a shocked gasp, once his fingers had started to work you open. He growled at the sound and the fresh taste of you. He wanted to make you do it again. Your hands found his hair, tugging you struggled to get him to face you, to tear him away from his new mission.

“Alpha, please!” You begged.

Sam soothed you, rubbing up your sides as your body calmed from the onslaught. “It’s okay, Baby. Just tell me what you need.”

“Knot me, Sam. God, I need it so bad,” you croaked, face contorted with both pleasure and pain. Sam crawled up your body and kissed you, shoving his slick covered tongue nearly down your throat as you hummed in thanks. Spreading your legs, you cradled his body with yours, bucking against his weeping tip as he continued to dominate you with his kiss.

Sam pulled back, shaking his hair out of his face as he watched you grind up into him. His sack dragged against your tightest hole, as his shaft slipped through your messy folds. “You want me to knot you like this? So I can watch you come for me again? Or do you want me from behind, so I can be as deep as possible?”

You moaned and Sam couldn’t help but chuckle at your neediness.

He brushed his hand down the center of your chest, feeling the steady thrum of your heart as he teased you stupid. He waited for your decision, holding you each in place, with only the slightest room to rock back into him. Your eyes were hooded and your bottom lip was pinched under your front teeth, plump and inviting.

“Tell me what you want,” Sam tried to get you to use your words. You whined, twisting against the sheets, arching against him with the little strength you had left. Sam chose the merciful path and sank back onto his haunches. Carefully, he lined himself up. “Ready for me?”

You nestled into him, rolling your hips to accept him. Sam breathed out and then entered you, inch by inch. He watched you, needing to make sure you were okay as he filled you. You took him so well, Sam had to remind himself to breathe or else he’d pass out from the sheer overwhelming feel of your walls hugging his dick.

Slowly Sam pulled out, but slammed back harder than he’d meant to.

“Yeah, that’s it, Baby, just like that. Fuck! You feel so good,” finally your words returned to you. That was all the encouragement Sam needed, because now he was released from the tempered pace. Now, he was unbridled, an untamed Alpha taking what was his. He thrust into you, again and again, rocketing you up the bed until there was nowhere left to go. He braced his massive hands on your headboard and found the leverage he wanted, only to pound you from a muttering heap into a howling mess.

Your thighs trembled along his hips, but still he fucked you. You came, gushing hot and loud, and still Sam fucked you. He’d never felt so fucking free in all his life, the way he could give and give and you just kept on taking him, harder, faster, deeper, longer. As his knot started to swell, that old worry crept back into Sam’s mind. He was used to stopping, to pinching himself tight and pulling out. But when he tried he felt your fingers cuffing his wrist. He looked down to see you challenging him.

“I need that, thank you very much,” you huffed, grinning at him defiantly. Sam melted instantly, shoving your thighs impossibly wider until he felt the unmatched ecstasy of your cunt choking on his knot. He thrust into you, as his orgasm hurled through him. He snapped his hips one final time and came with abandon inside of you. You snarled his name and yanked him against you, claiming him with a heated kiss. Sam couldn’t think but to nip back, more teeth than lips as your body took all he had left to give.

Ten minutes later and you both were more or less sane, yet definitely sated. Sam brushed the sweat from your face as he took in your calming features. It was like he was seeing you for the first time, but he was only experiencing this small part of you for the first time. He wondered what other pieces you’d share with him, if he’d ever get the full picture. He couldn’t wait to find out.

“You okay with this? With everything?” he asked, voice deep and scratchy.

Your face softened. “Okay? Baby, I’m stuffed full of your cock, I’m beyond okay here.”

Sam huffed at your bluntness, smirking at your saucy side. “Just checking.”

“Hey, you okay?” You asked back, sensing his deeper worries.

“Yeah, I just didn’t mean this to happen like this, you know?” Sam, ever the gentleman, wanted you to know you were more than a quick fuck in a hormonal cloud.

“Yeah, but I’m kinda glad it did. Otherwise who knows how long we would have worried ourselves out of it. I’m really glad you showed up tonight, Sam.” You always gave him an answer he wasn’t expecting.

“Me too.” Sam smiled down at you, still in awe he got to have you at all. You leaned up and kissed him firmly. All too soon, his knot receded, releasing him from your embrace. He blindly gathered discarded clothing and cleaned you both up; your heat had zapped any remaining energy you had. Sam carefully drew the sheet over your exhausted form.

“Stay?” You asked, without opening your eyes. “Please?”

It was the only time you ever had to ask.

Six months later

Sam held the keys above your head, tauntingly. Unworried, you pinched his side, forcing him to double over from ticklishness and allowing you to steal the keys to your new townhouse.

“Alright, break it up, I don't want the neighbors calling to complain about the newlyweds going fisticuffs on moving day,” Dean demanded.

“Sorry, Dean,” you apologized to your brother-in-law turned realtor. The Alpha instantly softened.

“Ready to do the honors?” Sam asked, gesturing Vanna White style to your new front door. Giddy, you pranced forward and unlocked the heavy oak door. You stepped inside, the smell of freshly finished floors, paint and warm apple pie welcomed you home.

"I really thought you were joking when you said you baked for all of your clients," you gushed over your shoulder at Dean.

"I'm hurt that you thought I would ever joke about pie," Dean replied dramatically as you marched to the kitchen to inspect his efforts.

Sam laughed at yours and Dean's antics. "Alright, guys, we've got the keys. Why don't we start moving things in?"

You turned in annoyance as you licked the finger that had grazed the pie filling which had oozed over Dean's lattice work.

"First we toast, Sammy, then we move," Dean interrupted with a surprise bottle of champagne. "To new beginnings, to my oversized little brother and his Omega. I wish you both all the happiness in the world. Thanks for trusting me to find you your first place."

Sam's hand curved around your waist, tugging you to his side as Dean spoke. You looked up at him and back to Dean, nothing short of joy filling both of their faces. Until Sam pointed out the obvious, "we don't have anything unpacked, how are we going to drink that?"

Dean popped the cork, "I guess you'll have to figure it out!" He then showered you both in foam. You shrieked and backed away, while Sam ducked and tried to catch some in his mouth. It was so silly and messy, but it was hilarious. Soon Dean took a long pull off the bottle and handed it to you.

You gingerly took a sip and wrinkled your nose. "I'll just take some pie," you decided aloud.

Sam chuckled, taking another drink before handing the bottle back to Dean. Then he leaned in and kissed you on your temple."We did it, Baby. We're home," he whispered, hugging you close.

It had been a whirlwind the past few months, but you wouldn't change anything for the world. Sam and you had tried to take it slow, but you agreed to let him claim you after only three months of dating. The following morning he proposed, ready with a custom made ring on your kitchen floor.

The wedding was small, but neither of you needed big. You had found each other, you didn't need anything else. Your mother walked you down the aisle. After seeing how happy Sam made you and how supportive he was of your career, she had finally learned to let go.

After some maneuvering, Sam had dug through a few boxes marked kitchen and found enough forks for the three of you to devour Dean's housewarming gift. It was the perfect start to an exhausting afternoon. That night, Sam carried you bridal style into your bedroom, gently kissing the scar he had given you as he went.

This was not the life you thought you'd have, but you were all the more grateful for how that had changed and where it was going. You had found the love of your life, and Sam had found a new kind of love. You both couldn't be happier.

Tell me what you think?

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