#I said I had two cats and he backed off joking like but that conversation felt odd even though it was harmless on the surface | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

leclsrc · 1 year ago

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in so deep ✴︎ cl16

genre: friends to lovers, charles has a huge crush and is a lovesick bloke, smut, humor, Fluff

word count: 13.1k

It takes you many cities, a botched Halloween costume and a failed break-in to realize how much Charles likes you. It takes Charles several years to realize he doesn’t need to do much to have you like him back. title from this

nsfw warnings under the cut!

18+ because... penetrative sex, praise central, size kink, unprotected sex

auds here… thank u for all ur love during my periods of being awol .... i wrote this over the course of a week and i hope u all like it!!! its very much a self indulgent thing... :P

The first time Charles realized he liked you, you were both posed for a picture.

It happened at a dinner party in London, in late autumn, thrown by you to celebrate your first year on the paddock as a reporter. Few friends had been invited but, with how noisy everyone was and with the ease of conversation, it felt like a houseful of people in your narrow dining area. Lando was in front of the mirror, tipsy, demonstrating his best rendition of an Irish accent to a genuinely interested Alex and Lily.

Max was playing with your pet cat, Gene Kelly, and mentally plotting a heist to sneak him out with Pierre’s help. Your boyfriend, Liam, was making himself a cocktail. And Lewis had been roaming around with a glass of dry wine and his brand new film camera to document the night’s festivities—but the host was nowhere to be found. Unbeknownst to everyone, full off dinner and tipsy off cocktails, you’d ducked into the balcony to find where Charles had run off to for the night.

The music was muffled when you shut the door, leaving it ajar just a little bit. Lissie had played Cocteau Twins and was singing whatever gibberish lyrics played, fully drunk off a bottle of Tito’s. Still laughing over her predicament, you turned to Charles and refocused your attention on him. Is it boring?

What w… what is? He asked, turning to you. Briefly his eyes flitted to your hand, the bracelets clasped onto your wrist. He noticed you held matching bottles of beer but yours remained full, nail tapping idly on the semi-opaque glass.

My party, you responded wryly, cocking your head to the side. A loose tendril of hair fell over your eye and he itched to tuck it back in place, thumb over your ear. You continued, still pressing for an answer. You left to smoke but you didn’t come back.

I like the view. A half-lie but truthful in some way. He squinted to try and make out blurry, faraway signage. I should move here. Monaco makes me sick. He tried to say it jokingly, but was betrayed by the raw tone of his voice. You hummed quietly, to signify you were listening.

So move. Who’s stopping you? You smiled slightly. Aside from your ludicrous career, of course.

You had a natural disposition of—something. He didn’t quite know how to describe it, almost like the rest of him had yet to catch up with something only his heart was already decided on. You spoke and acted with some kind of smoothness that only the most popular kids in secondary school could have reins over, but you always claimed you weren’t very popular in your teenage years. He just knew he liked hearing you talk, watching you smile. He felt something—but he didn’t want to name it even if he knew exactly what it was. Instead he played into your joke. Yeah, I’ve been told I should move to Dubai instead, become a prince.

You laughed aloud. You are terribly unfunny, you know that?

Am I? He asked. Just then, as the cotton of his tee brushed against your bare shoulder, Liam brashly tugged the balcony door open to find you. He had this drunk smile on his face, brushing his blond hair out of the way and raising a Leica to the two of you.

Hey, I got Lewis’ camera. Smile, Liam had said, eyes squinted behind it. You remained still, half-turned to the camera, and Charles gave a smile whereas you remained in a neutral, half-smiling pose. And right there, at that very moment, as a giggle escaped your lips from having to pose so quickly and even awkwardly, Charles realized with a damning force that he had a massive crush on you.

Liam had left shortly after to resume taking pictures, but would later confront you over your “weird, odd, fucking closeness with the Monegasque bloke” that you would vehemently deny despite a gut-churning feeling boiling low in your stomach. But that’s later. Your conversation continued calmly, along the passive whir of London and the streets below. You both people-watched as you thought of things to say—finally Charles said, Are you interviewing me next weekend?

I always try to get out of it when it’s with you. You rolled your eyes, feigning irritance, then smiled to break the illusion. I think so.

I’ll make sure I have good answers. You’re too smart. Hurts to be in the same room.

Like you aren’t, you said back, but the rebuttal is shy in nature, like he struck you with a compliment so high you couldn’t bear to return it. He felt then like this was the kind of moment where you would start holding hands any minute, timid touches between clinks of bottles. He remembered Liam existed and screwed his eyes shut. He wished so hard to be able to kiss you. Abandon all sense and just kiss you.

—

“It’s 2023 and still London has the most rubbish ass, fucking cunt, stupid wanker stoplights,” Lissie huffs beside you, checking her watch. “Right then. We’re going to be late. You know how Lando is when people are late. Especially because this is his event.”

“We’re not people to Lando,” you reason, tapping the steering wheel. The ETA on your navigation app tells you you’re still twenty minutes away. “We’re his best friends. If he can’t forgive us, we should kick him out of the group chat.”

“Ooh, and add Alex,” Lily pipes up from the backseat, where she’s redoing her eyeshadow to pass the time. “I keep telling you guys he’s funnier than Lando.” Both you and Lissie make faint, vague sounds of dissent and she grunts again, deflating.

“No boyfriends in the group chat,” Lissie repeats an age-old rule that’s been around for as long as you three (four, including Lando) have been friends. “Or girlfriends, in Lando’s case, but we haven’t worried about that much, have we?”

You’re all en route to watch Lando crank out a brand-new deejay set, one he’s spent the summer break working on. It’s all house and inspired by beach music, and he’s very proud of it, so of course you’re all showing up to laud him. You’re not the only ones, though, apparently—whoever’s in the city is showing up to show their support, which includes a whole stretch of drivers.

“Oh, my God!” Lily says all of a sudden, eyes wide at something on her phone; you both gesture for her to show you and she does with speed. “Do you guys remember this? God, Instagram archives are a godsend.”

“Your dinner party in Chelsea!” Lissie coos, immediately sidling into a fond awwww! You tap at the story Lily had then posted: a video of everybody eating. You tap again to view the one she posted a few days later, which was a collage of Lewis’ camera scans he’d gotten developed overnight. There in the upper right corner, you almost immediately spot your photo with Charles.

“Oh, Christ, that picture.” Memories of your subsequent arguments with Liam flash past your head. Playfully, all you say is, “And I never had a boyfriend again.”

“Liam was an Irish arse, anyway.” Lissie scoffs. “Nobody liked him. Lewis joked about cleaning his camera after he used it that night. Plus, you actively avoid dating, so don’t complain.”

“Fair,” you say with a slight smile. Your mind lingers on the picture, the imprint of it burned fresh into your mind.

“You—it’s also because you can’t take a hint, babe.” Lily says matter-of-factly. “Who knows how many guys have, you know… fancied, or, like, had crushes on you, and you just never knew?”

“Are you saying somebody fancies me?” You ask, voice whittling out playfully as your eyes count down the seconds to the green light.

Funnily, silence is all that answers. Beside you, Lily and Lissie exchange a look—one that communicates their years-long amusement over your cluelessness. You whirl back to them, eyebrows raised, and double down: “Wait. Does somebody fancy me?”

“No!” Lily ekes out; you don’t miss Lissie’s poorly-hidden laugh. “No. I’m just—it’s just—no.”

Truth is, it truly seems like the only person in the entire paddock (team and Sky Sports staff included) who hasn’t caught on to a certain somebody’s boyish crush is the crush herself, oblivious as ever, even years and years later. One might think you’d have realized eventually, but perhaps owed to your type A personality and immersion with work, and Charles’ pathetic and total inability to express how much he likes you, the crush has always remained just that, despite your two friend groups’ best efforts to hint at it.

It wasn’t to say, though, that you didn’t sometimes entertain the idea of liking him, too. On that one rainy race weekend when he’d brought you a plastic cup of soup, and embarrassed, laughed sheepishly at Lissie’s joking request for one; then returned twenty minutes later with soup for everyone in the media pen. Or that time in Monaco where he’d pretended to be your boyfriend at a bar to ward off a creepo from hitting on you any further. Or another time, in Budapest, when he’d drank half his body weight in jello shots and slurred out a goofy, heavy I’m soooo sorry, baby while you helped him into the passenger seat of his car.

That one, singular time in Cancun you told your friends once and never again.

But those are isolated incidents, you suppose; plus, dating someone you work with has never seemed like a remotely good idea to you, and you don’t think it ever will.

For all your thinking on the topic, you fail to realize that you don’t know much at all—you don’t know the fact that Charles has liked you for years, after getting to know just how charming and funny you were as a friend. You don’t know that he still gets gut-churning butterflies when he sees you, hands shaky and face tinged pink. You miss the fact that he’s not had any long-term partners in the years of his liking you. You don’t know anything.

“Don’t lie.” You narrow your eyes as you rev the car and continue the trip.

“We’re not,” Lily says loudly and a touch too defensively, crossing her fingers. Quietly, she continues, “You should just pay more attention.”

Whatever she meant to say is lost on you as soon as you make a left and spot the club Lando’s at, already teeming with high-profile guests and their high-profile cars. Half an hour later you’re in—valet and being on the guest list effectively cuts your entrance time in half. You separate at the entrance—you, to find Lando; your two girls, to find your reserved table. You find him eventually, busy behind the booth churning out high-frequency tropical music; he pauses for half a beat to flash a huge grin and a thumbs-up before redirecting his attention to the knobs and sliders you can’t seem to guess the functions of.

These kinds of parties are affairs in and of themselves. They mimic the afterparties during the season—nothing if not shows of opulence and networking: champagne paid for by business magnates, yachts that barely make dents in anybody’s wallets, thick CVs, fruity cocktails spilled on pieces of clothing that cost upward of 3000 pounds. You make eye contact with at least seven skeevy businessmen before you spot your friends, but only because you hear them first—by them you mean Lissie, her loud voice raised even more to match the noise at this club.

“I said I didn’t fu—ugh—I don’t want ye fahkin’ champagne,” she slurs out to an old man in a pressed suit, eyebrows knitted angrily. “Got it?!” Behind her, Lily and Alex (who’s arrived now, apparently) watch, concerned and helpless to stop her but equally (perhaps more) entertained.

You step closer and make a move to calm down the exchange taking place, but somebody whispers a “hey” in your ear and startles you. You turn, and come face to face with Charles. His black tee accentuates the breadth of his shoulders, which you connect to his crossed arms; there’s a shy, boyish grin playing on his face. “Oh, Charles!” You smile. “Hey! Haven’t seen you in a while.”

“Thanks,” he says with a grin, straining to raise his voice. “You look—you look well. Are you alone?”

“No, I’m—” You turn to your three friends nearby, and to Lissie’s argument heating up. “I actually have to go.” You raise your thumb, jabbing it toward them. “But hi again… again!” You both laugh, but he laughs much louder. “I’ll see you around.”

“I jus—” He says, and you stick around for a second to hear him say what he has to say.

“Yeah?”

He clears his throat and laughs stiffly, abandoning his previous statement in favor of a new one. “I just…. want… to have a great time.”

“Ohhhh,” you holler, nodding, clearly trying to mask your extreme confusion under a polite smile. “Okay, well… go ahead!”

You smooth down your dress and laugh again, evidently more forced but, unfortunately for Charles, not any less pretty.

You carry yourself in a very pretty, graceful way, loud and quiet at the same time, like your confident voice when you’re holding the mic and asking questions or making drivers laugh. He might sound creepy, though, a touch too observant, if he tells you so. He observes you instead, for a second, the low cut of your dress and the way the red overhead light shines on your exposed collarbones—and then you’re leaving. He watches you walk over to hug Lily, realizes how stupid he’s sounded, and smothers a hand over his face, humiliated.

—

“I just want to have a great time?” Max’s jaw drops and he shakes his head, disappointed above all else. “Charles, what the actual. Like…. fuck?” They’re all camped out at the latter’s hotel room, around the dining table, in varying states of sober and doing different things to wear off the last hour of the night before they’re all due to train or debrief again in the morning. Charles had relayed the disaster of the night to everyone at some point, but Max is the last to hear of it; this, unfortunately, does not inoculate him from the shock and secondhand embarrassment.

“Pierre told me to—” Charles starts, forlorn.

“Oi, no. I told you to say something like I just wish… I’d seen you sooner,” interjects the Frenchman with a tut. “You know, flirting? Not… whatever the fuck you said.”

“I didn’t—I was—I lost my mind,” he groans, burying his head in his hands. It couldn’t possibly be entirely his fault when you looked so pretty tonight, hair down and a wash of glitter on your eyelids. Just subtle little flecks of them. They brought out your eyes, too. And your blush, the pink flush of it that sat high on your cheekbones.

“…llo? Charles.” He blinks and sees Carlos’ deep eyes, wide and staring right at him, so pointedly he’s genuinely startled.

“Jeeesus fucking Christ. What?” He places a melodramatic hand over his chest. “Yeah?”

“What do you mean with the”—Carlos mimics his confused expression—“I asked you a question, tonto.”

“Don’t bother with him,” chimes in Pierre, half-distracted by his phone. He looks up with a devious smile and continues. “He’s still thinking of Miss Reporter of the Year.” A round of loud, jovial laughter makes its way across the table, a few teasing quips being chimed in here and there.

“I just,” mocks Pierre from across the table, adopting a sing-songy tone as he bumps his shoulder to Carlos’ with a mocking laugh. “Wanna have a great time.” His voice is much higher and more mocking, which is enough to send Charles into a fit of petulant embarrassment.

“This isn’t sixth year,” he grits out quietly, but the blush on his face could just as well be plastered on the cheeks of a twelve-year-old. “Give it a rest.”

“Mate.” Pierre’s voice mellows into something more austere. “You do know she’s leaving the reporters’ job at the end of the season? She’s going to London full-time. No more seeing her all year round. You know this. And I keep telling you. If you are really, and I mean really, interested, I say go for it. C’est la fucking vie, yeah?”

“Plus, if she says no, you can go for pretty much anyone else, anyway,” concludes Max with a convinced smile.

“It’s not the same,” he admits helplessly, smothering his hands over his face in bleak frustration. Behind his eyelids he sees you still, beautiful and smiling and funny—he seriously needs to institutionalise himself before he goes even more mad with the years-long malady he’s called a crush. And seriously, for a twenty-something to have something he calls a crush is despicable in itself. He feels juvenile.

“I can’t tell her. She’s always told people that dating coworkers is a bad idea.”

“You’re not coworkers.”

“We’re—well, we still work closely together. It is the same.” He groans. “It’s just… I’ve said it before. If I admit I like her, things will become awkward. I’d rather we remain friends.”

“Well… see, nobody said you needed to tell her,” begins Pierre schemingly, eyebrows raising. Around them, everybody groans at the birth of another Pierre-brained scheme that will, no doubt, need the enlistment of everyone’s help and will likely end in disaster. “What?! I’m just offering… I’m just saying, mate—you’ve liked her since forever. Why not make a move?”

“—I can’t—”

“Without telling her?”

“Pierre,” groans Carlos, ever the voice of reason, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I don’t—whatever this is you’re planning, it’s going to go to shit. I swear.”

“You are acting like I plan to take somebody hostage.” Pierre shrugs. “You know, girls like when you don’t tell them straight up. You have to show you like them. You know, be interested in the things they’re interested in, compliment them, make them laugh. And then they think, oh, how thoughtful, oh, how adorable, and before you know it, they like you. And you’ve got yourself a girlfriend.”

“Mmm. Uh-uh. Untrue.” Max says decisively, shaking his head. “I told Kelly I liked her.”

“Yeah, sí. I told Isa I liked her, too.”

“Will you two—just—” Pierre gesticulates and makes a funny noise that insinuates just go with it. “Okay?” he points out to the latter, rolling his eyes. He turns back to Charles with a ready, dazzling, so-French-it’s-scary grin and continues. “I suggest you let us be your wingmen and help you charm her.”

“Whoa, whoa, wh—us? You’re on your own here,” Max quips with a laugh. “It’s your stupid idea.”

“It’s not stupid, and it’s going to work. She probably likes you already.” His confidence carries the lie with gusto. “We just need—you just need to show her instead of saying the dumbest shit to her face.” Pierre leans back into his chair and shrugs matter-of-factly. “Max and I will be regular wingmen, but we have a secret weapon.”

“Don’t—” Carlos starts with a sigh.

“Yes. Lando, Lily, and Lissie are all close to her, eh? Well, perfect—Carlos will get information from Lando about things she likes, you gift her those things or talk to her about them, bam she’s in love. It’s literally a perfect plan.”

Maybe it’s worth it. Maybe—

“No.” Charles shakes his head firmly, setting the record straight. “This will not work. Who’s to say she even needs a boyfriend?”

—

Despite what his best and closest friends—on and off the paddock—might have you believe, Charles hasn’t always been so hopeless when it came to trying to catch your heart. His closest call came in Cancun, after a long weekend of racing and a flight to the area, early into the night where he thought he was the only one who decided to opt out of partying.

Your skin’s peeling. You turned from where you sat on a barstool observing the shore, startled, immediately relaxing when you found him standing there eyeing you. Your hair was still damp, crunchy with saltwater, and your skin had tanned considerably, a sunburn sitting on the bridge of your nose. You stuck your tongue out.

I spent the whole day swimming. He observed your bikini, yellow and green contrasting the colour of your skin. He blinked slowly, ordering himself a drink to hopefully pass the thoughts away. His eyes couldn’t stop, though, wandering, the translucent material of the scarf you’d tied loosely around your hips, the tinge of heat on your shoulders and nose. I’m burnt everywhere.

There are remedies for that. He smiled around his glass.

I’m aware, you said lightly, crossing your legs and sliding your finger along the salt rim of yours. But just in case I forgot, maybe you could refresh my memory.

Your voice was so sweet, so low, so tempting. Already he knew he was wrapped around your finger, the same finger picking up grains of salt to press on your tongue peeking between your smiling lips. You brought your glass to your lips. It had been some time since the dinner in London so he pressed, his voice deep and a little rough, Liam can do that for you, I’m sure.

Pity, you said meekly as you set your glass down and looked back at him. He’s not my boyfriend anymore.

Out of eyeline, the bartender’s eyes widened at the exchange he was overhearing.

Is it a pity? He asked, leaning backwards and cocking his head to the side. It’s easy, an easy glide of conversation, flirt, something he’s wanted for a while now. To have you playing into him, and have himself playing into you, just like this. It was naturally easy in a foreign city where nobody knew who either of you were, where you were just two strangers flirting at a beachside bar.

Two strangers laughing while they dug their toes into the sand. Two strangers basking in the water, tinted orange by the sun dipping below the horizon, scarf untied in favor of one last swim before night fell. There was nothing keeping either of you from doing whatever you wanted. Nothing keeping Charles from finally acting on the attraction that honest to God crushed him.

You ended up leaning on the door of your hotel room, keycard fiddled in-between your sandy fingers. You combed a hand through your hair and offered a shy smile. So.

So, he replied, leaning closer. So.

Sooo. You were laughing and your breath smelled like a mint leaf and vodka. You looked up at him, blinking slowly. I have a rule.

What rule is that?

I don’t date coworkers. He wanted to dip down, place a hand on the dip of your waist, and kiss you.

Pity, he said gruffly instead, a smile forming on his face.

Is it a pity? You chewed on your lip and looked at his barely parted ones, pink and pretty. When I’m about to break it? He was about to help you do just that—eyes fluttered shut already—when a crash resounded from down the hall and you both turned to find the culprit. You broke apart and with your separation, whatever atmosphere of tension you’d built up popped, too, leaving you awkwardly standing beside each other.

Oh m… Lissie? You asked, leaning closer as you recognized your friend more and more. You narrowed your eyes, watching the girl crawl her way through the carpeted floor. Oh, Jesus—let’s—get you—

You both hauled her up and wrapped either arm around your shoulders, unlocking her hotel room with great effort and tossing her onto the bed. You stood back and sighed at her half-blacked out state, slightly amused but ultimately relieved she ended her night unscathed.

She pried one eye open and sleepily, she groaned out, what were… you two… doing together outside your room?

Nothing, you said quickly, face warm and eyes wide.

Because you—Lissie raised a lazy finger in your direction—don’t date coworkers.

I wasn’t—it wasn’t—goodnight, you spluttered, eyes refusing to meet Charles’ even as you both exited the room, paying him quiet thanks as he pulled the door back closed.

Sorry, you said, pretty as ever. The light shone on the red splotch on your nose. Goodnight.

And so he went to his room that night, bummed out and still high off your scent.

—

“You’re staring again.”

“I’m not,” he lies through his teeth, averting his eyes away from your figure by the shore. Sue him if he was staring (which he wasn’t… but most definitely was) but he finds you much too pretty. After the disaster that was the Mexican GP, he figures he could use some sort of stress reliever. Apparently he was not alone in thinking this, considering half the paddock hauled ass to Cancun and prompty partied.

Across Charles, Joris and Pierre share a knowing look that doesn’t go unnoticed.

“I said I’m not!”

“So you are not staring at her blue swimsuit then?” Joris tests, mouth twisted into a devious smirk. “It’s black,” Charles says matter-of-factly before catching sight of his friends’ smug expressions and realizing he’s implicated himself. He rolls his eyes and crosses his arms, petulantly almost. “And I wasn’t. Can you fucking—fuck off?”

“Just ask her out already,” Pierre groans, nodding when Joris chimes in with agreement of his own. “I seriously can-not handle another bar of this shit. It’s been years.”

“I don’t know how to,” he laments. “It’s going to be awkward if I do it all formal, and she’s going—she’ll laugh at me, and it’s…” He blows a raspberry. “Non. Pointless.”

“Just kiss her at the party,” reasons Joris with an easy attitude, shrugging.

“Joris! Charles didn’t know about that,” Pierre says, trying to lower his volume, but it’s pointless since they’re barely a metre apart. “Fucking tattletale.”

“Party?!” Charles repeats, eyes wide. “Why don’t I know about a party?!”

“It’s a Halloween party,” Joris says, a wacky grin on his face. “And you said it yourself, didn’t ‘cha? You told us not to tell you if any functions were happening because you’re too tired to go to any. Too… too wrapped up racing.” He laughs. “Or something of the sort.”

“Well the season’s ending,” he huffs, wringing firm fingers over his face, his shut eyes, “and I still fucking haven’t… so I think I’m afforded a party.”

“Alright, then come to the party! Dress code, Halloween. Sexy Halloween.” Pierre wiggles his eyebrows. “You know, speaking of our plan, Carlos overheard Lissie and Lily talking about what your girl’s costume is going to be.” He leans in closer and laces his fingers together. “She’s going as a… Christina.”

“Christina?” The other two echo, confused.

“Christina. I did some digging, and I think it’s this.” Pierre scrolls and dicks around on his phone for a minute before turning it back around to Joris and Charles, who peek with great interest. They seem to be looking at an outdated movie poster of—

“Cas-per the friendly ghost,” Charles reads aloud, trying to get his accent to dissipate. “Huh. What the fuck is that?”

“It’s a movie, idiot.” Pierre shuts his phone off. “Starring who? Christina Ricci.”

“Vraiment? You think his crush is going to show up wearing… a white gown?” Joris asks, his mind stuck on the outfit he’d seen just seconds ago. “This doesn’t make sense.”

“Well Carlos and I agreed, so. Two to two. And Carlos says she and her friends always wear silly costumes like these. So if she shows up as Christina, what better way to start conversation than to dress up as Casper?”

Charles’ eyes widen with comical horror. “No. No, no, no. Did the ghost and the kid fuck?”

“No!” The two men across him yell in unison.

“Right!” He gesticulates. “So it’s not a couples’ costume!”

“But it’s still—” Pierre pauses. “It still matches. Trust me on this one, mate.” He smiles. “We even brought the supplies.”

—

The party is a hit as soon as Charles and his group enter. The former finds refuge at the table, unwilling to socialize. Pierre roams for a bit and ends up finding you almost immediately—you’re wearing low-waisted pants, a strappy top, and you sport alternating streaks of blond and black in your hair.

“Hey!” He calls, jogging up to you. “I heard you were coming as a Christina. Guess who I am?”

You rake a hand through the streaks in your hair and smile. “Not just any Christina. The artist. Xtina? You know?” You twirl a bit, the dark material of your strappy pants swishing as you go, as if the movement will help Pierre deduce the costume’s identity. “Whatever. You’ll get it. Lando is—we’re matching tonight, but I g—it wouldn’t make any more sense if you don’t understand it.” You sigh a bit and gesture vaguely to the crowd behind you, referring to the Eminem-dressed Lando, who you guess is currently caught in the thick of.

“Xtina?” Iks-tina, he repeats, clearly confused. “I remember hearing… somebody saying you were going as a… a Christina.”

“Chris-tina, Xtina, yeah. Christina Aguilera.” You smile, fingers pinching at the material of your belt. “Anyway—where is everyone? I’ve only seen Daniel’s costume and then yours.” The recent memory of Danny’s neon orange traffic cone costume bumping into everybody flashes in your mind.

“Save yourself,” he huffs, smoothing calloused hands over the denim of his jeans. “Zhou and Esteban came as Bella and Jacob, Max as a Tifosi. Anyway”—he points to his ensemble—“guess yet?”

Your mental images of each cited costume are cut short. “Aha! You’re, um. Yes! You’re Ken from the Barbie movie,” you crack finally, remembering the revealing denim vest and jeans combo from the film you’d watched four times over in theaters a few months ago. “Wow, even your briefs say Ken. Very accurate. Minus the non-bleached hair.”

He tuts and shrugs. “I’m no Alex. What’d he come as?”

“He and Lily matched—Sonny and Cher.”

“Let me guess,” Pierre starts, and already you’re nodding because you can tell he’s going to predict exactly how the night has turned out, “Alex is Cher?”

“Wig and sequined dress and all.” You nod, laughing and squinting; Alex’s tall figure, head clad in a long, fringey, black wig, stands out above the rest. “Oh, I did see Carlos at the bar. Ricky Martin?”

Pierre really laughs at that, a loud, distinctly French guffaw involuntarily forced past his lip glossed mouth. “What the fuck, mate! Ricky Martin?! He’s El Profesor from La Casa de Papel. You know, Money Heist? Bella ciao? Oh, my God, he’s going to fucking freak if he hears—heard you said that.”

“He seriously gave off Ricky Martin vibes,” you defend in-between laughs of your own. “So that’s everyone? Oh—oh. Charles! What did… I never saw him! He kept telling me how excited he was for his costume, too…” Just a few hours ago, at that—a boisterous voice honing into the your voicemail inbox, boasting about a costume while you prepped for the party with Lissie and Lily. Your eyes peruse the room, but the lighting is too dark and vague for you to make out anything you haven’t already seen.

“Oh. Charles?” Pierre’s voice lilts higher. “Um. Yeaaah. Um.”

You, however, are sufficiently distracted by your own search for him, and you fail to notice Pierre’s clear scrambling attempt to stall you. He takes a long swig of beer and clears his throat. “He’s just, well, around. I should actually—excuse me, I need to actually go look for him. I owe him a drink.”

“Oh? Oh, okay. Well—be careful?”

You’re a bit surprised by his sudden, jolted departure, but bid him a rushed goodbye anyway. He waves back vaguely, his eyebrows furrowed into an expression of worry as he shoves his way back into the crowd and toward the area littered with tables. It’s only then that Lissie surfaces from the crowd, scratching absently at her nose as she crashes into you with a floaty giggle.

“Lis, you’re all sticky.” You place two palms flat against her shoulders and push her off. “Are you high?”

“Yes but not drunk.” She giggles again, eyes fluttering.

“Oh—that’s not. Whatever, I guess.” You exhale and cross your arms over your chest. “Who’ve you been with?” She listens, plays with the braid in her hair, matching her getup as Lara Croft.

“Um, the deejay. I gave him my number, but he’s actually pretty fucking weird. Come on, I want to pee.” As always, her speech quickens to something inhuman, an effect elicited by alcohol; giving you essentially zero time to react, she loops a hand around yours and drags you with ferocity to the nearest restroom. She moves so aggressively through the thickly-packed crowd you barely have time to react or say hi to people you’re acquainted with en route.

You whiz by the door, and in the rush, you notice Pierre entering the one adjacent with a worried expression etched onto his face. Just minutes ago you’d been conversing—you wonder why he’s suddenly become privy to worries.

“So the deejay,” says Lissie, effectively distracting you for the time being. You hum to signify you’re listening, fixing bits of your outfit in the mirror as she kicks different stalls open to judge their cleanliness. “One, he was dressed up as James Bond. Which is just about the most fucking pretentious thing ever. Two, all he played was Chainsmokers. You’re telling me this pub—club—whatever—in Mexico could only afford to commission this guy? Three, he was”—she kicks the last door open and a gasp escapes her and morphs into a semi-shriek—“a ghost?!”

“Ghosted you? Already?” Your eyes, focused previously on re-lining your lips, flits to Lissie’s in the reflection. She’s distracted, staring at the contents of a stall with comically wide eyes. “What’s up? S’that a fucking glory hole or something?”

“No!” She yells when you approach, immediately lunging forward to pull it shut. “No. It’s—I saw a roach. Serves us for going to a fucking… pub. Don’t go in there, it’s…” She exhales a long breath. “It was a mama roach and… with eggs.”

“What are you talking about?” This isn’t even a pub, it’s a nightclub—one with a door fee that definitely did not warrant rogue cockroaches in the water closet. “Lis, you’re drunk-hallucinating.” You’re not even sure if that’s a thing, but you shove past her and push the stall door open again, ready to come face-to-face with, maybe, a sleeping Tinkerbell or a puking black cat. Worst case scenario, shit on the floor; worst-er case scenario, Lissie is right and you’ve stepped into a den of roaches.

Weirdest case scenario, though, if that’s an actual thing: Charles Leclerc seated on the closed toilet seat, face painted white, wearing an all-white ensemble of a large white shirt, shorts, high socks, and sneakers. He’s got two hands on either side of the wall, as if he’d been preparing to escape; how or to where, you’re clueless. Why he’s here, you’re even more stumped.

His entire face is a stark white, with black smudges of face paint on his forehead (eyebrows, you’re guessing); his hair’s been curled by the humid air at this club, and he looks like himself in all the ways he totally does not, eyes big and caught when yours click onto them.

Despite confusion, you chalk it up, as one would rationally do at a party, to intoxication. You spend a few bated breaths staring at him staring at you, his face of pure shock and embarrassment enough to sober up a drunk for a few days. “Hi.” You can hear yourself say it, but you’re so caught off-guard and full of confusion it feels alien.

“Hey,” he says, wiping four fingers over his stubborn face paint with a smile. The smile and the paint barely fade. “I’m a ghost.”

“I see. Classic.” You pause. “I’m Chr… nevermind. Um—are you okay?”

“A bit, uh—a tad bit drunk. I seem to be in the ladies’ room.”

“Yeah, you seem to be,” you recite back to him, amusement quickly overtaking confusion. “I think Pierre was looking for you. Let me go get him. Lis, make sure he doesn’t…” You gesture a puking movement, and the pair watch and listen to your shoes click against the tile, before the door swings open and then shut again.

“Coast is clear.” Lissie’s voice has been lowered to a conspiratorial whisper. “I reckon everyone you know is already looking for you?”

“This is a disaster.” He rubs frantically at the face paint, but it’s horribly futile. “You know, I didn’t even realize I was in the ladies’ room until you two came in. She cannot see me like this.”

“She already fucking has, mate.” Lissie sounds exasperated. “Whose idea was this? If you say Pierre I swe—”

“—Pierre—”

“—ar to Jesus fucking Christ, Charles—I can’t keep saving you from Pierre’s antics.” She grumbles out a sigh. “What are you supposed to be, even? Have you—did you see how hot she looks? This is like… you look like a… I can’t—” She lets herself taper off, so disbelievingly shocked at his odd costume.

“I’m Casper the Ghost!” Lissie mentally forms a crude picture of the kid ghost, which looks absolutely nothing like what’s in front of her. “Casper was opposite Christina Ricci. Pierre told me so.”

“That’s the dumbest analogy ever, holy Christ. You look like a poster child for some…” She regards him for a moment. “Anemia advert.”

“Take that back.”

“You don’t really have the upper hand here, Charles,” says Lissie with a grimace. “I’m texting Pierre. Are you—did you even get drunk?”

“No,” he woes. “I am totally sober. I had to lie. Pierre went to the table and told me that my—that the costume we planned—it was wrong, and I just—I ran to the bathroom.” Lissie can’t help but laugh at the story, raising her camera to record the incriminating evidence.

Mid-video, Charles’ white face droops and his painted lips part to ask: “You think she found me cute?”

—

Charles likes finding things about you. He supposes the first time he realized just how much he liked hearing you talk about yourself—which you rarely did—happened in São Paulo. He’d been stressing over a spiel to recite in front of a camera, rewriting over words for hours to make everything sound more natural.

Each margin had been hastily written on with pencil, run-on sentences with semicolons in the place of periods. The team scriptwriter didn’t do much to make his lines sound more natural and less like they’d just been spat out of an online translator. You peeked into the media pen and coughed. You don’t belong here, do you?

Tch, he clicked his tongue, turning to offer a smile. I’m working on a script for Sunday. Portugese stuff.

I can help, you responded, walking slowly over toward him. You smiled quietly, approaching slowly like you were waiting for him to greenlight your offer. He did so by pulling a chair out for you, and once you sat you traced a nail over each line, murmuring them under your breath.

You speak Portugese?

You looked up and gave a half-shrug, laughing like you were amused with yourself. Kind of. It’s not very good, but it’s enough. You resumed your editing and he felt content to stare, admire, watch every movement of your lips align with the syllables of the words. You asked for a pencil and began writing something much cleaner. He couldn’t help but let himself be in awe of your intelligence.

You read over the last few lines and turned to face him. Let me guess, you said. You want to make a pun on Ferrari before you say bye.

Ah, he laughs. Yeah.

See, I know you so well, you half-joked, scrawling idle edits on the margins of his script.

He was already looking at you when you turned back to him, seeking his response, agreement, anything. When your eyes met, something caught at your chest—it tugged, tugged, then tugged again, a dull feeling burrowed deep in you. Words failed to wrench themselves free, but once they did, all you could manage was a faint—What?

Nothing. He smiled and shook his head, like he was waiting for you to figure it out. You know… sometimes, I wish I met you sooner. He does. He wishes he knew you back then, when you first learned Portugese. Or when you were in high school, so you could see just how exponentially awkward he was in his own teenage years. He thinks sometimes that he’s lost too much time, met and liked you too late.

Hm, you breathed out, because you didn't know what else to. I know why—so you could always have me. As a proofreader. Right?

Hah. The tilt of his laugh was high and mocking, and he stuck his tongue out, as if to punctuate that. He looked away then, like he wasn’t ready to say certain things to your face just yet. Quietly he added, Always have you… something like that.

—

If you ask Charles what he’s doing hiding in a laundry basket of a luxury hotel in São Paulo, he wouldn’t be able to answer you, either. It’s been some time since the disaster that was Caspergate Cancun 2023, and if he’s perfectly honest, he doesn’t feel like facing you again for the rest of his life. Pierre, of course, has other plans.

All he knows is last night, Pierre suggested he leave a huge vase of roses for you to arrive to in the living room of your hotel; as he planted it in said room, the door’s lock turned, and he sought a hiding place in the adjacent bedroom. Judging by the prevalent scent of Dior Sauvage, this is Lando Norris’ room.

Did u get to escape??? Pierre’s text irritates him. At the same time, the light flips on; Charles curls in on himself, remaining perfectly still. Lando’s voice trills through the room. “I didn’t leave those roses for either of you,” he’s saying to you and Lissie.

Charles hears you hum. “They’re so beautiful.” His heart swells. “I gotta run for a sec, pick up something from Will’s room.” A few seconds pass and the door opens and shuts, which means Charles is currently alone with Lando and Lissie. Which means he needs to plot his escape as soon as he can. Otherwise he’ll be caught in the crossfire and much too embarrassed to—

A foot meets his concealed body and he lets out an oof! as he’s sent flying out of the hamper, along with strewn-around clothes. He keeps his eyes screwed shut, scared shitless and in a fetal position; he only unfurls when a socked foot kicks at his ass. Above him are Lando and Lissie, both extremely confused.

“How did you know I was…?!” He asks, aghast.

“My fucking laundry was breathing, mate, s’not that hard to leave alone,” Lando retorts sharply. “What are you doing?!”

“I left roses for her,” he explains fruitlessly, gesturing to the vase outside. “But you came in, and this was the closest hiding place. I was told this would be a great gesture.”

“Right. Where did you even get that advice?” Lando tries to suppress the critical tone in his voice, but judging by Charles’ embarrassed grimace, he’s failed. Beside him, Lissie makes a hm? noise, goading Charles to answer quicker.

“I got it from.” Charles pauses. “A friend,” he ekes out vaguely.

“No shit. Who?”

“Um—” Charles’ eyes are shut. “Pierre.”

In unison, Lissie and Lando both release incredulous gasps, throwing their hands up in the air. Lissie points at the mess of clothes in the corner of the room to emphasize her point and asks loudly, with comical cynicism: “This seemed like proper romantic advice to you?”

“Scratch that. Pierre’s words seemed like proper romantic advice to you? His girlfriend is—!” Lando places a flat palm a few inches off the floor and shakes it a few times to insinuate Kika’s age, his disbelieving expression growing funnier by the second. “Mate!” His voice cracks mid-syllable, though even this mishap seems to be the least crazy thing about tonight.

Charles, burning with humiliation, releases a shaky sigh. “I know! I know!”

“You don’t know!” They shout simultaneously in response, disappointed if anything. Just then the door opens again and your two best friends hurry to throw assorted pieces of laundry on the lying Charles, exiting to make sure you don’t suspect anything.

“Hey,” you say slowly, because they’re both posed the exact same. “Am I… missing something?”

“A shower, girl,” Lando says, and you flip him off before retreating into your room.

Belatedly you ask, “Did you find out who sent those flowers?”

“Some loser, probably,” he calls right back. Charles emerges to poke him accusatorily, but Lando just shrugs. Charles definitely does not have the upper hand here, anyway.

“Just get out,” Lissie says, completely done with Charles’ antics. “And stop. Listening. To Pierre.”

He rinses the odor of laundry off him once he’s at his room, but thinks, despite himself, that you called the flowers beautiful.

—

Are you—

—no. I’m not. You wiped a hand over your face and caught mascara along with it. I’m fine, it’s fine.

What he said, it wasn’t…

I said, you turned to face him, eyes rimmed and mouth trembling. You didn’t finish your sentence, just tore the microphone off your lapel and buried your face in your hands. There was always going to be a first time. Your first time insulted on a live feed, after the Abu Dhabi weekend, was not any less shocking. You felt small. You felt humiliated.

You didn’t want to show Charles any of it. You moved around the green room, picking up shit to throw into your bag. Thank God the season was fucking over, you kept thinking. I feel so, you said, still failing to finish anything you started to say. You’d been called an annoying bitch by a fan of one of the drivers—to your face, as you exited the paddock.

He moved nearer. Charles, you said, a half-sob, and then you were allowing him to crash, allowing him to hug you. Your arms were weak when they wrapped back around him, linking softly in the small of his back. You sobbed hard into his chest until his grey tee was dark with tears. I want out, I just want out.

You’ll lord your career over that prick when you’ve made a million dollars doing this, he said. You do it too well to want out. You’re too smart. You’re too good. You cried harder, your face hurt and every word felt wrestled unintentionally, like it took too much work to say much at all. I’m sorry, you said. You should go.

No, he said. He held you closer. Not until you feel better.

—

He cries after Abu Dhabi. Bad season, everyone’s said. You snap a few smiling pictures with Max, who wins, and Lily and Lissie and the lot of them, the people who made the year so great. You notice an absence in all the pictures and you find it in a room in the Ferrari motorhome.

You’ve found you both find solace in words. In reassurance. But you’ve also found that your connection enables you both to reassure without having to say anything at all. You sit beside him, lean your head on his shaky shoulder, and wait.

“I was waiting for you to come,” he admits brokenly. “I was just not feeling good.”

“I know,” you respond. “It was a bad race. Shit strat.”

He’s quiet. His breaths are ragged and wet and shaky. “Will you stay? Until I feel better?”

You don’t move. “I’ll stay for longer.”

—

In the kitchen Charles unscrews himself a beer. The sky outside is pink and the sun hides behind faraway mountains, gradually darkening the entire atmosphere, save for the few woolly clouds. He’s by the patio door so he can spot people in the wide yard: Pierre, exchanging a Frisbee with Lando. Max, Alex, and Lissie engaged in an intense match of Uno.

They’re all gathered here in Spain at Carlos’ behest to celebrate the dawn of winter, and the end of the season, Max’s third championship.

He’s yet to spot you—he’d been told earlier you’d be late—but it doesn’t matter. He’s been feeling uncharacteristically himself all day anyway. He wrote that on his notebook this morning, on the flight here, verbatim. Looked up the word to spell it right and everything. He remembers you saying it, that time in London where you and Lando took him around and annihilated Borough Market before lounging on the grassy knoll of a nearby park. I feel so uncharacteristically happy, you’d joked. The syllables were too stunted and too fast for Charles to nail it. But he feels it now. Uncharacteristic.

He tells everyone he’s fine, though, and does a good job of it. Three beers in and he’s beginning to trick himself into thinking he actually is doing fine. Nobody suspects he’s been feeling empty from such a bad finish to the season—the season that was already bad in itself. He hasn’t been feeling his usual drive, his usual appetite. He doesn’t know when it will return.

“Here you are.” Carlos has this goofy smile on his face when he bounds into the kitchen, depositing empty dishes at the sink. “Listen, I have to tell you something.”

Charles and Carlos have always shared an easy dynamic—they’ve both always wanted the same thing. Racing has always been at the forefront of their minds. It makes conversation passionate, easy, fun; it was what helped build their now-natural rapport in the first place. “Yeah?” He prods, leaning against the counter and tipping fizz into his mouth.

“I invited everyone here to announce… something important.” Carlos crosses his arms. “But I wanted you to be the first to know.”

“Me?” Charles knits his eyebrows and smiles. “Wow.” He gulps, cocks his head. “What is it, then? Are you switching teams?”

Carlos’ goofy smile grows. “Isa and I are engaged. I’m retiring next year.”

“You—you’re—” Charles laughs and shuts his eyes all at once. “Oh, my God, mate! Congratulations!” The overload of information isn’t lost on him, but he channels it all into a hug. “Are you really retiring, though? I mean. Wow, this is amazing news—but—”

“I was sure as soon as I asked,” Carlos says squarely, smiling as if he’s conjured an image of Isa’s smiling face (which is likely the case). “As soon as she said yes. As soon as I bought the ring!” He laughs aloud, so overwhelmed with happiness of recalling everything. “I’m so glad you were the first person I told.”

“Besides Lando,” Charles says, because he knows it’s true.

“Besides Lando.” Carlos smiles. “I’m… dios, I’m happy. I always knew I’d have something to look forward to after racing.” They hug again, and then he clambers past Charles and into the patio, where he resumes the façade of being unengaged and still a driver. Left behind, Charles thinks over it himself. What does he have to look forward to after racing? All his life, racing is all that ever existed to him.

The announcement comes eventually—when it’s dark out, intermittent stars white and twinkly against the black above. Charles has once again turned into a blushy mess because you arrived a few hours prior, wearing a lovely dress and with your hair down in messy waves and you said hi to him earlier without him approaching first. They present a stupid, but very Carlos-and-Isa ring-shaped cake to announce it, and somebody queues up music and everyone’s cheering. Of course everyone’s cheering—it’d be impossible for this announcement to not come with bouts of yelling and cheering and goodbyes to Carlos, who accepts them with glee and—dare he say—excitement.

Charles remembers their first year as teammates, the jokes they’d made about needing to beat the other out. For both of them, he recalls, it’s only ever been the drive to race. He didn’t think Carlos would even entertain the idea of retiring yet. He wonders when he will. The thought of it alone is enough to send a well of anxiety run deep into him—which happens after he congratulates the couple, so he excuses himself to the empty outdoors area to get fresh air back into him.

He didn’t mean it, but he finds you already there. “Hi,” you say when he slides the door shut. “You okay?”

“Just… yeah, I’m fine.” You smell faintly like smoke. “It’s crazy, huh. Everyone’s… moving on.”

“So Carlos told everyone, then,” you say, pursing your lips and waiting for his response. He closes his eyes and lets a soft exhale escape him, warm air out and fresh air in, a welcome change from the heady atmosphere in the party. “I knew. I bought that God awful cake. I kept saying get a normal one but they both wanted it to be shaped like a ring.” You punctuate your sentence with a crisp laugh, a stunted exhale of air to break the tension.

You have a natural sway over words, graceful and beautiful and commanding, something he only wishes he could be. For so long he’d been told the feedback loop of one and the same thing: you’re good. You’re the best. You’re going to be the next big thing. And this season had just… aggravated every single insecurity he’s picked up in his years of racing. He wishes sometimes he’d been told something else: you suck. You’re normal. You’re irrelevant. Then at least he wouldn’t exist in some odd panopticon of feeling on top of the world and yet looking at it from the bottom of a pitch black abyss.

“Yeah,” he says instead, wringing his hands. He mimics the wrist movements he’s made to do during gym hours. “It’s wild how—I mean, not really wild, but. I just can’t… even picture my life after racing.”

“You’re young, that’s warranted,” you laugh. “You’re also… I mean, even if you drop out of racing tonight, it’s not like you’re going to become dirt poor or anything. You could become a bloody orthodontist and people will still love you.”

“Will they?”

He didn’t mean to say it aloud but out it comes, garbled and rushed and he’s a bit embarrassed for sounding like a child in front of somebody he finds so beautiful. The silence is suspended and dry, and for a minute all he hears and feels is the slow rise and fall of his chest. To somehow mend the vulnerability, he tries again. “It’s not—I just think I’ll be lonely if I decide to stop racing.”

The fact that Carlos can say with so much ease that he’s willing to drop his career to ensure his pending marriage lasts is almost terrifying, because Charles knows he wants that. He knows—he’s always known—that he wants that intimacy, that realness, but for it to come at the cost of something he’s known for so long is so scary it’s almost a dealbreaker.

“Lonely?” You echo, voice tinged with concern. “Charles—”

“Lonely.”

He says it with an edge to his voice, so final, so steadfast. Loneliness is what he’s always feared and he knows, with a deep drawling punch to his gut, that loneliness is what will come if he decides to stop racing. Even if he’s tired. Even if he’s so pent up with frustration and loss and anger. Racing is all he’s ever known, it’s all he is—when he’s not tied to it, who is he? “Like no one… like I’m just standing in front of what I’m supposed to be, and when people see me, that’s all they see—what’s behind me. Right through me.”

“Well, you’re off racing right now,” you respond, trodding carefully. “So, well. Do you feel that way?”

He knows what you mean: it’s winter break, so he’s not driving or doing some form of it every single day. And he knows in turn what to answer: no, not really, he doesn’t really feel detached from it because there’s a low anticipation in his belly that tells him he’ll be doing it all again soon. But he chooses to interpret it differently; differently, but not falsely.

“I th… I don’t feel lonely,” he says, “when I talk to you. You see me.”

Your stomach drops and your heart begins to pulse a mile a minute, knuckles tightening where they’ve gripped onto the wooden post of the patio. You can feel the air in your lungs pass through every divot of your body as it escapes and arrives in long, shaky breaths. He’s looking at you, his eyebrows knitted like he wants—needs an answer, if you’d be kind enough to please give him one.

“I…” You bite your lip, every thought in your head at odds with the other.

Time feels like rubber, like it’s been stretched and manipulated and Carlos is ducking out to announce that it’s time to blow out candles on the stupid ring-shaped cake and you’ve taken too long to respond and your body feels too heavy but your heart feels too light and your eyes are blinking, open and shut and open again, and you feel like the wind could honestly blow you away now because Charles has given you a neutral nod and left you alone again, to contemplate the weight of what he’s finally, finally admitted, tonight here under the sky of Spain.

You move a hand over your hair, watch him walk away. The words lodge themselves in your throat, but they’re there.

—

One minute after you realized you liked Charles, you swallowed the feelings until they were barely decipherable.

In happened in Dublin, at a pub on St. Paddy’s Day, when you’d emerged fresh out of a breakup with the most arseholic Irishman you’d ever had the displeasure of meeting. And funnily enough, it happened without Charles’ presence. You’d spent the day at Liam’s, hours of fighting over so many things—the growth of your career and the decimation of his, where your relationship had soured, why you never came to visit him, Charles, the sodding bloke you like so much—until finally, you took your things and left.

Wise, because you might’ve honestly gone insane if you stayed a minute longer, attuning your ears to the deafening feedback loop of his voice. Also decidedly unwise, because you had a piece of luggage and barely any battery, in a full city of people you didn’t know at all.

There was no chance Liam would let you return, and no chance you wanted to, for that matter—the fact still stood, though, that you needed to kill the night before your flight to France left at 6AM. You entered the first pub you heard, deposited your bag at the coat check for an extra couple of euros, and accepted the first pint thrust into your hand and first leprechaun hat plopped atop your head.

In between watching people compare how they poured Guinness pints, Sinead O’Connor songs, and exchanging headdresses with a random stranger, you found yourself impressingly drunk. The Irish did it too well.

A university student stumbled past your stool, tears in her eyes; she stopped to steal a shot of whiskey lying unattended on the bar. You looped a hand around her wrist and stared at her menacingly. Manners?!

Fuck manners, she said wetly, wrenching every word out with great effort. Nobody paid either of you any attention. I just caught my best friend and boyfriend kissing. Her accent was unmistakably Irish and was stronger with the tears.

Oh, you said, loosening your threatening grip. Sorry.

Don’t be. I’m sorry I could ever be so stupid, she said, aghast, before finally stalking outside the pub. Half an hour later, you wound up at a table of thirty-somethings, all belting along to a folky sounding song.

Drunkenly you slurred out, I thought it was a stereotype.

What was, love? One of them paused her singing, dipping down to listen to you properly. Your cheek was smushed against the varnished wood, moving with every syllable you eked out.

The songs. You sound like… you belong in the 19th century.

She laughed at that, surfacing and yelling something to the band onstage you couldn’t quite decipher. The song reached its peak, loud and getting the whole crowd singing along, before fading into a familiar opening. S’this better? She asked, her voice slightly raised above the guitar.

You looked up. I liked the other one too, to be fair. M’not a fucking anti-Irish.

Nobody said that, love. Come sing. She hauled you upward, exaggerating her arm swinging in the air so you’d follow suit, which you did. You hummed the opening, eyes fluttering open and closed. You imagined opening them again and finding Charles across the room, already looking, with the same charming, boyish smile on his face that came to you as comfort.

You thought back to the dinner in London, the feeling of his shirt against your shoulder, the way he’d gotten you so easy and laughing and babbly, something you never got with Liam. You squeezed your eyes shut and exhaled raggedly. Fuck.

Linger’ll do that to you, your companion mused. Around you, the entire pub sang along to the song that served as the backdrop to your all-encompassing romantic epiphany. Missing a lover, huh?

No, just… You opened your eyes, watched the band sing out the rest of the prechorus before they slid into the next verse. A new kind of air had crept over the pub, one that exemplified just how much this song could mean to anyone, no matter who. You shut them again and saw Charles. The green of his eyes, mossy on some days and bright on others. The moles on his face. The grooves of his hand, the way it wrapped around things like pens, mics, bottles, your fingers. His voice, how he curved around words. He always knew exactly what you meant even if it took you ages to get to the point, even if you felt like you didn’t know what you meant exactly.

You opened your eyes. Suddenly fights with Liam didn’t matter. Whatever little sympathy you had left evaporated as you listened to the lyrics and realized, with a damning force, that you were thinking of Charles. And this was not weak, this was not vague, this was a strong thing that took you off your feet like a gust of wind, hurtling you out of the pub. You thought of every time your eyes met his, both of you already laughing at something else present. Every time he saw you at the end of a busy work day and asked if you were doing alright.

Just this guy, I suppose. His name’s… yeah. We’ve been friends for ages. He’s really very talented. Very kind. Your voice was drowned out by the music but you didn’t intend for anything to be heard, anyway. And he’s the smartest person I’ve ever met. He always knows what to say. He’s not in Dublin tonight, not even in Ireland, for God’s sake.

He’s your boyfriend, then?

You closed them slowly. No. T’wouldn’t be very smart to date him.

Is he an arse?

No either. It’s just too late.

I’m sorry, love.

Don’t be, you mused, eyes still shut as Linger came to a close. I’m sorry I could ever be so stupid.

—

Charles should be in Monaco. You should be in London. But at four-thirty PM, leaning against the counter of a tiny café in Dublin, you cross paths for the first time in weeks, and everything tilts on its axis.

He notices you first, because he hears you thank the barista quietly. It’s not your reporter voice, not the one you put one when you’re interviewing him or his teammate or his fellow athletes. But it’s your real one, and it’s the one he thinks he could hear through a snowstorm.

A tuxedo-clad man exits and suddenly you’re there. You’re wearing a white top, low neck and thin straps covered by a cardigan. You’re sliding coins into the pocket of your jeans and he watches your hand freeze, drags his eyes back up to you, finds you’re already looking.

You look beautiful, he thinks. You put on a lot of makeup for the cameras, and you looked gorgeous, but seeing you like this—caught, almost, in a moment you didn’t expect to see him—you look unbelievably beautiful. He aches with it.

“You look well,” he says first when he opens the café door for you. “What’s your business in Ireland?”

“Acquainting myself with my new coworker.” You wait for him to follow and squint when the sun hits your eye. “We’ve been here three weeks, fly back to London next Monday. You?”

“It does seem weird for me to be here,” he observes absently. “I needed a change of pace, I think. Gear up for the season.” He shakes his half-full cup of coffee. “Where are you staying?”

“Just up ahead.” A slow silence overcomes you both. “Come over. I have beer. I know you can’t be fucked to have coffee.” He laughs and nods, following you through the road and up into a flat—a BNB, if he’s guessing. There’s a tiny landing and then stairs to a wider living area, where you proceed to unwrap the croissant you’d gotten a few minutes earlier. You chuck it into the fridge and produce two bottles of beer in one go.

“Sit,” you gesture to the spot beside you, and he sits himself there. “We can talk. We should.”

You’ve shrugged your cardigan off, and he observes every detail of your exposed skin, the way your hair layers atop it. Right as he opens his mouth to respond, a blond girl enters, rings of mascara caking her eyes and a wine glass twiddled in-between thumbs. She’s talking her head off and only pauses when she spots Charles.

“Hhhh…iiii.”

“Salut.”

“You’re Charles?” She notices how close the two of you are seated together.

“Yes,” he says.

“Charles, this is Robyn—my coworker’s friend. And by extension my friend.” You pat her knee and point to Charles to get them properly introduced. “She leeches off the apartment.”

“You love me,” she retorts, mockingly—but sweetly. “Anyway, sorry to intrude. I was just on the phone with my situationship.” She rolls her eyes. “Does he think I give two shits about goodnight texts? It feels impossible to be romantically satisfied these days.”

Charles grunts. “I hear that,” he says, just to make Robyn feel less excluded. You get up then, to fuck around at the kitchen sink—he suspects you’re not actually doing chores—but you come back with wet hands and you sit yourself across Charles, on the loveseat, instead of next to him.

“The thing is, right,” she gulps wine, “there’s such a thing with dating now,” Robyn says, not missing a beat, her Geordie accent curving round the syllables with a distinctive twang. She stares at the opaque red liquid in her glass, like that will supplement her with more words. “Like a deal. A big deal. Everyone’s making this huge thing out of it, and it’s like, can’t we be in our twenties and fuck around occasionally?” She laughs, a high-pitched, tapered noise.

You shift from where you’re seated, buried into the material of the seat. It’s quiet and beginning to touch awkward, so you speak in a rough voice: “I dunno, I kind of… get it.”

“Oh do you, now,” she responds, voice saturated with wine. “No, it’s—I was joking. Of course you would, you’re absolutely fucking gorgeous, is all.”

Suddenly you feel all too seen and inclined to touch a fingertip to your cheek, feather light. You blink so you won’t feel tempted to meet Charles’ eyes, because you feel them on you. “It’s—thank you, I mean. It’s nothing to do with that. I just always feel it’s impossible to find someone who loves you. I feel like I’m not very lovable.”

“You? You’re bloody fucking likable!” Robyn’s laugh is so disbelieving you find yourself semi-convinced. “You’re a bit intimidating, yeah, but you’re lovable as fuck, babe.”

You double down anyway, voice thin. “Right. I don’t think I’m very good at being… affectionate.”

“Hah. Bull. You’re affectionate with… with Charles! I’ve heard you talk about him to Jane.”

She turns to Charles before you have the chance to defend yourself. To him she asks: “Is she affectionate with you?”

But it’s basically rhetorical. Everyone speculates, sees the way you two bend the line between friendship and romance, the care with which you treat Charles, the way you two understand each other in ways impossible for anyone else in your orbit. Fuck if it’s not overtly physical. Robyn’s known you three weeks and has never even met Charles until seven minutes ago and already she’s sensed the energy, the difference, even if she hasn’t seen you do so much as embrace.

“It’s—” You say and say too quickly. You wind up slowing your speech so you don’t sound too defiant and lean backwards, willing yourself to relax. “It’s… different with Charles.”

“Different?” She repeats, miming every dip and rise of your voice. “Why?”

“We’re close.” You refuse to meet his eyes. “Be—because we’re good friends. I feel… things are… just. They’re different. That’s all, really.” Barely satisfied with the answer you eked out, you cross your arms over your torso like it’ll help shield you from the interrogation going on. Briefly you let your eyes fall on Charles; he’s reclined, eyes all over the place, blinking in quick flashes.

“But you admit it, at least?” She smiles. “That you’re affectionate, I mean.”

“Only with…” you taper off, unwanting to dig yourself a deeper hole. “Right. Sure, yeah.”

“Well then,” she says, eyebrows raising as she dows the rest of her glass. She sets it down on the low wooden table with a clink. “I’ll get going. Don’t let me keep you two from shagging or whatever.”

“We don’t f—shag,” you interrupt, voice sharp. “And you’re not keeping us at all. Me, at all.”

Us sounds so exclusive, you realize as it leaves your lips. Us. It tastes like sour cherries on your tongue, bleeds all over. Robyn gives you a look. In response, you insist on seeing her out, leaving Charles at the sofa, elbows on his knees, hands toying with the neck of the beer bottle. He can make out faint words but he doesn’t try translating or deciphering them, just listens to your muffled voice peek through every few words. You sound amused, also accused, also endeared—a bit irritated. You end it with a laugh.

You clamber back in after a few minutes and find him at the top of the stairs.

“Sorry,” you wave off, rolling your eyes to fend Robyn’s earlier interrogation efforts of. “She’s very strong-willed.” You climb the stairs, your striped linen shorts folding with every movement of your legs. Finally you make it to the top, on the second-to-the-last stair, staring up at him.

“You know,” he says, watching you ascend to the top finally, but you’re still staring upward. “You should know.”

“Should know what?”

“I missed you.”

You inhale and are grateful to find the air is all him. “I missed you, too.”

“In a different way.”

“Me, too,” you echo again, voice quiet. “I missed you. It feels like I’ve missed you all my life.”

He can hear your still, controlled breathing. “Thank you for seeing me. Even when, you know, it’s… hard. You know what I mean.”

“I do,” you say. “It’s never difficult, not…” With you.

He leans down and captures your mouth in his then, like it’s a thirst he’s always needed quenched. You allow it, kiss him back like you’ve needed this your entire life. His lips are chapped, but you don’t mind—Dublin’s cold. He kisses like he’s smiling, like he’s happy, and you think maybe that’s not far off. He moves downward, to your jaw; lower, along the column of your throat, around your collarbones, cornering you against the wall, letting you lean against it.

Charles’ kisses are light and soft, but also heavy, like he’s trying to waste as little time as possible. You sigh, feeling light, feeling ecstatic. He puts two hands on either side of your face, presses your foreheads together, and shuts his eyes.

You feel the divots of his fingers on your hip, your waist, places he’s never touched before. “I’m sorry I left,” you breathe into him. “Back in Spain. In Madrid. I wanted to think about it. About what you said. About everything, about you.”

“I’m glad I found you here, then.”

You tiptoe to kiss him again, because now that you’ve had it once you’re terrified you won’t have it again. In-between kisses he picks you up, cages you fully against the wall, and you breathe shaky little exhales. It builds up quicker and harder; you feel his cock at your hip and shiver, eyelashes fluttering. “Upstairs,” you say breathlessly.

He likes knowing you want this, because he’ll give you whatever you want. He’d fuck you for hours. Have you shaking, eking out moans of his name. He’d whisper praise up and down your ear. He wants this just as much, if not more.

“I want you, so much,” you exhale when he lies you both down on your bed. “So much.”

He tugs your shorts off, then your panties. He doesn’t usually lack self-restraint, but he thinks he’s never felt this much temptation in his life. He’s so hard. He brings one hand to his thigh and squeezes his dick through his pants, but it doesn’t provide him with any kind of relief. You’re needy already, whimpering, mind dizzy. He slides a finger up your slit and watches you screw your eyes shut.

Slowly he sinks in, watches you accustom to the stretch. “Wanted this,” you breathe out.

He thrusts in further, feels your warm cunt stretch around him, feels your breaths get hotter and quicker against his lips. But he takes it nice and slow, so he can feel every little ridge inside of you as you take all of him. “You like it?”

You nod, too dumbed down to speak. “Good girl. Pretty, pretty girl.”

He’s wanted this for so long, fucking you deep and slow and desperate. He thrusts harder, watches you unravel and your hot breaths pick up in pace. He reaches down, smears wetness around your clit as your thighs begin to shake. Your pretty, flushed face is enough to send him into overdrive, your eyes rolling back as he goads you into orgasm.

You’re still cumming around him when he takes a shaky breath, pulls you tightly back against him, and lets the pleasure take over. He fucks you full, rides his orgasm out while you ride yours out—buries his dick all the way inside, so each spurt fills your contracting pussy up.

He pulls out and collapses beside you, pressing his lips to your shoulder before lying on his back. “I’ll clean you up in a minute.” It’s quiet for a second, just you two breathing.

Then: “I did, I did think about it,” you say, voice reedy. “I thought about you.”

“Yeah?” He watches you blink at the ceiling, lets you clasp your hands onto his.

“About me, too.” You open your eyes and stare into the green.

“D’you want this?”

“Believe me,” you say, threading your fingers into his tightly. Your hair’s fussed from the sex. “I do. But—”

His heart drops.

“I don’t want to… I want you to not…” You sigh. “You know, I like seeing you. I like being that. I like knowing I make you feel good. And I want you to know you… you make me feel amazing. Like you and I… we understand each other.” You pause. “Sometimes I feel like you’re the only person who understands every inch of me.”

“Ditto,” he says, and you smile.

“I look up to you, you know? I don’t want you to anchor yourself onto me. I want you to realize that on your own. You’re smart. You’re a great driver with a shitty fucking team I hated reporting on last season.” He laughs shakily. “You know I look up to you. You know… you know I love you.”

“I do. I love you.”

“I always have. It wasn’t… it didn’t always make itself clear, but I always have. And I know I always will.” You smile. “We’ll be in different cities, in separate timezones, but if we survived the years of not telling each other how bloody fucking much we liked each other, this is nothing. When we’ve sorted ourselves out, we’ll know the right time to finally call this what it is.”

He’s never thought of himself as a writer, but his notebooks might beg to differ. Many times you’ve told him yourself that he has an affinity for describing things, especially when he lets go of language as a limitation. He wonders what you’d say if you knew the amount of times he’s tried to write about you. Careful letters or typefaces, in an effort to form a coherent picture of you, the way he sees you, the way he loves you. But he’s so scared he tears the pages off before they get too intimate, too personal, crossing the border from having a crush on you to being in love with you.

For once he’s not. He nods. It’s bittersweet, but it’s a segue to a better ending. He moves a hand over your hair and holds you close.

“You could never be unlovable,” he says, pressing a kiss to your forehead because finally, he can. “I mean it.”

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

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noobsoconfusing · 4 months ago

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‘domesticated dawg’.. domestic!hamzah

contains reader insert! and nsfw kinda at the end

- for his whole damn life, everything hamzah wanted was a home

- sure, he had one before, but to be honest, it was just a house. no meaning behind it other than his family living there with him.

- so when he eventually moved out, loneliness began hitting like a truck..

- he found himself alone. constantly trying to fit into everything mandy and martin did, but he understood his friends also wanted privacy

- although hamzah wished he could just live with his friends, everything seemed funner with them. mandy was nice, always sharing martin with him, letting him interrupt their conversations to add comments, making jokes about whatever and they even had a group chat!

- but still, that life was not his, it was martin’s. it was mandy’s. not hamzah’s.

- god, he so craved a relationship as beautiful as his friends. it made him so sad knowing that the only girl he pulled ever was in elementary school :(

- so when you stumbled upon his hectic life, he knew he was NOT letting u go. ever. never ever.

- and mother of god, you were just so so so perfect? how could you? like, for real, he asks himself everyday what the hell did he ever do to deserve such a beautiful human by his side

- as the relationship develops, he finds himself doing stuff he only dreamed about

- he enjoys every single little thing you guys do together, cherishes every moment with you, even when you’re not around he keeps your id picture in his wallet

- makes sure you don’t have to move a finger!!!

- dishes? he does em! the bed? he makes it! clean the cats litterbox? on it!

- sometimes you wake up to the faint smell of something burning, and you’ve gotten used to it by now it’s even comforting .

“sweetheart….” he’d whisper not to disturb your peaceful slumber, however the noisy rattling of the dishes and the blender going off earlier had you already awake.

“hmm?” you murmured slowly opening your eyes, his big eyes stared at you like a squished bug, it made you giggle how eager he was to serve breakfast in bed.

“you are never gonna believe what i just prepared!” he excitedly said.

you smiled, sometimes hamzah was like an excited toddler showing you everything he did or found.

“so like, last night i was on facebook and found this super cool french toast recipe and tried to make it today for you but uh… we didn’t have eggs… or bread.” he paused and you tilted your head. “so i also tried to make pancakes with water and the mix but uh.. you never really showed me how to lower the flame so uh, they’re bricks now…” he nervously scratched his head

he was so cute, or so you thought.

“it’s okay, hamzah, what did you make then?” you asked, invested heavily. he always managed to surprise you somehow.

quickly, he got up the bed where he was straddling you, and ran to the counter where he had left the plate.

“anyway, cereal!” he smiled so big waiting for your reaction of approval.

“wooooow! my favourite!” you smiled too.

“i know right!”

- hamzah tries SO hard to please you :(

- actually tries to spend every single hour of the day with you, due to his job he finds himself being at martin’s often, so he brings you with him each time!

- late night editing with him, where you two are just snuggled together under the covers, hamzah has his blue light glasses on, and you think, man, what a sight to see!

- hamzah actually thinks you guys are married..

- not to be intense or anything, but to him, being with you means for life. you guys are going serious. no escaping from this man now. no backing down now.

- you and the cats are his little family. he has found a home in you and is willing to keep it forever <3

- every moment with you counts to him.

- in the mornings you two brush your teeth together, sometimes he spits toothpaste on your hand to make you mad, which doesn’t really work because you do the same to him and then it all ends in a laughing fit

- HE HAS NO SENSE OF PRIVACY T_T

- you could be taking a shower and he’s right outside of the shower curtain taking a shit and talking about whatever was on his mind

- when you’re using the bathroom he would burst the door open to grab something he left inside, unapologetically look at you and smile innocently

- since your little house –apartment– is rather small, whenever you use the kitchen together he has to constantly guide you around in order to not bump into each other

- grabs your waist to prevent you from slipping if he spills milk or water..

- literally just an excuse to touch you, though.

- sometimes you’re cooking and he just sneaks behind you to give you a back hug. rests his chin on top of your head and stays there for a while

- needs you constantly ngl

- if there’s something wrong with the house, such as a leak or a burnt bulb, he would try his best to fix it himself to prove you he’s capable of everything

- usually ends badly and you have to call someone else to fix it but hey! he tried!

- since you both are not very extroverted, house dates are perfect.

- movie nights under the dim lights of the apartment that lead to make out sessions..

“h-hold…” you tried to say between sloppy kisses being planted on your neck. “hold on!” you laughed out loud when the hickey he was giving you tickled your collarbone.

“mhmm, why?” you could feel his warm breath as he murmured against your skin.

“movie…”

“rather do you, though.” he replied.

- ordering take out that just ends up on hamzah and you racing to see who can eat more

- he loves to see you wearing his clothes <3 like, it actually makes him physically happy and super fucking proud

- loves how his hoodies are undeniably big on you, and how his shirts falls down to your thighs, covering you up so perfectly. knowing you enjoy wearing his clothes just makes him realise how much you both need each other pretty much always

- hamzah has mentioned –to you– before his desire to actually grow your family a bit more, no more cats though, no dogs either. a baby, maybe. or two. three?

- and he was super blunt and serious about it, also. like he was being DEAD SERIOUS. he loves you, dude. this man is a family man.

“we are very serious, right?” he asked you out of the blue.

“yeah, of course.” you replied looking at his direction. the bed sheets covered his body so you could only see his face peeking out. it was funny.

“no but like, im super serious about you, about us… i love you a lot and i feel so deeply about you, is that alright? do you not feel weird about me? like, do you actually like me or…?” he rambled, and you knew how self conscious he could get sometimes ;(

“hamzah, i am so very serious about us too, i love being with you, why would you doubt that?” it made you sad, but you had to constantly reassure him.

he leaned in to kiss you, so soft and desperate at the same time, like he was trying not to break down.

“serious, right?” he asked again as he broke the kiss

“yeah, very serious, hamzah.”

a moment of silence. he played with your hair, then subtly touched your face in the dark, tracing your features.

“okay but speaking super fucking seriously, i wanna impregnate you and i wanna raise our children and live until we’re super fucking old, that alright?”

he deadpanned. and you never felt so loved, even if his ways were… odd. you knew he cared, and you did too!

“yeah. that alright.”

- morning sex hits hard w hamzah btw. so when you’re still tired and wanna be together you opt for this one as an excuse to get up until the evening

- this man needs you so much that he actually for real wants to merge your souls together

- but as he cannot do that yet, he settles for your bodies..

- sometimes when he’s working he just :( needs you and your warmth and your embrace and your presence and you you you you

- he’s obsessed with you to say the least

- yeah so cockwarming.. where he just begs for it, and you cant say no to that wet dog face :c though you know he wont even last a minute without moving cuz he’s needy like that.

- his hands are grasping at your waist for mercy, keeping you down and linked to his own body. he tries his best to keep still, though you wouldn’t mind if he actually started thrusting

- loves how warm you’re always :c it’s almost embarrassing how pathetic this man is for you

“mmm, im… oh, god! f-fuck, im sorry, can i…?” he whimpers, his eyes shut and his work long forgotten on the desk

and god, yeah. you need it too. he’s been inside for what felt like fucking hours. you were just as needy and desperate but didn’t wanna say anything :(

“yeah j-just…yeah..” you managed to say, your face buried in his neck, inhaling his cologne.

it was so damn intoxicating, you felt so drunk on him.

- big on aftercare. he wants to make you comfortable and loved, which yeah you feel like that around him. tho he also needs aftercare from you sometimes..

- hamzah thinks, you found him to save him. save him from his loneliness, his misfortune, everything. he is so glad that you exist and decide to share your existence with him.

- hamzah now doesn’t have to look for a home in other places. he doesn’t have to look out for love, for company somewhere else. he has you, you’re his home now. now and forever

- you’re a home that’s not taken. a home that’s not temporary. a home that waits for him everyday. a home that provides love and care. a home that he doesn’t feel he’s intruding..

- a home he doesn’t wanna run away from. not ever

>_<

down bad for this kinda hamzah bruv anyway hope some1 likes dis

#hamzah fluff #hamzah x y/n #slushynoobz #slushy noobz #hamzahthefantastic #hamzah x reader

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munsster · 2 years ago

Text

brain like a sieve

A/N: i am on a MAD ONE with the way im writing. she has motivation and inspiration and fingers of STEEL. (gif creds: @neblisi )

Pairings: Eddie Munson x GN!Reader

Summary: Eddie’s on top of the world when you tell him you love him. So much so, in fact, that he forgets to say it back. 0.8k words

Warnings: established relationship, kissing, fluff, insecurity, obliviousness, pet names (bunny, bug, lovebug), ONE half swear word (i SWEAR it took so much self control, i dont know how i limited myself)

You’ve got this fiery look in your eye right before you say it that distracts him.

“I love you, Eddie.”

And your hair is wild and your hands are wound into the collar of his shirt and he can’t help but wonder what divine force of nature got him here. Made him so lucky.

And in the midst of everything: Eddie forgets to say it back.

He kisses you sweetly and holds you at the waist, drinking in the way you look at him and tug him closer. But he still doesn’t say it back. A minute passes, and everything settles and he thinks you’re beautiful and you love him, and he forgot to say it back.

You go home in a frenzy. Why didn’t he say it back? You can barely do your laundry without running the conversation over in your head. Did you do something wrong? You think you’ll wait a week, give it time, maybe he’ll call and say it. Maybe he’s still processing it. Does he not love you back? You end up waiting two days before calling him in the middle of the night.

“Okay! We can talk, lovebug. Why don’t you come over tomorrow night? I’ll order takeout.”

You can hear Eddie’s smile through the phone, completely unfazed by the ungodly hour and by the confusion and hurt in your voice. Your eyes go wide, and you slowly nod.

“Yeah… that works,” you say.

“Alright, I’ll see you then.”

But you’re still confused. He spoke and smiled like nothing was the matter. Like you hadn’t been down on your knees with devoted confession for him. Maybe he just didn’t hear you. Except you know he heard you because you said it in the rest between laughter and conversation and the way he gave you a soft smile meant he had to have heard you.

“I brought cupcakes.” You stand on his porch steps, shivering from the cold, wind licking your face and threatening to blow you off your feet. Eddie grins and takes the plate from you, grabbing your hand and leading you to the kitchen. He sets the soft yellow platter down beside the bags of takeout and whips around to leer at you like a big cat.

“Hi, bunny,” he whispers. And you’re already flustered.

Eddie smiles because he knows and plants one on you like you’ve never kissed before. Like it hasn’t been his favorite pastime the entire time he’s known you. Despite how stone-faced you told yourself you’d be, you crumple into temptation and whine when he pulls away.

Moments later, you’re both perched on his bed, facing each other while he’s smiling and poking at your knee.

“So…” Eddie says, batting his lashes.

“So?”

“Well, you said you wanted to talk—”

“Oh”—you press a hand to your face and take a deep breath—“I know, I’m just… okay… d’you remember the other day? We were cracking jokes on your bed and messing around in general and…”

“Yeah, I remember.” He inches ever closer, tugging at the sleeve of your coat like a needy cat. Because you don’t know how distracted he had gotten all while thinking about how pretty you looked. How pretty your laugh is and how he doesn’t know where he’d be if he didn’t have you.

“And then I said…”—you sigh—“I mean, I told you I love you, and you didn’t… say anything—”

And as if all of the blood had been drained from his face, he goes ghost-pale in embarrassment. He feels nauseous and panicked.

“Oh my God! Bug! I love you, I love you, I do, I’m—oh my God, I got completely distracted, I’m mortified, I swear, I—”

You feel relief, yet your voice is still small when you ask:

“Distracted? Distracted by what…?”

“Well”—and it makes him shy owning up to his conscience like this—“you were laughin’ so hard and… and then I snorted which made you laugh even harder and I was thinking… ‘bout how beautiful you looked smiling so wide, I couldn’t keep my eyes off of you. And you said you loved me and I was on cloud nine. You were grabbing me and you looked like you could cry from laughing and I wanted to kiss you and I love you. And I’m sorry I got distracted.”

Your jaw unclenches and you sit there for a second, blinking at him in disbelief and yet complete understanding.

Then you tackle him, pin him to the bed with a yelp. And once he’s done wriggling, he’s scared for his life with how furious you look pressing him down like this.

“Eddie Munson!”

“Don’t be mad at me, please! Because I love you—”

“Shut up,” you say, grinning when he cups your face and swipes his thumb across your cheek.

“I do. I lo—”

“Shh, precious few words, Eddie.”

“Too bad, that sucks, I’m completely in love with you,” he huffs, “Now say it back.”

You grin and you look like you could bite a chunk out of him right about now. And he’s pretty sure he prefers it that way when you say:

“…I love you.”

“Damn right.”

masterlist

#eddie munson #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x gn!reader #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson drabble #drabble #fic #eddie munson fic #eddie munson x you #established relationship #stranger things #x reader #stranger things x y/n #stranger things x reader #fluff #x fem!reader #x gn!reader

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loose-angel · 2 years ago

Text

Kitty, Kitty | Neteyam

Pairing: neteyam x human!reader Notes: hes basically a cat :3C w/c: 646 w/n: im on a major writers block so i hope you guys enjoy this one T v T

“Y/N! Wake up!” Spider bangs against your door. You hear a loud shush, followed by the screeching of your old metal door.

“Y/N, the Sully kids are here and they want to see you,” Norm says quietly as he rubs your little back. You slowly open your eyes, nodding tiredly. You follow the older man out of bed, rubbing your eyes as the two of you walk down the hallway into the main area of the lab.

Spider is already fooling around with Lo’ak and Kiri, but there’s another na’vi present.

All of the ‘kids’ are a bunch of years older than you but they insist on hanging out with you so you don’t feel lonely. Plus it’s boring just hanging out with the adults in the lab.

“Hello Y/N.” Kiri greets, swooping you into her arms. You giggle lightly, wrapping your arms around her neck. You hang with Kiri the most. She has a calming aura and is the only one who can properly speak English for you.

“Who’s that?” You ask, pointing over her shoulder. She turns around, “Oh, that’s my older brother, Neteyam.” The na’vi sounds out for you slowly. You nod, eyeing the boy curiously. He’s a lot taller than his other siblings, a little quiet and shy looking, but friendly looking nonetheless.

“Do you want to say hi? It’s his first time here so he's a little shy.” You nod again. You wiggle out of Kiri’s arms and she lets you down. You pitter-patter towards the tall boy. If you thought Kiri and Lo’ak were tall, he must be like a titan. You stop a few feet away from him, just staring. He looks down and meets your gaze, tilting his head in curiosity as well. He crouches down so he’s somewhat your height. Kiri had warned him to be gentle with you, you were a little smaller and fragile compared to Spider, who was rough-housing with Lo’ak every second possible. So he keeps his hands to himself. Neteyam wasn’t very enthusiastic about coming to the lab, it was never interesting to him, but Jake had insisted that he goes with his siblings today.

“Hello,” he sounds out, his accent heavy.

“Hi,” Your hands are already running over parts of his arm, fingers connecting the little white dots that scatter his body. “Neteyam.” You spoke slowly, looking up at him for some confirmation that you said it right.

He nods, a small smile crawling up over his lips. His knowledge in English words is limited, so your conversation doesn’t go beyond this point. The large na’vi boy eventually sits on the ground, letting you climb onto his lap.

“You’re really nice,” You smiled, “How old are you?” Neteyam stays silent for a while, just looking at you.

“I’m eleven.”

“Hi eleven!” You joked, but the na’vi boy merely looked at you. “Oh, you don’t know jokes?” He remained quiet. You remembered Kiri’s words and decided to not try and pry words out of the eldest Sully.

“Well I’m eight years old turning nine,” your hands touch his ears curiously, the organ twitched at contact. “You’re like a cat!” You exclaimed, he still did not know what you were talking about.

After a while, Kiri approaches you and Neteyam, ears bombarded with you talking Neteyam’s ears off about something called ‘cats’. You remained in Neteyam’s lap, your small fingers fiddling with the na’vi’s braids and ears. Unbeknownst to him, he had started nuzzling into your touch.

“Tsmukan, we have to go now.” Neteyam nodded and nudged you off his lap.

The Sully siblings take their leave, leaving you and Spider to play.

“That kitty girl. . . what is her name?” Neteyam asks his sister, trailing behind Lo’ak who was already speeding through the trees.

“Kitty? That’s Y/N.”

Neteyam nodded, trying to figure out this fluttery feeling in his stomach.

#neteyam #avatar #neteyam x reader #neteyam x you #neteyam sully #kiri sully #loak sully #neteyam x y/n

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hearts4golbach · 7 months ago

Note

hii

can you do tyler x fem reader and tyler takes her out on a date and when they get back it gets a little smutty if you know what i mean 😈😈

Pretty Girl.

pairing:

Tyler (Hansumfella) x Fem!Reader.

warnings:

unprotected sex (use protection), riding, 18+ smut :p.

a/n:

im sorry this is kind of lame. I had zero clue what to write for the actual date, so I hope you enjoy it!

Tyler held your hand as you walked into the restaurant. it was your first date, but the two of you had always had something special. friends and family had always pointed it out, and it was just recently whenever Tyler had finally acted on it.

"im really glad I'm here with you, Tyler." you mentioned, nudging his shoulder gently before sitting down across from him.

his bright smile made your heart skip a beat. "You know, I've wanted to go on a date for a while now." he seemed serious but always had his joking atmosphere. he was amazing at keeping things from being awkward.

"Me too. It took you long enough to ask." he hummed and took a sip of his water. "So, how's the kitty? it's been a minute since I've been over."

"My son is great. you know he's fucking pissing and shitting everywhere, but he's getting better at going in his little box.

you kept the conversation going from there, learning more about him whenever you thought you knew more.

having dinner with Tyler was peaceful. it went much better than you were expecting, not that you were expecting it to go negatively.

he invited you back to his house to watch a movie. of course, you accepted. it wasn't out of the ordinary for Tyker to invite you over to watch a movie or stream with him.

His apartment was dark. nobody was home.

"my sister isn't here right now," he mentioned, flipping on the dim light in the kitchen. we were greeted by squash immediately.

"hi, squash! I've missed you, baby!" you squeeled, kneeling down to pet the cat.

Tyler smiled, watching as you pet squash. "Well, I'm sure he missed you, too."

you walked into the living room and made yourself comfy on the couch. Squash went off somewhere else. Tyler sat close to you, so your thighs were touching. he wrapped his arm around your shoulders, and you leaned your head on his as he turned on a movie.

the first few minutes of the movie were spent in silence. you scooted closer to him and looked up at him. "you okay?"

"yeah, just thinkin'" he shrugged.

"bout what?" You moved a curl out of his face.

he pressed his lips onto yours gently. you kissed him back passionately. your lips glided together gently. as the kiss depended, he moved you into his lap. you could feel his hard cock through his sweat pants.

"you sure this is okay?" he asked, his thumb caressing your hip.

you nodded. "You don't know how long I've wanted to do this." You began to kiss along his neck.

he grunted as you sucked and bit on his neck. he grinded your hips down onto him. "fucking hell, get these clothes off."

you did as he said, slipping your shirt off. his hands felt like heaven on your bare skin. in return, you took his shirt off and tossed it to the side along with your own.

his fingers hooked into the waistband of your sweats. he lifted you up and helped you slide them off your body before pulling you onto him again.

his thumb teased the hem of your underwear. "fuck, please."

he hummed, his other thumb tugging at your lower lip. "yeah? do you need me that bad?" his deep voice was like music to your ears. you nodded eagerly.

his hand slid down into your panties, finding it's way to your clit. you bit your lip and huffed as he slowly circled your clit. his middle finger ran through your folds, teasing your needy hole.

"shit," you muttered under your breath. he hummed before pressing his lips against yours again.

your hands made their way down his bare torso and to his sweats. you untied them and began to pull them down. you lifted yourself up, and he helped you pull them down to around his knees.

his cock was aching for you. you spit on your hand and gently stroked his member. Tyker bucked up into your hand as a soft grunt escaped his lips.

you leaned forward and pecked his lips. he smirked into the kiss as his hands found their say to your hips. you lifted yourself up and aligned his tip with your entrance.

"you okay?" he asked, his breath shaky.

you hummed, "more than okay." your lip twitched into a smile as you slowly sat on his cock.

he grunted as your warmth was tight around his dick. "fuck, you feel so good."

you hummed once more as you fully sat on his dick. you let out a moan, resting your head on his shoulder as you adjusted to his size.

your hands slid up his chest and cupped one side of his face as you began to bounce slowly. you moaned as you felt him stretch you out.

"shit, you feel even better." you replied, attempting to catch your breath. your thighs began to burn as you sped up your pace.

one hand moved up to your chest. Tyler massaged your tit gently as you rode him. his grunts turned you on even more, fueling you to take him further.

you sped up your pace further. your eyes rolled back in your head as you whimpered. his hand met the back of your neck and he pulled you in to kiss him again. his tongue slid inside of your mouth as you continued to ride him at a quick speed.

his thumb went to circle your clit. "you look so fucking pretty." he began to buck his hips up. "my pretty girl." he choked out.

your moans grew louder, filling the room along with the sounds of Tyler's grunts. "fuck, 'm so close." you mumbled against his lips. you kissed him passionately, moaning into his mouth.

his hands moved to your hips, guiding you to go faster. your eyes fluttered shut as you felt the knot in your stomach snap. your walls spasmed around his dick. he helped you ride out your high and watched as your juices mixed together. he pulled out and came on your stomach.

he quickly cleaned you up. "shit," he giggled. you adored his smile.

you hummed, "I know."

"I think that means you're my girlfriend now." he joked as he led you back to his room.

"God, I fucking hope so."

#fanfiction #fanfic #johnnie guilbert #jake and johnnie #johnnie guilbert x reader #johnnie guilbert x you #jake webber #hearts4golbach #hansumfella x you #hansumfella x reader #hansumfella #smut

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cod-dump · 6 months ago

Text

Open Door (teen!Ghost au)

———

This wasn’t the conversation he was imagining when Kate called him to talk about the kids. John expected it to be just a talk between friends, not business.

“Boys been doing well?”

“Been doing very well. And Farah has settled nicely.”

“She’s been looking at universities, hasn’t she?”

It started off normal. They were sipping tea in the back garden, enjoying the breeze in the shade. The boys were off at Johnny’s, no doubt causing mayhem. Not that the MacTavishes weren’t experts in chaos, John wasn’t worried about getting a phone call about his boys’ behavior from Mrs. Muriel MacTavish.

“I’ve been talking with the Shadow’s CO.”

John bristled at the mention of the mercenary. He looked at Kate, questioning why she would even bring him up when they were talking about their families.

“As you know, he’s become Gary’s full time guardian.”

“But?”

“But… he’s not quite… ready to handle a kid. Especially not one as young as Gary, or as traumatized.”

He didn’t like where this was going.

“He accepted being the kid’s guardian without being ready to take care of him when the need arises?”

“John, he didn’t expect to lose men coming here. With our operation, and, hell, even Nik’s, not it’s not a dangerous place.”

John could hear the unspoken words on the tip of her tongue.

“It’s- This isn’t my area of expertise-“

“Kate, just say it.”

Kate swallows, “Can you take in Gary? At least help care for him until Phillip can take him?”

John lets out a deep breath, there it was. He sets down his cup of tea and leans back, covering his eyes. Kate continued talking.

“After Simon’s transformation I have no higher recommendation for Gary’s care.”

“I have a dog, a cat, a fucking pigeon, three kids, and a Nik in my house.”

“You have the room. Plus Phillip will pay you for all of Gary’s needs and then some. He wants to come over as often as possible, too, to help in any way he can with him.”

John takes a breath before his uncovers his eyes and looks at Kate.

“You really can’t take him?”

“Annie is already doing twelve hour shifts and I’m running the office and helping Alex with his physical therapy and running him to his extracurricular activities. Like I said, after Simon? I no one else more capable that I trust to do this.”

“Oh fuck me- Fine! How much is he willing to pay?”

“£5’000 a month.”

John chokes as he sits up, “You’re joking-“

“No, sir. From my understanding, Phillip Graves is a very wealthy man and he doesn’t half ass anything.”

“Fuck… lead with the money, damn.”

Kate snorted, "Didn't take you as a greedy man, John."

John rolls his eyes, was he really agreeing to this? He wasn't doing as many 'jobs' as of late, mostly running to the office every month and doing surveillance of the town. Compared to how his life was years ago before Simon, he has a lot of free time. But he wasn't sure he was prepared to possible have another Simon in the home.

The hours that went into loving him and helping him get on his feet was worth it but... John wasn't sure he had another decade of that left.

"I'll send you Phillip's contact information so you two can start coming up with an agreement."

"I'm really doing this..."

"I'm not forcing you."

John glared and Kate rolled her eyes before continuing.

"I'm not forcing, just heavily persuading you."

"Forcing."

"Fine, forcing. This could give us a good in with Shadow CO. Besides, I forced you to care for Simon. Of course I dropped Kyle off at your door a few years after that. Do you regret that?

John didn't even have to think about it, "Never."

"Then give the poor kid a chance. I know you'll love him."

"That's what I'm afraid of."

The door opened and Annie called out.

"We're home! Hide the bank blueprints!"

John couldn't help but snort as Kate grinned and stood. She left into the kitchen to greet her wife and kid, giving John an opportunity to escape before he agrees to something else he's not entirely sure about. As he walked into the hall, he caught a glimpse of Alex darting down the hall to his room. Annie was having her coat taken from her by Kate, the woman having that same smitten look she had the day she met her.

Annie spotted John and grinned, "Hey, stranger. Feel like you've been avoiding me."

"You? Never. Her? I try."

Kate gave him a playful glare, "Leaving?"

"If I stay out too long Nik starts getting anxious. And with my boys it's infectious."

Annie gives an understanding nods, "Better not keep him waiting then. Oh! And before you go-"

Annie stepped away from Kate to grab a book from the shelf nearby. She handed it over and John immediately recognized it as a science workbook, "Kyle left this here the other day. I was going to have Alex give it to him at school Monday but he won't be there."

John fought the amused grin that tried to show itself. There was something so inherently sweet about Alex and Kyle's budding relationship.

"I'll make sure he gets it."

John managed to make it outside to his car before Kate stopped him.

"John-"

"I'm going to talk to Nik about it tonight, and you know he can't turn away a stray."

"You won't be able to back out then."

"Exactly why I have to tell him."

Kate smiled, "Tell him if you take in another kid that he has to stop trying to catch one of the neighborhood raccoons."

John laughed out loudly, "Oh, you know that won't happen."

They said tonight and John pulled out of the driveway, preparing himself for what was ahead of him. He thought back to when Simon was first brought home. He wasn't supposed to stay long but three weeks in John was ready to fight the world for him. Simon coming into his life was a blessing, Nik came along and apparently they were a package deal, and them being in his life opened the door to Kyle and then Farah.

He wasn't going to turn away Gary, and he wasn't going to turn away the man who was seemingly determined to do right by the kid. It was the right thing to do, reaching out for help, and John could overlook the fact that the man was a foreign mercenary for the sake of the child. John was hoping, even praying, that this wouldn't lead to anything. But considering what taking in Simon lead him to, he was too curious, maybe even eager, to see what else was brought into his life.

#teen!ghost au #john price #kate laswell #gary roach sanderson #pricenik #dad john price #dad price #ficlet #drabble #guess who has access to a computer again finally :)))#adopted au

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pretty-blkgirl · 4 months ago

Text

Soul’s Desire [Ch. 9]

-Masterlist-

~~~|~~~

“Han, it’s been 30 minutes”

Changbin lets out an irritated sigh as Han checks his phone for the 5th time. You were late, embarrassingly late, and hadn’t even let Han know beforehand.

Chan was a little upset but chalked up your tardiness to preparing for your debut.

“She’s about to debut, Bin, we gotta give her some grace”

“It’s not that she’s late, Hyung, it’s that she didn’t check in first.”

Just as a back-and-forth was about to ensue, a wild knock on the door interrupted the boys.

Chan jumped up to open the door, letting you in. Han was immediately eased by your presence, missing the way his other two soulmates looked at you with a little hesitation.

“Hi guys, so sorry! I was with my members and we lost track of time“ You smile

Chan smiles back at you politely, but Changbin doesn’t. He was still a little bothered by how you failed to let Han know you’d be late, but he tried shaking that feeling off.

“No problem, it’s nice to meet you,” Chan says, “I’m Chris”

You bow politely while giving him a firm handshake

“I’m Changbin” Maybe it’s because you two are bonded by now, but you can feel how he’s already a little suspicious of you.

He’s very polite, shaking your hand and offering you his chair, but you suddenly don’t think the guys like you as much as Han said they did.

You four settle into some slight banter. You and Han joke around while Chan and Changbin watch, adding little comments here and there.

After a while, you realize you haven’t talked to your other soulmates, so you face Chan and put on your best smile.

“Chris, Hannie told me that you’re getting into fashion nowadays. Have you figured out your style yet?”

Chan gives you a grin, “I’m not so sure. I kinda like street clothing, tighter-fitting shirts, baggy pants, beanies, and stuff like that. I’m taking advice from Innie”

You nod, “I follow you on Instagram and honestly, your whole aesthetic is so cool”

You and Chan’s conversation flows naturally after that, with you complimenting him and him blushing while shaking his head.

After a few short minutes, you move on to Changbin.

“I know this is random but I always wanted to ask you, do you have a favorite verse of yours?”

He quickly shakes his head, “No, that’s like asking me to choose between the members. I can’t have a favorite”

Changbin had a certain aura about him. You knew he was one of the sweetest, gentlest souls ever, but you could tell he was the type to be polite, yet cold with new people.

He still took care of you, offering to get you drinks and snacks when you mentioned you hadn’t eaten yet and offered to give you his jacket when you shivered, but he couldn’t be bothered to send the smallest of smiles your way.

It scared you, and you wondered what you did to deserve the stoic expression.

“Y/n, tell us about you” Chan says, almost as if he can sense the tension

“Okay! Well, I joined JYP around a year ago now, I was a trainee for six months. My favorite color is gray, my favorite food is fried shrimp, I have three cats and two dogs back home, I’m an only child, and I’m the Maknae of my group”

Han smirks once he realizes he already learned all this information about you, the other two members nod at your words.

“I have a dog too, her name is-”

“Berry” You finish, smiling, “Did Han mention I’m a STAY?”

Chan laughs, a blush on the tip of his ears, “He said something about it, among other things”

“He said that you said you always felt connected to us” Changbin starts suddenly, “Can you explain that?”

You nod with a genuine smile, “Yep! I guess, as a fan, I always felt a little…closer to you guys. I chalked it up to me being delusional but after I auditioned for JYP, and moved here and everything, my palm started to itch like crazy”

“That’s interesting” Changbin mumbles, “Our palms kinda tingled I guess?”

“Silly enough, you know how our symbols are kinda shaped like an infinity symbol?” Han asked, pointing at your hand.

You neglected to wear symbol blurring ointment, only because your members demanded to see what it looked like. You just wore an oversized hoodie and hid your hands in the sleeves.

“Yeah” You affirm, “It’s so cute”

“It didn’t always look like that” Changbin confessed, “For the longest time, it was….incomplete?”

“Then you got your symbol, and BOOM” Han narrated with a loud clap of his hands. Chan and Changbin jumped in surprise while you let out a startled laugh

He grabbed your arm and lifted your sleeve just enough to show your hand, “now all of ours look like this” he cheeses

The food came after a few more minutes of conversation. Changbin warmed up to you after you asked him about his workout regimen, finally letting his goofy and flirty nature show.

Chan led most of the conversations, and that didn’t surprise you since you knew how extroverted he was.

Han was joking or laughing about something the entire time, while you sat there and thoroughly enjoyed your time with the group.

By the end of the dinner, Changbin decided to be the one to walk you to the cab he had ordered for you.

You two were in the back of the building to avoid any fans seeing you.

“Sorry for being so cold earlier,” He said as you two walked (rather slowly) to the car.

“Oh, um, that’s okay!”

He sighs, “I was just a little upset you didn’t check in with Han to tell him you were gonna be late. I have a thing about knowing where my members are and wanting them to be safe and whatnot so checking in with one another is a big deal to me”

You hum, understanding his point of view. Honestly, you like that he’s that way, your members are usually like that as well but you guys having each other’s location eliminates having to ask where you are.

You made a mental note to make it a habit to check in with your soulmates, especially Changbin.

“I understand that, and I’ll be more mindful in the future”

You make it to the car and he opens the back door for you to get in before reaching into his pocket and pulling out money.

“You’re not paying for the cab Bin,” You say, crossing your arms

“I called the cab, you’re my soulmate, I pay”

“Well you’re my soulmate and I don’t want you paying for me”

“Too bad, that’s something you’re gonna have to get used to.”

Before you could protest some more, he threw the bills in your lap before blowing you an exaggerated kiss and closing the door.

You rolled your eyes but smiled all the way home

~~~|~~~

Taglist: @chuuyaobsessed @h0rnyp0t @prttyxbby @yukichan67 @hanniemylovelyquokka @xxeiraxx @loveforlee444 @whatdoyouwanttocallmefor

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hp-hcs · 1 year ago

Note

Could I request some Yan poly Theo and Mattheo x male reader please?

Where he is an animagus that can turn into a cat just like McGonagal.

Where he goes to them in his cat form for cuddles and scratches and stuff because he’s touch starved, but what the reader doesn’t know is that they know who he is and that he’s not a normal cat, and the reason everyone’s been avoiding him both in his cat form and human form is because they’ve made everyone besides him know that he’s theirs and threaten them. Just the usual possessive Yan behaviour from the duo. Maybe they buy him a collar or something in his cat form and he gets all embarrassed because he doesn’t know that they know he’s a human and just has to wear it when he’s a cat-??

I’m so sorry if it’s too detailed

um, obsessed???

also i tweaked the ending you asked for just a little bit cause i never know how to end fics 🫠

i genuinely despise this. fully anticipate me just deleting this and starting over.

also please never apologize for too much detail it literally makes writing these so much easier and faster

requests? 🥺🤲

“He is, most of all, l'amor che move il sole e l'altre stelle.” — Yandere! Theodore Nott x Animagus! Sirius’ son! Reader x Yandere! Mattheo Riddle

warnings: very mild—mostly implied—yandere possessive/violent stuff

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

“Ah, Mr. Black. Lovely for you to join us.”

You cringed, hastily smoothing down your hair in an attempt to look like you hadn’t just woken up.

Snape gave you a stern look. “Very well. Now that you’ve elected to make your presence, perhaps Mr. Black can tell us what asphodel is?”

You flushed at the way your professor put you on the spot; the way all of your classmate's eyes were on you.

“U-uh, it’s a flower. It’s supposed to grow in the Elysian fields in the Greek underworld…?” You trailed off uncertainly.

Snape’s lips thinned, a sign that you were correct. “We have a new seating chart—a fact you might’ve known if you’d shown up on time. Over there. Quickly.”

You scurried over to the table he indicated, sitting down in the empty chair between two Slytherin boys.

The boy on your right gave you a sympathetic look, waiting until Snape turned to continue writing on the board before leaning over and whispering to you.

“We’re doing a project in pairs, but me an’ my friend Theo here said we’d add you in ours to make a group of three. Snape wanted you to work with Longbottom.”

The boy on your left—Theo, you presumed—leaned in to whisper, “Yeah, we wouldn’t wish that upon anyone. ‘specially not a pretty thing like you.”

You blushed at the flattering name, whispering back, “Longbottom? Merlin- thank you.”

He grinned brightly, seemingly pleased at your willingness to hold a conversation with him, if the gentle flush of his cheeks was any indication.

The boy on your right tugged at your sleeve with a charming smile. “That’s Theodore Nott, by the way. And I’m Mattheo Riddle, darlin’.”

~~~

“Well, I think we’re just about finished,” Theodore mused, sitting up from where he’d been leaning over your group’s poster board. “Think we used enough glitter?”

“No such thing as enough glitter.”

You laughed at the two boys’ antics as the three of you sat on the floor of their dorm room. They had a good rapport with each other, one that you fit easily into. There was no real awkwardness as you all joked with each other. You actually felt like you belonged, like you’d been a part of their pair for years.

It was a nice thought.

“Well, if we’re finished, then I desperately need to go to the library,” you sighed. “Flitwick assigned twenty inches on the difference between the Conservo and the Protego charms.”

The two groaned in sympathy.

“Good luck,” Mattheo shook his head, resting his hand on your knee.

You’d noticed that both boys were extremely touchy. They always seemed to be accidentally brushing hands with you, peering over your shoulder to look at the poster, and finding any excuse to rest their hands somewhere on your body.

You nodded your thanks, putting away your personal reading book, your glitter quills, and your googly eye stickers that you as a group had had far too much fun with.

“See you guys around!”

~~~

“Woah- Here, kitty kitty kitty!”

You blinked sleepily, annoyed at whomever was disrupting your nap by the warm common room fireplace.

Two blurry, vaguely boy-shaped blobs plopped down on the floor by you, one of the blobs’ bags spilling out its contents all over the floor. You swatted lazily at a feather quill that rolled to a stop beside you on the rug, quickly losing interest and yawning.

“Whose cat is this?” The shorter one—the one whose bag had dumped parchment and jellybeans all over the floor—asked, suddenly scratching the top of your head.

You froze, an unfamiliar rumble rising from your throat at the odd sensation.

You were purring.

If you were human right now, you were sure your skin would be prickling from the stranger’s gentle touch.

Gentle touch had always been uncommon for you. Your family was odd and disjointed. You grew up without a father, raised only by grumpy paintings and a sour house elf.

And once he returned, on a the back of a winged marvel, with stories of rats and traitors and time, his overjoyed smile had faltered when he learned you wore green and not red. His now ever-present pinched look of poorly hidden disappointment whenever he looked at you, paired with your god-cousin’s short and stiff hugs and forced smiles, you felt like an outsider in your own home.

“Virgil!”

The strangers startled you out of your reverie. Your ears flattened back, but the taller one just pet your head softly. The short one crossed its arms, shaking its head vehemently.

“No, dude. Why the fuck would you name our cat that?”

“Cause of the book? Dante’s Inferno?” The taller one pointed at one of your abandoned books lying on the rug, most of the stack on Charms subjects, except for that one. You must’ve fallen asleep while reading it, and changed into a cat at some point during your nap.

“Nerd.”

“Just because you don’t ever read, Riddle-”

You perked up at the familiar name. Blinking away sleep, the two blobs- boys come into better focus.

They’re your fucking group mates.

Fucking Circe.

Theo goes back to petting your head, his steady pets prompting you to instinctively push your head up against his palm to demand more.

“Oh- hi Vee,” he laughed, moving his hand further down to stroke along your spine.

“Wh- We’re not calling it that.”

~~~

They ended up calling you that.

They visited the library after school every day now, where sure enough, you’d always be sitting by the fire or sprawled out on the couch.

Some days, they brought extra friends. On those days, you’d always squawk and wind between your boys’ ankles to get their attention when they got too engrossed in a conversation, like an adorable, jealous tripping hazard.

And after you’d turned in your project, you had also remained friends with them as a human. You now lit up every time you saw them in the halls or the common room, and they always grinned whenever they saw you.

It was nice.

~~~ “Hel- oh.”

You watched as your History of Magic table mate, a usually kind and friendly Hufflepuff girl, scrambled out of her seat to sit elsewhere as soon as you set your bag down. You stared after her in shock.

What had you done to warrant that?

As you stared after her, you finally became aware that your classmates around you were staring at you with a mixture of curiosity and fear.

Everyone avoided the seat next to you like the plague.

You sat alone that class.

~~~

You set your textbook down on your desk, sitting down heavily in your chair.

Today had been awful. Nobody dared come near you in any of your classes, like you were a leper or something. You ate lunch alone, walked to class alone… you just hoped Potions, as your last class of the day, would pass quickly.

“Hello, lovely,” Mattheo greeted warmly, the corners of his eyes crinkling up as he sat down beside you—the first person to do so all day. “How are you this fine afternoon?”

You rolled your eyes grumpily, steadfastly ignoring him as you doodled on your parchment.

You suddenly felt fingers underneath your chin, lifting your head up until your eyes met Mattheo’s.

“He asked you a question, doll,” Theodore breathed into your ear from behind you. “Answer.”

You shivered at his tone and firm behavior, blushing despite yourself. “‘m- ‘m fine.”

“Good boy,” Mattheo sighed, patting your cheek patronizingly. “Was that really so hard?”

Your cheeks flush immediately at the name, as you remain a bit confused as to their sudden changes in personality.

Where were the lovably awkward pair of dorks that you usually hung out with, both as a human and as a cat? (Although, you supposed, they didn’t know about the latter.)

Maybe you were wrong about them?

~~~

You weren’t wrong about them.

You leaned against the side of Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes, watching interesting passerby on the street as you waited for your god-cousin, Harry, to return back outside.

You were so focused on people-watching, imagining backstories for everyone, (especially the creepy Gryffindor who liked to hit on you no matter how many times you said no: Cormac McLaggen. The boy had practically sprinted away as soon as he caught sight of you leaning against the wall. Odd that he also had a black eye and a busted nose) that you were completely startled by arms wrapping around you from behind.

You jumped, but relaxed a bit when they put their chin on your shoulder and whispered into your ear, “It’s Mattheo, doll. Calm down.”

“You just scared the shit outta me. Tellin’ me to calm down,” you roll your eyes. “What do you want?”

“Go out with me.”

“What?”

“M-me. And Theo. Both. Yeah?”

“Wow. Smooth, dude. Real master of words, aren’t you?” A new voice chimed in sarcastically.

You spun around at the arrival of a second person, relaxing when you saw that it was just Theo.

“What Matty is trying to ask is, will you go out with us?”

You gape at them.

“Both of you?”

“Ideally, yes.”

You blink at them, eyes wide.

Mattheo shifts nervously.

“Sure.”

Theodore blinks, like he wasn’t expecting that answer. “Sure? Like- like yes you will?”

“Yeah.”

The two boys exchange a rather disbelieving, giddy look.

“Uh, how does the Three Broomsticks at seven tonight sound?”

“Works for me,” you shrug, a pleased smile slowly creeping onto your face.

“Oh! Here. We- we got this for you. In case you said yes,” Mattheo digs through his pockets, pulling out a small, rectangular box, like the kind that watches come in. “But, you have to promise you’ll wait to get back to your dorm room before you open it.”

You laugh, shrugging. “Okay, sure. I promise.”

Theo narrows his eyes at you before sticking out his pinky finger. “Pinky promise?”

You laugh again at the way his serious look contrasts with his childish request, obliging and wrapping your pinky around his. “Pinky promise.”

~~~

You shut your dorm door behind you, dropping your bag on the floor and collapsing onto your bed. You, true to your word, waited to open the box, pulling it out of your pocket only just now.

It was small, simple gift box, with a scrap of folded parchment taped to the top.

Y/N –

Thought you might like this. We’d love to see you wear it on our date.

– MR & TN

You raise your eyebrows, setting the note aside and lifting the lid, unsure of what to expect.

You were not expecting there to be a blue cat collar inside, the dangling metal tag reading:

Virgil

If lost, return to either

Theo Nott or Mattheo Riddle

#harry potter #fuck jkr #hp #hp x male reader #x male reader #x reader #theodore nott #theodore nott x reader #theo nott x reader #theo nott #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle #mattheo riddle x male reader #mattheoxreader

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fallingfor-fics · 8 months ago

Note

Can you please do a one shot of like the abbot crew going out to a gay bar. Melissa and Y/N are secretly dating, and a girl from a different group approaches Melissa but doesn’t no how to take no for an answer. Leading to Y/N stepping in and a bar fight breaks out between the two and the groups they came with. Ending the night with Melissa and Barbara bailing Y/N and the rest of the abbot crew out and Melissa falling in even more love with Y/N for defending her. Maybe some smut if your feeling up to it…I had a dream about it…please and thank youuu😋🫶🏽

Sorry this took so long!

I didnt do it exactly how you asked but I hope you like it still!!

Cat Fight - Melissa Schemmenti x Reader

Word count: 5k

Warnings: bar fight, dubcon, all around smut, sex on the kitchen counter without wiping it down first

Summary: basically the ask but no jail time is served lol

Every time you went out with Melissa you always had a blast, you would drink, dance, and talk deep into the night about endless things, and then go home with her. It was one of your favorite weekend activities. This outing was different though because you were being joined by Janine, Jacob, Barbara, and Gregory-- quite the bunch to be tagging along to one of the more popular but casual LGBT bars downtown. You don't even know how it happened but here you were, sitting at the bar squeezed between Jacob and Gregory, sneaking glances at Melissa from two seats down. It's not like you were having a bad time, conversation was fun with the group, and you loved hanging out with them, but weekends were sacred. These short two days were reserved for Melissa since you couldn't express affection all week at school, and rarely spent the night together during the week. But alas, you were cracking jokes to pass the time, and admiring your beautiful girlfriend from afar.

“I just think its funny that Gregory has been hit on more times tonight by other guys than Jacob has.” Barbara says as she stirs her drink. This causes a laugh from the group but an eye roll from Jacob, and Gregory can be seen shaking his head.

“Well that's what happens when you buy a drink for a guy.” You said smiling and taking a sip.

“Ok for the last time, I didn't know it was a guy, he had very pretty hair.” he laughed and everyone started to giggle along. You could hear Melissas laugh above all the rest and it warmed your heart. You turned to face the bartender to order a shot, hoping it would keep your mind off her. You had been hiding your relationship for months so you weren't sure why tonight was becoming so difficult and mentally draining. Maybe it was the bar, the place you two always went to and got to be yourselves, or maybe it was just because she wasn't looking at you as much as you were her. Melissa wasn't oblivious to the glances you were sending her way, but she knew better than to allow her eyes to linger a little too long on yours with Barbara and Jacob sitting right there. She was using every ounce of her will power to remain cool and casual.

“I'm getting another. Does anyone want one?” You ask looking around and everyone but Janine and Melissa, who were driving, nodded in agreement.

“Great. Another round please sweetheart!” you say with a smile to the woman behind the bar and she nods, grabbing the shot glasses. You can feel Melissa's eyes on you and you know it's because of your over-kindness and endearing name you gave to the bartender, but you don't look in her direction and instead try to distract yourself by making conversation with Jacob.

The shots are lined up in front of you and you all say cheers before downing them, you make eye contact with Melissa when you are setting your glass back down and you feel your heart hurt. It's definitely the liquor mixed with general missing her, but you feel another wave of dread come over you. You look to the bartender and tap the shot glass to signal for her to pour another. You can feel Melissa giving you a concerned look but you ignore it. Jacob, Janine, and Gregory get up to go dance and you decide to join them, taking your shot and setting it down, glancing at Melissa and heading to follow them. Melissa watches as you walk to the dance floor with a slight sway in your step and lets out a small sigh. She knows how hard it is for both of you to keep this up sometimes, but it still slightly frustrates her how much you let it affect you on nights like these, when you do things like this in front of her knowing she can't step in to stop you. But she knows you're a grown woman and can handle yourself, so she just watches from the bar, listening to Barb rant about something.

You are tipsy enough to dance confidently but without embarrassing yourself, you still have a mixed drink in hand so you are conscious of not spilling that, and you don't want to look too trashy with your dancing. You also know Melissa has to be watching you now, so you sway your hips and pull out all the moves that you can do casually but you know will be keeping her eyes glued to you. You make light conversation over the music with the others when suddenly you hear a gasp from Jacob.

“Oh my god guys look, Ms. Schemmenti has a womanly caller.” he snides and everyone looks over with a grin, you turn to look as well and sure enough a skanky looking woman has walked over to Melissa and is standing very close talking to her.

“I didn't even know she had game like that.” Gregory claims after the woman starts laughing at something Melissa says. You roll your eyes but the group, being nosey as always, casually dances closer to the bar.

“I mean she's hot but I didn't know she could pull women in a place like this.” Jacob says and they all nod. The group knew you were queer, but Melissa’s previous marriage and overall life confidence kept them from questioning her own sexuality. This fact aided in hiding your relationship and Melissa didn't seem to mind. You can't take your eyes off the scene. The woman is dressed in a body con bright blue dress with cutouts. She should be at a rave in an outfit like that, you think as you take a sip of your drink with a bitter glare.

“So how about you let me buy you a drink?” the woman says with a smile as she twirls her hair.

“Thanks, but I'm still working on mine.” Melissa smiles politely as she gestures to her beer in hand.

“Haha you’re funny! Okay what about shots? On me of course!” the woman tries again and you feel your cheeks grow hot at the way the woman is shamelessly checking Melissa out, taking her in from head to toe. She then reaches up to play with Melissa's hair and you feel yourself stumble a bit as you zone out on her fingers touching Melissa's red hair. Hair that should only have fingers tangled in it if they were your own. You refrained from crushing the cup in your hand as you felt your skin get warm. It was no secret you were an incredibly jealous person, you two had even had this conversation when watching Moulin Rouge one night. You had told Melissa that the representation of love and jealousy in that movie was the perfect example of how you feel in deep relationships. You knew she could feel your gaze burning holes through the blonde that stood next to her

“Look I appreciate the offer, but really I'm okay.” Melissa declined once more and you watched as you finished the rest of your drink and walked back to the bar to get another. Melissa saw you and watched as you talked to the bartender. Barbara stood between you and Melissa and you avoided looking over at her until you had another shot in you at least. You then heard the woman speak up again in her agitating valley accent and rolled your eyes, deciding if you walked away it may have more of an effect on Melissa than if you stood around seething. You walked back to the others and kept dancing but made sure you could still see Melissa. Barbara left the bar to go to the bathroom and you felt a slight instinct to keep a stronger eye on Melissa in case that woman tried anything. You and Melissa made eye contact as you danced and your heart began to race as you couldn't help a small smile form when seeing her sparkling eyes look into yours. She grinned and then looked back over to the woman.

“How about a dance then?” the woman smirks.

“I don't think my girlfriend will like that very much.” she says and this catches your attention, it was loud enough for you to hear, but the music and singing crowd allowed it to go unheard by the others. You don't stop swaying your hips gently to the music, but you focus in on their conversation again.

“Haha and who is your girlfriend?” the woman says with a cocky tone.

Melissa gestures to you with a smile, and you look the woman up and down with a glare, looking at Melissa and then back to the other woman.

“Well I don't see much, I can handle her.” she hums and you stop dancing and straighten up as she turns to face you.

“I wouldn't do that if I were you.” Melissa scoffs at the woman.

“Awe, why? Are you worried you might end up enjoying a night with me far more than whatever this loose little girl could ever offer you?” she quips and you feel your fists clench as you make your way over. Melissa straightens up and crosses her arms prepared to defend you when you chime in first.

“Are you dense? She's clearly not interested.” you mutter to the woman who laughs and Melissa smiles.

“No, Y/n it's fine she was just leaving.” Melissa says trying to keep the conversation from escalating.

“Actually, if your girlfriend here really liked you why wouldn't she be out there dancing with you instead of sitting here talking to me?” the woman said with a grin and you shook your head. You knew you couldn't say much and draw the attention of the others but this woman was really getting under your skin for some reason. You saw Barbara coming back from the bathroom and bit your tongue, rolling your eyes and letting out a sigh.

“Look, just do yourself a favor and walk away.” Melissa said to the woman and she shook her head.

“No not after an ugly bitch like her called me stupid!”

The group on the dance floor heard that and all came over to observe, drawing more attention to your friends and now the woman's own friends came to see what was happening.

“Lex what's going on?” one of her friends asked and she scoffed.

“This whore just called me stupid.” Lex said, clearly very drunk as she slurred her words, and probably under the influence of a little more than alcohol.

“Woah woah woah lets not over react, this isn't the place for this ladies how about you walk away and we all just enjoy our nights.” Gregory spoke up.

“Nah mind your own business asshole! This is between me and this fucking bitch.” Lex slurred out while doing loud hand gestures.

You sighed and could feel your face growing flushed and you ran a hand through your hair as you tried to just ignore the woman. It was one thing to call you names, you could be the bigger person and walk away with that, but people being a dick to your friends is not something you care about maintaining decorum for. Still you took a deep breath and turned to get a drink, but you felt a hand shove your shoulder.

“Yeah walk away like a pussy, leave your girlfriend to a real woman.” Lex mocked and you let out a sigh before realizing you were now drunk enough to use that as an excuse for the following action. Disregarding the comment that left the group slightly confused you turned, grabbing Melissa's beer from her hand, and tossing it on the girls hideous blue dress.

“Oh shit.” You heard Jacob and Janine remark from behind you.

“Y/n, hon come on, I think it's time we go guys.” Melissa said, reaching to grab your arm to lead you out but the woman reaches up to slap you but you reach out and grab her hair instead. In a blink of an eye the whole bar is now staring at the both of you as exclamations can be heard from both groups and Melissa is yelling every swear she can conjure up as her and Gregory are trying to get you off the other woman. You had her by the hair still and went to throw another punch until you felt a large pair of arms grab you around the stomach and pull you back, another large man grabs the other woman and you realize it's the bar's security guys. You hear your friends all yell at security to put you down, and he yells back and tells them they all have to leave or they are gonna call the cops. Barbara is the first one to pay off the tab and lead everyone out.

“Have some decorum and just get outside!” She orders the group and they gather their things and listen. You don't put up a fight, but security still has a firm grip on your arms and is practically dragging you outside.

“Okay Jesus I dont think this is necessary she's listening!” Melissa yells at the large man who just ignores her. He roughly lets go of you once you're outside and Melissa stabilizes you with gentle hands on your arm and hip. Eventually you are all waiting on the sidewalk as Janine goes to pull up her car.

“Ok so that was wild.” Jacob mutters after an awkward silence. You lean against the wall of the building and sigh, Melissa looking over at you then back to the others.

“Yeah what happened exactly? And why did that crazy lady call you her girlfriend?” Gregory asked and you didn't have the energy to say anything, or even look up at any of them.

“Um. That lady wasn't taking a hint, so Y/n came to tell her to back off, and I guess she got the wrong idea, and things just escalated.” Melissa muttered as a cover. Since you had been so good at hiding things up until this point they all nodded without a doubt. Janine pulled up and Gregory and Jacob got in. You didn't move from your place on the wall and Melissa looked over at you then back to the others.

“Barb you go ahead with them, I'll drive Y/n home tonight since it’s on my way.” Melissa said with a concerned voice and Barbara smiled.

“Okay, I will see you ladies at school on Monday.” Barbara said before getting in. the rest of the group waved and Janine drove away. Leaving you and Melissa on the sidewalk. You still hadn't looked up or said a word. Your legs were getting tired from standing against the wall, and your cheeks felt slightly numb from the chilly air. You could feel your lip was bleeding but was pretty sure that was the only damage besides a slightly bruised ego. Melissa came to stand next to you, poking at your arm.

“Are you ready to go, hon?” she said softly and you didn’t say anything. You finally looked up at her and she saw the blood dripping from your pouted lips and a faint red mark on your face that was slowly disappearing.

“Baby your lip-” she went to wipe the blood but you cut her off.

“I'm sorry.” you muttered simply.

Taken aback she shook her head with furrowed brows, “For what?”

“For making a scene, getting us kicked out-- almost having the group find out… all because of my fragile ego.” you scoffed hearing yourself and looked down to play with your fingers.

“Sweetheart, don't be sorry for any of that! I have never had someone, that wasn't family, literally fight a person for me.” She said playfully, using her hand to gently lift your chin. “I mean you did that because you care about me and your friends, not because you're fragile.”

You shook your head in response and opened your mouth to mutter another comment, but she stopped you with a kiss. She cupped your face with her hands gently, and softly kissed your lips with an underlying passion, being cautious of your busted lip, and stroking your cheek with her thumb. She pulled away with sparkling eyes and a grin which you met with a larger smile before reaching for her jacket to pull her into you again. You kissed her deeply ignoring the slight pain it caused, and ran your hand up her body to cup her cheek. Your breathing grew heavy as Melissa pushed you into the wall with her hips and you opened your mouth slightly allowing her to take over. Her tongue ran over your lip, she could taste the blood from your cut and the liquor on your breath, but she still deepened the kiss by letting her tongue enter your mouth and dance around your own. You eventually pulled away to catch your breath and you rested your forehead against hers as you shut your eyes and played with her hair. You had almost forgotten how much you had to drink until you stumbled slightly and she instinctively grabbed your waist.

“I love you Y/n, and tonight only proved to me just how much I do” she spoke softly in her velvety voice and you smiled innocently with a red stained lip. She brushed over it with her thumb, and then stood up straight.

“I love you too.” You said simply before feeling your eyes get tired.

“Cmon, we are getting you home.” She said with a laugh and you nodded, allowing her to take your hand and walk you to her car.

You knocked out the whole drive back, Melissa's hand placed on your thigh the whole way. She tapped it gently when you arrived and you opened your eyes to see you were at her house and you looked at her with a smile.

“What? You didn't think I was just going to leave you alone at your place did you?” she mocked you with love and you laughed, getting out of the car and following her inside.

“I think the nap in the car was exactly what I needed because I feel much better now.” You said smiling at her as you hopped up on the kitchen counter.

“Oh really? Well drink this whole glass of water and then we will see.” She said handing you a cup she filled from the fridge. She kept her eyes on yours as you drank it and she took off your shoes for you, placing them on the floor before kicking off her own. You finished the glass and placed it down as she turned to face you again. You grabbed her by her waist and pulled her to you, running your hands through her hair and admiring her beauty.

“Don't look at me like that baby.” She said in a deep tone, her eyes full of a serious yet lustful gleam as she moved her hands to rest on the counter on either side of you.

“Like what?” you smiled, not moving your hands from her, tangling in her hair, running over her shoulders and arms, and then back to tuck her hair behind her ears.

“Like you want to fuck me.” she said firmly with a grin. You were surprised she didn't hesitate to call you out and this sent a chill down your spine.

“Well, what's so wrong with that?” you teased, leaning in closer so you were inches from her face, your eyes darting between her dark green ones.

“The issue is how sexy it is but I'm not one for coercion.” She replies, moving to push herself away, but you grabbed her by the belt loops of her jeans and pulled her closer so her torso was between your legs and against the counter. You draped your arms over her shoulders and hovered your lips over hers, teasing her with a gentle peck to the lips. You pulled back slightly with a grin and she stared at you lovingly.

“Its not coercion if I want it and i'm barely even tipsy.” you say with a smile.

“Please Melissa, I just risked my life for you and I need to feel you.” You said with dramatics and a hint of sarcasm.

“Ha, now who is doing the coercing!” She laughed and you shook your head.

“Not coercion, I’m begging you,” you whined before pushing her away slightly so you could slink off the counter and onto your knees on the cold kitchen tile. “I'm literally on my knees for you… mommy.” You said with a grin, looking up at her with shining eyes. She smiled and let out a scoff. Your hands slid up the side of her legs, slowly over her thighs until you got to the button of her pants, causing her to suck in a breath before looking into your eyes again. You could see the internal battle she had and before you could unbutton her pants, she grabbed your hands and pulled you up to her. She pulled you in by your waist and kissed you deeply, letting out the breath she’d been holding in as she ran her hands down your waist to grab your ass. You moaned into the kiss and pressed your torso against hers. When you pulled away to catch your breath she smirked at you and sucked in her lip.

“Okay but no taking care of me tonight, it's all about you baby.” She said, finding a compromise for her decision and you grinned, slightly upset you wouldn't be able to make her feel good.

“Anything you say.” You nodded desperately and she let out a beautiful laugh before backing away and grabbing your hips to push you up against the counter. She kissed you again and your hands found her cheeks as you deepened the kiss with force. She ran her hands down your back and grabbed under your thighs to lift you onto the counter, not breaking the kiss. You groaned from the smooth execution and she smiled into the kiss. She pulled away and looked you in the eyes as she pushed your skirt up to your waist and pulled your panties off. You played with her hair as she did so and then felt your thighs squeeze together at the cold air and the way she was looking you up and down.

“God you're stunning Melissa.” You said with a shaky breath as her hand pushed between your thighs and brushed your core with slow motions.

“I could say the same thing about you hon, now be a good girl and lay back.” She said in a deep and sensual tone. You quickly nodded, leaning in for another deep kiss, pushing your chest against hers, cupping her cheek with your hand. You allowed your tongue to enter her mouth and kissed her with passion. She smiled into the kiss at your eagerness and she pulled away, raising her eyebrow at you and you placed another peck to her lips before doing as you were told. You pushed your hair out from under you to be laid out on the counter and allowed yourself to relax slightly. You felt her hands bend your knees and place your feet on the edge of the counter to give her better access. The cold air caused your skin to prickle with small goosebumps and you felt your heart speed up as you awaited her touch. She traced her hands gently up and down your thighs before placing kisses along the inside of them. Her cold fingers came up to rub your clit and your body twitched, sensitive from being deprived for so long. You slightly leaned into her touch but the limited space on the counter kept you from doing so.

“Just relax baby, I want you to be able to remember how good I treated you when you wake up tomorrow.” she said with a cocky grin that you could practically feel. She leaned in and licked a stripe up your folds without hesitation. Collecting your slick on her tongue before lightly sucking on your bud. You let out a moan and she gripped your thighs tighter to keep them in place as she continued to suck on your clit, licking circles around it. She moved a hand from your thigh to her mouth, placing two fingers in her mouth before rubbing your clit and then inserting them into you. You let out a hoarse gasp and she gently curled her fingers inside you, moving her head back down to continue torturing your clit. You arched your back off the counter and moaned at the new angle and she hummed into you causing you to moan again.

“Fuck, Melissa!” You exclaimed, letting your hand come to her hair, brushing it from her face. She felt you clench around her fingers and held back a grin at how ready you were for her already. She thrusted her fingers harder, stroking inside of you and hitting your sensitive spot. Never taking her lips off your core, her tongue running over your clit before she continued to suck on it. You let out another loud moan and your free hand came to your mouth so you could bite on your knuckles, your eyes closing shut tight.

“No baby move your hand I wanna hear you scream as you cum for me.” she said, not stopping her thrusts.

“Ah, ok- yes mommy.” you gasped out, tugging on her hair slightly, earning a deep groan from Melissa that you could feel. Your juices covered her face and hand now and you felt yourself clenching around her. You arched off the counter again and she brought her other hand off your thigh to rub your clit so she could talk you through your release.

“That’s it my love, you're doing so good, cum for me hon.” She said, smiling down at you with dark eyes. You felt your release wash over you at the praise and your body shook as your orgasm flooded through you and you clenched around her fingers. Your mind went dark as you moaned loudly, fire spreading through your veins. As you caught your breath you opened your eyes. Melissa pulled her fingers from you and you used the little strength you had to try and sit up. She snaked her hand around your back to pull you up to her and you met her with a smile and flushed cheeks. She lifted her fingers to your mouth and you took them in without hesitation, tasting yourself on her.

“You did so good for me baby.” She muttered in her deep, raspy voice, pulling her fingers from your mouth and back down to your center to sooth your sensitive clit.

“I love you.” You said with a smile.

“I love you too.” She said simply and you leaned in to kiss her gently, looking in her eyes as you placed a peck to her lips. She took your lower lip between her teeth and you winced. She pulled away with a sarcastic grin and furrowed brows.

“Oh i'm sorry sweetheart, did I hurt your lip?” she brushed her thumb over the cut that was now bleeding slightly again.

“A little. But its okay,” you said not taking your eyes from hers as you moved her hand to rub circles on your core slowly. “I liked it.” you added and she raised a brow. Moving to kiss her again she moved her head back slightly and thrusted her fingers back inside you without warning, she watched with a grin as your face contorted in pleasure. Your brows furrowed and your lip pouted.

“Give me one more.” she ordered and you nodded, leaning to kiss her again but she pulled back, teasing you once more as her fingers moved inside you. The angle allowed her to curl into you deeply and you let out a gasp, her thumb brushed your clit in circles and you felt your second orgasm approaching rapidly.

“Yes, mommy please don't stop.” you muttered breathlessly and she smirked, moving her fingers faster. You clenched around her and felt heat pool in your core as your orgasm approached.

“Look at me baby.” She said and you met her gaze, furrowed brows and your mouth open in an ‘o’ shape as you moaned. Your legs shook slightly and you felt your thighs move to clench together and she didn't stop you. You sat up straight which allowed her fingers to reach deeper inside you and you gasped. Her eyes were full of lust and mischief as she looked into your pleading ones. Your eyes shifted to her puffy pink lips and you looked back in her eyes, silently begging.

“Please kiss me Melissa.” you begged, your release approaching. She gave in and kissed you deeply, watching as your eyes closed and you moaned into the kiss. Her fingers sped up and she deepened the kiss, her tongue roaming around your mouth with passion and control. Your eyes squeezed tight as you felt the wave of relief crash over you and you moaned into the kiss, your hands moving to wrap around her face, cupping her jaw so there wasn't a chance she could pull away. She allowed her fingers to slow and you grinded against them as you rode out you high. Her other hand came to grip your waist, her thumb pushing into your hip. You finally pulled away and your foreheads met as you both caught your breath.

“I'm so proud of you hon.” she said with a smile and you gently nodded.

“I'm definitely going to remember this.” you quipped and she let out a laugh before pulling you off the counter, your legs wrapping around her and her hands holding you by your thighs as she carried you.

“Let's get you cleaned up and into bed.” she said sweetly into your ear and you allowed your glorious lover to carry you up the stairs and to her bedroom.

#melissa schemmenti x reader #melissa x reader #abbott elementary #melissa schemmenti #lisa ann walter

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tranceinnumerabletabs · 22 days ago

Text

When Johnny Comes Back Pt5

A/N: Posted this a little early since the winner was clear and I couldn't wait. Thank you all so much voting for this chapter! Or, just voting in general. Y'all the reason I post. Here's the final product! Enjoy being a drunk Batman

You do not need to read this chapter, it's got less relevance to the main plot and has less Johnny. So, it could be considered boring

Btw, @supermegabitchboyexceptimagirl , here's the chapter. with you tagged in as requested.

It's me, part one! the first child

I'm part two, I get the most hand me down

middle child pt three

part four, I'll miss being the baby

Disclaimer: Stalking

Previously:

Well, yeah you’re smart but you’d be lying if you said that you didn’t learn a thing or two from Johnny when you asked him about his job.

Now:

At first you didn’t think of it. Older men existing around you is no reason to be alarmed unless it’s a voting booth.

But then he appeared again, and again. And he always seemed to want to eavesdrop on your conversations. You caught him talking to Andrew. He called him Ross. Their conversation quieted when they saw that you were watching.

Then it escalated to ‘casual’ stalking, then he tried to find out where you lived. It…was awful. And you thought he wouldn’t follow you via car. You were wrong.

You were walking home from a girls night out slightly intoxicated. Your sober friend dropped you off nearby and you kiss her goodbye. She laughs and jokes that you’ve become a much more affectionate friend after meeting your roommate. If you were sober you’d frown at his mention but you just laugh. “Yeah…that ‘Sergeant’ is always so needy. Nothing like those films”

She tells you to get home safe and drives off. The road is swaying but it’ll do.

You walk towards your….mostly empty flat, getting ready to feel the severe lack of an annoying ass man child in the atmosphere and entitled angry cat screaming at you for daring to have a life outside serving him.

You focus on the semi-rhythmic pat pat pat pace of your barefooted walking, red stilettos in hand. Why did you wear those anyway?

Thud You imagine getting home, ignoring Simon’s food demands, and throwing up instead. Let him watch you vomit for a change. You lean on a wall for some stability. Maybe you should’ve drank less. Your mind felt fine but your body was swaying! You think.

thud

You want food, you think, still laying on the wall listening to your footsteps.

thud

And water

thud thud

….those aren’t your feet…..

Thud Thud

You turn too fast and stumble

Taptap thud thud thud

You straighten up to look at your pursuer and find no one. You keep walking

thud thud

Nothings there

thud thud thudthud

You turn faster and see a shadow duck away

shit.

you’re being followed

You look forward, your flat is close, but if you try to go there, he’ll know you live here. Yeah there’s a bunch of others but he can walk in, see where the elevator stops and know which floor, go to it and find your flat using your mailbox. And if he doesn’t come in, he could tell which flat was yours due to seeing light from the window when you turn them on. You could try keeping the lights off but he might follow you in the elevator and find out anyway. Sides you didn’t want to be drunk in the dark. You lean on the wall, looking behind you, trying hard to somehow immediately sober up and become Batman.

You think to what Johnny taught you as you watch out for the man

“Had tae take a different route Bonny! That’s why I took so long tae come back. Cannae have every bastard Ken where I am all the time. Never leave a straight trail. Try doin the same”

No, brain! That’s useless now! You��ll change your routes to places later.

“Try tae take videos of any lad ye dinnae like! I’ll take care o’ it”

Nope! Already did that with Milton and it’s too dark to do it with this guy.

“I Ken yer behind me Bonny. Cannae scare me.”

“How’d you know”

“I always check who’s behind me when looking though glass”

No. You already know who’s behind you! A bad man!

“-Was in a secure safe house. But the dust on one widow was slightly too clean for anyplace we’d be in. Looked closer, It was smudged dust. An’ the a chair was turned the wrong way. Knew right then and there it wasn’t secure.”

“How?”

“If it’s clear then someone must’ve been usin’ it. Went through the window instead and saved us all. Never give them a straight line tae follow”

“That doesn’t explain why you jumped though our window Johnny. There aren’t hostiles here other than Simon when he’s hungry”

“You dinnae Ken tha’! T-they could’ve noticed the lift’s number and found out which floor”

“yes I would have known. I noticed you. And you're telling me they'll notice elevator numbers but not a drunk scott crawling into an apartment?”

“……….aye…”

“Johnny.”

“…..I lost my keys.”

“Then Call me”

“An' my phone died”

“Knock?????”

“Nae. Dinnae wanted to wake ye up. Tis was faster this way”

“Johnny we’re on the fifth floor-“ !

!!!

💡

You got it! You got a plan! But it might be dumb…….

thud

After your suspicions have been confirmed by seeing a head poking out, you decide your plan wasn’t that dumb.

You ‘discretely’ order and Uber and keep stumbling to your flat, making sure to keep the volume of those footsteps low. Was your internet always this slow or did the inebriated anxiety slow time down?

Once you reach the building, you enter with one plan in mind:

survive

You walk towards the elevator and press it. You look towards the door and there’s a man in formal (as in like, office, not tuxedo) wear leaning by the door. If he follows you now you're fucked

DING!

You enter, press the highest floor and shut it. After it closes you hear the building door open harshly and footsteps walk toward the elevator as it goes up. You were right. You focus on not throwing up. Both from alcohol and fear. You focus on counting how long it takes to make it to this floor. Once your reach the top floor, you leave and you look back to look at what floor the elevator is in. It stays at the highest. Good. He’s not coming up.

Now to frame someone else.

You check how long it'll take for the uber to come before executing the next part of your plan....Yeah You're too drunk for math so you go off feeling.

Once you're satisfied with how close the uber was, You dash drunkenly to a random man’s apartment (the names are sometimes written on their mailbox) and bang the door loudly, ring the bell over and over, just overall being a ruckus. Sorry to whoever this ‘Dutch’ guy is but you’re gonna lead this guy right to him. He wakes up, the light turns on and you dash back to but not in the elevator to hide.

Dutch opens the door grumpy and looks around. He finds no one and starts to scold like an old man, saying things like “damn kids! Get off my property! This ain’t right” Till an older man tells him to “just leave it Dutch it’s not worth it.”

He closes the door and lights and you breathe a sigh of relief, almost forgetting your plan. You look at the elevator number, it’s on the ground floor.

He’s coming

You know that stairs are dangerous too, but what are the chances of two creeps? You have these stilettos and they don’t call it that for nothing (It's derived from an Italian word meaning knife). You go use the stairs and quietly go one floor down, holding on the rails for dear life.

You get to that floor and check the elevator number again, they just made it. You press the button to use it while they go bother the old guy with a western accent. You get back to the ground floor and wait your Uber filled with anxiety. You look to the building and see the lights on the highest floor open. You hope those old men are okay. (They’re fighting him for disturbance)

Now all that’s left it to communicate that you don’t live there. You need not to. From the window you see him looking at you. Looks like he forced his way in? You scowl and flip him off. He runs off from the window and your blood runs cold. You see the two men’s faces look at you. You can’t tell their expressions but they make “shoo shoo!” Hand gestures, making you panic more and stumble away.

Your Uber arrives and you hop in.

“Where to?”

“Drive!”

He’s shocked but does so. You look through the window to see that man walk out of the building. He’s out of view a moment later.

“Are you aright ma’am?

“Yes I’m fine.” You whimper, keeping an eye out for any signs of the stalker

“Got a place in mind?”

“Oh! Sorry. I’m drunk….a hotel…”

“Which?”

“…..”

“Hotel it is.”

“Sir?” You pipe up

“Yes ma’am?”

“You’re going slow. Speed up please?”

He opens the window

“Don’t throw up in my car” he speeds up fast.

“I’m fin-”

You throw up out the car But hey by the time you’re done you made it! And you’re slightly more sober.

“Thanks” you rasp out “I’ll tip you”

“Just don’t tip over on your way to bed. Goodnight”

You make it to the hotel and request a room telling them “if anyone asks. I was never here. Especially if it’s a guy”

One hasty payment later you’re safe in a hotel room. What a way to end the night. since when were you so clever while intoxicated? Good job Batman! and Thanks Johnny!

You look at your phone. 3% Great. Took too many videos apparently, either that or your phone recently just spontaneously decided to have shittier battery when you needed it most. Is it the company telling you to buy a new one? Ugh, thanks capitalism!

You lay in the bed and…just…sleep…sorry Simon but you wanna live. You can go a day without eating.

Shorter pt6

#john mactavish imagines #john mactavish x reader #john soap mactavish #john soap mactavish x reader #johnny mactavish imagines #johnny mactavish #johnny mactavish x reader #johnny soap mactavish #soap x reader #johnny soap mactavish x reader #cod mwii #cod mwiii #cod modern warfare #soap cod #cod mw3 #soap mactavish #cod #call of duty modern warfare #modern warfare

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cinebration · 1 year ago

Text

Too Slow For Me (Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Reader) [One-shot]

Premise: Of all the bars in all the world, Jake had to walk into yours.

Tagged: @abaker74, @ahopelessromanticwritersworld, @the-romanian-is-bae, @b-bradshaw, @alldaysdreamers, @bat-luna-cat, @solo2leo, @lucy-sky

Warnings: none

Gif Source: topgundaily

When you were hired to work as a bartender for Penny Benjamin at her bar, you thought nothing of it. The Jake Seresin you knew, while an up-and-coming hotshot flyboy, would never make it to TOPGUN, not with his mouth and his inability to play well with others. Working in the bar would be safe, you were sure of it.

Until a year later when Jake walked through the door.

A shock of surprise blasted through you when you recognized his face across the room, heard the familiar sound of his voice. Like suddenly being doused in cold water, you shivered and felt your heartrate skyrocket.

There was nowhere to hide. As the only bartender on duty, you were obligated to stay behind the bar. You couldn’t run even as Jake crossed the room and headed directly to you.

Trying to quell the mounting panic in your chest, your skin suddenly unbearably itchy as sweat broke out beneath your armpits, you forced yourself to stay calm.

He stopped at the bar and leaned his forearms against it. “Two beers.”

He flashed a pearly white smile.

You felt as though you’d been punched in the stomach. Nodding jerkily, you faced away from him to find two beers and pop off their tops, your face burning.

He didn’t remember you.

You handed him the beers and wordlessly took the money he slapped down onto the countertop, everything within you screaming as you fought back the hot tears pushing insistently at the back of your eyes.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” he said, winking. “What’s your name?”

You quietly gave it to him. A faint crease rumpled his smooth brow.

“Don’t I—”

“Can I get two beers and a boilermaker?” another patron asked, raising their voice over Jake’s.

“Sure thing,” you answered with false cheer, scurrying away with relief to fetch the man’s drinks.

As Jake walked away to join his buddies, he glanced back over his shoulder as though to catch your eye, but you studiously avoided his gaze. Bitterness and pain flooded you as you kicked yourself for being stupid enough to think that working in a bar that catered to Navy pilots wouldn’t make you cross paths with him again.

Maybe, you realized, you had wanted to this happen. Maybe you had wanted the chance…

When you first met Jake, he was fresh out of flight school and hadn’t earned his call sign yet. You hadn’t recognized that his confidence was arrogance and his ego was outsized even for an Navy pilot. You couldn’t see past the charm, his grin, and the mischievous green eyes.

You never expected Jake to even look at you. He seemed to like girls faster than the jets he flew, and you were decidedly not one of them. As you once half-heartedly joked with your mother, you were invisible, particularly to anyone who looked even half as handsome as Jake.

So when he approached you one night, teeth gleaming and eyes glittering in the soft lighting of the bar, cozied up to you, and invited you out to dinner, you could hardly believe your luck. You pinched yourself more than once through the night, so surreal it all felt.

He took you to a middle-grade Italian restaurant that was better than getting pizza and beer but not very extravagant. You didn’t mind, preferring the food to the heavier, richer foods of high-end restaurants. The conversation was stimulating, Jake’s charisma out in full force and the banter crisp and light-hearted. You had never quite so clicked with anyone as you did with Jake that night.

As the evening wound to a close, you were excited to see him again. Before you could say as much, he leaned in toward your ear and whispered, “Why don’t we get out of here?”

Your heart plummeted. Swallowing thickly, you pulled away and muttered, “I’m not…I don’t think so.”

He frowned. “Why not? I thought we were getting along great.”

“We were—are. But…not on a first date.”

He stared at you, the glimmer in his eyes fading. Shaking his head, he exhaled heavily. “You’re too slow for me, sweetheart.”

And he left you standing there, cheeks burning and your stomach roiling.

You hadn’t eaten Italian since.

The night crawled. You exerted all of your energy trying to avoid looking in Jake’s direction or focusing on his voice as he crowed with his friends over winning shots at the dartboard or the pool table. You served drinks and faked smiles at everyone else that came up to the counter.

When the evening waned into the early morning hours, all that remained were Jake and his friends. You could hear the individual tick of the second hand of the clock over their laughter and raised voices, itching for it to be two a.m. so you could kick them out.

“Last call,” you finally yelled with relief.

Jake immediately sauntered over. You wanted to kick your own teeth out.

“Last round of beers for us,” he said, leaning against the counter.

Nodding, you counted heads and proceeded to collect the beer bottles.

“Don’t I know you?”

You froze, your heart thumping painfully in your chest. “No,” you answered. You popped open the first beer.

“Nah, I definitely know you”

You tried to pop off the caps faster, working furiously to hand them to him.

“Wait a minute…” He leaned forward, scrutinizing your face as you handed gave him the last of the beers.

“That’ll be thirty dollars.”

“You’re that girl. Italian dinner, no after party.”

Your cheeks burned. Ducking your head, you tapped the bar. “Thirty dollars.”

“Where’re the beers?” one of his friends called. “Hurry up, man!”

“How’ve you been?” Jake asked, frowning slightly as he dug around for his wallet.

“Why would you care?” you muttered, snatching the money from his hand. You scurried away from him to the opposite side of the room, hiding behind chores.

The group left before you had to kick them out at two. Relief made you slump into a chair with your head in your hands, your stomach slowly relaxing and releasing the knot it had been holding for hours. Somehow, Jake remembering you—or rather, how he had remembered you—was worse than him not recognizing you at first.

You took your time wiping down the tables and booths, stacking the chairs atop them so you could run a quick vacuum over the floor. The chores helped relax you, though bitter sadness lingered tartly in your mouth.

You locked up, debating how to tell Penny that you were quitting, and strode across the sand to the parking lot—where Jake and his friends had set up a stunt course with orange traffic cones, daring each other to do better as they screeched through the obstacle course. Cones went flying as each one clipped corners too hard or fumbled gear changes, the clutch grinding like a creature in the throws of pain.

You hesitated as you watched them, as you watched Jake laughing at his friends’ failures. Leaning against your car, you watched waited for his turn.

Climbing into the car, he revved the engine like he knew what he was doing and took off, burning rubber on the asphalt as he navigated the course. He clipped one cone, then two, before spinning out as a third snagged in the wheel-well.

Everyone laughed and talked shit as Jake climbed out of the car with a sheepish grin on his face. He shrugged it off and said, “Nobody can make this course, man.”

You pushed off your car, tossed your purse into it, and strode across the asphalt to Jake. He sobered as you approached, wariness diminishing the humor in his expression. You held out a hand for the keys.

“I wanna try,” you said.

A quiet ooooo rippled through the group.

“No offense,” he began.

You tore the keys from his hand.

“Uh, knock yourself out, I guess.”

“No way,” someone else said, shaking his head as you passed him to the car. “What’s a civilian gonna do? Total our car!”

You slipped into the driver’s seat and adjusted it before slamming the door shut, blocking out the naysaying crowd’s voices. Inhaling deeply, you glanced at the obstacle course, committing it to memory.

How’s this for fast? you thought savagely.

Kicking the car into gear, you shot forward into the opening of the track. With practiced hands, you shifted seamlessly through gears, the clutch almost purring with relief at not grinding. Coming up to the first pinched turn, you tore around it easily, the rear bumper of the car missing a cone by mere centimeters.

The thrill of the speed rushed through you, making the crowd and the circumstances drop away. You tore around the next turn, looked ahead to see that two scattered cones were a threat to your wheels.

Without hesitation, you slammed on the brakes, sending the car into a slide. Yanking the gear shift into reverse, you pivoted the car into another 180, sliding through both cones and whipping around to finish the last leg of the course.

You streaked through the other side, not a single cone touched in your wake.

Cheers thundered in the silence of the night as you killed the engine and exited the car.

“Un-fucking-believable!” someone shrieked. “Did you see that!?”

The only woman in the group was grinning, a “Niceeeee” hissing past her lips.

Jake trotted up to you. “That was—”

You tossed the keys at his chest. He had to scoop them off the asphalt as you strode across the parking lot to your car.

“Hey, wait a minute.” He hurried to your side. “I want to talk to you.”

“What for?”

He blinked. “I want to buy you a drink, catch up.”

You stopped abruptly, adrenaline still flooding your veins. You stared him directly, the first time you had been able to meet his eye all night. He took a step back under the force of your gaze.

“Why?”

“Because…you’re interesting.”

“I was always interesting, dipshit. You just didn’t stick around to find out,” you snarled.

You took off to your car, leaving him standing there. He tried to catch up, but you were too fast for him.

#Jake Seresin x Reader #Jake Seresin #Jake Seresin imagine #Hangman x Reader #Hangman #Hangman imagine #Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x Reader #Jake 'Hangman' Seresin #Jake 'Hangman' Seresin imagine #Glen Powell x Reader #Glen Powell #Glen Powell imagine #Top Gun: Maverick #Top Gun Maverick #TGM

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gaylordscooter · 9 months ago

Text

Where Fate Leads Us

Killer, Dust and Horror were in Killer's room, folding the multitude of clothes.

“don't expect me to do more of the chores around here just because you two offered to help me,” Killer said.

“sure, you'll be too busy with laundry anyway,” Horror chuckled.

“i literally will,” he said in full seriousness. He placed the shirt he folded onto the stack of shirts in his closet that was getting taller than he was standing. “i know i’ve joked that you two ain’t allowed to borrow my clothes—but yeah, please take some of these. i didn't expect there to be this much.”

“eh, it's not my style,” Horror shrugged, holding a pair of ripped jeans.

“horror, bud. please.”

Horror shook his head, “shouldn't have gotten so many clothes, man.”

“i swear nightmare gave me more than i grabbed.”

“that's definitely not true.”

“dust, back me up.”

Dust did not back him up.

Killer sighed, looking at his hubris that was the closet filled to the brim with stacks of clothing. He wouldn't have to do laundry that often if he washed all his clothes once he ran out of clean ones, but that would take so long. Eh, he’ll worry about it later.

They didn't see Nightmare until they started to eat dinner. He arrived without a word, keeping his gaze forward and away from the three as he walked over to the door to the hallway.

Killer dropped his fork upon seeing him.

A good amount of the goop on his body was gone, as if half of his body was washed off. Or scorched off. Something smelled burnt.

What surprised Killer the most was seeing his skull. He was a skeleton and he looked like him. He didn't expect that.

Nightmare spared a quick glance at Killer as he tried to walk faster. His gait was erratic, akin to limping. What little slime there was formed slim tendrils by his legs that he used as support to walk.

The three stayed silent until a few moments after he left.

“he looks younger than me,” Killer said.

But rather than questioning it, the three decided to drop it there.

They didn’t see much of Nightmare until a whole week later.

They were sitting at one of the tables in the Great Hall, conversing with each other. Soon enough the topic steered over to Nightmare.

“nightmare hasn't put us through anything recently, huh? not even a game of uno,” Horror said. Last time there was a dip in activity, he was paranoid, but he was oddly calm about it this time. Seeing Nightmare's other form changed the way he saw him, he supposed. It was easier to personify him. “what do you two think he's up to?”

Dust merely shrugged. Either because he didn't feel like talking or because he really didn't have a clue.

Killer seemed lost in thought, before speaking up, “he apologized.”

“huh?” Horror cocked his head.

“he apologized, for putting us through all that shit. maybe he meant it?” That apology would be worth nothing if he continued to do it, after all. Which is what he was expecting, but it's been a whole week since then and he has yet to tell them to do anything.

“he actually apologized? that's hilarious,” Horror said.

“i think he was being genuine, but i wonder why he’s been out more often.”

The obvious conclusion to this behavior would be that he's planning something, but none of them jumped to it. Perhaps they were beginning to trust him.

They were also all in a good mood today.

Killer was able to get a good night’s sleep and woke up well-rested for once. He had a good breakfast consisting of ungodly amounts of buttered toast, tended to the cats, and now he was hanging out with the other two. It was a solid day.

Dust also appeared to be in a lighter mood. He was chatty by his standards and overall more relaxed. It was like less stuff was on his mind.

Horror didn't feel on edge constantly, almost feeling how he used to before the core went kaput. It was as if he felt safe, almost.

In fact, they’ve been in a good mood this whole past week. If their year-ago selves saw them now they'd find this weird and crazy.

“though, he always comes and goes in such a hurry…”

As if on cue, Nightmare entered the hall, throwing the doors open in a dramatic fashion that called for attention. He only had four tentacles out at the moment. That was half the usual amount.

“Hello,” he greeted. “How has everyone been today?” He has never asked that question before. He was being friendlier, perhaps.

“i’m doin’ good,” Killer answered without a second thought.

“‘m fine,” Horror said.

Dust nodded, indicating he felt the same.

Nightmare hid his smile. “I see, carry on then.” He left the hall, sinking into the ground to reappear in his room.

It was happening.

He felt incredibly weak at the moment, sure, but it would all pay off. He just needed to be patient.

He collapsed on his bed, reverting to his normal “passive” form as the protector of the multiverse called it. He was nearing the end of his plan. He will enact the last step tomorrow. He had to. If his exhaustion was anything to go by, he was running out of time.

The next morning, Killer was first to wake up. Another night of feeling well rested. It was a miracle. He sat up and stretched before getting up to throw on a change of clothes.

He went out to the hall, glancing at Horror and Dust’s doors before heading over to the kitchen.

He opened the pantry only to be met with nothing but chocolate bars. Instead of getting annoyed or mad he laughed.

He shut the pantry and composed himself. Why did he find it funny? Nightmare definitely targeted him with that one—No, it was just coincidence.

It was?

Killer shook his head trying to snap himself out of whatever was happening.

Something was happening, right? Something was off.

Nothing was off. He was just being silly.

He scratched the back of his head, opting to open the fridge.

And there was nothing but ketchup.

He slammed the door shut. Laughter erupted from his metaphorical throat. He ended up collapsing to the floor from how hard he was laughing.

He couldn't breathe. He didn't need to breathe.

But his chest still hurt. No it didn't. He couldn't feel pain.

Everything was fine.

His soul snapped into a target shape. He gasped for air and scrambled up to stand. It was like cold water was dumped onto him.

Something’s wrong, he tested the thought. Nothing came to counter it.

Something was messing with his head. For how long? Oh god, for how long?

Where the hell was Dust and Horror?! He wasn't ever the first to arrive in the kitchen, let alone first to wake up.

A cackle echoed throughout the area as the kitchen warped and twisted. The floorboards underneath him cracked and splintered, revealing dark nothingness beneath. The patterns on the wall had eyes, all glaring at him.

What the fuck was happening?

He choked out a breath, rushing over to the door that led to the hall. The door itself looked normal but when he grabbed the doorknob he couldn't let go of it, as if it grabbed back.

Was he still dreaming? Was this a hallucination?

The door flung open. He still couldn't let go of the handle.

It was Nightmare.

“Good morning, Killer,” he said calmly, as if their surroundings weren't collapsing in on itself. “Leaving the kitchen so soon? You haven't even eaten yet. Was the food not to your liking? But I picked it out just for you.” It sounded like his voice was coming from all directions. It was disorienting to say the least.

His eye, along with the eyes on the walls darted to his soul. He looked disappointed when he noticed its shape. He tsked, “After all the work I’ve put in, the stubborn thing is still unstable?”

“wh-what the hell are you talking about?” he rasped.

Nightmare snatched his soul with one of his hands. He leered down at it like a predator stalking its prey. He molded it with his hands back into the shape of a normal monster soul while Killer keened.

Killer grit his teeth as his emotions hit him at full force. It was now that he realized the unusual happiness he felt these past few days was not normal. That had to be Nightmare's doing.

That's why he thought he trusted him.

“you,” he growled, “you asshole!”

Nightmare merely drank up his anger with an amused expression. “Yes? Is that anything new?” he asked.

“fuck you!”

“Using big boy words now, aren't we?”

“i hate you.”

Nightmare was unfazed by the comment. “Tell me something I don't know.”

The door, along with the handle keeping Killer captive, suddenly disappeared. However, he still couldn't move. It was like he had sleep paralysis.

But unfortunately, he knew the demon was real.

“Do you want to know something funny? It isn’t just that I gain energy from negativity, positive emotions hurt. They sting like pouring acid on a wound as you wrench it open. But it was all worth enduring just to see the look of betrayal on your face.”

He was foolish. He was an idiot. He was an utter idiot!

Nightmare's smile spread impossibly wide across his face, curling up at the edges as he took in all of Killer's anguish. He was reveling in it.

“The best part, you were right to be untrusting. And then you second guessed yourself, leading to your downfall. It's pathetically hilarious.”

Killer wanted to wipe that smug face off so badly.

“I may not be able to force people to be happy like my brother, but I can maintain what is there by taking away your ability to feel anything negative. Isn't that fascinating? Your happiness was real. I tore that away from you.”

He felt sick. He felt utterly sick.

“I wonder. Do you think you three were the first ones?”

There was too much liquid determination leaking from his sockets. He retched, leaving a puddle on the torn up ground. He coughed more out, trying to prevent himself from choking on it.

Nightmare watched the display in amusement. He leaned down, reaching a hand out to caress the side of his face in a false display of affection. “Oh, Killer,” he cooed, voice sickly sweet, “You're getting my floors dirty.”

His touch was painful. It trudged up old and awful memories. He imagined that this is what everyone he killed felt when he dealt the final blow. With effort, he managed to tilt his head away from his hand.

Nightmare withdrew his hand, wiping it on his cloak as if Killer was covered in dirt.

“Oh mortals, so easy to fool. You pretend not to know things, ask questions and suddenly you seem less of a threat. He's ignorant to the world. So innocent. Surely he’s just misguided.”

Killer’s breath hitched. He tried not to break down in front of him. He wasn't going to give him the satisfaction. He couldn't. Usually it was second nature to suppress his emotions, but it was too much now.

God, it was all an act for a false sense of security. He played with them like dolls and now he was tossing them out. What was going to happen now? Was he going to kill him?

Back then he wouldn't have cared about that. But now, he wanted to live. He had people he cared about again.

Did he already kill Dust and Horror?

“You're crying,” he said with false concern. “Be grateful you're able to. The others and your cats didn't even have the chance to.”

“NO!” Killer cried at the implications. The dam broke as he sobbed audibly. He clutched at his head, digging his fingers into his skull. He was hyperventilating. “no, you didn't. you didn’t—no.” He collapsed to his knees, shaking as he repeated his words of disbelief.

“You're alone, Killer,” he said in a tone that was a mockery of comfort. His sadness was euphoric. “You know, you were always my favorite out of the bunch.”

Killer was hardly listening now, too wracked with grief to hear.

“Because I knew how satisfying it would be to build you back up, just to tear you down again.”

And it was satisfying. Killer served him a mess of emotions in a cocktail just for him.

This is what he wanted. This is what he was made for. Was the multiverse finally happy with him?

Everything went dark. Killer shut his eye sockets tight and braced himself for certain death.

“Goodbye,” Nightmare growled.

When he opened them, he saw white. He had to blink his sockets until they adjusted to the brightness. Was this the afterlife? It was so empty.

And quiet.

He stayed on the ground, unable to find the effort to stand. So that was it, huh? He thought he was given a second chance. He was given back control over his life—but that was just a mere illusion. They were all his puppets in the end. He was just good at hiding their strings.

He couldn’t deny the sense of betrayal he felt. It was funny, he knew he couldn’t trust him.

He was still crying. There was a stain on the ground now created by the liquid determination pouring from his sockets.

He remembered when he thought dying would bring him peace, but now he was mourning all the things he was unable to do. He already missed Dust and Horror.

He laid on the ground for a little while, numb to the passage of time.

“—and there's the third. Hey man, you good?” A voice spoke.

Killer jolted and staggered to his feet. He looked around the area frantically, not finding anyone nearby—until he looked down. He screamed and backed away on instinct.

It was another skeleton, notably shorter than him, but still looked like a Sans regardless. However, this one dressed drastically different from any Sans he’s seen. He wore a scarf around his neck, some kind of crop top over a white tank top, long brown gloves that only covered his ring and pinky finger, and a brown jumpsuit worn like pants with the sleeves tied around his waist. It was safe to say he was a fashion disaster.

He raised his hands to show he was empty handed and meant no harm. “It's okay, I’m not going to hurt you.”

The way he spoke reminded Killer of how he’d talk to a scared cat. Another sharp pang hit his soul as he remembered that he’ll never be able to see his cats again. “who the hell are you?” he asked, voice raw from all his screaming.

The skeleton looked confused at the question but answered anyway, “The name’s ink.” He did a dorky pose where he pointed to himself as he said that.

“so i’m not dead?” he questioned aloud.

“I sure hope you aren't. Your friends would be sad.”

Killer narrowed his eyes warily. “what friends?”

“Two sanses like you, one had a red eye and the other had his hood covering his face. They asked if i saw you.”

“when did you see them?! they're alive?” Hope kindled in his soul before he had the chance to be cautious.

“They are. I took them over to the hub just a bit ago,” Ink explained. “I can take you to them.”

“please!” Killer hastily said. He didn't even know what the “hub” was but all he knew is that he needed to get over to Dust and Horror now.

He reached his hand out to him.

Killer grabbed it without hesitation.

Ink’s scarves moved like prehensile tails and painted the ground beneath them which promptly turned into a hole.

The two of them fell, startling Killer, but fortunately once they got close to the ground, Ink slowed their fall by floating somehow.

He let go of his hand once they landed.

They were in a whole different world. His eye sockets widened. He looked around the new area and saw a multitude of unfamiliar people.

“killer?”

He whipped his head in the direction of the voice. His face lit up upon seeing Horror and Dust. “guys!” he shouted. He bolted over to the two, tackling them down into a hug.

“you're both alive!” he exclaimed. He clung to the two of them like a koala. “i thought nightmare killed you guys.”

“we thought nightmare killed you.” Horror patted his back comfortingly while Dust simply hugged him back.

Killer ended the hug and stood up after a bit, helping the two up. “i’m so glad it was a bluff,” he said in relief. “fuck, what an asshole.”

“what did he do to you? it looks like you were doused with black paint.”

Killer glanced down at his clothes. Sure enough there were black stains. He didn't really want to think about what happened, but even as he did he found it hard to describe. “well, first of all, everything was fucked up like i was having a bad trip, and then he gloated about killing you two and then i thought he killed me.” It was a really poor summary, but he believed he got the point across.

“and what’s up with all that?” Horror gestured to the black stains that trailed from his face to his shirt.

“i threw up,” Killer said, trying to wipe off the dried determination near his teeth.

Horror absentmindedly wiped his own shirt. He was transparently concerned.

“Woah woah woah, what the hell are these three doing here?!” a new voice shouted.

The three of them snapped their attention to the unfamiliar person, making him freeze in place as a result.

Killer noticed that Ink was next to him.

He was yet another Sans, slightly taller than Ink but shorter than the three of them. He wore a torn-up lab coat over a blue-gray shirt, navy blue pants, blueish-green gloves and boots of supposedly the same rubber-like material. He also wore a bandana the same color as his boots and gloves around his neck.

In short, he looked like a nerd.

Ink told him something too quietly for them to catch.

The nerd-looking Sans, gave them a weird look before daring to walk over to them with Ink trailing behind. He reached his hand out for a handshake. “Hi,” he said simply.

No one made a move to return the handshake.

“Don't any of you know how to greet a new pal?” The way he said that felt practiced. And then he snickered and dropped his hand. “So none of you remember those times you almost killed me? Cool. That's great. The name’s Blue.”

The three exchanged glances amongst themselves, seeing if any of them recognized this “Blue”. Nope, none of them did.

None of them felt inclined to introduce themselves either.

Blue tugged at his bandana awkwardly and then swiveled around to Ink. “do they have to be here?”

Ink rolled his eyelights. “Yes, it's a thing.”

“Like how Dream bursting into flames and turning into some eldritch angel for a bit was a thing?”

Ink didn't even have to reply.

“Of course it is,” he sighed. He turned back around. “Anyway!” The increase in volume made the three flinch, but Blue didn't seem to notice. “Welcome to the hub! This is a place of refuge for people who’s universes have been destroyed or sucked badly, et cetera, et cetera, don't kill anyone here and you'll be provided a home along with food and water, probably.”

They were all disoriented by this change of pace. So they really were just going to live somewhere completely different now. Said somewhere being populated with many other people.

This was definitely going to take some getting used to.

Horror looked uncertain while Dust looked uncomfortable. Killer, on the other hand, looked elated.

“guys this means we're free. we’re free from nightmare!” he realized. “you're not gonna torture us, are you?” he asked Blue.

“Oh god no,” he replied, sounding repulsed.

Killer pumped his fist in the air as if that was a plus instead of the bare minimum.

Blue looked to the side awkwardly. “So then, Ink here will find you guys a place to stay and if you have any questions you can ask me, or Cross and Chara. Those two are the ones who founded the place after all, but they aren't here right now, unfortunately.”

“where can we get some food?” Killer asked. Hunger decided to hit him now and it was likely Dust and Horror were hungry too. None of them got to eat breakfast, to his knowledge.

“Oh, there's a Grillby’s—”

“anything but a grillby’s?” he sounded a bit desperate asking that.

“I gotcha covered!” Ink chimed in, nudging Blue aside. “I can get you guys whatever you want. I’ll get you guys a room first. Follow me.” He walked off towards the buildings in the distance.

There were a lot of other people around the area. A good amount were also skeletons. For the most part, they’d mind their own business, only glancing at them from time to time as they followed Ink.

Dust avoided looking at everyone, especially trying to make himself look small when nearing a Papyrus.

At one point Horror came to a sudden halt with a horrified expression.

There was an Undyne and Alphys, the two clearly together, nearby.

“what? you hate love or something?” Killer snickered.

Horror pulled his tattered hood on. “don't joke with me right now, killer,” he grumbled.

Killer went quiet and kept his head down. He hoped they were almost there. He kept looking at the buildings as they walked along trying to find one that looked remotely like the place they would stay. He realized that, while Horror and Dust seemed bothered by seeing different versions of people they knew, he saw all of these guys as mere strangers. Try as he might, when he sees a Papyrus he doesn't feel anything and can only go off of vague memories to know that he should be feeling something more.

He hesitated to kill his Papyrus. Why did he look at these other versions of him and feel nothing towards them?

He remembered when Nightmare brought a Papyrus to the castle and when they hugged. He didn't feel that much back then either, but he chalked that up to his soul being on the fritz.

“We're here!” Ink finally said. “Well, this is where Horror’ll stay—if you guys want to be separate, that is.”

The building they were in front of looked like an actual house rather than an apartment.

“how the hell do you know my name?”

“Your brother told me, duh,” Ink said as if he should’ve known already.

“my brother?! is he here?” Horror questioned. He looked like he’d strangle Ink if he was joking with him.

Ink pointed to the building with his thumb. “He’s living in there with a few others from your world. I think he's in there right now.”

Horror approached the door and knocked.

“Who’s there?”

That was Toriel’s voice.

“amish,” he answered.

“Amish who?”

“I missed you too.”

Toriel laughed, thankfully. He was pretty rusty on his knock knock jokes. He wasn't sure that one would land.

The door opened a few seconds later.

Toriel looked healthier and less burdened. Her fur was well taken care of rather than matted like it was the last time he saw her. She also had new robes that were much more vibrant in color. She smiled fondly at him. “Hello, Sans.”

He couldn't believe this was real. “heya, toriel.”

He heard a stampede coming from behind her as the whole gang from Grillby’s went up to the door. A chorus of “Sans!” rang out.

“‘sup, guys?” He was surprised to see that all of them were staying in the house.

Many of them were saying things like “we thought you died” and “where the hell have you been?”.

Everyone looked a lot livelier.

Papyrus managed to push himself out from the crowd, Toriel stepping aside to let him get closer to his brother.

Papyrus looked more like his old self. There weren't any more blood stains on him, but his teeth were still crooked. His outfit was completely different. He was wearing what appeared to be a red-orange knitted sweater with the text “Cool Dude” embroidered in white in the middle of it. His jagged neck was exposed without his cape on.

Soon enough, Sans was off the ground and lifted into the air by Papyrus as he brought him into a tight hug. “I KNEW I’D SEE YOU AGAIN!” he said excitedly.

“missed you too, bro. i hope you weren't too bonely without me.”

Papyrus let out a sob at his joke, but not in annoyance but rather joy.

“you good?”

“I MISSED YOUR PUNS,” he admitted. “IT WASN’T THE SAME WHEN TORIEL WOULD MAKE THEM.”

“you dead serious? of corpse toriel can't hold a candle to me, she’s just not as humerus. no body’s funnier than a skeleton like me.”

Toriel snickered at his rapid-fire jokes.

“AND IT’S WORN OFF! I NO LONGER MISS THEM,” he said lightheartedly. He set Sans down carefully. “WOWIE, YOUR CLOTHES SURE ARE…SOMETHING.”

Right, he practically was dressed in tattered rags.

“I THINK I HAVE SOME OF YOUR CLOTHES PACKED IN MY ROOM. DOGARESSA SAID I WAS OVER PACKING BUT I KNEW I WAS RIGHT TO BRING THEM!” he raised his voice even louder as he mentioned Dogaressa. “COME INSIDE, I’LL SHOW YOU OUR ROOM!” Papyrus walked back inside the house eagerly.

Sans smiled but paused before taking a step in. He looked back to Dust and Killer, who were watching his reunion.

“Are those friends of yours?” Toriel asked.

Friends. He doesn't think any of them have called each other a friend before.

“uh, yeah,” he said quietly.

“Why not introduce them to us?” she suggested.

He never thought about the possibility of introducing Killer and Dust to them. He wasn't sure how something like that would go. Their names themselves would be off-putting. He motioned for them to come over.

They looked hesitant, as if they weren't sure if he really did want them to come over. Eventually, they bit the bullet and started walking over.

“Hello there,” Toriel greeted. “I take it, you two are friends of Sans?”

Man, they've killed different versions of everyone inside that house, Killer thought awkwardly. “yup, the name’s killer.”

She seemed to be more concerned with his odd soul than his name. To her credit, she didn't question either. “My name is Toriel, it is nice to meet you.” She looked at Dust, who was probably sweating bullets underneath his hood. “And you are?”

Dust kept his hands in his pockets and his gaze downward as if the ground was very interesting.

“oh uh, he doesn't talk. we call him…” Killer desperately tried to think of any other name to call him that didn’t literally mean corpse. “dusk.”

“It is nice to meet you as well, Dusk.”

“Nice of you guys to get acquainted,” Ink said, appearing behind the two skeletons. “Now if you don't mind, you two, we gotta get a move on. I’m a busy skeleton.”

“right, we’ll see you around,” Killer said. “bye, h—sans.”

Sans waved goodbye and went inside the house after his brother.

“Farewell,” Toriel said and then closed the door.

Ink led them to a hotel building a few blocks away from the house. The walk was quiet and lackluster.

That is, until Killer realized something. “hang on.”

“Hm?”

“you said horror’s brother told you his name.”

“Yup!” he confirmed.

“Horror’s brother doesn't know he's called that.”

Ink looked like he was caught robbing a bank, and then he laughed it off. “Wow, it took you that long to notice that? Anyway,” he gestured to the hotel, “this is where you two will be staying.”

“don’t just change topics—”

“I don't have time to explain to you who I am and how I know literally everything about you. Like how you're gonna ask me if you're gonna share a room with Dusk and then you'll get sad when I tell you ‘well I did have two rooms prepared’ and then stupidly happy when I say ‘but if you want you guys can share a room’.”

Killer looked mortified. What the hell was this guy’s deal? Could he see the future?

Ink handed him a key. “Anyway, here's your room key, it's on the second floor. Yes there's two beds but I doubt you need the extra one—”

“hey.”

“Have fun.” His scarf painted a hole in the ground and he jumped into it.

Killer sighed, inspecting the key in his hand. It had the room number on it, fortunately. “c’mon, man,” he said to Dust.

The two of them walked into the hotel, which thankfully didn't have anyone in the lobby at the moment. They were able to get in their room without any interruptions.

The moment Killer locked the door shut, Dust threw himself onto one of the beds with a sigh.

“how you holding up, dust?”

“don't call me that,” he muttered angrily.

“oh.” He went over to sit on the other bed, proving Ink wrong. “so is ‘dusk’ fine?”

He didn't protest, so he assumed it was a yes. It was funny, they hardly sounded different. In fact, Killer came up with that name because it sounded similar.

Was it because of the meaning behind the words or because of the person who gave him the name that made the difference? Killer knew it was more likely to be the former.

Dusk laid on the bed lifelessly, as if he was an actual dead skeleton.

Killer couldn't blame him. The only reason he wasn't breaking down was because someone else was in the room, and he was getting tired of all this emotional turmoil.

He heard a knock at the door. “i’m going to stab whoever's outside if you don't make like a tree and fuck off,” he threatened.

“Geez! I just brought you guys some food. It's lumpia. I’ll leave it at the door,” that sounded like Blue.

Killer waited a bit until he got up to open the door. There was a bag of takeout on the ground. He picked it up and shut the door, locking it again.

Inside the containers was a food he didn't recognize. thank god, he would've snapped if it was Grillby’s. He left one of the containers on Dusk’s bedside counter.

He ate like a starving animal, pleased to find out that the “lumpia”, as Blue called it, was pretty good. Honestly, he’d eat literal dirt but that didn't stop him from appreciating well-cooked food.

He heard Dusk sit up and grab the container on his bedside counter.

They ate in silence for a bit.

“i’m glad you're not dead,” Dusk said eventually.

Killer snickered, “me too.” He realized how that came out. “i’m also glad that you're alive, i mean.”

He saw him smiling underneath his hood.

“i dunno if my cats are okay, though. even if he doesn't hurt them directly…who's gonna take care of them?” His smile faltered.

Dusk put the container back and got up to sit next to him. He thought of what to say. He wasn’t that good at comforting people in the past and he definitely wasn’t good at it now. “they were strays, right? they’ll probably be able to fend for themselves.”

“god, i hope so.” That wasn’t even taking into account the possibility that Nightmare himself will hurt them. Killer supposed he never explicitly said he killed anyone, and the other two turned out to be fine, but that didn’t stop him from fearing the worst.

He felt Dusk’s arm awkwardly wrap around him. Instinctively he turned to hug him back.

Maybe they’ll end up okay.

#utmv fic #nightmare sans #killer sans #horror sans #dust sans

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