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sinful-mind-joyful-thoughts · 4 months ago

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𝑺𝑪𝑹𝑬𝑨𝑴? 𝑶𝒓 𝑪𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒎? (Kinktober special) (J.M)

⤷Credits: Pinterest

Summary: He hunts you through the shadows, every sick, voyeuristic moment immortalized on camera. But it's not just fear coursing through you—your most depraved desires awaken when he finally closes in and takes what he's been watching from afar.

Warnings : dub-con themes, making of porn, voyeurism (making porn and having sex for an audience), toys, role-playing, stalking, power dynamics, cat and chase, spanking choking, knife play, manhandling, praise, dirty talk, degrading, oral M!, breeding kink, fear, mask kink, VERY ROUGH, KINKY AND DARK

A/N: When I say this has been sitting in my drafts for a LONGGG TIME, I'm not lying. I loved this idea, and I hope you guys love it just as much. Thank you so much to my lovely mutuals who listened to me yap and yap about this for almost two months. I'm so sorry I haven't been active. I'm a teaching assistant, and life is wild.

You stood in the kitchen, trying hard not to glance at the camera perched atop the microwave. Its red recording light blinked steadily, reminding you that every move, every breath, was being captured. The sound of popcorn popping on the stove filled the silence of the house, a comforting rhythm in the eerie stillness. The blue tint of the night, barely enough to see by, blended with the dim candlelight scattered around the room, creating a shadowy, unsettling atmosphere. It was the perfect setting for what was about to go down, and you had to keep your composure, fighting back the grin that threatened to spread across your lips.

This wasn’t just any night. This was the fall special for Sinning Sinners, the site that you and Joel had built from the ground up. It wasn’t your usual shoot where you’d just pull out a camera, fuck each other’s brains out, and call it a day. No, this was something more—something you both lived for, something that had become a tradition, an annual ritual that made your fans lose their fucking minds. Every fall, you and Joel took things up a notch, diving headfirst into the darker, kinkier side of your fantasies. It wasn’t just about sex; it was about pushing boundaries, about blending fear and desire until the line between them blurred into something that made your audience addicted.

Last year, you’d done a haunted corn maze, where Joel had fucked you right in the middle of it, surrounded by the rustling stalks and the cool night air. You could still feel the roughness of the corn beneath your hands, still hear the way you’d moaned like a slut as Joel took you in that eerie, isolated field. The memory alone made heat pool between your legs, a filthy reminder of how wild it had been, how much your fans had eaten it up. They’d gone crazy for it, the combination of fear and lust driving them to hit replay again and again. That’s what Sinning Sinners was all about—giving them something they couldn’t get anywhere else, something that made them come back for more, desperate for whatever twisted shit you and Joel would come up with next.

It had started with a late-night viewing of Scream. The room was dark except for the flickering light of the TV, casting eerie shadows across Joel’s face as you watched the familiar scenes unfold. You’d both seen it countless times, but something about that night felt different—charged. Joel’s hand rested on your thigh, his grip tightening with every kill, every chase, his eyes never leaving the screen.

When the credits rolled, he turned to you, his expression unreadable for a moment before that spark of twisted inspiration flickered in his eyes. “You know,” he started, his voice low and deliberate, “we’ve never done anything with Ghostface before.” There was a pause, the air between you thick with the weight of his words. “What if…this year, we take it further? Darker, dirtier. You could be the clueless victim, and I could be him. Stalking you, making you wait until I’m ready to strike.”

The second he mentioned it, your heart skipped a beat, excitement rushing through your veins. You could picture it already—Joel in the mask, his voice taunting you through the fabric, the thrill of being hunted, knowing what was coming but not when. It was perfect. The embodiment of fear and lust, wrapped in a twisted, beautiful package

The house was quiet, save for the rhythmic popping of kernels on the stove. You focused on the mundane task, pouring the popcorn into a bowl as the salty scent filled the air, trying to keep your cool. But it wasn’t easy. The night was thick with tension, the kind you could almost taste, like the first touch of a lover’s hand. You knew Joel was out there, somewhere in the darkness, watching you with those predatory eyes, waiting for his cue. It was all part of the game—the unspoken thrill of knowing you were being hunted, of playing dumb when you were anything but.

You bit your lip, fighting the urge to glance out the window. You’d agreed not to look, not to break character, even though every instinct screamed at you to check, to catch a glimpse of him lurking in the shadows. Instead, you turned your attention to the DVD shelf, your fingers brushing over the spines of the old horror movies. The camera, placed discreetly beside it, was rolling, capturing the subtle tremor in your hands, the way your breath hitched when you thought about what was coming. You grabbed a classic—something with blood, screams, and just the right amount of tension—and turned your back to the camera, giving the viewers a perfect shot of the darkened window behind you. They’d be watching, waiting, knowing exactly what was coming even if you were supposed to be oblivious.

You carried the bowl and the DVD down the hallway, the soft creak of the floorboards beneath your feet adding to the tension. The house felt alive, every shadow shifting as you passed as if it were in on the game. Your thoughts wandered to what was waiting in the bedroom, not just the TV and blankets, but also the props and toys you’d stashed away earlier. A black silk blindfold, a sleek vibrator, a collection of menacingly gleaming, faux weapons—everything was set, just in case things took a darker turn. The details mattered, after all.They were what made Sinning Sinners so addictive. The unpredictability, the raw, unfiltered lust that seeped into every frame, every shot. You never planned the sex, only the build-up—the suspense, the tension that made it all so fucking good.

You reached your bedroom, setting the DVD case on the dresser before catching sight of yourself in the mirror. You paused, taking in the reflection—a girl who looked sweet and innocent, but whose eyes held darker secrets. The oversized Scream shirt you wore hung just low enough to brush the tops of your thighs, barely covering the black lace panties beneath. It was the perfect look for what was coming next, just enough innocence to make the chase all the more thrilling.

You grabbed the old-school camera from the nightstand, the one you loved for its Y2K aesthetic, and snapped a quick photo. The flash momentarily blinded you, and you knew this shot would have to be carefully edited out of the final cut, but when your vision cleared, the result was exactly what you wanted. A keepsake, a little reminder of the night and the game you were about to play.

Finally, you settled into bed, propping yourself up against the pillows as the movie started to play. The flickering light from the TV cast eerie shadows across the room, heightening the tension. You let yourself get lost in it for a moment, the familiar scenes of blood and screams playing out on the screen, a reflection of the chaos that would soon unfold in your own home. But your mind wasn’t on the movie. It was on Joel, on the darkness creeping closer, on the game you’d both set in motion.

And then, you heard it—a faint creak, barely audible over the sound of the movie. But it was enough. Your breath hitched, your heart skipping a beat as you strained to listen. Another sound followed, this one more distinct, coming from the living room. The cue. It was time.

You slid out of bed, the cool air kissing your bare legs as you padded toward the door. Every step was deliberate, every movement calculated to match the growing tension. You were supposed to be scared, after all. You were supposed to be the clueless girl in the horror movie, the one who heard a noise and just had to investigate. It was cliché, but that was the point. The audience would be yelling at their screens, telling you to stay put, but you knew better. You knew exactly what was coming.

The living room was dimly lit, shadows stretching across the floor as you slowly entered. The popcorn bowl from earlier sat untouched on your dresser, a silent reminder of the night’s buildup. Your eyes drifted to the window, where the curtains fluttered ever so slightly, caught by a breeze you hadn’t noticed before. You tried to ignore the unsettling chill that crept up your spine, but you couldn’t help but notice the faint movement just outside—a hint of something, or someone, lurking in the darkness.

But you felt it. You felt him.

You took a hesitant step forward, your eyes scanning the room as if you were searching for the source of the sound. The anticipation was electric, sending shivers down your spine. Then, from the corner of your eye, you saw it—the flicker of movement, the unmistakable shape of a figure slipping into the room. You turned, just in time to see him, clad in black, the Ghostface mask gleaming in the dim light.

Your heart leaped into your throat as he lunged at you. You yelped, more out of excitement than fear, and bolted toward the kitchen. Your bare feet slapped against the hardwood as you ran, the thrill of the chase making your pulse race. You knew he was right behind you, could feel his presence like a shadow closing in.

The kitchen was dark, lit only by the faint glow of candles. You skidded to a stop, chest heaving as you spun around to face him. There he was, just a few feet away, the knife in his hand catching the light as he approached. The sight of him, the menace in his slow, deliberate steps, sent a delicious thrill through you.

You backed up against the counter, feeling the cool edge press into your lower back as Joel closed in on you. The Ghostface mask obscured his face, but you knew his eyes were locked on you, hungry, predatory. The thrill of the chase had your heart racing, adrenaline and desire blending into a heady mix that made your skin tingle. You watched as he glanced around the kitchen, his gaze settling on the knife block just within arm’s reach. He didn’t have a weapon with him—of course, he didn’t—but now, as his gloved hand wrapped around the handle of a large kitchen knife, the game took on a sharper, more dangerous edge.

Your breath hitched as he raised the knife, its gleaming blade catching the candlelight. For a split second, you were frozen, caught between the rush of fear and the wave of arousal that flooded your senses. This was what you craved—the danger, the tension, the feeling of being completely at someone else’s mercy. But you weren’t ready to give in just yet.

In a sudden burst of movement, you lifted your foot and stomped down hard on his, the force of it catching him by surprise. Joel grunted, the sound muffled by the mask, and his grip on the knife faltered just enough for you to slip past him. You bolted for the hallway, your heart pounding in your chest as you sprinted toward the bedroom, the thrill of the escape making you lightheaded. You could hear him behind you, his heavy footsteps echoing in the quiet house, getting closer with every second.

You burst into the bedroom and slammed the door behind you, but it barely slowed him down. You knew he was right there, just a heartbeat away. You stumbled back, your legs shaky from the rush, and tripped over the edge of the rug. You went down hard, knees hitting the floor with a jolt of pain that only added to the intensity of the moment. The door crashed open, and there he was, looming in the doorway, the knife still clutched in his hand.

“Please, mister Ghostface,” you whimpered, crawling backward as he advanced on you. “Don’t kill me. I’ll do anything.”

The words tumbled out of your mouth, breathless, desperate, exactly what he wanted to hear. You were playing your role to perfection, the terrified victim begging for her life, but beneath the surface, you were buzzing with anticipation. You knew the script—you knew he wouldn’t speak, wouldn’t break character. The silence was part of the game, part of what made it so thrilling. It kept you on edge, never knowing what he’d do next, never knowing when he’d strike.

You tried to crawl away, but you were trembling too much, your movements slow, uncoordinated. The heat between your legs was almost unbearable, the pulse of arousal matching the rhythm of your pounding heart. You knew you should be scared, terrified even, but all you could think about was how fucking turned on you were. Every time you glanced up at that mask, and saw the cold, expressionless eyes staring down at you, it sent another wave of desire crashing through you.

Your hands slipped on the floor as you tried to scramble to your feet, but before you could get far, he was on you. Joel’s hand shot out, grabbing your ankle and dragging you back toward him. You yelped, twisting in his grip, but it was useless. You were caught, and you both knew it. You fell back onto your knees, breath coming in ragged gasps as you looked up at him, eyes wide, pleading.

Your breath came in ragged gasps as you looked up at him, eyes wide and pleading. The air between you was thick with tension, every nerve in your body screaming with anticipation. You knew what was coming, and yet the thrill of it sent shivers down your spine. The Ghostface mask stared back at you, cold and unfeeling, but you knew Joel was beneath it, knew he was savoring this moment as much as you were. The thought made your pulse quicken, the heat between your legs growing more intense with every passing second.

Joel’s grip on your ankle was firm and possessive, and you could feel the strength in his hand as he slowly, deliberately pulled you closer. You tried to resist, to put up a token fight, but it was half-hearted at best. Deep down, you wanted this—wanted him to overpower you, to take control. The struggle only heightened your desire, making your skin tingle with excitement as you were dragged back across the floor.

His gloved hand trailed up your leg, rough leather brushing against your sensitive skin, sending a jolt of electricity straight to your core. You bit your lip, stifling a moan as his touch grew more suggestive, his fingers grazing the hem of your panties. The sensation was maddening, a teasing reminder of what you craved, what you’d been waiting for all night. You arched your back slightly, pushing into his touch, silently begging for more, but he didn’t give in—not yet.

Instead, he took his time, savoring your helplessness, the way you trembled beneath him. His other hand found its way to your waist, fingers digging into your flesh just enough to make you squirm. He held you there, pinned in place, and the dominance in his grip made your breath hitch, a sharp intake of air that only made you feel more vulnerable, more at his mercy. The knife, still clutched in his other hand, gleamed ominously in the dim light, a silent reminder of the power he held over you.

With a sudden, forceful motion, Joel lifted you by your hips, his strength taking you by surprise as he hoisted you onto the bed. You let out a gasp as your body was flipped, your stomach pressed against the mattress, your ass in the air. The position left you exposed, and vulnerable, and the cool air on your bare skin only heightened the sensation. Your panties clung to you, soaked through with arousal, and the thought of him seeing you like this—desperate, needy—sent a fresh wave of heat coursing through you.

You turned your head to look back at him, the mask still hiding his face, but you knew what was behind it. You knew the look in his eyes, the hunger, the need. It made your heart race, made you want to push him further, to see just how far he’d take it. A smirk tugged at the corner of your lips, a hint of defiance in your gaze as you wiggled your hips slightly, teasing him, challenging him.

“What’s the matter, Ghostface?” you taunted, your voice dripping with mock innocence. “You gonna make me beg for it?”

The tension in the room crackled like electricity, your words hanging in the air, daring him to react. You could feel the heat of his stare through the mask, the way his breathing had grown heavier, more deliberate. You were pushing your luck, and you knew it, but that was half the fun. You wanted to see just how far you could go, how much you could provoke him before he snapped.

Joel’s hand tightened on your waist, fingers digging in harder, and you couldn’t suppress the moan that slipped from your lips. The sting of it, the roughness, only added to the ache between your legs, made you grind against the bed in a futile attempt to relieve the pressure building inside you. You wanted him—wanted him to take you, to claim you, to make you his. But he didn’t move, didn’t give you what you were silently pleading for.

Instead, he leaned in close, the knife gliding along the curve of your ass, cold metal sending chills down your spine. You shivered, the sensation both terrifying and thrilling, the line between fear and desire blurring even further. You knew he wouldn’t hurt you—knew this was all part of the game—but that didn’t stop your heart from racing, didn’t stop the pulse of arousal that throbbed between your thighs.

But when he finally spoke, it wasn’t with words. It was with action. His hand left your waist and came down hard on your ass, the sharp smack of it echoing through the room. You gasped, the sudden pain mingling with pleasure, leaving you breathless. It was exactly what you’d been waiting for, that rough, unyielding touch that reminded you who was in control. Your bratty defiance melted away, replaced by a desperate need to please him, to be good for him.

The weight of the bed shifted beneath you, the mattress dipping slightly as Joel moved. You could feel his presence hovering behind you, the tension crackling in the air like a live wire. The anticipation was unbearable, your body thrumming with a desperate need for him. You knew what was coming, could sense the change in the atmosphere, the way the game was evolving into something even more intense.

You closed your eyes, biting your lip as you tried to focus on the sensations coursing through you. The sound of fabric rustling behind you sent a shiver down your spine, the unmistakable sign that Joel was shedding his clothes, leaving only the mask to maintain the illusion. Your heart raced at the thought, your imagination running wild with what he’d do next, how he’d use that control to push you to your limits.

The bed shifted again, and you felt his hands on your hips, rough and demanding as he flipped you over onto your back. Your eyes fluttered open, immediately locking onto the masked face hovering above you. The sight was both terrifying and exhilarating, that blank, soulless expression sending a rush of adrenaline through your veins. The contrast between the mask and the naked body beneath it was a stark reminder of the power dynamics at play, the thrill of surrendering to something dark and unknown.

Before you could react, his hand was on your throat, fingers wrapping around your neck with a possessive grip that made your breath catch. The pressure wasn’t enough to hurt, but it was enough to send a clear message—one of dominance, of control. Your pulse quickened, the thrum of it vibrating against his palm as he leaned in closer, the weight of his body pressing you into the mattress.

His other hand moved to your mouth, a single finger pressing against your lips in a silent command to stay quiet. The shh motion was simple, but the intensity behind it made your stomach twist with excitement. He didn’t need to speak; his actions said everything, and you were more than willing to follow his lead. You were completely at his mercy, and the thought of what he might do next made your body hum with anticipation.

Your thoughts spiraled in a chaotic mix of desire and anticipation, each passing second tightening the knot of tension inside you. Pinned beneath Joel’s weight, you could feel every beat of his heart, every rise and fall of his chest as he loomed over you, the room closing in, suffocating you in the intensity of the moment. Each breath felt heavier, every second stretching out, the silence amplifying the raw need that pulsed between you like a live wire. Your mind raced, imagining all the ways he might break you—would he drag it out, tease you until you were trembling and desperate, or would he take what he wanted in that dark, primal way that left you aching for more? The uncertainty was maddening, fueling the fire that burned hotter with every second, leaving you trembling beneath him, craving whatever came next.

His hand lingered on your throat, the pressure a warning, a promise of what was to come. But then it shifted, slipping away only to tangle roughly in your hair, yanking your head back with a sharp tug that sent a jolt of electricity down your spine. You gasped, the sting of it igniting something deep inside you, a spark that fanned into a wildfire. His grip tightened, possessive, commanding, and it made your blood hum with anticipation. But before you could even think to protest, to utter a single word, his other hand cracked across your cheek with a sharp, stinging slap. The sound echoed through the room, mingling with your ragged breath, the pain mingling with the heat pooling low in your belly, your body instinctively arching toward him, craving more.

You whimpered, the sound breaking free before you could stop it, a desperate little plea that hung in the air between you. But before you could say more, Joel brought a finger to his lips, signaling you to stay silent. The power in that small gesture sent a shiver down your spine, making you bite down on your lower lip to keep from crying out again. Your mind scrambled, caught between the urge to obey and the desire to push him, to see just how far he’d go to enforce that command.

“Please…,” you whispered, your voice barely a breath, the word laced with the need clawing at you from the inside. “Please, I need—”

His hand snapped out, pressing against your mouth in a firm, silencing grip. The warning was clear: no more words. The message sent a rush of heat straight to your core, leaving you trembling beneath him, your breath hitching as the tension wound tighter. The edge of danger, the unknown, had you teetering on the brink, each second a delicious torture.

His grip on your hair tightened, forcing your head back further, exposing your neck as his hand slid down from your cheek to wrap around your throat again, squeezing just enough to keep you on edge, to remind you who was in control. You could feel the heat radiating from him, the hardness pressing against your thigh, a silent promise of what was to come. When he finally released you, your lips parted on their own, eager and ready, a silent invitation, your body screaming for him, for the release only he could give.

Joel didn’t waste a second. The urgency in his movements was palpable as he shoved his pants down just enough to free himself. Your eyes widened at the sight of him—thick, veined, and already slick with precum. It stood proud and heavy, the tip flushed a deep, angry red, a testament to how badly he needed this, how badly he needed you. The sight of it made your mouth water, every nerve in your body singing with the anticipation of what was coming next. He didn’t bother with teasing, didn’t ease you into it. No, he was done with patience.

With a rough tug on your hair, he pulled your head down, forcing your mouth open as he guided the head of his cock to your lips. The taste of salt hit your tongue, heady and intoxicating, and you opened wider, welcoming him in. He pushed forward, the thick head sliding past your lips, inch by inch, stretching your mouth in the most delicious way. There was no gentleness, no care in his movements—he took what he wanted, and you let him, relishing the way he filled you, the way his cock slid deeper, hitting the back of your throat with a force that made you gag, your eyes watering.

But you didn’t pull back. You leaned into it, taking him as far as you could, the taste of him filling your senses. His hips rocked forward with a steady rhythm, his grip in your hair unyielding as he held you in place, his breathing ragged, chest heaving. Every thrust sent a jolt through you, the sound of your gagging, the wet, vulgar noises your mouth made as it worked around him echoing in the small room. Your hands found his thighs, nails digging in, desperate for something to hold onto as you tried to keep up with the pace he set. You could feel him trembling, his breath hitching as he fucked your mouth, each thrust harder than the last, pushing you to your limits.

Just when you thought you couldn’t take anymore, when the burn in your throat became too much, he pulled out abruptly, leaving you gasping for air, your chest heaving as you tried to catch your breath. But there was no reprieve. Joel spun you around, flipping you onto your back with a force that left you breathless, your head spinning. The bed creaked beneath you as he grabbed your hips, lifting you up and positioning you exactly how he wanted—bent over the edge of the bed, your ass in the air, your face pressed into the cool sheets. The position was humiliating and degrading, and it only made you want him more. You could feel the bruises forming where his fingers dug into your skin, the pain a sharp contrast to the pleasure that thrummed through you, making your body tremble with need.

He wasted no time, no gentle caress—just pure, unfiltered need. His cock nudged against your entrance, the wetness there making it easy for him to slide in. The stretch was exquisite, each inch of him filling you in a way that made your toes curl, your back arching as you tried to take more, to feel more. He went slow at first, almost teasing, just enough to drive you crazy, to make you desperate. But the patience didn’t last. Joel wasn’t in the mood for slow.

With a growl, he grabbed your legs, yanking them together at the knees, binding them tightly with the rope he had stashed nearby. The sensation of being bound, completely at his mercy, made your head spin, your thoughts blurring with the intensity of it. You whimpered into the pillow, your voice muffled, but he didn’t care. His hands slid up your sides, his touch firm, and possessive, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. You could barely breathe, the weight of him pressing down on you, the way he filled you so completely making it hard to think, hard to focus on anything but the overwhelming need to be fucked, to be owned.

“Please…” The word slipped out, barely a whisper, but he heard it. He heard the desperation, the plea, and it only made him smirk. His fingers found your lips, pressing against them in a silent command for silence, a reminder that you were his to control, to take.

And take he did.

He thrust into you hard, his hips snapping forward with a force that made the bed creak beneath you. The angle was different now, deeper, more intense, each thrust hitting a spot inside you that had you seeing stars. You could feel every inch of him, the way he pulsed inside you, the way his cock twitched with every movement. He leaned over you, his chest pressing against your back, the heat of his body wrapping around you, suffocating in the most delicious way. The weight of him, the sheer power behind each thrust, made it hard to breathe, hard to think. But you didn’t care. You didn’t need to think. All you needed was him, and he gave it to you—hard and unrelenting.

His grip on your arms tightened, holding you in place as he started to pound into you, each thrust harder than the last, driving you into the mattress with a force that left you breathless. The bed shook with the intensity of it, your body jerking with each movement, your mind going blank as you surrendered to the rhythm he set, the brutal, unforgiving pace that had you on the edge of oblivion. The mix of pain and pleasure was overwhelming, your senses overloaded, your thoughts reduced to a single, all-consuming need. More. You needed more.

At some point, he reached up, and grabbed your hair again, yanking your head back so he could take a picture with the camera perched nearby. The flash went off, a quick burst of light that left you momentarily blinded, but you barely noticed. All you could focus on was the way his cock felt inside you, the way his movements became more erratic, more desperate as he neared his release. The tension in the air was thick, suffocating, each thrust sending you closer to the edge, the pleasure coiling tight in your belly, ready to snap.

And then it did.

With one final, brutal thrust, Joel slammed into you, burying himself deep as he came, the hot rush of his seed flooding you, marking you as his. Your body responded instinctively, clenching around him, milking every last drop as a moan tore from your lips, muffled against the mattress. The orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave, leaving you trembling and breathless, your mind wiped clean by the sheer intensity of it.

He stayed there for a moment, his breath heavy and labored, his body pressed firmly against yours, the heat of him enveloping you like a suffocating blanket. The world felt distant, the only reality was the sensation of him inside you, the raw, primal connection that had just played out between you. And then, as quickly as it had begun, it was over. Joel pulled out, the sudden emptiness making you shudder, your body still quivering from the aftershocks, your mind struggling to piece together what had just transpired.

The weight of Joel’s body finally lifted as he pushed himself up, his chest rising and falling with ragged, labored breaths. For a moment, the only sound in the room was the heavy panting, the bed creaking softly beneath you both as the raw intensity of what had just happened lingered in the air like a living thing. You could feel the heat radiating from his skin, the slick sheen of sweat clinging to him, his hands still trembling slightly as he reached up to remove the mask.

Slowly, Joel peeled off the Ghostface mask, revealing his flushed, sweat-slicked face beneath. His hair was damp, clinging to his forehead in dark, messy strands, and his eyes—those dark, intense eyes—were still clouded with the remnants of desire. The sight of him, so raw and exposed, sent a fresh wave of heat coursing through you, your body instinctively responding to the primal energy he exuded. Even after everything, he still looked insatiable—like he could take more, give more, his hunger a tangible force that hung in the air between you, making you ache all over again.

Joel let out a long, satisfied breath, his half-smirk teasing as he shook his head. “Fuck,” he muttered, his voice hoarse and deep, the rasp of it crawling down your spine. “We’re done, sweetheart. Scene’s over.”

You laughed, soft and breathless, your body still humming from the intensity of what had just happened. “That was fucking intense,” you managed to say, your voice thick with exhaustion and satisfaction, your muscles still quivering in the aftermath.

Joel chuckled, the sound deep and rich, as he ran a hand through his damp hair, pushing it back from his forehead. He leaned against the headboard, a low groan escaping him as he tried to catch his breath. “I’m telling you, baby,” he said with a smirk, his voice still ragged from exertion. “I’m fifty-six fuckin’ years old. Keep this up, and I might need a vasectomy just to survive.”

You snorted, the sound muffled by the pillow as you turned your head, grinning at him. “Maybe you should consider it,” you teased, your tone dripping with sarcasm. “But then again, where’s the fun in that? I’d miss all that old man cum you’re so damn good at shooting.”

Joel rolled his eyes, his breath still uneven, but his lips quirked up in amusement. “Right,” he drawled, his voice dry as ever. “That’s definitely what you’d miss most.”

You shrugged, the banter lightening the air between you. But even as the playful words filled the space, your gaze was drawn back to him—the way sweat still glistened on his skin, the flush across his cheeks, the steady rise and fall of his chest. His body was like a furnace, radiating heat that pulled you in, and despite the teasing, you could feel the tension building again, that familiar hunger stirring deep within you.

God, his age did something to you. There was something undeniably sexy about the way he carried himself, the way experience was etched into every line on his rugged face, in every confident movement. Joel knew exactly how to touch you, how to push you past your limits and pull you back just before you fell over the edge. The years had only made him more magnetic, the broad expanse of his chest, the strength in his arms, the silver at his temples—every mark of time made him even more devastatingly irresistible. He wasn’t some boy fumbling his way through; he was all man, and that raw masculinity turned you on in ways you couldn’t even fully explain.

Your teeth sank into your lower lip as you took him in, your eyes tracing the rough stubble along his jaw, the beads of sweat clinging to his skin, the slow rhythm of his breathing as he began to recover. The thought of what he was capable of, what he had already done to you, sent a fresh surge of heat flooding your core. Your body was already aching for more, the desire rekindled like an unquenchable fire, burning hotter with every glance.

Without thinking, you shifted closer, your hand trailing down his chest, the hard muscle flexing beneath your fingertips. His breath hitched at the contact, his body tensing beneath your touch. You leaned in, your voice dropping to a sultry whisper as your lips hovered near his ear. “You know, Joel,” you purred, your tone dripping with want, “it’s fucking hot that you can still fuck me like this. Fifty-six and still going strong? That’s a serious turn-on.”

His eyes darkened instantly, the playful amusement giving way to something more dangerous, more primal. “You think so?” he murmured, his voice rough and gravelly, sending a shiver racing down your spine. “You like fucking an old man, huh?”

“Love it,” you whispered, your hand sliding lower, teasing the waistband of his pants. “You’ve got experience, you know exactly what you’re doing, and it’s sexy as hell.”

The tension between you thickened, the air charged with electricity. The teasing words from earlier faded into the background as that insatiable hunger flared up again, demanding attention. Without another word, you leaned in, pressing your lips to his in a rough, heated kiss. The taste of his sweat lingered on your tongue, mingling with the musk of sex still clinging to his skin. The kiss was intense, a clash of teeth and tongues, the kind that left bruises and made you ache for more.

Joel responded instantly, his mouth claiming yours with a raw hunger that left you breathless. His hands slid up your back, pulling you closer, his fingers digging into your skin in a way that sent sparks of pleasure shooting through you. The heat of him pressed against you, reigniting that fire burning in your belly, a fire that demanded to be fed.

You pulled back just enough to grab the Ghostface mask, your fingers brushing against the cool plastic as you lifted it from his lap. You held it up, a mischievous glint in your eyes as you looked at him, your lips curving into a playful smirk. “My turn?”

Joel raised an eyebrow, a slow, crooked grin spreading across his face as he leaned back against the bed, clearly amused. “You sure you can handle it, Ghostface?” His voice was thick with anticipation, but there was a challenge there too, something dark and thrilling.

You slipped the mask over your head, adjusting it until it fit snugly, the darkness of it shrouding your vision, heightening every sensation. The thrill of the role reversal sent a shiver down your spine, your heart pounding with a mix of anticipation and excitement. Through the narrow eyeholes, you could see Joel watching you, his grin widening as he leaned back on the bed, his hands resting behind his head, his gaze trailing over your body.

“Oh, I can handle it,” you purred, your voice muffled and distorted by the mask, but the confidence in your tone was unmistakable. “Question is… can you?”

Joel’s laughter filled the room, a deep, rich sound that made your pulse quicken. “Bring it on, baby,” he challenged, his voice thick with anticipation. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

You didn’t need any more encouragement. With a swift, determined movement, you straddled his hips, the feel of his hard length pressing against your core sending a jolt of desire straight through you. The mask heightened everything—the darkness, the mystery, the anonymity—and it made you feel powerful, dangerous, like you could do anything, take anything.

You ground down against him, teasingly slow, the friction making both of you groan in raw pleasure. “You like this, old man?” you taunted, your voice a low, sultry growl that cut through the room like a blade. “You like it when I’m on top, calling the shots?”

Joel’s fingers dug into your hips, his grip bruising as he tried to take back control, to guide the rhythm, but you weren’t about to let that happen. With a swift motion, you shoved his hands away, reclaiming your dominance with a fierce determination. The heat between your thighs was unbearable, the throbbing of his cock against you making it almost impossible to resist the urge to give in. But you were far from finished.

Straddling him, you felt a surge of power course through you, the mask hiding the wicked smile that curled your lips. “You think just because you’ve got a few years on me, you can control me?” you challenged, your voice muffled by the mask, but the taunting edge in your tone was unmistakable, dripping with dark satisfaction.

Joel's eyes narrowed, the playful gleam in them giving way to something far darker, more intense. His pupils dilated, his gaze locking onto yours with a challenge that made your pulse quicken. “I know I can,” he growled, his voice thick with conviction. In one swift motion, he bucked his hips upward, and the sudden pressure of him—thick and unforgiving—against your core forced a stifled moan from your lips, the sound muffled by the mask. The sensation was electric, the jolt of it spreading through your body, but you were determined not to let him win this round.

The heat between your legs was almost unbearable, your arousal slick and ready, but you held back, savoring the power you had over him in this moment. You leaned forward, your masked face just inches from his, the darkness of the Ghostface mask amplifying the wicked grin spreading across your lips. “You love it when I take charge, don’t you?” you whispered, your voice low and dripping with seductive malice. Your fingers wrapped around his length, feeling the way his cock twitched in your grip, hard and pulsing with need.

He groaned, the sound deep and guttural, his breath coming in harsh, ragged gasps as you rubbed the tip of him against your slick folds. The tease was torturous—for both of you—but it only fueled the fire burning in your belly. The friction was delicious, sending sparks of pleasure through you, but you held him just at the edge, denying him the satisfaction of slipping inside.

Joel’s jaw clenched, the muscles in his neck straining as he glared up at you, his chest heaving with barely controlled desire. “You think you’re tough shit, don’t you?” he spat, the challenge in his voice unmistakable. “Playing games with me? You know damn well who’s really in control here.”

Your heart raced, the thrill of his words sending a shiver down your spine. But you weren’t about to back down. The power you felt in this moment was intoxicating, and you reveled in it, letting it wash over you like a drug. You leaned in even closer, the mask brushing against his face, your breath hot and heavy as you whispered, “I’m the one calling the shots tonight, old man. And you’re going to beg for it.”

His breath hitched, a low growl rumbling from his chest as he stared up at you, the tension between you crackling like a live wire. It was a dangerous game you were playing, one that could flip on a dime, but that only made it more exhilarating. Without warning, you sank down on him, taking him in inch by agonizing inch, the stretch of him filling you completely. The sensation was almost too much—your body trembling as you tried to accommodate his size—but you reveled in the delicious torment of it, in the way his eyes widened, his lips parting in a silent groan as he felt you envelope him.

Your heart pounded in your chest, each beat sending a fresh wave of heat through you as you adjusted to the feel of him inside you. The fullness was overwhelming, a delicious mix of pain and pleasure that left you breathless. You could feel every inch of him, thick and pulsing, stretching you to your limits, but instead of relenting, you pushed back against the sensation, embracing it, letting it consume you.

Joel’s hands shot to your thighs, his grip bruising as he tried to regain some semblance of control. But you weren’t about to let him. You started to move, your pace slow and torturous at first, dragging out every inch of him until he was panting beneath you, his body straining with the effort to hold back. The power you felt in that moment was intoxicating, a heady mix of control and desire that made your whole body hum with pleasure.

“Fuck, baby,” Joel groaned, his voice strained, his control slipping as you rode him harder, faster. His head fell back against the pillows, his eyes squeezing shut as he fought to keep up with you, his breath coming in short, ragged bursts. “You’re going to kill me.”

A wicked grin spread across your lips beneath the mask, your own breath coming faster as you leaned in close, your voice dripping with mockery. “Good,” you hissed, your breath hot against his skin, your words cutting like a knife. “I want you to feel every fucking second of this.”

Your pace quickened, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room, each thrust sending a wave of pleasure crashing through you. You could feel him throbbing inside you, the tension coiling tighter and tighter, but you were relentless, driving him to the edge, pushing him to the brink until he was gasping for breath, his control hanging by a thread.

But Joel wasn’t one to be outdone. His hands tightened on your hips, his grip ironclad as he suddenly flipped you over, pinning you beneath him with a swift, powerful motion. The loss of control sent a thrill through you, a mix of fear and excitement that made your heart race. The mask slipped slightly, but you didn’t care—you were too far gone, too caught up in the intensity of it all.

“Can’t hear you too well through that mask, baby,” he taunted, his voice low and rough, dripping with a primal need that smoldered between you. It was that shift—how effortlessly he went from serious to sexy, from calm to commanding—that made your heart race. You loved how he could flip the switch so quickly, one moment a stern, unyielding force, the next a devilish tease who knew exactly how to push your buttons. He flashed the safe signal, his eyes locking onto yours, daring you to stop him, but you didn’t even consider it. You nodded, giving him the go-ahead, and in that instant, he seized control completely.

Joel didn’t hold back. His thrusts were relentless, each one harder and deeper than the last, pushing you to the brink of madness with every stroke. Your breath came in ragged gasps, the pleasure so intense it danced on the edge of pain, each powerful movement driving you closer to the precipice of ecstasy. The mask you wore muffled your moans, but Joel didn’t need to hear them to know how much you were enjoying this—he could feel it in the way your body clung to his, in the way you tightened around him with every thrust, your nails digging into his back as if trying to anchor yourself amidst the storm of sensation.

“You forget who you’re fucking with,” Joel snarled, his voice a low rumble that seemed to vibrate through your very bones. His words were rough, filled with a dark, commanding energy that sent a thrill straight to your core. “I’m not some green kid you can boss around, baby. I’m a grown-ass man, and I know exactly how to make you fucking scream.” The raw authority in his tone was intoxicating, feeding into your desire as he took you to a place where you craved nothing more than to lose control under his relentless dominance.

His words ignited something primal within you, a heady mix of fear and desire that had your heart racing. Before you could respond, he punctuated his declaration with a hard, brutal thrust that tore a cry from your throat, your back arching off the bed as pleasure detonated inside you, leaving you trembling. The power he wielded over you in that moment was absolute, and though part of you wanted to fight back, to reassert your dominance, the larger part of you was helpless under the force of his will.

Joel’s hands were like iron bands around your wrists, pinning them above your head as he took full control, his body a solid, unyielding presence pressing against yours. The heat of his skin, the relentless pace he set—it was all-consuming, overwhelming, leaving you breathless and on the edge of losing yourself completely in the moment. His grip tightened, his fingers digging into your flesh just enough to remind you who was in charge, who had the power, and the weight of that realization sent a shiver down your spine.

Without missing a beat, Joel lifted the mask just enough to expose your mouth, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your heart skip a beat. He needed to hear you, to know that every word, every moan, was uninhibited, unfiltered, and raw. His breath was hot against your ear as he leaned in, his voice a dark, velvety whisper that held a dangerous edge.

“Tell me who you belong to,” he growled, his teeth grazing the shell of your ear in a way that made your entire body tremble. The command in his voice was undeniable, a rough, primal demand that left no room for hesitation. “Say it, baby. Say my fucking name.”

The sound of his voice, so close, so dominant, sent a surge of desire through you, making it impossible to resist. You could feel the tension building, the pressure of his control wrapping around you like a vice, squeezing out every last ounce of resistance. You knew what he wanted to hear, and as the words formed on your lips, the last remnants of your willpower crumbled.

You bit your lip, trying to hold back the flood of words he demanded, but the relentless pressure of his cock, the way he filled you so completely, left you with no choice. The words were ripped from your throat, a desperate, breathless moan. “You,” you gasped, your voice breaking under the strain of it all. “Fuck, Joel, it’s you. All fucking yours.”

The admission seemed to unlock something primal in Joel, an almost feral grin spreading across his face as he looked down at you, eyes dark with possessive intensity. “Damn right,” he growled, the words thick with dominance and a promise that sent a shiver straight through you. His grip on your hips tightened, fingers digging into your flesh with bruising force as he pulled you closer, driving himself deeper inside you. Each thrust became more erratic, more brutal, as he pushed you both to the brink, his body moving with a relentless, desperate rhythm that left you breathless.

“I’m gonna fill you up, baby,” he rasped, his voice a low, guttural sound that vibrated through your entire body. “Mark you as mine, so you never forget it. So none of them ever forget it.”

It wasn’t just the physical act—Joel loved reminding your viewers and, more importantly, you, exactly who you belonged to, both on and off the camera. His possessiveness was more than just a game; it was a declaration, a brand that he was intent on leaving imprinted on every inch of you. He reveled in the power, in the knowledge that no matter what you showed the world, in the end, you were his. And he wanted everyone to know it—especially you.

His words were the final push you needed, the tipping point that sent you careening over the edge. The coil of tension in your belly tightened impossibly before snapping, your orgasm crashing over you with a force that ripped through your entire being. Your body trembled violently, every muscle tensing as you cried out his name, the sound raw and desperate, echoing in the small space between you.

You felt your walls clench around him, milking him as the pleasure tore through you in relentless waves, each one more powerful than the last. It was overwhelming, an onslaught of sensation so intense it bordered on painful as if every nerve ending had caught fire. Your mind went blank, lost in the haze of ecstasy that consumed you, your vision blurring as your senses overloaded.

But Joel wasn’t done with you. Even as you came, he kept moving, his thrusts relentless, determined to draw every last ounce of pleasure from your body. You were oversensitive, every touch, every movement sending shocks of sensation through you, but there was nothing you could do to stop him, no way to slow the onslaught of pleasure-pain that had you teetering on the edge of sanity.

“Look at you,” Joel taunted, his voice a rough whisper as he watched you come undone beneath him. “Thought you were in control, huh? Thought you could make me beg? Well, baby, it’s you who’s begging now.”

He lifted the mask slightly, just enough to hear you more clearly, to see the desperation in your eyes as he continued to drive into you. His breath was hot against your skin, his lips brushing against your ear as he spoke. “Tell me what you want,” he commanded, his voice dark and demanding. “Beg for it, baby. Beg for me to cum inside you.”

You could barely form words, your brain fogged by the overwhelming pleasure coursing through your veins. But you managed to choke out a reply, your voice shaking with need. “Please, Joel,” you whispered, the desperation in your voice clear. “Fuck, I need you. Please, just… just cum inside me. Fill me up. Please.”

The sound of your pleading pushed Joel over the edge, and with a deep, animalistic growl, he slammed into you one final time. His release was fierce, filling you to the brim, hot and thick, exactly as he promised. It sent you spiraling into another

mind-blowing orgasm, your body locking around him, milking him dry as your walls clenched, squeezing every last drop out of him.

The sound of your pleading seemed to push Joel over the edge. With a low, guttural growl, he thrust into you one last time, burying himself deep inside you as his own orgasm hit, his release hot and overwhelming, filling you up just as he promised. The sensation sent you spiraling into another wave of pleasure, your body tightening around him, milking him for every last drop as you both rode out the aftershocks together.

It was damn near unbelievable how many times he'd come-his stamina, his relentless drive. Joel was fifty-fucking-six, and still, he had you unraveling over and over, your own body shaking with pleasure more times than you could count. The heat between you was addictive, his age only adding to the intensity of it. Most men his age couldn't keep up after one round, but Joel? He fucked like a man half his age, like he had something to prove. And every time he buried himself deep inside you, filling you up again and again, it reminded you exactly who the fuck you belonged to.

The world around you ceased to exist. The only thing that mattered was the primal connection between you, the harsh panting of your breath, the erratic pounding of your heart echoing in your ears. Your bodies were trembling, utterly spent and satisfied beyond words. Joel's weight on top of you was grounding his presence a reminder that this- he-was yours

Finally, he rolled off you, collapsing beside you on the bed, both of you struggling to catch your breath. The mask lay discarded somewhere between you, forgotten in the haze of exhaustion and satisfaction. Joel reached out, pulling you into his arms as you trembled with the aftershocks that still rippled through your body, your muscles twitching with the remnants of pleasure

"Still think you're in charge?" Joel's voice was low, teasing, though his eyes were soft, filled with a tenderness that made your heart skip a beat.

You didn't have the energy to argue, not after the way he'd fucked you senseless, so you just smiled, curling into his side. Your fingers lazily traced circles on his chest, his skin still warm and slick with sweat. "Maybe we both are," you whispered, pressing a soft kiss against his chest, savoring the salty taste of his skin, the feeling of him still lingering deep inside you.

Joel chuckled, a deep, satisfied rumble that reverberated through his chest. His arms tightened around you, his lips brushing over the top of your head. "Yeah, maybe," he murmured softly. "But don't you forget, baby-you're mine. Always.”

You sighed, your heart swelling with a mix of satisfaction and love, a contentment that only he could bring you. The thrill of what you'd just shared lingered, the intensity of it making your body hum as you drifted off in his arms. No matter how many games you played, how much you teased each other, you knew you'd always come back to this-back to him

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fireflyinks · 8 months ago

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I have an idea for a request :) 💗 sorry if this is long but what if hamzah did one of the solo out of character podcasts and then he invited y/n but then the sexual/romantic tension between them so they stop filming to do other stuff (can be the deed if you want to take a smut route or just making out or being cuddly for a fluffy route!) or maybe 🫣 they forget about the camera and accidentally capture stuff on camera

special guest

hamzah x reader smut

contains : smut, oral sex (both giving and receiving), no p in v, use of y/n, cursing, sort of exhibition (they record themselves but don’t post it), munch!hamzah

a/n : I LOVE THIS SM, munch!hamzah is my new favorite thing to write, i’m obsessed. anon you’re literally a genius. thank you so much for the support on all of my hamzah posts, i love you alllll

18+ MINORS DNI

∗ ࣪ ˖༺ ♡ ༻˖ ࣪ ∗

Hamzah and I had been friends for a couple of years. Both of us had YouTube channels and lived near one another so we would hang often. There was an obvious connection between us, but Hamzah nor I were bold enough to point it out. The two of us simply enjoyed dancing around the face that we obviously had mutual feelings for one another.

I sat on my couch, editing my latest video when I felt my phone buzz beside me. I picked it up, reading “hamzah” spread across my screen and a .5 picture I’d taken of him. I swiped right to answer the call.

“Hello?”

“Hey Y/n. Are you busy?”

I shook my head as if he could see me, “No, what’s up?”

“Well, Martin is busy today and can’t record for our podcast, so I was wondering if you’d want to come record with me. Like a ‘special guest’ type thing?”

I thought for a moment. I hadn’t seen him in a while just because the two of us had busy, and viewers loved it when we made content together. We actually got shipped a lot, but Hamzah always ignored it, and I never brought it up. Part of me was glad that even the fans noticed that there was something between us.

“Yeah, why not? That sounds fun, when do you want me to come over?”

Hamzah took a beat before answering. “You could come over now, and afterwards we could order dinner or something, yeah? You’ll have to come to Martin’s apartment because that’s where we film, it’s not too far from mine. I’ll send you the address.”

“I’m on my way, see ya in a second.”

“Thanks, y/n, drive safe.” He hung up.

My heart fluttered at his last comment.

I went to my room and quickly put on something sort of presentable. The star of my outfit was none other then a small denim miniskirt.

The drive to Martin’s house was only about ten minutes, but it felt like an eternity. I was way more excited about spending time was Hamzah than I should’ve been.

Once I arrived at the apartment, I knocked on the door. I was greeted immediately by Hamzah. I couldn’t help but noticed as he looked me up and down once he’d opened the door, a small grin on his lips.

“Hey!” He said, pulling me into a hug. It surprised me a bit but Hamzah was always very affectionate with me, even as a friend. He’d play with strands of my hair on late nights after filming when we’d sit and talk about pretty much anything, and would always grab my hand when leading me places.

“Hi” I smiled into his shoulder right before he let go.

“I have everything get up in here.” Like clockwork, he took my hand and led me through Martin’s apartment. I looked around, seeing the scenes that had made appearances in many of Hamzah and Martin’s videos.

“So…” He sat down on the couch, motioning for me to sit to his right, “it’s going to real casual, just like it is with Martin. I might ask you a couple questions about your channel, if you want me to.”

I shrugged, “I’m fine with anything, just happy I could help you out.”

Hamzah smiled, handing me Martin’s microphone and looking at the camera. “Well, are you ready?”

I nodded, and he got up and began recording.

“You gotta just sit here for a second awkwardly while the intro music plays.”

A few seconds went by as we tried not to laugh at the silence. I couldn’t help but notice how his eyes flicked down to my thighs, exposed by my mini skirt, every few seconds.

“Hey guys, today I’m here with someone who is not Martin.”

Hamzah motioned to me. I lifted my hand and gave the camera small wave.

“Hi there, I’m y/n.”

“Martin decided to skip recording today to go roller skating with Mandy.”

I giggled, “Well, I think they sort of trapped you into recording without them so you wouldn’t third wheel them for once.”

Hamzah rolled his eyes. We went on and on, talking about how much better I am at rolling skating than Hamzah is, how ice skating isn’t real and it’s all just an illusion because neither of us can even stand up on the ice, and after about 40 minutes, somehow the topic of none other than Ice Spice.

“Munch is an absolute banger, but I’ve never met a dude that actually enjoyed eating it.”

Hamzah furrowed his eyebrows, “Are you serious?”

“Yeah,” I went on, “like most of them do it but they don’t like it, which makes it awkward. Like I’m yet to meet a dude that actually gets pleasure out of it too.”

There was a slight pause in the conversation, and I was scared I had made him uncomfortable.

“You’re talking to one right now.”

My cheeks flushed as his comment sunk it. I couldn’t respond, no words would come out of my mouth.

“Sorry,” he looked at me worried, “I totally just made it awkward.”

“Nah,” I shook my head, desperately. My heart thumped as I looked back at him. Maybe I wasn’t delusional about our obvious connection. Why in the world would he make a comment like that if he didn’t mean it in a flirty manner? “it’s okay, really.”

I couldn’t get the thought out of my head. Hamzah’s mouth on my heat, suckling on it like it was his last meal, rubbing my clit with his thumb. I bit my lip. The way he was looking at me showed that he was possibly imagining it too.

He shifted on the couch, looking at me desperately.

“I could show you, if you want.”

I nodded dumbly.

“Please.”

Hamzah leaned in, slowly pressing his lips onto mine. He slowly worked his mouth on mine, growing more and more passionate.

His mouth moved down my body, trailing down my neck. He paused, slipping my shirt and skirt off my body and taking a moment to stare at my breasts.

“God, you’re so beautiful, you know that?” Butterflies fluttered in my stomach. “I was so distracted, I couldn’t stop staring at you.”

He rubbed my thighs, looking down at them. It’s like he was mesmerized. “These thighs are so pretty. I couldn’t stop imagining them spread for me.”

Hamzah’s boldness surprised me, but I couldn’t say that I didn’t enjoy his praises. No matter how lewd they were.

“Can I take these off?” He curled his index finger into the band of my panties.

“Yes” I breathed out, shyly.

Hamzah chuckled to himself, “You’re so cute.”

He pulled my panties off of me, spreading my legs and looking down at my aching heat. Leaning down, he slowly kissed my core. I whimpered at the feeling.

“Tell me you want it.”

I bit my lip, looking down at him with pleading eyes. “I want it. I want it so fucking bad, Hamzah.”

Without further discussion, he dove down into my aching heat, swirling his tounge through the folds. I took his hat of his head with shaky hands and ran my fingers through his curls.

He looked up at me for a moment.

“Do you feel good?” He said quickly, wasting no time to get back to his meal.

“Yes! Yes! So good.” I moaned, my legs involuntarily closing in on his head. His hands held them back in place, spread wide for him to have the fullest access.

“You taste so damn good.” He groaned out. It was entertaining, watching how much he genuinely enjoyed this. He moved his mouth like it was his last meal. I’d never felt this much pleasure just from being eaten out, and it was so sweet.

My brain felt all fuzzy from the way his tounge worked through the folds of my heat perfectly, finding all of the sensitive places and causing my legs to shake under his hold.

“Fuck- I’m gonna cum.” I threw my head back, pure pleasure filling my head as I let out breathy moans.

“Go ahead, cum for me. Cum in my mouth, baby.”

I let myself release on his tounge, my body writhing against his working mouth.

After a few seconds, he pulled away, looking up at me with hopeful eyes, almost like he’d expected me to have had a bad experience.

I didn’t. I had the complete opposite; I couldn’t stop thinking about Hamzah’s tounge.

“Fucking wow.” Is all I could manage to get out.

“Was it good?” He asked.

“More than good. That was… can I please return the favor?”

Hamzah was quick to shake his head, “You really don’t have to. I know most girls don’t like to, and I don’t expect anything in return.”

I genuinely couldn’t let myself live knowing that I didn’t repay Hamzah back after he had me seeing stars.

“No, please, I really want to.”

I couldn��t lie, I’d imagined Hamzah’s cock plenty of times. I’d wondered how big it was, what it looked like, how it would feel in my mouth, what he was like in bed, pretty much everything. But now that I might finally get it, I felt more giddy than ever.

Hamzah slowly nodded, “Alright, go ahead.”

I reached down to his jeans, unbuttoning them as he helped me pull them off his legs, followed by his boxers. His member slapped his stomach, and it surprised me just how hard he was solely from eating out.

It was… big to say the least.

I slowly bottomed him out in my mouth, gagging slightly. He groaned, keeping his eyes on me. I bobbed my head, feeling him hit the back of my throat over and over again.

“Fuck, y/n, just like that.”

I continued these motions, occasionally pulling him out of my mouth and leaving small kitten licks on the tip. He was fighting the urge to throw his head back into the sofa, continuing to keep his eyes glued to me. He breathed out shaky praises to me.

“You’re so good at this, fuck. I- I’m gonna cum.”

“Cum in my mouth… please.” I begged, sucking his faster.

He moaned before filling my mouth with his loud. I swallowed it all before taking him out of my mouth, looking up at him shyly.

“Fuck… that was amazing.”

I giggled as we looked at each other for a few moments. It was crazy, the very things I’d been fantasizing about coming true, all because of a podcast episode.

Fuck. A podcast episode.

My eyes darted over to the recording camera, my cheeks flushing. Hamzah was still looking at me, almost in a hypnotic state.

“Hamzah…” I tried to grab his attention, he hummed in response. “The camera…”

His eyes widened as he looked over, coming to the same realization that I had.

“Fuck- sorry.” He got up, pulling his boxers on and walking over to the camera. “I’m deleting all the footage. You can check afterwards if you want. Recording us really wasn’t my intention.”

He was panicking, his fingers fumbling with the cameras buttons.

“Hamzah… relax. It’s okay. You- nevermind.”

Hamzah looks over to me, his eyebrows raised in amusement. “I what?”

“You can keep the recording if you want.” It felt so lewd to say, but I meant it. It was sort of hot, knowing he had that footage of us and could watch it anytime.

He smirked, looking down at the camera and nodding. “Alright… I will.”

I blushed, “Now can we get that food that you promised me?”

Hamzah chuckled, grabbing his phone.

It was strange, a couple of seconds ago we were performing such lewd acts for a camera we’d forgot was recording, and now we were arguing about whether we should get chinese or mexican take out.

#fanfiction #smut #fluff #praise #i love hamzah sm #hamzah headcannons #hamzah x y/n #hamzah #hamzah x reader #hamzahthefantastic #hamzahsmut #martin and hamzah #hamzah smut #slushy noobz #slushie #hamzah is a munch i swear

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writingduhh · 9 months ago

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Hii, i was wondering if you were able to write something for hansumfella (tyler) ? I was thinking he talks about him having a girlfriend but no body believes him until he finally brings her into a stream and everyone is amazed because they thought he was joking !! but anything works haven’t rlly seen hansumfella content !! 😅😅

YES!!!!!! Hope this is alright! It’s my first hansumfella fic so I’m super new at this….

Hansumfella || Stream Surprise

You and Tyler had been openly dating for several months, thoroughly enjoying the simplicity and joy your relationship brought into your lives. However, as Tyler's online alter ego, HansumFella, began to skyrocket in popularity, it became clear that managing your private and public lives would need some recalibration. Out of mutual concern for privacy and the unpredictable nature of internet fame, you both agreed it would be best to keep your relationship out of the public eye for the time being.

During one of his lively Roblox streams—a session filled with laughter and playful banter—Tyler unexpectedly let a secret slip, a revelation that even surprised him.

“And yeah, for those wondering why I’ve been a bit off-schedule lately, I’ve been spending some time with my amazing girlfriend,” he mentioned casually, taking a sip of water as the chat erupted into a frenzy.

“You what now, Tyler?!” one viewer exclaimed, their message quickly engulfed by a wave of shocked and curious reactions.

“HE HAS A GF?!”

“NOOOO 😭”

“GIRLFRIEND REVEAL”

“I knew it Ong”

“Proof or it didn’t happen.”

Despite the disbelief, Tyler merely chuckled and steered the conversation back to his gaming strategy, his relaxed demeanor doing little to stop the onslaught of comments.

“Alright chat, calm down I didn’t even say anything! You’re just imagining it! You’re gaslighting yourself. Let’s focus back to absolutely destroying children in best dressed” He jests in his usual dry sense of humor.

In the weeks that followed, each stream dedicated a few minutes to viewers probing for more details about you. Tyler kept his answers vague, strategically revealing just enough to maintain interest without confirming anything definitive.

“What does she look like?”

“Favorite thing about her?”

“I still think he’s lying.”

“Well she looks absolutely gorgeous. Absolute smoke show.” He playfully remarks before continuing.

“Favorite thing about her? Oo that’s a hard one, there’s so much to love. I’ll say sense of humor.”

The curiosity and incessant questioning from his fanbase eventually led Tyler to plan a significant reveal. On a crisp summer evening, his usual streaming time, Tyler adjusted his webcam to capture more than just his usual gaming setup.

“Alright, everyone,” Tyler announced as he started his stream, “tonight is a special night. You've all been incredibly patient—or incredibly nosy,” he joked with a wink at the camera. “I think it's time you meet someone very special to me.”

He reached out and extended a hand off-camera. After a brief moment, another hand appeared, and you stepped into view, your smile bright yet slightly shy as you waved to the camera.

“Hello stream! Is that what I call them?” You ask, a little overwhelmed with the situation

“You can call them whatever you like, babe.” He chuckles, pulling you to sit down beside him.

The chat paused for a split second before erupting.

“OMHH SHES REAL?!”

“She’s so beautiful!!”

“HE WASN’T LYING 💀”

“Literally how did he land her?”

“She’s ours now”

Tyler’s grin widened as he read the comments aloud, his arm comfortably encircling you as you sat comfortably on his lap.

“Everyone, this is Y/N. She’s the reason I’ve been so distracted, so you can blame her for the lack of content.” He jests, earning a playful eye roll from you.

The stream proceeded exceptionally well. You were a natural, laughing and engaging with the chat as if you’d had been a part of the community for years. Tyler felt a mix of pride and relief; not only did his audience adore you, but him as well.

A few weeks after your debut on his stream, Tyler decided it was time to make your relationship Instagram official. He chose a candid photo of you two together, taken during a sunset hike. Both laughing, bathed in the golden hour light, capturing a beautiful moment.

Tyler uploaded the photo with the caption that simply read, “Mine ;)” and tagged you.

The post received thousands of likes and comments in no time. Fans and friends filled the comments section with hearts, congratulatory messages, and more than a few playful jabs at having doubted him in the first place.

Tyler leaned back, watching the notifications pop up one after another, you sitting beside him, head resting on his shoulder.

“Was it worth the wait?” Tyler asked, his voice a soft murmur.

“Definitely worth it,” you replied, squeezing his hand.

#hansumfella fanfic #hansumfella x reader #hansumfella #hansumfella tyler

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switchypanic · 1 year ago

Text

Wishful Thinking || A 'Hazbin Hotel' Tickle Fic (100 Follower Special)

Summary: Vox's obsession with Alastor is no secret, but the true extent and nature of said obsession is an entirely different story. As his thoughts grow increasingly consumed by his rival, Vox finds it harder and harder to think about anything else, ultimately coming to a head with a very interesting discovery.

Content Warnings: Canon-typical language, brief mild violence, use of restraints, a lil' bit of blackmail, and Vox being a thirsty bitch for Alastor (because we love a good dose of one-sided attraction). Also, not really a warning, but any scenes that take place in somebody's head are in blue and italics (you'll see what I mean as you read).

Word Count: 3,669 words.

Vox couldn't fucking stand Alastor.

His stupid smile, his stupid voice, those stupid powers that allowed him to crush anyone in his way like an insect. The man was infuriating, always acting so calm and in control, even after Vox managed to get the drop on him that fateful day seven years ago. It was like nothing could touch him in any MEANINGFUL way, a fact that frustrated Vox to no end.

Yes, Alastor was nothing but a big pain in the ass, constantly doing anything in his power to screw with Vox, oftentimes broadcasting it for the entirety of Pride to witness.

Worst of all was the way that he infiltrated Vox's processor, filling his head with fantasies he had no way of controlling without shutting himself down completely. And it wasn't even intentional! That bastard had no idea what he was doing, or if he did, he gave no indication of it! No, he just kept on smiling that stupid grin, making those passive aggressive remarks, acting like he wasn't the thing consuming Vox's mind nearly twenty-four hours a day.

Vox watched the surveillance footage captured earlier that morning, feeling his breath hitch at the staticky image being displayed. He could just barely make out Alastor's form through the distortion (another thing that Vox hated about him; the bastard made it damn near impossible to get a clear image of him), standing outside the doors of little Princess Morningstar's hotel discussing something unintelligible with that winged cat sinner who often hung around him.

Through the grainy audio, he could just make out Alastor barking out a laugh, the sound itself laced with static and radio interference. The deer demon's shoulders shook, his ears pinning back slightly as he chortled, his companion letting out an irritated huff in response.

How many times had Vox watched the clip now? He had honestly lost count. He didn't know why he kept returning to that particular moment of footage; nothing particularly useful or interesting was occurring. Just a regular conversation, from what he could tell. There was just...something in the other overlord's moment of mirth that captured his full attention, setting something ablaze within the TV demon.

More; he wanted to hear more.

The lights flickered, the sound of screeching radio filling the air, accompanied by something entirely different.

Giggling, pure and hysterical.

Alastor lurched forwards, hands latched onto Vox's wrists as he tried to lean forward and away from the other demon, who held him firmly against his chest. "Rehehehehelease me at ohohohohonce!" The usually composed overlord was a mess, face tinted a bright shade of red, eyes crinkled with mirth as another wave of snickers shook his frame. "Shihihihihihihit!"

Vox chuckled, leaning forward to croon into Alastor's ear, which immediately flicked at the feeling of the other's warm breath. "What's the matter, old man? Too ticklish?" He sang, smirk widening. "What would the public think, knowing the famed Radio Demon is so...sensitive..." He growled the last part, low and teasing, resulting in a shriek of microphone feedback from Alastor. "Perhaps I should turn on some of my cameras, hm? I doubt you could focus on messing with them while your giggling so hard. I could let all of Hell know just how much of a ticklish little-"

Vox blinked, pulled from his daydream by a raised brow from Velvette. "Vox, are you listening to me? This is important shit! I need to make sure you're on top of the advertisements for my new collection if we are going to see any substantial sales!"

Vox cleared his throat, trying to urge his screen to COOL THE FUCK DOWN before his flusteredness became obvious. "Apologies, I seem to have gotten distracted. You were saying, my sweet?"

Vox chuckled, watching his rival's squirming form, bound to the chair with the purest grade of angelic steel money could buy.

Only the best for this occasion.

"Well, well! Look what the cat dragged in!" Vox laughed, walking in circles around Alastor, taking in every detail of the scene before him. He was going to relish thing; savor it. He had waited so long to have the other at his mercy, and now he was going to take his sweet time and ENJOY the fruits of his labor. "You've lost your touch, old timer! It was far too easy to catch you in my little trap."

Alastor's eyes narrowed, grin tightening in a clear show of displeasure. "You would do well to remember who you are speaking to." He retorted, chin raising defiantly as Vox finally stopped in front of him.

"Oho, I remember good and well. I'm talking to the prick who has done nothing but make my life harder ever since he arrived here, and I'm going to see to it you feel every second of what's coming next." He leaned forward, locking eyes with the other overlord as he gave a grin of his own, his far more devious. "Little buck."

Vox's hand's shot out, latching onto Alastor's ribcage and beginning to claw at the boney torso. Alastor's breath hitched, his eyes widening with alarm. His grin became more strained as he jerked forward, trying to curl inwards on himself. His breathing became sporadic, lips sealed shot as a wobbly, genuine smile began to curl at the corners of his mouth. "F-Fuhuhuck!"

The TV demon laughed lowly. "Trying to hold out, are we? We'll see how long that lasts..."

Vox awoke with a start, his screen turning on as he bolted up in bed. His eyes were wide, immediately flicking over to Valentino, who lay beside him. Thankfully, the moth was still sound asleep, snoring loudly without a care in the world. Vox sighed, running a hand across his face and feeling the heat of a blush under his palm.

Damn it, this was starting to get out of control!

Vox was going mad! No matter how hard he tried to clear his thoughts, they always returned back to those deep, hidden desires playing out over and over in his processor. He found himself constantly thinking about Alastor's smile, his laugh, the prospect of taking him down with a few well placed squeezes or prods. To make matters worse, Vox was having a hard time FUNCTIONING at work because of this, and he could tell the other Vees were starting to catch on that something was up.

The TV demon rung his hands together, pacing back and forth in his private office. He had to find a solution FAST or he was royally screwed!

'Damn you, Alastor!’ Vox thought, a small growl slipping out as he rubbed his forehead, flopping into his chair and turning to face one of the many spying monitors plastered to the wall. "Pull up what we have on the Hazbin Hotel." He grumbled, giving in to his urge to spy on his rival once more. Inside, he secretly hoped to catch another fleeting moment of mirth from Alastor, even if it was just a chuckle.

Three monitors came to life, showing the hotel from various angles, with one focused directly on the front entrance. Aside from his...ongoing interest in the Radio Demon, Vox liked to keep tabs on who was going in and out of the hotel, just to make sure the princess wasn't gaining any more powerful allies he needed to know about. The scene was serene, or at least as serene as a live feed of Hell COULD be, nothing out of place. It seemed luck wasn't on Vox's side, as Alastor was nowhere to be seen. The TV host felt his eye twitch in irritation, disappointment stirring within him.

"You motherfucker! This is a brand new suit!" Vox yelled angrily as Alastor dodged another of his attempts to strike him.

The Radio Demon let out an amused chuckle (though unfortunately not the kind of laugh Vox had been secretly craving), one flick of his microphone sending three tentacles darting at Vox from different directions, which the other barely managed to avoid. "Really? Could have fooled me with how tacky and outdated it looks." The redhead retorted smugly.

"Oh, fuck you! I'll wipe that shit-eating grin off your face!" Vox retorted, giving up on using his powers in favor of lunging for the deer demon himself.

Alastor took a step back, Vox's claws just barely grazing the sides of his neck. The radio host opened his mouth, as if to make another snide remark, but whatever he said died in his throat and was replaced by a startled crack of microphone feedback. The two demons froze, eyes widened as they stared at each other wordless for a moment.

"What the fuck was-" Vox started, but in the blink of an eye, Alastor was gone and their fight was seemingly over.

"I mean, seriously?! What the fuck WAS that?!" Vox asked himself, finding himself pacing around his private surveillance room once more. "He never runs from a fight with me! Shit, he only ran from Adam because he was about to fucking die! He was nowhere near that point today!"

Did Vox somehow managed to hurt him? No, he had thrown far worse at the Radio Demon before without leaving so much as a scratch. He had BARELY touched him, and even with his claws, it couldn't have possibly hurt. So what...

The TV demon stopped, eyes shooting wide open as his breath quickened. No...no fucking way...

Alastor was ticklish. Not just in Vox's mind's eye, not just in his secret fantasies. He was actually, tangibly ticklish, and going from the reaction one brief touch had garnered, horrifically so.

Vox's processor raced at the prospect. He had been daydreaming about turning the other overlord into a cackling puddle, wheezing for mercy through a cracked voice, but he had never actually imagined it was possible! Vox got the feeling this discover was only going to make his daydreaming problem worse, but at the moment, he couldn't bring himself to care.

Alastor was TICKLISH...

'There has to be some way I can...some trick I can pull to...' Vox's mind raced, barely able to finish a sentence. He HAD to have the other now, even if just for a brief instance. Vox NEEDED to feel that high of reducing his mortal enemy to giggling shambles; to know what it felt like to be the one to finally BREAK the feared Radio Demon. But how?

Obviously the heat of battle wasn't the best place, though it would ensure a public audience to witness his victory. He doubted Alastor would agree to a private meeting, especially after their most recent fight. And there was CERTAINLY no way Vox was going to lower himself enough to go crawling to Princess Morningstar's little hotel. No, Vox was going to have to come up with another solution.

"Something on your mind?" A voice purred from behind him, low and dangerous. Vox yelped, whipping around with widened eyes. From one of the darkened corners of the room, Alastor seeped out of the shadows, grin ever present but appearing more strained than usual. Vox felt a nervous lump form in his throat.

"What the fuck?! How did you even get in here?!" He yelled, immediately moving to hit the alarm button on his control console, only to find his wrist being suddenly restrained by a shadowy tentacle sprouting from the floor.

"Ah, ah!" Alastor tutted, taking a few steps forward. "None of that. I just want to talk." He cocked his head to the side. "And as for how I got in, let's just say your security is shockingly terrible for a demon of your status."

Vox's eyes narrowed. "If you're going to kill me, at least make it quick." He growled, attempting to put on a brave face and save a bit of his pride.

"Kill you? Why, I'm planning to do no such thing, at least not today! After all, to defeat one's rival in such a disgraceful, sneaky manner would not be becoming of either of us, would it?" Alastor chuckled, moving closer to Vox as another tentacle grabbed ahold of his other wrist, keeping the TV demon rooted firmly in place. A flash of green magic briefly passed over Alastor's eyes as he chuckled. "Though it would be quite easy for me to do so with you sooo defenseless."

Vox's brows furrowed in confusion. "Then why the hell are you here?"

"Like I said, I just want to talk." Alastor leaned forward, maintain eye contact with the shorter demon. "To ensure that you keep your trap shut about matters which do not concern you."

"What are you going on about?" Vox sighed, clearly irritated by the other's continued vagueness. He continued to stare at the other demon, who merely continued to watch him wordlessly, before it dawned on him. "You're worried I'm gonna tell somebody you're fucking ticklish?"

Alastor's eye gave the slightest twitch. "Sensitive." He corrected.

"I'm pretty sure you're ticklish." Vox retorted, taking some delight in his rival's clear displeasure. "And what makes you think holding me hostage in my own office would stop me from mentioning it during my next broadcast? You can't keep me like this forever."

The sound of microphone feedback briefly overtook the air around him, making Vox wince at the volume and pitch. "No, I can't keep you here indefinitely, but I can provide you with a little incentive to keep your trap shut." One of the tentacles coiled further down Vox's arm, the end gently brushing over the trapped overlord's armpit. Vox tensed, breath hitching as his eyes grew wide as saucers. "You see, don't think I haven't noticed your own sensitivity, Vox. In fact, I've known about it for some time."

Shit.

"I-I don't know what you're talking about! Get the fuck away from me!" Vox stammered, eyes locked onto the other's devious smirk.

"Oh, come now, don't be shy! It's not as if it was especially hard to find out about! We have fought so often, categorizing your little weak points was easy enough to accomplish!" Alastor took a step closer as the shadowy tentacle began to stroke Vox's armpit more firmly, slowly moving up and down in an agonizingly teasy motion. "I will admit, it took me some time to figure out why you often flinched at the slightest of touches during battle. However, all it took was witnessing one little tickle fight at the hotel to make everything fall into place."

Another of Alastor's tentacle slipped up, beginning to tweak at Vox's side, causing him to bite down on his lip in a desperate attempt to hold back snickers. "Those weren't the reactions of a man barely avoiding a fatal blow, those were the reactions of a man trying oh so hard to keep from giggling."

Vox felt his screen heating more and more by the second, both from embarrassment and the effort to keep his laughter bottled up. What the fuck was happening?! How was this real life?! The TV demon lurched forward, straining against the restrains as a particularly well-placed prod to his hipbone pulled a soft snort out of him. "Shuhuhut the fuck up!"

"Being stubborn, are we? I expected nothing less." Alastor chuckled, clearly amused. "Perhaps I should take a page from Angel Dust's playbook then, hm?" The other overlord suddenly materialized behind Vox, melting from the shadows and resting a clawed hand on the back of Vox's head. His grip tightened, pulling Vox's head backwards as he crooned into his ear. "Coochie coochie coo..."

Vox just about short circuited at that, the sound of loud television static filling the air. As Alastor's free hand suddenly dug into his stomach, he couldn't hold back any longer, bursting into a wave of panicked giggles. "Ohohohoho shihihihihihit!" The flood gates had opened, and Vox had no hope of closing them again, no matter how hard he tried.

"Lovely." Alastor seemed quite pleased with himself, clawed fingers scribbling across his rival's exposed midriff as the tentacles (thankfully) stopped their own attacks, now focusing on holding the TV demon nice and still.

"Fuhuhuhuhuck you! Lehehehehet mehehehe go!" Vox tried to sound threatening, he really did, but that was impossible when every word was laced with titters. He squirmed desperately, attempting to curl inwards and protect his sensitive torso, but the restraints held firm. His voice raised in pitch as Alastor zeroed in on his upper stomach, just below the ribs, refusing to acknowledge the borderline squeal he made.

"And why would I do that? I have you right where I want you; nice and helpless..." There was a low growl to Alastor's words, both threatening and teasing in the most awful of ways, sending Vox further spiraling into flusteredness. His claws began to slowly inch upwards, like a spider slowly climbing towards prey trapped in its web. "From what I have gathered, your ribs seem to be an area you're quite desperate to defend during our little fights. I wonder why that could be, hm?"

The TV host began shaking his head furiously. "Dooohohon't yohohohou fucking dahahahahare! I'll kihihihihihihill you!" He snorted, the sound of television static increasing ever so slightly.

"Oops, too late!" Alastor's claws dug in, beginning to rake across Vox's rib cage slowly, moving up to just below the armpits before cascading back down to just above the stomach.

Vox screeched, thrashing becoming downright desperate as he threw his head back with laughter. "NOHOHOHOHOHOOO! OHOHOHOHOHO MY GAHAHAHAHAHAD, STAHAHAHAHAHAHAP!" His cooling systems had kicked in, the fans whirling loudly as they attempted to cool down his quickly heating form. "NAHAHAHAHAHAT THEHEHEHEHERE!"

Alastor chuckled devilishly. "Why Vox, you should know better! Everyone knows that saying "not there" only makes the attack want to exploit that spot even more." He hummed, mockingly pretending to think. "Perhaps you DID know, and you're just enjoying this so much you want me to keep going? Is that it?"

The other overlord let out a startled squeal at the feeling of something fiddling with his antenna; when had ANOTHER tentacle popped up?!

Vox face felt like it was on fire from the teasing, his laughter pitching up with flustered desperation. "SHUHUHUHUT THE FUHUHUHUHUHUHUCK UP! THAHAHAHAT'S NOHOHOHOHOT TRUE!" He denied vehemently, knees starting to go weak. After a moment, his legs gave out, but instead of slumping to the floor, Vox found himself being held up by Alastor's sentient shadow. The creature's grin widened, becoming downright feral as it let out an amused cackle at his plight.

"Whatever you say, old pal! Now, if you REALLY want this to stop, you will agree to keep what you discovered today between us alone." Alastor rested his chin on Vox's shoulder, the touch shooting a bigger shock through his nervous system than any tickling ever could. "Do we have a deal?"

Vox's processor was racing a thousand miles a minute. Fuck, why was this actually fucking fun?! What was wrong with him?! He knew he should have hated it; the powerlessness, the teasing, the terror of being so utterly defenseless in front of his greatest rival. Yet...he didn't hate it, a fact he found more flustering than any tease Alastor could have pulled out of his ass.

No, Vox did NOT want it to stop.

Still, if Vox DIDN'T give in, it would only confirm the assumption deer demon had so accurately deduced, and he wasn't sure his heart would be able to take the cruel, crooning teases Alastor would no doubt come up with upon such a revelation. When weighing the humiliation of yielding to Alastor to the humiliation of admitting that he was ENJOYING getting tickled to the brink of his sanity, Vox would take the former any day.

"FIHIHIHIHINE, HOHOHOHOHOLY SHIHIHIHIHIT! DEAL, DEHEHEHEHEEEEAL!" He screeched, a little wheeze slipping out as one of the tentacles tugged on his sensitive antenna. "JUHUHUST STAHAHAHAHAHAHAP, YOU BAHAHAHAHASTARD!"

As soon as those words were uttered, all touch disappeared, and Alastor reappeared a few feet in front of Vox. The overlord collapsed against his surveillance console, panting as his fans worked overtime to cool his body down. He shook with residual titters, his sharp-toothed grin nearly slipping his screen in two.

"There, was that so hard?" Alastor purred, sharing a smug grin with his shadow. "Now, I expect you to hold to our deal, otherwise I will have to take this little audio recording and make it the center of my next broadcast!" The deer demon twirled his cane, gazing at it and humming as Vox's eyes shot open.

"What now?"

Alastor scoffed. "Oh, please! Did you really think I would take you on your word alone that you would stay silent? I knew you would not make a soul deal with me over it, so I took matters into my own hands." The other sinner explained. "See, my microphone was recording our little interaction the whole time, minus the parts about my own...shortcomings. Think of it as insurance; it will not be released to the public as long as you behave yourself!"

Vox's face exploded into a bright blush blush. "Wait, that wasn't part of the fucking-"

"Oops, I'm afraid I have another engagement to attend to! Until we meet again!" Alastor cut him off, melting back into the shadows and disappearing from sight before Vox could finish his sentence. The TV host growled, flopping into his chair. His claws dug into the armrests, slicing into the slight padding. That prick! He couldn't just-

The overlord sighed in defeat after a moment, eyes closing as his breathing slowly returned to normal and his fans kicked off. He could still feel those claws scratching at his ribs, setting his nervous system alight with ticklish fire. He could still hear that voice, singing those awful, teasing words into his ear. He could still feel his limbs strain against the tentacle's hold, preventing him from squirming away no matter how hard he tried. Vox swallowed, feeling his blush returning full force.

He might have a different daydream to worry about now...

#brief ticklish!alastor #ticklish!vox #hazbin hotel tickle fic #hazbin hotel tickles #tickle fic #sfw tickles #sfw tickling #sfw tickling community #tickling community #sfw twords #sfw tword community #tword community #switchy writes tickles

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lost-and-ephemeral · 1 year ago

Note

Hi 👐 I have some ideas for our LDS Boys that could be interesting to see 😁 some headcanons for Boys x reader on vacation for two whole weeks (what destination they choose, how they plan this trip, what would they do, some sfw etc). Another one - Let's say the boys have a friend who has a crush on them and she interferes in their lives and tries to make reader jealous. How will they cope in this situation? Thank you ♥️

HCs: Vacation With Them

Pairing: Xavier x reader, Zayne x reader, Rafayel x reader (seperate)

Tags: fluff, established relationships

A/N: thanks for request ♡ i decided to write the first idea, but! later i'm planning to write the second one!

-`♡´- MASTERLIST -`♡´-

Rafayel

As an artist, Rafayel often travels to other cities for various reasons. Sometimes he's looking for inspiration, sometimes his help is needed somewhere.

But a two-week vacation with you?

Just perfect.

Rafayel will personally handle the preparations for this trip.

He'll probably decide to visit a city with beautiful architecture that will "help inspire him". Like Rome, Florence or Venice. Or any other equally beautiful city in the world.

And have no doubt that he'll pick the best hotel he can find.

Rent a big room with a view on the most picturesque part of the city? Sure.

Especially if this will make you happy.

Will definitely take you to the sightseeing spots and tell you about their historical/architectural value.

Either he's very smart or he researched all this information on the internet before coming here. Just to impress you.

Rafayel likes to visit small cafes that have their own special (ahem, romantic) atmosphere. They don't have to be too fancy.

Loves to take you out late at night. You look magical in the streetlights.

Speaking of which, Rafayel always has his camera close to him. He likes to take pictures of you, being able to capture every special moment when your eyes shine with joy.

At the end of the day, he makes sure to cuddle with you in bed while listening to you talk about what you enjoyed the most that day.

Probably fall asleep at the sound of your voice. But he can't help it, you soothe him very much with your presence. He's not doing it on purpose, so don't feel bad.

On "lazy days" likes to stay in the room with you, no going out for walks or anything. After all, you came here to relax.

Rafayel teases you all the time for different reasons, that's his nature, but in this atmosphere he seems to soften a lot. After all, even here you are his favorite sight.

When you point to something you think is beautiful, he keeps looking solely at you and says, "Yes, beautiful."

And then starts blushing like crazy as soon as he realizes exactly what he just said.

Even on vacation, he continues to make some scetches about your trip.

By the end of your vacation, he'll have a couple of drawings of you in his sketchbook. Like you sitting in front of the window with a glass of wine or reading a brochure while lying in bed.

Xavier

Let's face it, Xavier just needs a vacation.

This poor guy is ready to sleep even while he's standing because sometimes he spends days and nights without proper rest.

So a two-week vacation with you is just what he needs.

And it will be the most relaxing type of vacation.

You will prepare everything for the trip together, consider different options and choose the most suitable one.

It is best to choose a warm place somewhere by the sea. So both of you can relax and let go of all your worries.

Just imagine a hotel with windows that are facing the sea. Falling asleep and waking up to the lulling whisper of the waves. Right thing for a good rest, yeah?

During your vacation, Xavier's favorite thing is waking up next to you in this serene atmosphere.

Xavier loves it when you wake up before him (which is almost every morning) and gently caress his face or his hair.

He doesn't have to rush anywhere and can just enjoy your time alone with each other.

Especially when you look so beautiful in the morning sunlight.

Xavier could spend every day, from morning till night, in your arms. And it would be the real paradise for him.

Hold him, cover every inch of his face with kisses. As long as he doesn't have to put everything aside and rush to fight Wanderers, he's happy.

I think he wouldn't mind visiting cute small cafes either. The ones with a cozy and almost homely atmosphere.

When you're at the beach, splash water at him and get ready for a playful battle until he catches you and pulls you into the water with him.

Usually reserved Xavier will finally allow himself to fool around a bit.

Cherish this moment.

After that, he will 100% help you dry yourself.

Xavier wouldn't mind napping on your lap right on the beach. Even the sun won't bother him. His one and only sunshine is already with him.

He likes to watch sunsets with you. When you rest your head on his shoulder and talk about anything you can think of.

But even more than that, he likes to stargaze with you.

Spread a blanket on the sand and get comfortable next to him. Even if you fall asleep in the process, he can carry you to bed, don't worry.

The cool night breeze from the sea can't make you cold as long as Xavier is by your side. He'll keep you warm.

He likes to buy souvenirs so that even when you return home and get back to work, he can look at them and remember something nice.

Zayne

Zayne is a doctor, and that's the reason why most of the time he works until exhaustion. Even if it seems that he hardly gets tired, this is not so.

He needs rest as much as any other person do.

And a two-week vacation with you will be a breath of fresh air.

It's going to sound cliché, but Zayne wouldn't mind going somewhere a bit more colder.

Vacations aren't always about warm places, right?

A city like Reykjavik would be ideal, the nature of Iceland itself is so beautiful and breathtaking.

How about combining a vacation with hiking in beautiful places? Sounds good.

Even if you insist, Zayne will still do all the preparations by himself. He will select a city, a place to stay and make sure that you take everything you need. Especially warm clothes.

Don’t worry, he won’t force you to travel miles on foot in order to look at pure and untouched nature.

Most of the time, he won't mind walking around the city with you and popping into a couple of shops in search of local sweets.

Zayne is the type of person who puts both your and his hand in the pocket of his coat when you're holding hands. This way your fingers will definitely not freeze. And also he just doesn't want to let go

Sitting in warm and cozy cafes with you while drinking hot chocolate is something he loves the most. Your smile, your reddened from the cold cheeks. Just beautiful.

It's hard for him to show his care verbally, but his actions speak louder than any words, so he doesn't mind hugging you from behind to keep you warm.

Allows you to take as many photos with him as you want. And there's so much love in his eyes as you show him those photos.

He, too, prefers to fully enjoy his vacation and rest, not dazedly run back and forth. And that's understandable.

But that doesn't stop him from waking you up with breakfast in bed every morning. He says it's easier to keep track of your nutrition, but it really melts his heart to see how sleepy and happy you look at that moment.

It's a huge plus if the room you're renting has a fireplace.

In that case, you can spend your evenings warming up next to it while Zane sits behind and holds you in his arms.

He rests his forehead against your shoulder and lets himself relax completely. You don't have to speak at this moment, just gently stroke his scarred hands, hold them, showing your love and care for him.

He will be sure to keep a few photos from your vacation. Always. So that your warm moments together will never be erased from his memory.

#love and deepspace x reader #love and deepspace #love and deepspace xavier #love and deepspace zayne #love and deepspace rafayel #rafayel x reader #zayne x reader #xavier x reader

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kirammanswifey · 1 month ago

Text

《Beyond Love, Only Chaos Remains》

Jinx

writer's note: i think that this has been one of the most toxic and sick things that i have ever written, but still, loved it, it's my cup of tea you guys. anyways, if you guys don't know this little twisted histories comes from my arcane imagines, i'll let the link down there if someone's interested, tomorrow it's vi's turn ;)

link:

warnings: smut, lesbian sex, fingering, squirts, spitting, use of drugs, mentions of blood and weird kinks, emotional manipulation, stalking demeanor, obsessive and toxic relationship dinamyc, jinx and reader have a lot of mental issues but they still cool... i think that's all, have fun!

You always knew Jinx was special. From the very first moment you saw one of her videos, something clicked inside you, as if her colorful chaos and her manic laughter were the perfect echo of a dark corner in your own mind. It wasn’t just admiration; it was devotion, an inexplicable connection that made you feel like you were destined to find her, to know her… and maybe, to be part of her world.

Your room became an altar to Jinx: the walls covered in screenshots from her streams, printed cutouts of her most iconic photos, and even a monitor dedicated exclusively to playing her best clips on repeat. Each item had a purpose; every detail about her, no matter how insignificant, was another piece in your puzzle. You knew that her real name was Powder, but she felted comfortable being called by Jinx. You knew she about her taste for sweet things, that she preferred “Overblast” matches in chaos mode, and that despite her constant laughter, there were moments of silence between each stream, where she seemed… alone.

The obsession started as a normal interest, at least that’s what you told yourself. But soon you found her postal address in a stream where, by accident, her camera captured the name of her building. It was just curiosity at first, right? You convinced yourself there was nothing wrong with being near her world, even if it meant spending hours in front of her building, imagining what she was doing, if she was thinking about her fans… if she was thinking about you.

Your username, HexedByJinx, first appeared in her chat months ago, when you dared to donate a significant amount during one of her streams. "Oh, wow! HexedByJinx, thanks for the support. I guess someone’s really enchanted by me, huh?" Her laugh echoed in your ears for days. You saved the clip and played it over and over until you could almost recite every word in the exact tone she used.

Soon, HexedByJinx stopped being just a name in the chat. You started sending her carefully selected gifts through her fan mailbox: a package of crumble cookies with a note that said, "To keep your energy up during those long matches," a necklace with a small rocket to match her explosive aesthetic, and a handwritten card that took you days to perfect. You never received a direct response, but in one stream, you saw her wearing the necklace. Your hands shook with excitement.

When she announced an event to meet fans, your chance finally arrived. You knew you couldn’t just be another face in the crowd. You spent weeks planning what to say, what to bring, and how to make Jinx remember you. You even designed a small digital painting inspired by her aesthetic and printed it as a gift. "She’ll see how much I care. She’ll know I’m different," you thought.

On the day of the event, you arrived early, watching the other fans as you waited for your turn. Jinx’s fans filled every corner of the place, many with blue or pink-dyed hair, as a tribute to their favorite influencer. Others carried signs and laughed nervously, but you stayed silent, studying them all. "They don’t understand how special she is," you thought, with a mix of pity and disdain. You were among them, but you weren’t like the others. You were completely focused on one goal: for her to notice you.

"Next!" shouted one of the organizers, signaling that it was your turn.

You took a deep breath and stepped forward. When you finally stood before her, your heart was beating with almost unbearable intensity. There she was, Jinx, with her vibrant blue hair and mischievous smile, like a living work of art. But what struck you the most was seeing her up close, so real.

Upon seeing you, Jinx’s eyes locked onto yours with that intensity you’d always seen through the screen, but now it made you feel naked, vulnerable.

You took a cautious step forward, trying not to show any nerves. You extended the painting you had brought for her, a vibrant, chaotic portrait reflecting her personality.

"This is for you. I made it thinking of everything you represent," you said, trying to keep your voice steady.

She took the painting and examined it closely. Her fingers traced the lines of the design as a satisfied smile formed on her face.

"Wow, this is… amazing." Her eyes lifted to meet yours, filled with curiosity. "Wait, you’re…?"

"I’m… well, I’m a big fan," you said, feeling your words sounding clumsy. You decided to take a risk. "I’m the one who always comments on your streams… HexedByJinx."

For a second, her expression changed. She tilted her head, as if trying to remember. Then, her eyes lit up and a wide smile spread across her face.

"Oh, of course! HexedByJinx. I thought you were a bot or something. You’re real. How crazy."

Her reaction made you laugh, easing your nerves a bit.

"You’re the one who always sends those donations with weird messages and crazy gifts. What was it you said? 'Make the world explode a little more'?"

You laughed nervously, nodding.

"Yeah… I tend to say that. I thought you wouldn’t remember."

"Remember? Please, you always make my streams more interesting. Plus, those gifts you send…" She held up the painting. "Like this one. You’ve got style, you know?"

You felt your cheeks heat up under her attention, but you forced yourself to keep composure.

"I just wanted to thank you for everything you do. You inspire me to be braver, more… free."

She studied you carefully, her gaze more intense than you expected. Then, a sly smile crept onto her face.

"Brave, huh? That sounds fun. So, what do you do to be so brave?"

You hesitated for a moment before responding.

"I’m a streamer, like you. Though not as big, of course…" you said, laughing nervously. "But I try to create content that connects with people, like you do."

Jinx rested her chin on her hand, looking at you with renewed interest.

"Streamer? That explains why you’re always in my streams. And what kind of content do you make? Something explosive, or are you one of the boring ones?"

"A bit of everything, but nothing as cool as yours," you admitted, shrugging. "Actually, I wanted to propose something…"

"Propose something?" she repeated, raising an eyebrow with a smile that seemed like a challenge. "Alright, go ahead."

You took a deep breath.

"I wanted to see if we could collaborate on something. I think we could do something unique together, something that combines my art with your… well, your madness."

For a moment, you thought she might reject you. But to your surprise, Jinx burst out laughing.

"Collaborate with me? I like the way you think. You know what? It could be fun."

She leaned back, pulling a card from one of the pockets of her jacket, and slid it across the table to you.

"Here’s my manager’s contact. Talk to her and let me know if you’ve got something crazy enough to surprise me. But you better not bore me, alright?"

You took the card with trembling hands, but you managed to nod with confidence. Before you left, Jinx gave you one last look, leaning toward you with a mischievous smile.

"See you, Sugar Rush. Don’t disappoint me. Call me if you survive my manager," she joked, winking at you.

You stood frozen as the rest of the line moved forward. She gave her a nickname. To her. She was special to Jinx. That night, when you got home, you placed the empty painting where you’d planned to hang a picture of you and Jinx. It was only the beginning. She was already part of your life, but now, you were going to be part of hers.

The emotion you felt when you received Jinx's card didn't fade, even after you got home. You spent the whole night looking at the card, your fingers brushing over the printed letters as if they were the key to a world you now felt a part of. You knew you couldn't let this moment slip away, that you had to do something with it, something that would impress her. The idea of collaborating on something creative with Jinx filled you with adrenaline. The possibility of doing something that would truly leave a mark kept you awake late into the night, until you finally realized the inevitable: the only way to make this collaboration happen was to go beyond the expectations you had set for yourself.

It wasn't just about creating something for her; it was about creating something that reflected the chaos, the madness, and that unpredictable spark that so perfectly represented Jinx. You had to do something striking, something that showed you not only knew her, but understood her essence better than anyone else. Art could be the key, but you needed to go further. You decided you couldn’t present just any proposal. The work you wanted to present had to be completely aligned with what Jinx represented: breaking the conventional, transforming the ordinary into something entirely unexpected.

During the following week, you immersed yourself in creating something truly unique. You drew inspiration from the worlds she herself had built through her streams, the chaotic environments where her explosive energy seemed to bring everything she touched to life. But you also delved into her vulnerability, that strip of silence that snuck between the chaotic moments in her broadcasts. The art you were going to create wouldn’t just be for her; it would reflect everything that lay beneath her mask. You had to make her understand that you had noticed what no one else saw, the complexity of her being.

In the days leading up to your meeting with her manager, you became a whirlwind of ideas, sketches, and calculations. Every brushstroke, every element of the proposal seemed to require more attention, more dedication. You knew you couldn’t fail, not after everything you had done to get this far. Your purpose became a silent obsession: to make Jinx feel seen, not just admired, but understood.

The day you finally decided to send the email to her manager, you felt like you were sending a letter to the future. With a mix of nervousness and determination, you attached the proposal file. You knew everything could change in that moment. Maybe they would call you for a collaboration, or maybe they would ignore you completely, but it didn’t matter. You had come this far, and that in itself was an achievement.

Days later, the message arrived. The contact from her manager had responded, and there was something in their tone that filled you with anxiety. It said that Jinx had seen the proposal and wanted to talk to you, but there was a little unexpected twist: it wasn’t just about the collaboration you had imagined. The message also mentioned something about a new project for Jinx, one that was even more... risky. Were you ready for that? Fear and excitement mixed within you, but you knew you couldn’t back out. This was what you had been waiting for.

The next step was clear: the answer was yes.

The response was affirmative, and although the confirmation came through a formal email, you felt like the whole world stopped in that moment. What seemed like a simple step toward a project was transforming into an opportunity you couldn’t let slip away. Jinx had seen you, recognized your proposal, and now she wanted something more. You knew this meant the line between admiration and collaboration, between the fan and the creator, was completely blurring.

A few days passed before the call actually came. The manager’s number appeared on your phone, and as soon as you saw it, your heart skipped a beat. You answered with your breath catching, trying not to sound like just another fan, even though you knew deep down you were more than that. It wasn’t just the excitement of being part of her world; it was the possibility of getting closer to Jinx, of proving to her that you understood what no one else did.

"Hello, am I speaking with…?" The voice on the other end was professional, direct, but still had a friendly tone.

"Yes, this is… HexedByJinx." The name rolled off your tongue with a familiarity that no longer sounded strange. You felt like this whole journey had led you to this very moment.

"Ah, of course." A soft click in the background, as if the manager was checking something. "Jinx saw your proposal and is interested in seeing more. But before that, we need to talk about the direction you want to take this. She mentioned that you have some... unconventional ideas. That’s something she likes. So, tell me, what do you have in mind?"

A knot formed in your stomach, but you didn’t let fear stop you. You knew this was your chance to shine, and you couldn’t let it slip away. You spoke with a mix of confidence and excitement, detailing everything you had in mind: how you wanted to incorporate Jinx’s chaos, but also her vulnerability, how it all had to feel like an explosion of colors and sounds, but without losing the heart of who she really was. What you had planned wasn’t just visual art; it was an experience, one that could transcend what everyone thought they knew about Jinx.

"Perfect. Jinx is very intrigued. We’ll call you next week to discuss the details. Get ready for the unexpected. There’s no turning back once this starts." The manager hung up before you could say anything more, leaving you with a feeling of adrenaline, but also uncertainty. Something bigger was brewing, something that would change your life forever.

The call left a deep impression on you. It wasn’t just the first step toward a real collaboration, but a reminder that your world was about to be completely shaken. You could feel it, that strange pull toward the unknown. And as the days went by, you found yourself reviewing the details of the proposal again and again, adjusting and perfecting. You knew the work had only just begun.

The day of the meeting arrived faster than you expected. You found yourself again in front of Jinx, this time in her studio, surrounded by the same neon lights you had always seen through the screen, but now so real you could touch them. The air was charged with energy, a palpable chaos that made you feel like you could explode at any moment. She was there, as unpredictable as always, with that smile of hers, as if everything in the world could be destroyed by her laughter.

"Sugar Rush, you're here!" Jinx exclaimed when you walked in, her voice full of that energy that made you feel like nothing was impossible.

You sat across from her, your mind racing with all the ideas you wanted to share, but you knew it was time to listen. The proposal you had made was just the beginning; now you wanted to know how Jinx saw things, how far she could take this collaboration.

"I love the way you think. Have you realized that we're about to do something totally... fucking epic?" Jinx leaned forward, her eyes shining with a mix of excitement and a hint of mischief.

You nodded, trying to keep up, but with every word from Jinx, every gesture, you felt more connected to her, more a part of her world. What had once been a fantasy, an impossible dream, was taking shape, and everything was starting to feel real.

"I know," your voice came out more confidently than you felt, but that was exactly what you needed. You weren't going to let fear hold you back now. "I'm ready to take it further. I'm ready for the world to see what you and I can do."

Jinx smiled again, this time with an unexpected softness, as if she were recognizing something more than just a fan. As if, finally, she was seeing you not only for what you had done but for what you were capable of creating.

"Then... let's get started. And brace yourself, because this is going to be one hell of a ride," her smile widened, and you couldn't help but smile too. You knew what was about to come would change your life forever, and you couldn't wait to see it.

Jinx's studio was lit only by the dim glow of the computer screens, which blinked incessantly, reflecting colors that never seemed fully defined. The place was a chaos of organized disorder, with scattered cables, tools, and fragments of what looked like unfinished experiments. The atmosphere was imbued with the energy of someone who lives on the edge, someone who doesn't fear the unknown, but seeks it, consumes it.

You found yourself staring at everything, feeling the tension rise as Jinx explained what she wanted to do. It wasn't just an artistic project, no. There was something much deeper, something dark behind her words. The intensity in her gaze penetrated to your bones. You knew that what was being forged here could change everything, and the idea of being so close to that chaos, that power, excited and terrified you at the same time.

"What we're going to do isn't just art; it's a statement. Something that will make everyone who sees it, who feels it, in their very core. Not some Mister Beast shit," Jinx said, her voice charged with that unpredictable energy only she could project.

You didn’t need her to explain any further. You understood what she was hinting at. There was something in the way she spoke, something in her proximity, that pushed you to enter unknown territory. The adrenaline started pumping through your veins, a mix of danger and excitement. Chaos had never been so tempting.

You leaned in closer to her, and for a moment, words ceased to matter. You were completely absorbed by her presence. There were no doubts in your mind, only an urgent need to connect with her, to immerse yourself in that darkness that so easily defined her.

"What we're going to do is going to shatter expectations. It won't just be a visual spectacle; it's going to be a clash of sensations, a direct hit to everything people think they understand about art and chaos. We're going to push those limits, make people feel every vibration, every reaction," Jinx said, getting closer and closer, as if guiding you to something you couldn’t walk away from.

The proposal was clear. What they wanted to create wasn’t just a visual installation, but an immersive experience that would take the participants and bring them to the edge of their fears, their darkest desires. A world where sensations would feel too real, where the viewer couldn’t distinguish between what was part of the installation and what was a reflection of their own mind. Chaos, uncertainty, discomfort. All of it would be translated into an emotional test so powerful that those who dared to enter would never leave the same way.

Art, in this case, wasn’t just something to look at. It was something to live.

Jinx was staring at you with an intensity that seemed to consume everything else. Every word, every gesture, was charged with a palpable urgency. She was so determined to bring her vision to the world that everything she touched became part of that vision.

And then, almost impulsively, you took a moment to look at her closely. The spark in her eyes, the way her lips curved into a smile that only true chaos could generate, hypnotized you. You realized you were facing something much bigger than just a project. You were facing a dangerous connection, and you couldn’t say no.

"I want you with me in this. Not as a spectator. As someone who understands what we're about to do," Jinx moved her face closer to yours, her words filled with uncontrollable desire. Her breath was warm on your skin, and her proximity made you feel like you were about to crumble.

And, although you knew it, you couldn’t pull away. This was the strongest attraction you’d felt in a long time. The fear that would normally have held you back faded, replaced by a burning need to be part of her world. To be part of that darkness, of that destructive energy that seemed to define her. You didn’t know if it was her madness, her magnetism, or something much deeper that kept you close, but you had surrendered without even questioning it.

"What do you need from me?" you asked, and although the words came out calmly, your voice was filled with something far more visceral.

Jinx smiled, with that smile that you knew would change everything.

"I need you to use your skills to bring this to life. To make it so real that no one who sees it will ever forget it. It’s going to be a spectacle that will make them question everything they know about fear, pleasure, madness. But I also need you. Without you, this doesn’t make sense."

In that moment, you realized something. This wasn’t just a project. It was an invitation to enter her world. A world where there were no rules. Where chaos was the only constant. And you, by your own choice, were handing yourself over to it.

The connection between both of you was so deep, so intense, that there was no room for doubt anymore. You didn’t need to think. All you could do was move forward. You knew that what you were about to create would be as destructive as it would be addictive. But, in that moment, you wanted nothing more than to sink further into the abyss she offered.

She looked at you, and in her eyes, you could see what she truly wanted. She wasn’t just looking for someone to help her create something. She was looking for someone willing to follow her to the end, to embrace the chaos by her side. And you knew that, for the first time, you felt completely alive.

The air in the warehouse was thick, heavy with the smell of mold and rusted metal. Every step you took echoed with a macabre sound, as if the place itself was alive, waiting for something. Jinx, with that crooked smile you never knew if it was malicious or simply excited, watched you as you moved forward. The room was lit only by dim lights, flickering on the ceiling, giving the place an even darker feel. You knew what you were about to do, and it was impossible not to feel a mix of excitement and tension in the air. This wasn’t just a show. This was art in its rawest, wildest form.

"Are you ready for what we’re about to do?" Jinx asked, her voice charged with an energy that sent shivers down your spine. There was no room for doubt. You knew there was no turning back, and you were surprised by how eager you felt, how your body responded almost automatically to her energy.

"Let’s do it," you replied firmly, though the uncertainty burned inside you. You felt the weight of what was coming. You felt yourself sinking deeper into this chaos, this madness you were creating together. Jinx was the fire, the spark, but you were the one holding the reins, the one who knew how to make it all fit, make it all make sense. Or so you thought. Or so you wanted to believe.

You moved into the center of the warehouse, the stream was on since minutes ago, where the screens and projectors were ready to be activated. Each one was placed with precision, yet there was a touch of disorder, as if it were something that should never be ordered. The perfect combination of chaos and control. Like the two of you.

The first participants arrived, and you felt the energy in the air shift. It was a mixture of anticipation and fear. One by one, the spectators entered the dark corridor you had designed, the lights flickering around them, casting shadows that seemed to move as if they were stalking them. You could see how their eyes filled with doubt, with insecurity, but also with a strange fascination. The sound, a deep rumble that grew in intensity, seeped into their veins, taking hold of them. Their pulse quickened, the air thickened.

They didn’t know what was waiting for them. You did.

As they moved forward, the projections began. They were fragmented images: distorted faces, broken memories, their own fears projected on the screens. The chaos was palpable. The walls, which at first seemed like mere ruins, came to life. You couldn’t help but smile. Everything was working perfectly.

But then came the moment to give them what they really needed. The space darkened completely. The light vanished as if it had never existed. The sound turned into a low, heavy pulse, as though the universe itself was breathing in their ears. In that overwhelming silence, the shadows rose again. Something was changing. Something big was about to happen.

When the corridor ended, the participants were called one by one to enter what you had named "the fear chamber." A small, enclosed space, isolated from the world, where the rules of reality ceased to exist. The first one entered, trembling, unsure of what to expect. You watched everything from a dark corner, your breath steady, your eyes fixed on the screen. Inside the chamber, the lights flickered, then went out. A distorted figure appeared in the projections. The image of a face, and then another, one that quickly faded, leaving behind something that shouldn’t exist.

It was chaos made into an image. But the most interesting part was what was happening in their minds. Their own fears, their darkest desires, their insecurities… all of that was projected in front of them. They couldn’t escape. They couldn’t do anything.

You focused. You knew when to tighten, when to let the pressure build. It was such a precise control that it almost felt like an art of manipulation.

Jinx, in the back, was smiling. She was watching how each one of them cracked, how reality dissolved, but you were in your element, enjoying the chaos with a calm that only you could possess. In this moment, you were completely connected to the spectacle, to what you were creating. Jinx was your ally, your muse, your chaos, but you were the one shaping it into perfection.

Though you never said it aloud, the connection between you and Jinx grew deeper. It wasn’t just the art. It wasn’t just the show. It was something darker, something more personal. The way your ideas merged, the way your minds complemented each other in this game of shadows. It was as if together you could create something no one else could understand, something so intense and visceral that it left marks on the soul. You knew that Jinx needed you to give shape to her madness, and Jinx knew that you were the balance that gave it meaning.

The images on the screen now showed something different. A distorted figure. Your own face merged with Jinx’s. In the projection, both of you seemed to merge, transforming into a single entity. In that moment, you felt it deep inside: it was as if you could no longer live without her.

You looked at her face, at her crooked smile, as she manipulated the controls with almost obsessive precision. You felt that all of this was taking shape faster than you had imagined. The show was going to be something no spectator would ever forget, but the most shocking thing was what was happening inside you. The line between art and reality had blurred, and now, every moment with Jinx consumed you.

The end was near. You knew that the final phase, the climax of the show, was going to break them. The participants were already on the edge of despair, but you didn’t know how far you could push them. Every stimulus, every image, every sound, every smell, was designed to disturb them, to break them. The impact would be brutal. The chaos would be absolute. And you, watching from the shadows, were the one in control.

It was when everything seemed to collapse, when everything became unsustainable, when the participants felt like they were losing their minds, that the show reached its final moment. The lights went out. The sound turned into a roar, a scream, something that pierced their chest. The screen shattered, showing images of them, their own fears spilling over.

When the silence fell, you realized something. You had done what you wanted. You had brought to life something so dark, so deeply disturbing, that no one could forget it.

And by your side, Jinx kept smiling, waiting, enjoying the madness you had just unleashed.

You return to Jinx's apartment after the show, and the air between the two of you feels electrified. The success is palpable. The metrics, the comments, the followers. Everything has exploded. And it's not just because of the show, it's because you and Jinx have touched something deep in each viewer. The chaos you've created has left its mark.

Jinx, always restless, throws her backpack onto the couch and turns on a dim light in the corner of the room, casting shadows that dance on the walls. The music, a pounding industrial sound, begins to play in the background. Both of you are exhausted, but there's something undeniable: the tension between you two is stronger than ever.

You approach her without thinking too much. The celebration moment is no longer about success, but about what has been built between you. The silence between you two stretches on, but it’s not uncomfortable. It's the prelude to something more.

Jinx looks at you with those bright, unpredictable eyes, as always. "Aren't you tired of surprising me, Sugar Rush?" Her tone is playful, but there’s something darker hidden in her gaze, something that attracts you even more.

"No… I'm not tired of you," you reply with a raspy voice, taking another step closer to her. The distance between you two narrows until the electricity is palpable. Jinx doesn’t wait a second, grabs your neck, and kisses you wildly, as if all the madness you’ve unleashed on the world needs to escape in that moment. Her lips are demanding, and you don’t resist. The kiss is brutal, like a clash of overflowing passions.

You pull away a bit, looking into her eyes. You’re breathing fast, as if all the air in the apartment has been exhausted. "Jinx, I… I can’t stop thinking about you. I don’t know what’s happening to me, but… I’m completely obsessed with you. Every time you’re not around, I lose control. I’ve done things... crazy things, things no one should do, and I feel sick for you."

Jinx doesn’t take a step back. Her smile grows, and although you know it’s a smile of madness, you also feel it excites her, everything you've just said. "Oh, Sugar Rush, I love it when you get so... intense."

Without being able to help it, your hands slide over her body, touching her skin, her tattoos, feeling the chemicals between you. "I’ve spent hours following you. Hours, Jinx. I wake up thinking about you, I fall asleep thinking about you. I’ve searched for every picture of you, every video. Sometimes I watch you without you knowing, and all I do is imagine what would happen if I had you closer. And then I realize I already have you close, and that... drives me crazy." Every word escapes your mouth with desperation, as if confessing it, all the weight of your obsession collapses.

Jinx laughs softly, but it’s a laugh full of evil and desire. "I’m driving you completely crazy, huh? I like it." Then, with unexpected speed, she pushes you against the wall, her body pressing against yours almost aggressively. Her hands explore your body with overflowing fury, as if she’s anxious to confirm that everything you just said is true, that she’s completely inside of you.

The touches between the two of you become more and more desperate. You’re afraid of what you might do if you keep giving in to this whirlwind of desire and madness. But at the same time, you can’t stop. Your mind and body are trapped, and Jinx is the only escape.

"You know, right?" Jinx whispers in your ear as her lips trace fiery kisses on your neck. "There’s no turning back. You’re mine, Sugar Rush." Her words are like sweet poison, and something inside you burns with more intensity. The truth becomes clearer, and you don’t want to escape it. You want more.

"Yes… yes, I’m yours," you murmur between gasps, losing yourself in her, in the heat, in the madness that consumes you. "And you… you’re mine. You’ll always be."

Jinx, hearing your words, smiles again, satisfied, and slides closer to you, taking your lips in a kiss so desperate and full of passion that you feel like the whole world is falling apart around you.

The apartment is lit only by the neon lights flickering, casting psychedelic shadows on the walls, like an ezquizofrenic show. The feeling of triumph has already faded, replaced by a much more urgent and dangerous need. You’re consumed by a flame you can’t extinguish, and Jinx knows it. You both know it. The chaos you’ve unleashed on the digital world has been nothing compared to the chaos now taking shape between you two.

In one corner of the room, Jinx pulls out a small box, opens it with a twisted smile, and inside, a white powder glows faintly under the light. She takes a spoonful, looks at it, and then, with a casual gesture, offers it to you.

"Come on, Sugar Rush, don’t you want to fly? We need this. All of this... this is ours. This is the last level."

You’re scared, for a second, of what you’re about to do. But the desire consumes you, temptation takes over. You’ve been through a lot in the last few months, and this... this feels like an escape. Making this decision is almost like, by doing so, you can finally release everything you’ve been holding back.

Taking the powder, you inhale it, feeling the burn in your nostrils, a direct hit to your brain. Instantly, warmth spreads through your body, euphoria begins to take control, and your thoughts become blurry, bubbly. Jinx looks at you intently as the powder begins to take effect, her eyes shining brighter than ever. "That’s it… you’re mine now, completely."

Reality begins to fade, and all that remains is the sound of the music and the sound of labored breathing between the two of you. Jinx approaches you again, this time with unexpected violence. It’s as if everything that was in her before is exploding. Her lips meet yours, and the passion that was once intense becomes something wild, insatiable. The contact between you two is like a clash of uncontrollable forces.

"I’m devouring you, can you feel it?" Jinx whispers between kisses, almost as if she’s talking to someone else, as if the conversation is a delirium. Her voice mixes with the music, creating a strange, thick melody. "You’ll never escape from me, never."

Your head spins. The powder makes everything you touched before now feel more real, more raw, more intensely sensitive. Every touch of her skin makes you shiver, and every word, no matter how absurd, drags you deeper into the madness. You don’t know if the desire you feel for her is real or if it’s just a fantasy fueled by what you’ve inhaled, but you don’t care. The only thing that matters now is that you can’t stop touching her, you can’t stop losing yourself in her.

Jinx's fingers slipped under your shirt, she smiled widely when she noticed you were braless, easy work. Her fingers squeezed your left nipple mercilessly, she rubbed it with her palm from top to bottom to make it more and more sensitive, so sensitive that it was impossible to bear, it was like a delicious torture. Your moans were not long in coming, from one second to the next you found yourself asking for more. You needed more. You needed her.

"What did you say, Sugar Rush?" Jinx asked, moving closer to your neck and biting hard, she sank her teeth in as deep as she could, and when you were about to scream she choked you with her hands to stop you, and that only made you more excited.

She didn't let go of your neck until she felt blood in her mouth, then she grabbed your hair.

"Open your mouth," She demanded, dominant and amused.

You could see her lips stained with blood, with your blood. Exquisite, red had always suited her so well. Without protest you obeyed, opening as wide as you could, sticking out your tongue that was dripping with excess saliva, drool sliding down your throat.

Jinx bit her lip and squeezed your cheeks, her extravagant half-painted nails digging into your skin, then she leaned in and spit in your mouth. You had no other reflex than to swallow and smile at her, grateful for what she was giving you.

Jinx laughed mockingly, she was using you as her toy, and you were more than happy to be.

"Let's try one more time. What do you want from me, Sugar Rush?" Jinx asked, still tasting your blood in her mouth.

"I want you to fuck me, but if you don't want to it doesn't matter. I'd settle for just this, you can keep biting me and drinking my blood, I don't care. I'm happy with anything that comes from you," You were lucky you were so high you couldn't hear yourself, because you really sounded pitiful and not very sane.

And Jinx loved it. She loved the power she had over you.

"You're kind of pathetic, Sugar Rush. You'd settle for anything, huh?" A dangerous glint lit up Jinx's eyes. "I mean, I could pull my pants down right now, piss on your face and you'd still thank me?"

And the saddest thing was that you didn't have to think about it, your head bobbing up and down in a way that was almost mechanical. "I love everything about you," You confessed hoarsely, imagining the scene vividly in your twisted head.

Jinx stifled an awkward laugh.

"Don't worry, baby, I won't go that far... yet," Jinx smirks, her eyes flashing with a dangerous light, and she pushes you against the wall again. "That's what I want to hear, Sugar Rush. I know you want me. I know I'm controlling you. Now shut up and enjoy."

Jinx squeezed her neck with one hand, putting special force where she had hurt her, and her other hand traveled from her mouth to your lower part. She put her hand under your skirt and with her legs she made yours open to have better access. Her index finger moved your underwear to the side and she stuck a finger in you, she took it out and put it in repeatedly, not going too deep, just testing its capacity. Her thumb rubbed your fluids against your clit, pressing it lightly, she was killing you slowly.

You writhed in her clutches, your body made involuntary contractions that harassed you with blows to the face for your stubbornness, Jinx hated it when you didn't listen.

"It seems that someone is a little restless. Maybe I should increase the intensity and see how long you can take it."

And without warning she inserted three more fingers, a scream escaped from deep in your throat, your eyes rolled back. Jinx's hand was busy all over your pussy, her four fingers penetrating you and her thumb never stopping punishing your clit. It was perfect. Simply perfect.

Jinx looked at you with her typical crazy smile, while she masturbated you she brought her face closer to yours to start filling you with licks all over. It was so wild, it was such a basic instinct, so primal. For a moment it felt like they had returned to the Paleolithic period, where they only had to eat, fuck and survive. And the truth is that it sounded like a good plan, the best, actually.

You couldn't take the intensity any longer and you came in a guttural, almost superhuman growl. Your juices were sliding through Jinx's hand, who still hadn't taken her fingers out of you, she was using you as her personalized Xbox controller, overstimulating you in a way that would make you lose your mind at any moment.

Luckily for you, she got bored after a few minutes and let you rest. Her reflex was to wipe your juices off her hand, and seeing this you almost felt like you could cum again.

"Can you sit on my face?" The question came out of your lips without any filter.

Jinx looked at you still with her sticky fingers in her mouth, she smiled and bit her thumb, smelling your essence on it.

"Lie down on the couch."

And you didn't need to hear it twice, even with your legs shaking you ran to the furniture and positioned yourself in the best way, with your head resting on the headboard, waiting patiently for your prize. God, this would be like a dream come true for you. But it all got even better when you looked to the side and were met with the scene you never thought you'd witness in real life.

Jinx was stripping in front of you. Your lustful gaze traveled all over her body, from her slim ankles, to her plump thighs, to those dreamy hips, and of course, to her tiny waist. Her nipples were the same shade of pale pink you'd bet on.

"Don't stare at me like that, you lil' freak," Despite her teasing tone it didn't sound like it bothered her at all.

"I'm sorry, I can't help it, you're gorgeous, the most..."

Jinx rolled her eyes and shushed you with a mime gesture. She stretched and her bones creaked exquisitely, she was warming up her muscles, because the position she would be in next required a lot of physical endurance, especially as time passed.

And meanwhile, you just waited in silence, delighted by the sight. Jinx climbed onto the furniture with her back to you, first staring at you, her pupils dilated.

"Enough talk, get that pretty mouth working. I want to cum too, fuck," And without warning, as was typical of Jinx, she sat on your face, and not in a delicate way, it should be noted.

She jumped on you as if you were an inflatable ball. Leaving you without air every two minutes, and in a very macabre way, you found yourself pleased with that idea. You could die like this and you would be happy.

"Your nose tickles me, Sugar Rush, it's amazing. I think you've become my favorite seat." Jinx alternated between breathy giggles and long sighs, it was a crazy experience, literally.

You were enjoying it, but not completely. You wanted to taste her, make her feel good, show her your full potential. So you took a chance and grabbed her by the hips, digging your fingers into her bones to keep her still.

Jinx moaned loudly as your tongue penetrated her deeply. You buried your face in that glorious pussy, breathing in her scent and only became more addicted, hungrier. You licked without stopping, interspersing it with occasional little bites.

Jinx looked down at you, you looked so cute like this, beneath her.

"I bet I'm fulfilling your biggest fantasy. I'm sure you used to masturbating while watching my streams, you little pervert."

And your muffled moan only proved her right.

"It feels like I'm helping a charity cause," Jinx humiliated you with her words and you could only continue to please her, because it was what you had to do, you were born to do it. "Shit, I'm gonna cum. Open your mouth." She bellowed in a high, whiny voice.

Jinx put pressure on her numb legs and stood up a little, she leaned on the couch and with her other hand she quickly caressed her clit in search of her orgasm. An orgasm that shot not only to your face but to part of your body, Jinx had had the biggest squirt you had ever seen in your life.

Exhausted, she let herself fall on top of you. Your naked and sweaty bodies intertwined like two threads of the same piece. Her long blue hair wrapped around you like a cloak, you stared at the ceiling and smiled big. Is this what happiness felt like?

"Why are you smiling, Sugar Rush?" Jinx asked, poking your cheek.

"Because I'm happy." It was the first time in your life you were able to say such a phrase, and yet you still couldn't believe it. You couldn't believe any of it—couldn't believe your luck.

"Aw, how sweet. Wanna do it again?" The sudden shift in conversation left you stunned.

Jinx didn’t wait for an answer. She kissed you, hard and rough. Your hands moved frantically across her body, searching for more than just skin. You wanted to go deeper, to tear her apart and reach her very heart. It felt as though everything was slipping away, as though reality itself was unraveling, and the only constant was her.

"Do you want to, Sugar Rush? How far would you go for me?" Her voice was husky, dripping with dark energy. She cupped your face gently, almost as if this were some twisted game. "I’ve made you mine, you know that, don’t you?"

You couldn’t think, couldn’t speak. You could only react. Her lips, her skin, the chaos surrounding you both—it all blurred into a single, undeniable truth. She was the only thing that mattered. Only her.

The kiss grew more desperate. Your bodies collided, pulled, and clawed at each other, as if devouring and becoming one in the process. Words became meaningless, empty. All that remained was the raw, unrelenting need, the way you were both destroying and remaking each other with every touch, every breath, every frantic caress.

The early morning had fallen when, finally, exhausted and caught in a whirlwind of emotions and adrenaline, they fell into silence. The room was filled with a mix of sweat and the heavy air of what had happened. The glow of the computer screen still illuminated their faces, even though the stream had ended, and the numbers kept rising.

Jinx lay back on the bed, still smiling with that overflowing spark in her eyes, but something had changed. She wasn’t the same crazy, attention-seeking lunatic anymore, but a more vulnerable, more human version of herself. However, you knew that this moment of vulnerability was as fleeting as everything else that passed through her mind. She was at your side in this chaotic world you’d created together, but you couldn’t help but feel that the connection being formed was also a cage.

You stayed sitting on the edge of the bed, breathing heavily, your mind filled with disjointed thoughts, with the truth you had unleashed. You had confessed everything, every dark corner of your obsession, your fears, your desires, your addiction. You had let it all spill out, and instead of rejecting it, Jinx had accepted it as if it were just another game.

“You see, I told you,” Jinx whispered, slowly sitting up. She approached you, taking your chin with a crooked smile. “What we have is unique. And you know what? I love it.”

Her voice was softer, but her eyes still held the madness she always carried. You looked at her, feeling yourself burn even more, unsure if what you’d been searching for was an escape valve or a chain.

“It’s more than that…” you answered in a broken voice, unable to help yourself. The memories of everything you had done, of the hours spent waiting for her to notice you, flooded your mind like a storm. “It’s not just obsession, Jinx… it’s… I need to have you close all the time. I can’t let you go. I can’t.”

Jinx leaned in toward you, her warm breath on your neck, and her red lips left a soft kiss on your skin. You felt the tingling of her touch, but also that persistent sense of emptiness that never went away, that need to keep searching for something more, something you knew you would never find, but couldn’t stop chasing.

“Don’t worry, Sugar Rush. I’m not going anywhere,” she said with a playful laugh, but deep down you knew that the chaos in her mind was devouring her too. Just like it was devouring you. Just like it was consuming both of you.

Silence filled the room for a moment, but it wasn’t the silence of peace. It was the silence of two people trapped in a spiral of madness, fed by their own demons. Love, obsession, chaos, all blended into something bigger than either of them.

You lay beside her, feeling how Jinx’s breath intertwined with yours, even though you both knew neither of you would sleep that night. Inside you, everything was chaos. And that chaos, though terrifying, was the only thing keeping you alive.

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alotofpockets · 1 year ago

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Home | Natasha Romanoff

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Prompts: "I've had a bad day, and honestly all I want right now are some cuddles." & "You've always felt like home."

A/n: Could be read as a part 2 to 'Seeking comfort' but also works on it's own :)

Masterlist | Marvel masterlist | Words: 1k

Living with Natasha had been nothing short of perfect. You had been living together for a couple of months now, and the experience had been amazing so far. Your shared place had felt like home from the moment you and Natasha had stepped foot in it. Over the months you grew to love the little habits that started to form.

One of your new favorite things has become coming home to Natasha. The way she ran to the door when she heard the familiar noise of your keys jingling before unlocking the front, always welcoming you home with lots of kisses, was something you would never get enough from. She was always so happy to have you back home, and in return you were very happy to be back in her arms.

Another thing that you loved was Natasha coming home to you. You always tried to make it special, and on your days off you did that by putting some extra effort into dinner. Since the two of you had moved in together, you had picked up cooking, and you tried making new recipes as often as you could. You loved surprising your lover with a home-cooked meal, and a nicely set table, turning dinner into little impromptu dates.

Above all else, you loved creating a home with Natasha. The walls and shelves that were blank upon moving, were now filled with pictures, and trinkets of your life together. Just as you had seen that first day you entered Natasha’s bedroom at the Compound. Natasha loved capturing every moment with her polaroid camera, and you loved looking back on the memories the two of you had created.

You were working on a new recipe for tonight when you heard the infamous, “Honey, I'm home.” Natasha loved being cheesy, and you loved all the domesticity that came with it. The Black Widow was a big softy, she was your big softy, and you wouldn’t change that for the world. “In the kitchen.” You reply. It wasn't long until you heard her footsteps heading your way, and her arms wrapped around your waist from behind. Soft kisses were placed on your shoulder. “Hi detka.” You lean into her body, while you continue stirring the pan. The pasta was boiling, and the sauce you were stirring was almost done.

“Hi baby, how was work?” Natasha grunts from behind you and nuzzles her head further into your back. "I've had a bad day, and honestly all I want right now are some cuddles." You put the heat down under your pans before you turn around in her arms. “Oh, darling, I’m sorry you had a bad day.” You wrap your arms around her, and hold her close. “Do you want to talk about it?” She shook her head. “That’s okay. Let’s get you those cuddles, shall we?”

“But what about dinner? I know you worked hard on it.” She says worriedly. “We can just have it on the couch tonight. Why don’t you take a seat? I’ll be right there.” She kisses your cheek, “You’re the best. I love you.” - “I love you too, darling.” You grab two bowls and set them down on the counter. The pasta dish needed a couple more minutes, so you decided to clean up the table you had set already in the meantime.

Once the dish is ready you shoop the pasta and then the sauce into the two bowls. On a tray you bring in both your dishes and the wine you had poured into two glasses. “It smells really good, baby, I can’t wait to try it.” Natasha appreciated your gesture to skip on the fancy set table and enjoy the food on the couch, however she did feel guilty about ruining your plans of a fancy at home dinner date. “I’m sorry about the change of plans.” She says as you hand her one of the bowls. You shake your head, “Don’t worry about it, darling. I don’t mind where we have dinner, I just want to have it with you.” You sit down beside her and put on one of her favorite movies. She instantly leaned into your side. That was another thing you had noticed, Natasha had become a lot more clingy. She always found your hand to hold, or your side to lean into. You were not complaining though, as you loved being close to her.

When your bowls were empty, you discarded them on the table to clean up later, and changed your position on the couch so that Natasha could cuddle into you properly. “Come here, baby.” You said with your arms wide open. She laid her head down on your chest, and you immediately wrapped your arms around her. The movie continued to play on the TV, and you moved one of your hands to absentmindedly play with her hair, knowing how much Natasha loved it when you did that. “Your cuddles always make me feel so much better.” You place a kiss on her forehead, “Oh yeah? Why is that?” Natasha lovingly places a kiss on your neck, “Because you’ve always felt like home.” Gosh, she really is the most adorable person to have ever existed. “You’ve always felt like home to me too. I am so happy that we have found each other, and that I get to live life with you by my side.”

Natasha didn’t make it to the end of the movie, you heard her breathing change about half way through it. You knew she had a rough day, so you pressed a soft kiss to the top of her head, letting her sleep on your chest while you finished the movie. During the movie you often thought back on how Natasha would softly speak her favorite lines of the movie out loud, the memories always bringing a smile to your face.

Your girlfriend was still fast asleep when the movie ended. The remote was still within your reach, so you went to Spotify and turned on one of your playlists there. Soft music filled the room, and it wasn’t long before your own eyes fell closed.

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#natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #black widow #black widow x reader #natasha romanoff imagine #avengers x reader #avengers imagine #natasha romanoff fluff #marvel x reader #marvel imagine #mcu x reader #mcu imagine

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aynavaano · 4 months ago

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The light of Umbara

Kinktober ‘24 - exhibitionism

Rex/501st × F!reader

Rating: Explicit

Wordcount: 1.5k

Summary: You’re in a relationship with Rex and the latest mission is proving to be especially hard. When his messages get more and more hopeless you decide to take matters in your own hands.

Notes: This is the first of a few shorter fics I wrote for Kinktober. If you have any special kink and clone you would love to see, my request are open. We have recording of masturbation, kind of remote barracks bunny? All for our favorite captain and his men.

The war was never easy, but Umbara was a special kind of hell.

You had been through long missions before, waiting for Rex to return from one battle after another, but this time was different. Umbara was a planet drenched in darkness-both literally and figuratively.

The constant shadow of war had worn down the men, and you could feel the weight in Rex's messages. General Skywalker had been called away on urgent business, leaving the 501st in the hands of General Krell, a Jedi that couldn't have been more different from Anakin. Cold, calculating, and seemingly indifferent to the lives of his men, Krell was draining the spirit out of the entire battalion.

You could feel it in Rex's words. He tried to stay strong, as he always did, but you knew him better than anyone. His messages came less frequently, and when they did, they were short, tired. You could feel his frustration with Krell, his exhaustion with the war, and the weight of leadership pressing down on him.

One night, you received a message from Rex, and this time, it wasn't about the mission.

"Everyone's down. Krell is making things harder than they need to be. It's taking a toll on the men.. on all of us. Just wanted to hear from you. Miss you."

Your heart ached for him. You knew the toll this war took, not just on his body but on his spirit, and it was times like these when he needed something to lift him up.

That's when you got an idea.

Rex had told you before that when morale was low, anything that could lift the spirits of the men -even something small- could make a world of difference.

So, you decided to give them something that would do more than just raise morale.

You wanted to give them hope.

A little light in the dark.

You took your datapad, positioning it above your bed just right. You spent half an hour fumbling round trying to suspend it from your ceiling lamp. And when you finally succeeded you stripped down, leaving on only a very tiny pair of lace panties - the ones Rex had always liked, the ones that made his breath hitch whenever he saw you in them.

You felt a thrill as you adjusted the datapad, ensuring it captured your entire body.

Once you were satisfied with the angle, you hit record.

Laying back against your pillows, you let out a soft sigh, slowly pushing the blanket off your body, revealing your bare skin.

You imagined Rex watching you, imagined him being right there with you, and it sent a shiver down your spine. Your hands moved slowly, teasingly, over your skin. You wanted to draw this out, to make it as enticing as possible, not just for Rex but for the men who might see it too.

Your fingers trailed down your stomach, playing at the edge of your lace panties before slipping just beneath the fabric.

You moaned softly, knowing the camera was catching every sound, every twitch of pleasure as you began touching yourself. Your fingers moved between your slick folds, already soaked from the thought of what you were doing and who would be watching.

You slowly slid off your panties and threw them towards the camera with a teasing smile.

But you weren’t done yet.

You reached over to the nightstand, grabbing the white-and-blue marbled dildo that Rex had given you as a gift, a reminder of him while he was away.

You held it up to the camera for a moment, letting the men watching know exactly what was coming.

Slowly, you slid the dildo down your body, spreading your legs to make sure the got a good view, teasing your clit with the tip before pressing it inside you.

The sensation made you gasp, your back arching off the bed as the dildo filled you. You pumped it in and out of yourself, letting your moans grow louder as you imagined it was Rex thrusting into you. You could almost hear his voice in your ear, whispering sweet, filthy things as he took you apart.

"Rex," you moaned softly, your free hand moving to your breast, pinching your nipple as you picked up the pace. You knew how to work yourself up, how to give them a show, and you weren't going to stop until you were trembling from your first orgasm.

It didn't take long. The combination of the dildo and your fingers rubbing circles against your clit had you spiraling fast. With one final thrust, you cried out, your body shuddering as the first orgasm ripped through you.

But you weren't done. Not yet.

You pulled the dildo out, laying back against the pillows as you caught your breath. But the heat between your legs was still burning, and you needed more. You started again, rubbing your clit, pushing yourself toward a second orgasm. This time, the build-up was slower, more intense. You could already feel a slight overstimulation setting in, but that only made it better.

"Fuck," you moaned softly, your fingers moving faster as the pleasure in your core built again.

The squelching of you pussy when you thrusted the dildo back in was straight up lewd and you shuddered feeling yourself stretch around it.

With one final moan, your body convulsed, your second orgasm crashing over you in waves, even better than the first one. Your breath was ragged, your body glistening with sweat as you finally set the dildo aside, your hands trembling.

You reached for the datapad, stopping the recording.

Your heart raced as you attached the video to a message, typing out a quick note:

"A little light in the dark, for you. And for the boys, if you want to share."

You sent the message off, your heart pounding with anticipation. It was bold -risky even-but you knew Rex, and you knew he'd appreciate it. Now, all you had to do was wait.

You ran yourself a hot bath, sinking into the water as you let the warmth soothe your muscles. You couldn't stop thinking about the video, about Rex's reaction when he saw it. Would he watch it alone? Would he share it with his brothers? The thought made your core tighten again, your body aching for his touch.

Hours passed, you got out of the tub, ordered some food and cuddle up on the couch with a holodrama and just as you were beginning to think you might not hear from him tonight, your datapad pinged.

"Look what you did. Love you so much."

Your heart skipped a beat as you opened the attachment.

The video began, and immediately, you recognized the familiar dim lighting of a barracks room. In the middle of the room was a table with a datapad, and from the sounds, you knew it was your video playing. You moans echoed through the small space.

The men were gathered around the table, most of them in their white-and-blue armor and some in their blacks, the same ones you had seen a thousand times. But now, there was something different in the air-something heavy, almost primal.

Groans and gasps filled the room as the men watched your video. You could see their hands moving toward their cocks, some already stroking themselves as the video continued. The camera didn't show faces, but you could hear their breath hitching, could see the way their bodies tensed as they watched you touch yourself.

A few of them hesitated at first, but as your moans filled the room, it was clear that none of them could resist. You heard the familiar clicking of codpieces being removed and by the end of the video, all of them had their cocks in their hands, stroking themselves in time with your movements.

You watched in awe as the men gave in completely to their desires, their breathing heavy as they lost themselves in the video. When the recording got to the part where you fucked yourself with the dildo in the colors of their battalion there was no holding back.

One by one, they came, their groans filling the room as they spilled onto the table in front of them. It was messy, desperate, and incredibly hot.

But the best part came at the end. As the last few moans faded, you heard Rex's voice, soft but clear, cutting through the darkness.

"Can't wait to come home to you and reward you," he whispered.

And then the video ended.

You stared at the screen, your heart racing, your body trembling with arousal. You could hardly believe what you had just watched, and yet, the thought of all those men coming undone to the sight of you-it made you ache for more. But it was Rex's words that stuck with you, the promise of what awaited you when he finally came home.

You sank down onto the cushions of your sofa slipping your hand into your panties, you were soaked, your mind spinning. Rex had always been a man of his word, and you knew that when he returned, he wouldn't just reward you - he would worship you.

#kinktober #star wars #clone smut #captain rex smut #captain rex x reader #clone wars #captain rex #501st legion

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pinkandgoldensoul · 9 months ago

Note

Heyo!

Since I'm definitely a fan of your writings and this tinkling feeling of requesting you something has been irking me, can I request something like an arranged marriage with Pierre?

Angsty and maybe a happy ending. That's upto you.

Love your works. Hoping for more great pieces.❤️

Happy New Year 🎊

(At the end of the fic I'll leave a note about this request ❤️)

Navigation || Masterlist

If this is your first time here on this blog, please check the Disclaimers here.

pairing: pierre gasly x female!reader (feat. esteban ocon x female!reader and charles leclerc as reader's bestfriend) genre: arranged marriage, angst, fluff and comfort !tw!: swearing, mention of s*x (not graphic), cheating, violence word count: 18.6k plot: you loved him, he loved you, and neither knew. Will an arranged marriage, an old love triangle and a special friend be enough to finally make you confess your true feelings?

Walking down the aisle, a bouquet clumsily held by trembling fingers, your whole chest was filled with quick butterflies batting wings, desperate to spread free. He was perfect. An astonishingly crafted smirk plastered on his face, ready for the flashes of the cameras to be captured, the suit slid on his athletic body without creases. You reckoned yourself inadequate in that white, plain dress: feeling pins pulling your hair left and right after hours of work by the hairdresser, the steady arm of your dad was the only anchor to the present moment. He never strayed his stare away from you, removing your veil in a slow, tantalizing motion. There were no vows to be exchanged and get mistaken in anxiety, no rings to be put through the wrong finger: you were and had always been his since forever, without he even had to ask. You peeked behind Pierre’s shoulder and saw Charles showing you an encouraging smile, which you tried to reciprocate despite sweating cold. You remembered his huge grin when Pierre had handed him the invitation: dimples on full display, Charles had flicked his eyes between the two of you and had been stoked ever since he was told he’d be best man. He’d been happier than Pierre himself had been about the news of the engagement with you and, consequently, about the wedding.

>>♥<<

«Okay, cool.» That had been his answer to you two fathers’ decision. They had grown best friends over the years, and they both didn’t like Pierre’s womanizer lifestyle, which was quite detrimental to his reputation. So your dad had decided to offer his own daughter to the Gasly’s like a sacrificial victim, knowing you had always had sympathy for the youngster and sure he would simply love you back with time. Of course, you were painfully aware of Pierre’s usual behavior around girls and, even though befriending him in teenage had made you helplessly fall in love with him, getting married felt like the cruelest assault to your dignity. For sure you would love him. And for sure he would not. Sitting on a couch right in front of each other, your parents discussing a couple of meters away, he simply bore his eyes into yours while drinking a glass of juice, legs spread out. «We’re going to have fun the first night together or…?» Your eyes threw a dagger to him, hit in your pride for the insensitive comment; Pierre wasn’t known for being delicate and considerate, when you used to hang out in group with him. After all, his humor was one of the things that had you capitulate before his feet. «Okay, I see. No jokes.» You squeezed your fingers into fists, uptight, dissatisfaction cursing through your blood. «Not on such things, Pierre.» «Like what? Sex?» he raised a brow. «My wedding.» you sighed. «Our wedding, you mean.» «Doesn’t seem as pivoting to you. Nothing will really change for you.» «We’re both going to wear a ring, y/n. Never seen a marriage without the groom or the bride.» He downed the last sip of the juice and placed the glass on the coffee table. You knew from the start it wouldn’t be a fairytale.

>>♥<<

«Don’t think a bride should stand on her own and look so sad.» Charles’ words whispered in your ear made you roll eyes and brought an immediate smile to your face. «Don’t think a best man should bother the bride with stupid remarks.» «Do you think it’s stupid?» he asked, raising his brow to insinuate doubt. «Pierre is having a blast and you… well, you’re here listening to the stupid remarks of the best man.» The small stem glass of champagne you still held had dried out of bubbles, but seemed interesting enough to draw your eyes down; Charles, genuinely sorry to witness your let down expression, wetted his lips and briefly glanced back at Pierre, laughing and dancing with the other guests. «Let’s go dance.» Caught by surprise, you tilted your head back up, wide eyes. «C’mon, don’t pretend you didn’t hear!» Charles chuckled, holding both your hands. «We’re going to make fools of ourselves…» «But that’s what we do the best when we’re together!» You let yourself be dragged in the middle of the dance floor set up under an outdoor gazebo: Charles’ ridiculous moves made a visceral laugh emerge from the depths of your fears, as he tried to involve you in his bubbly fun, despite the dress not helping the flow of your groove. «Geez, I feel so awkward!» you let out, head leaning backwards, invested by a childish happiness. «Just dance it out, we’re doing amazing!»

The sun setting down at the horizon threw an orange gold ray cut through the air, hitting Charles’ profile, getting both enlightened and obscured in two poetic halves which danced relentless and made you twirl around without a single thought. Out of notice, the guests had gathered around the two of you, enjoying the show you had put up; and when the music faded out to a slower tune, catching your breath in Charles’ arms, hands resting on his heaving chest, your sight found Pierre’s blue eyes, filled with an unreadable expression. As slower notes filled the air, he walked over to you, confident in each firm step, putting Charles’ luminous smile in defeat: when Pierre was around, there was no chance for you to look at any other person. He simply took your hands, implicitly warning Charles to move away and make room for him, tenderly joining the swinging fabric of your dress. Too affected by his presence and by racing thoughts about the future you would share with him from that moment on, you placed your burning cheek upon his chest, right above his heart. «Why didn’t you ask me to dance?» His question breached your overthinking silence. «You were too busy entertaining the guests.» You didn’t mean for your words to sound as veiled of sadness and resigned as they did, but you felt somehow content in letting Pierre know how you felt about the whole situation. He had you wrapped around his finger; his ring one. You were engraved in the inner circle of gold touching his skin, kissing it tenderly, vowing love to him any second. «I thought I’d make you uncomfortable giving you all my attention. You dropped a glass during lunch because of it, and I don’t want you to get hurt.» His smirk disseminated deep, red shame on your cheeks; why did you put blush on earlier that morning if Pierre was managing to do all the work by himself?

An unerasable pang of hurt chained your feet to the ground, unable to sink deeper into Pierre’s gentle hands holding you throughout the dance: you told yourself it wouldn’t shatter you completely if you thought he didn’t mean any of the things he did, he said. Holding you closer, cheek resting on his white, unbuttoned shirt, he left an unexpected and unseen peck on the top of your head, as you both still lulled to the beat. He then leaned on a side, dropping whispered words into your ear. «Want to see a smile on my wife’s face. It’s our wedding, after all, not our funeral.» As much as you wanted to feel hatred, you let Pierre’s jokingly voice sink, unconsciously obliging to his request right away. You felt young, drunk, foolish. You’d enjoy every bit of attention he’d spare you. Every single scramble.

>>♥<<

Pierre had insisted on picking you up before entering your newly bought apartment, to stick to the tradition; between giggles and laughs, you had admired you two’s mothers astonishing work of petals and candles signaling the way over to the bedroom. The dim lights enchanted your sight, as you stood speechless before the bed. Pierre’s hands caressing your forearms and slowly making their way up to your shoulders awoke you and froze you at once. The tip of his nose brushing your neck, you didn’t dare move nor speak as Pierre pressed soft kisses all over. Were you ready? Pierre encircled your waist with his arm, both relieving and accentuating the knot forming in your stomach. Would you ever be ready? You hadn’t talked about that moment, you hadn’t considered there’d be the need to. You thought he wouldn’t even touch you, once everybody’s eyes would be out of sight. So why was he taking all his time carefully unbuttoning the back of your dress, leaving open mouthed kisses on the bare skin he had available? «Pierre…» You soon realized your moan had been an incentive to Pierre when an airy chérie was whispered upon your shivering skin. «Pierre, I don’t know if we should…» «It’s our first night married, y/n. This is exactly what we should do.» His voice was warm, slightly raspy, perfectly calm and collected, concealing a burning desire underneath. Pierre tucked a lock of your neat hair behind your ear, leaving your neck shivering at the touch. «I know this probably isn’t how you hoped your wedding to be… But now I’m your husband, and I’m willing to do everything I’m supposed to. I’m not backing down.» «Will you ever love me?» you asked, suspended. Pierre tucked another strand of hair in the same spot. «I can’t promise that.» Of course, how would he? «But I’m always going to respect you, no matter what. I swore it and I’ll stand by it.» You slowly turned around to face him, picking up the gown of your dress and pressing a hand to your chest so that it wouldn’t slip off due to the strings being loosened. «Please, don’t… Please, promise you won’t hurt me, Pierre.» The pleading tone of your voice unexpectedly pulled a string inside Pierre’s chest. «Do you really think I’d do that on purpose? Y/n, we’ve been… we’ve known each other for so many years.» «That’s what scares me.» You diverted your gaze, staring at your own reflection on the window: you were now gripping at Pierre’s shirt, the bodice dangerously threatening to slip down, eyes brimming with tears. How could you be more miserable than asking your husband not to hurt you? «Y/n, I’m not a teen anymore. And I’m kind of offended that you think I’m what other people say and what the media want to make everybody believe.» «I wouldn’t have agreed to the wedding, if I believed all the things they said about you.» you whispered. «Then trust the words I said at the altar.» Pierre delicately cupped your cheek, leaving a slow, tender kiss on the opposite temple. «For better and for worse…» he said, boring his eyes into yours. «For richer and for poorer…» he carried on, swiftly freeing your arms from the dress’ sleeves. «In sickness and in health…» Pierre breathed upon your lips, grabbing the dress fallen down to your hips. «Until death do us part.» Gripping tight Pierre’s arms, you let him take your breath away with his sloppy kiss, shivering, despite your face feeling warm and flushed in heat. «I will love you, y/n.» Pierre tucked yet another strand of hair behind your ear. «Maybe not like a charming prince, but I will love you as much as I can.»

His fingers pressed on your shoulders, silently asking you to sit on the edge of the bed, to which you obliged without even thinking twice. The air was thick in pleasant tension: Pierre had let his jacket shuffling its way to the floor, staring at you as he unbuttoned the cuffs of his shirt; on your side, you had joined his intentions fidgeting with the buttons crossing his chest and abs, fully focusing on the slow, tantalizing task, instead of searching the force to bear his magnetic eyes. The golden shade casted over your cheeks, blending with the natural reddish shade of feelings spreading over your skin, left Pierre with an unexplainable tug inside the chest, pushing him to bend down and trap you on the mattress with yet another kiss, suddenly impatient. His shirt long forgotten on the floor upon the jacket and his tie, Pierre’s roaming hands dragged your dress down, making sure you’d slip completely out of it, so that you’d be bare for him to avidly see, touch and savor. Senses overwhelmed by his presence, helplessly amazed at how he could enchant your limbs and make them so reactive and sensitive to his touch, your fingers searched for relief on his body, between his brownish locks of hair, on his muscled neck and upper arms. Anything, to release the growing yearning he was masterfully building and lighting up inside of you. Pierre stopped all of the sudden, one elbow keeping him up, eyes lost in focus, as the fingers of his free hand traced an imaginary line from your sternum, down your chest. Before you could swallow hard at the gesture, he placed a lewd kiss right where his pointer finger had stopped. Again, uncontrolled, a soft moan escaped your already opened lips, tugging at his hair as to both pull him away and push him deeper into your soul. He raised his eyes to look at you hungrily, lips still stained with your skin. «I will honor you all the days of my life, y/n.» Pierre read the soft stare you gave him and the lovingly caress of your hand on his head as an invitation to drag his mouth upon your tender breast, finally free from the white cloth he had wished to tear apart since he had seen you walking down the aisle, swearing to himself he’d not be satisfied until he’d heard you scream his name from the top of your lungs, with his own hands, eyes and heart full of you.

The wedding being held in Italy at the beginning of September, right after Monza’s race weekend, you both had spent only a couple of days in the new house in Milan, in the attempt of building the sense of affectionate routine you would inevitably lose after taking the flight for Azerbaijan, following Pierre in the double-header awaiting him. The media had called it “racing-moon”. It was no ordinary honeymoon, travelling across the globe to support your husband, watching him with a pair of headphones and staring at him from a screen inside Alpine’s box, shying away from paparazzi’s cameras ready to capture glimpses of intimacy you didn’t even know how to spark yourself. A night of love wasn’t enough to erase the helpless feeling of distance and separation around Pierre: you were friends, sure, but your heavy crush on him had always prevented the relationship from growing further as it had happened with Charles. Daydreaming about him laying down your bed, earphones plugged, you had known every single detail about the things he liked while being in your early teens; now, looking at him packing his suitcase, standing at the doorframe you realized you either had never known him before or you had forgotten anything at the altar once he had kissed you alive.

«Do you need help?» you asked, closing and releasing your fingers from a fist, feeling useless. «Oh, didn’t notice you were there.» he quickly peeked at you. «No, thanks! I don’t know how, but it took half the time.» You raised a brow, leaning against the frame with arms crossed. «Maybe… it was the perfectly organized wardrobe I spent two days filling up with all your clothes?» «Mmh, I’m not really sure… Maybe I’ve just got quick with packing, since I’ve been doing it every other week for years now.» His smirk triggered an eye roll in you, so noticeable that Pierre turned to you, taking the suitcase off the bed and letting it roll on the floor. Not kind of expecting him to get that close to you after only stopping by the room, suddenly aware of how his stare could get your whole body drawn to him, succumbed to him, enchanted and gravitating around his brightness, you let yourself be courted by Pierre’s teasing fingers running up your arms. «I’m done now, so…» he said. «So?» «The bed is clear.» Throwing him an amused glance, about to laugh at how lewd his voice had sounded while hinting at the endless list of things you could do there, you pretended not to get his point. «Well, good job! We have somewhere to sleep tonight then.» «There’s no way, right?» Pierre squinted his eyes, hands still warming your skin caressed by the hot Italian wind blowing from the window. «Way to do what?» you asked, faking innocence once again. «I think you perfectly know.»

September’s heat had paired up with the warmth creeping up your ears while Pierre encircled your waist and inched over, causing butterflies inside your chest to awake your heart, moving past your thoughts to put them to sleep, as an overwhelming flow of love made you crave that heavenly attention and touch every second more. Pierre seemed to stop in his relentless chase of a kiss: he stood still, enjoying the closeness, the intimacy of the moment, with your arms enclosed around his neck. There was no rush. The house was hollow and silent; only your breaths could be heard, mixed with the distant chatter coming from the street. Maybe that was the happiest and most peaceful corner of life he would ever know. Maybe holding your waist knowing that you were his wife, that he had settled his forever home, maybe spending his life with you was happiness. He struggled forming deep rooted love feelings towards you, yet could picture the two of you having kids so easily, travelling together, filling that empty house with memories. Maybe it was the fondest look in your eyes making every fantasy so incredibly near and easy. There was something, though, that Pierre didn’t find hard to spark at all. «Changed your mind?» you whispered, teasingly but soft. Attraction. Pierre was so desperately enamored with your body; to be fair, he had always quite been. Untouched by innocence, back at the time you would hang out in group, he would see you utterly oblivious to how other guys glanced at you and wonder if you had ever had sex before. The night of your first time together – the wedding’s – he had both been unfazed and surprised about noticing you weren’t a virgin: it totally made sense for someone as beautiful as you to have been with a guy, but at the same time he had no clue of who you had appointed as the one, and it was weird, because you used to hang out with the same people. He had always thought you had been in his universe, like a satellite, and had always taken your presence for granted, without ever considering he could be the planet on the margin of a totally different galaxy you shined in. Pierre was so intimately envious of a past you didn’t allow him in, and his only way to cope was making sure he could be your only future. «Not at all.» The fastest flicker of his eyes down to your lips was the warning, which you took in with delight: and Pierre was all over you, dragging you into his lighthearted desires and plans, igniting a shy flattering shade beneath your cheeks.

Pierre had insisted on entering the paddock hand in hand; in return, you had insisted on giving your right hand, standing on his left side. He had frowned just enough for you to capture it, not able to understand your request. «As you wish.» But you knew why: and your thumb gently stroking his wedding ring knew as well. Unexplainable excitement was the first feeling which had insinuated in you as you put foot past the turnstiles: Pierre had reminded you quite a few cameras would be following you in a bee line right around you. You were too happy to care, in your first outing as a married woman. As a married couple.

«Oh, hello to the royal couple!» You couldn’t stop yourself from eye-rolling at Charles’ comment, drinking Pierre’s laugh like a shot of bliss. «What, are you jealous?» They laughed and joked around, giving friendly pats to each other, while you watched them with a grin plastered on your face, enjoying the luck of spending time with people you loved. So many things had changed, but it still felt like you were still sixteen, walking without destination in group, young and careless, emptying your pockets full of dreams and using them as currency of exchange between each other. «Catch up with you later, I’ve got a meeting now!» «See you later!» you waved at Charles, as Pierre greeted him.

Entering Alpine’s hospitality you squeezed Pierre’s hand in fright: out of the blue, a deafening clapping concert made your heart fly across the room, as mechanics, engineers and other people from the staff celebrated you two. Pierre looked down at you, curious to see your reaction, still infected by the serene and uplifted atmosphere, swimming in delight as soon as your eyes clicked with his and saw you flattered. There was a bit of pride in showing you off like a trophy, proving everybody wrong with the assumption he’d never settle down and never find the one. Well, he didn’t really choose you out of love. But nobody was meant to know that.

«Congratulations, mate.» The voice reaching from behind your back made you turn, despite it being directed at Pierre. Your eyes flew high to Esteban’s face, enlarging in surprise: he wasn’t looking down at you, caught in the weirdly friendly interaction with your husband. But as soon as Pierre was dragged into pats and hugs by team members, you were left with a whole bag of memories and discarded feelings coming back to the surface, standing still next to someone you once knew. «It’s like the old times, isn’t it?» he casually said, as you both stared at the packed room, side by side. «No, Esteban. Everything changed.» Bittersweetly shoving your left hand before his face to make a definite statement, he carefully grabbed it and brushed your ring with the thumb, taking a close look. «I don’t believe so.» he let go of your hand, smiling politely. «What are you talking about?» you asked, kind of annoyed. «You still think you have Pierre all to yourself when we know nobody does.» «Don’t… don’t you dare talk crap about him in my presence. You know nothing.» Staring into the void, you tried to stay calm and collected, swallowing the phantoms of the past. «I respect that. But I just wanted to remind you of when you were the one talking crap about him in my presence.» «That was years ag-» «And I was there to listen to you.» You dropped the accusatory finger you had brought dangerously near his chest, mind invaded by guilt and yellowed pages of life. «I’ll still be here for you when Pierre messes up again.» «He won’t, Este.» «We’ll see.» he shrugged, glancing back at the room. «But I’ve spent more time with him in the last year than you have, and I know he is no easy character.» «I’m not going to change my mind, if that’s what you’re trying to do.» you raised a brow, skeptical. «I simply wanted to wish you good luck.» Esteban’s impassive tone left you with the urge of replying: as much as you were filled with doubts and fears, you somehow trusted Pierre and his promises and wouldn’t bear anyone implying stuff. Especially Esteban. Because, to a degree, he knew the situation better than any other. His eyes, that despicable spark of mischief, anger and regret inside of them told you things you didn’t want to hear. «The staff would like to get to know my wife if only my teammate would let her be.» Pierre’s amused interruption startled you, almost feeling caught red-handed with the most terrible crime: talking to a guy he trusted and had grown to hate over time. «Sorry, Pierre! My fault. I was… keeping up with the Gasly’s.» The awkwardness and the tension of the moment didn’t go unnoticed to any of you, and you mentally thanked Pierre’s hand resting on your waist, slowly guiding you away from Esteban, who still stared at you with a small courtesy smile. «We’ll have to bear his presence, I know. Trust me, if I could, I’d rather have him on the other side of the planet.» Pierre sighed defeated while whispering those apologies laced with hatred in your ear and a pang of nostalgia, guilt, sorrow pushed you a little closer to him. «He’s not a problem, Pierre. We know how to be civil.» He looked at you, faking amazement at your reply, nodding his head with raised brows. «You’re more mature than I thought.» «More mature than you are? For sure.» You expected him to laugh; instead, he grinned in silence, a strange sparkle wobbling in his irises. A part of you clung onto it, wishing it was a veil of tenderness, affection, or anything like it towards you. For a moment, you held the hope in your hands, and you carefully caressed it, cherished it, making room in your heart to plant it and nurture it there, as if that single twinkle could ever be the seed of love.

>>♥<<

Baku’s street didn’t seem as bumpy to Pierre, now that he was walking on it with a small group of engineers; the main straight heading to the finishing line seemed unnecessarily long, especially since he had just travelled the entire track and had the pitlane as destination. Left with nothing else to discuss with his team, he enjoyed the sun setting and painting the city gold, taking it easy and slow. «Pierre!» The Frenchman turned around and immediately grinned wide, waving to Charles jogging to him. «Track walk? Thought I’d see you speeding riding a bike.» Charles chuckled, adjusting his jingling bracelets. «I wanted to enjoy the atmosphere better.» «Yeah, me too.» They strolled pensive, no rush to be drowned by the buzzing life of the paddock. «I can’t believe it.» Pierre looked at his friend, who had a pleased grin painted and hung by his dimples. «What?» «This is your first race weekend married. And I was your best man. Isn’t it crazy?» «Time flies, Charles.» Pierre scoffed with a smile. «I saw you celebrated in the hospitality, earlier.»

As Pierre narrated the small party the team had organized to Charles’ ecstatic eyes, his thoughts lingered on you, on the myriads of unexpected congratulations he had received for choosing such a kind and fine woman and making her his. Though, there were moments he felt like he was just above an acquaintance to you. Pierre sighed. «What was that?» Charles asked. «Sometimes I think I don’t really know y/n. Not as much as I should, I mean.» «You do know her, though. You’ve been hanging out together since high school.» «Charles, I don’t even know who her first boyfriend was.» Pierre’s pinch of helplessness caught Charles by surprise, reciprocating his sudden stare with bewilderment. «Did- I didn’t even know she’s had a boyfriend.» the Monegasque stuttered. Pierre looked down at the asphalt. «Hoped you did. But you see? We don’t really know her.» «Well… You’re married now. You have all your life to get to know her.» Charles put his arm around Pierre’s shoulders, giving him an encouraging look. «Yep. That’s my best man right there!» Pierre reciprocated the grab and smiled as the two of them walked down into the pitlane, serving friendly smiles and beautiful shots to the photographers buzzing around the garages.

>>♥<<

«Hello?» «Uhm, am I disturbing you?» «Yes, absolutely. But I’m going to be the nicest just for you.» «Thanks for the usual teasing, Charles.» «What’s up?» «I… I’m deeply embarrassed, but I think I’m lost. I can’t find the way to the track.» «Never heard of Google Maps?» «I’ve tried, but I ended up exactly back at the hotel.» «Ooof. There’s actually someone out there who’s worse than me then.» «Ah, I wouldn’t have called you if Pierre wasn’t busy.» «Can’t I be busy as well?» «Cha’…» «I’m just joking. Are you at the hotel?» «Yep.» «’M on my way.»

The bubbly air of that Saturday morning brushed your bare arms, anticipating the warmth falling onto the grey asphalt, as you walked quickly alongside Charles, trying not to get stopped by fans too many times. «Why didn’t you come to the track with him?» «I think he tried to wake me up, but I… uhm… fell asleep.» «It’s incurable, right?» You both chuckled, still marching towards the paddock. «How is it going?» «Uh?» «With Pierre.» A horn startled you, while Charles waved towards the Tifosi on the other side of the street and smiled under his Rayban’s. «Good! I mean, way better than I thought.» Charles studied your expression, letting your own statement sink in. «You know, I talked with him yesterday. He asked me if I knew who your first boyfriend was.» «Did you tell him?!» you gasped. «Of course not, I’m not that mad.» he looked straight ahead. «But he seemed somehow disappointed. He really wants to know you on a deeper level.» «And tell him about my hookups as he did with us? No, thanks.» «Not necessarily about past relationships. There are so many things you could rediscover now as a couple, and he’d like to. He… he cares. Pierre isn’t the asshole you believe him to be.» «You know my reasons, Charles.» «I do, y/n. But I also know Pierre, and I’ve never seen him as determined and serious in any other relationship before.» A doubtful glance at him turned into an amused snort, as you saw Charles’ dimples already exposed for you to admire. «I should give him a chance, uh?» you joked, kicking a pebble. «Yeah, you definitely should.» «I hate you.» «What’s that for?» Charles chuckled. «You’re too convincing.» «Maybe you only wanted to hear someone else’s confirmation.» You took a moment to reflect, still looking at his green eyes, letting the sentence resonate inside of you. Perhaps you had only been waiting for a sensible reasoning to justify the senseless, self-destructive and visceral need of trying to build a stronger relationship with Pierre.

>>♥<<

Crossing the room, hands intertwined with yours, Pierre felt alert, almost knowing something about bringing you along to that small reception organized for commercial reasons only was intrinsically wrong. Until he spotted a pair of brown eyes lingering way too long on the fine straps grazing your shoulders’ skin. Esteban’s. Despite the years, despite trying, despite the countless shots he had given to their relationship, Pierre couldn’t let go of hatred: the memories of the three of you in the same couple of meters, in the same suffocating room were still a fresh wound which had reopened once more. Unaware of anything, you reciprocated with a reassuring smile Pierre’s tighter hold on your hand, an enquiring look on your face. He expected you to stiffen at Ocon’s mere sight; instead, you stood like a fragile yet flexible flower against the blowing wind, only caring about being… as marvellous as you were. Pierre had been learning it to his disadvantage each day a tiny bit more, trying not to read too much into your rosy cheeks and your fond, unmistakable stares. The delicacy and the grace you would use with others any time you got the chance to talk with people from the team, the paddock, the entire world, really, hit him in an unknown spot of the soul. Probably as hard as Ocon approaching the two of you with a champagne glass in hand did on his nerves. «Didn’t expect to see you here.» Esteban said, only addressing you. Chewing a lump of awkwardness, you threw the quickest glance over to Pierre to check his reaction after being deliberately ignored by his teammate. «Here I am.» you whispered, pressing your lips together with an embarrassed smile. «Wasn’t I clear enough when I told you to stay away from her?» A lightning struck the room. The bitterness in Pierre’s tone triggered a light-hearted laugh from Esteban, theatrically opening the arm and letting the small wave of champagne wash the resentments of the past away. «Come on, Pierre! How many years passed? We aren’t teenagers anymore.» His fingers grabbed your hand tighter, restraining himself from spitting words of fire against his former teammate once again: the bottled-up anger, though, had resurfaced much to Pierre’s surprise, and to yours as well, pressing the button “play” on the reruns of the day their entire relationship crumbled.

No matter what you could’ve done to avoid it, Pierre and Esteban were born to disagree. Nobody could stop that tickling bomb hiding in both their chests as soon as they would spend enough time together to let it explode. Even without you, they would’ve nurtured antipathy for each other; that was how it was supposed to be, and they both knew it. Nestling against Pierre’s loving arms draping you all, you stared at an indefinite point of the packed, but still empty, room. «Do you think it’s my fault?» Pierre placed his chin on your shoulder to listen to your whispered rumbling, joining you in the contemplation of the void. «No, I don’t. He was a douchebag even before treating you the way he did.» It didn’t seem like he was lying, to be fair. You knew very little about the stormy past between the two, since you had met Esteban way later than you had befriended Pierre; he had never told you a thing about a terrible kid who grew up with like a brother and then discarded him due to insane competitiveness. Esteban was dead to him. A Mr. Nobody existing without any string to his life but hate and resentment’s. Unspoken truth, they both liked you and cared for you in very different ways, so it was only natural for them to notice each other’s evident preference for you and clash because of it; that was how it was supposed to be, and they both knew it, deep deep down. «Can we please forget about him?» The careful urge of the sentence was paired with a swift brush of his hands taking yours, silently asking you to dance to the music now blasting through some speakers in the room. Maybe lightness was all you both needed to be happy.

Singapore’s humidity clung onto your lungs like a suffocating net, twirled around your trachea, squeezing it tight. With an invisible layer of sweat all over your skin, heat as well as worries and doubts made you melt before the evidence, before reality. Two weeks and you had already become a ghost. Imprisoned in the highest tower of the lies’ castle, your honeymoon had turned into a tour around the globe inside a golden cage: everybody saw you as the “trophy-wife”, a peculiar and exotic animal stupid enough to bear Pierre’s company, showed left and right, avidly and superficially looked at, never considered as a real person.

Any time Pierre would come home from unbelievably long training sessions and meetings of all sorts, you didn’t even have the strength to start an argument and cry your loneliness out. He’d absent-mindedly kiss your cheek, go take a shower and leave you to your unfinished essay draft sitting in the dust of your laptop’s memory. Eating some take-out he’d leave you choosing in religious silence, punctuated with brief chat, you’d often watch a movie on the couch: staring blankly at the screen, you’d focus on how foreign the touch of his arm around your shoulder would feel. An afterthought, quick enough to disturb the turbulence of your headspace. I simply wanted to wish you good luck. Luck. It would’ve never been out of love, but out of pure chance. As if Pierre could never learn to love anyone. Still, admitting to yourself Esteban was right would’ve been an unnecessary added humiliation. «We’re too slow in the middle sector, I’m understeering everywhere…» It was a secret you wanted to keep buried in your chest. «But you gain in the last sector, you see? Our top speed is good.» Not being reciprocated. An ineffable hurt. You miserably looked at your husband debriefing intensely with his performance engineer, standing at the back of the garage so that you wouldn’t be in the way of the many mechanics working around the car. Envious, you fixed your gaze upon the fan Pierre held in his hand, still busy talking and pointing at data on the screen. The air felt too thick to be breathed in, too dense to slide down your lungs and swoop your dark thoughts away. You had agreed to be his wife, due to the endless love you had. But what if he let that love slowly wither and die? What if you could grow out of love? What if finally having him was enough for you to become indifferent? What if neither of you could remain loyal to the promises you vowed?

Swallowing hard, you shut your eyes shooing the sudden dizziness away; and at the very same time, you felt a gentle weight lingering on your right shoulder, asking quietly for permission. You opened your eyes, obliged to wide them as soon as you saw it was Esteban. «Here, drink this.» A water bottle was handed to you, still struck by the soft eyes and the attention being addressed to you. «It’s electrolytes. With this weather I always make sure to keep hydrated, since it’s easy to lose liquids and mineral salts as well.» A thousand questions ran through your mind, to the point Esteban could almost see them being scattered from one pupil to the other. He invited you to drink once again, poking pride sitting in his chest as he had noticed you being in discomfort first. First than… him. The quick glance Pierre gave the two of you was enough to stir up even stronger satisfaction, a lovely victory in the endless mind-war they fought. «Thank you.» It came out stifled, high-pitched, a bit squeaky, but somehow filled with unexpected sadness. Pierre crossed the garage in a couple of strides, wearing a mask of concern you couldn’t read the authenticity of, shielding you with his body from the unwanted attention Esteban had provided you with. «Are you okay? You could’ve told me you were thirsty.» «Pierre, I’m fine.» you told him off, almost whispering. He darted a glance at his teammate once again as soon as his hand reached yours to grab the water bottle back, willing to take off the hideous smile he wore on his face. Lots of eyes inside the garage had observed the scene in silence, still glancing over you, as Pierre’s attentions and barely noticeable physical touch felt all too much to bear at once. You would’ve died for it, only a couple of months earlier. If only the wedding weren’t a well-thought plan, a pact between family friends, a tie nobody but you craved intimately and deeply because of the loving, totally disregarding the real practical reasons behind it. Ocon’s silhouette being drowned in his side of the garage made your mind slip back into the past, unboxing a metallic box of memories you had buried six feet underground.

Disappointed. The disapproval you had read in Pierre’s face right as you showed up to the club next to the “new friend” you wanted to be joining your historical trio had your heart shattering like a glass of wine from a polished tablecloth, painting the floor in red diamonds. Pierre had dragged you in the middle of the dancing crowd, leaving Esteban hanging at the entrance before a confused Charles. «Why did you bring him here?!» «He’s… I wanted to introduce him to you and Cha’!» you yelled, in order to be heard amidst the chaos. «I know him already, and he’s an asshole. Now tell him to leave! I don’t want him anywhere near me!» «You can’t force anyone to leave a public place! And… And I want to spend time with all of you.» He bored his eyes into yours, letting the blasting music take over your thoughts. «I’m not hanging out with you if you buzz around him.» It was definitive. «Call me when you’re done wasting time with that piece of shit.» Giving you his back, you saw him dive into the sea of people, to find and rapidly grab the waist of the brunette who had accompanied him to the party; he didn’t even bother to be far enough so that you wouldn’t see him shove his tongue down her throat, a tangle of hands messily roaming, touching, squeezing yearning skin. Este’s hand softly intertwining yours guided you towards a quiet table, to which Charles sat waiting, with drinks for the three of you; and as much as you would’ve liked to be grateful for Charles’ delighted stare, for Esteban’s soothing words, your heart still drowned in bubbles at the bottom of your cocktail. He’s my boyfriend. Those were the words you were about to say at the door of the club, to Pierre. You had already anticipated the sweetness of the moment, the satisfaction in proving you weren’t his little puppy, a slave rebelled to the master showing him the jingling keys which had freed him. The mere need to prove him anything was the undeniable sign of slavery. You’d never be free.

>>☆<<

«Are you sure?» «Yeah…» «Here? Don’t you want to go-» You shut Esteban up pressing your lips on his, carrying on the messy make out session you had started in the club’s bathroom. «Y/n, are you really sure?» The kiss was interrupted once again, leaving you with an unbearable, unsatisfied yearn making your heart swell and explode in ashes of frustration. «Don’t you love me, Este?» you whined, your fingertip dragging his bottom lip down in the drunken attempt to seduce him even further. Of course he loved you. He had agreed to take your virginity away as you leaned your back onto a bathroom’s door, during the most boring and miserable of nights out, accepting to be humiliated by Pierre in front of you, his own girlfriend, and dancing awkwardly in the crowd before you dragged him there to pour out the unexplainable need of getting your brain fucked out. Esteban loved you purely, too purely, to be fair: he felt like a noob and inexpert, an amateur he was not, while listening to your heavenly choir of whimpers and profanities, with his fingers gripping tight your hips, as not to lose you. Deep down he knew he should’ve been satisfied and content, he should’ve enjoyed that piece of pleasure and love – but was it love to you? Esteban wasn’t quite sure – because he had managed to snatch you away from Pierre’s clutch, he had laid his hand onto someone he hadn’t had already: he had won where Pierre had lost. Still, thrusting into you as waves of pleasure rocked your body and transfigured your expression, Esteban only felt like he had lost you, indeed, like he had never truly had you, not even physically. And when your warm hand caressed his cheek, he got the confirmation: you pitied him, because no matter how bold the “boyfriend” tag could be, your heart could only crave, think of and wish Pierre.

The break-up was, nonetheless, harmful. After damning yourself, considering how nice and kind Esteban was to you, how sweet some of the moments you had spent together had been, you had come to the conclusion that no other feeling in the world could replace or overshadow the consuming love you felt for Pierre. You didn’t need it to be easy and satisfying; as hurtful as it could be, you only needed him. And to his own dismay, Esteban knew it.

«Can you drop me off at that bar over there?» you pointed at the end of the street. «Why?» «I simply need to hand this to Pie-» «Oh, no, just save it. I should’ve known.» You frowned, looking at his tensed arms. «Is there something wrong?» He scoffed, gripping the steering wheel ‘til his knuckles turned white. «Absolutely not! My girlfriend only runs after another guy who also happens to be a moron and doesn’t give a shit about her while I’m being the third wheeler to my own relationship!» Esteban harshly braked in front of the bar. «Y/n, we’re done.» «What?» you gaped, still stunned by the whole conversation. «I don’t want to be with you anymore. Now get out of the car.» Beyond bewildered, you searched for sincerity and honesty in the brown chocolate eyes you had often lost yourself into, stung by hurt as you found them. «Are you seriously breaking up with me for this? I just need to return this hoodie to him!» Esteban’s eyes bore yours outraged, almost incredulous to your words. «Can’t you see the problem? Can’t you notice how you’re chasing after him and are not willing to treat me nearly the same as you treat him? You share clothes with him and you’ve never even asked once for my hoodies!» «Did you want me to?» «That’s not the point, y/n! The fact is it seems like I never cross your mind, whereas Pierre is always in your thoughts. Sorry, but I can’t bear to see you love him more than you love me. I can’t do this anymore.» Gasping for air and for words, you found none: you witnessed helpless as Esteban got out of his seat and reached to your side to open the car door and invite you once again to get out. «Y/n, don’t force me to be drastic. Come on.» «You’re being nonsense! Este, please, you can’t do this!»

Watching your first relationship crumble under the weight of painful lies, you desperately held onto the car door, despite Esteban’s hand trapping your wrist, firm. «Y/n, I told you to get out.» As you pleaded him, whispering “sorry”s like prayers, few tears pricked your eyes, which seemed to sort the opposite effect of what you had hoped for. Esteban, blinded by hurt and rejection, pulled your wrist towards him in an attempt to drag you out the car, and as an unconditional reflex you cried out to him, a tear cutting through your cheek. «Este, please… Please, don’t do this to me!» «You didn’t care about hurting me, why should I care about hurting you?» As he spitted out these words, scornful, he managed to pull you out the car with a jerk, eliciting a chain of heavy tears to reach the ground, which blurred your vision. Esteban was still talking to you, wrist aching to be freed underneath his hold of steel, but your mind refused to make sense of any of the insults directed at you, as much as your eyes couldn’t clearly distinguish his angry face. You had stopped fighting him, though, surrendered to the sad truth he had unveiled despite you trying to cover it up. A truth made of lies. Exposed to your own blade, humiliated and full of regret, you stood still, frozen, incapable to react. And it was then that you saw Esteban’s body being crashed violently onto the chassis of his car with a loud thud. Your wrist was suddenly snatched from the grab, and you swiped some tears to witness clearly the scene unfolding before you. Pierre holding Esteban by the collar. Pierre was shouting onto his face, unleashing his fury, barking his disgust and hatred; and though you and him both expected some sort of reaction from Esteban, you both watched him stay silent at the accusations. «Don’t ever touch her again! Don’t you even try to show up again, understood? Go fuck yourself and stay away from us!» Pierre shouted, putting a protective arm around your neck and bringing you close. But he couldn’t protect you from those brown eyes, which swallowed down the secrets you weren’t ready to share with Pierre. Esteban judged you in the harshest way possible: leaving you to your own conscience. «It’s okay, now. You don’t have to cry anymore.» Pierre wiped your face off, pulling your head to him for his chin to rest upon, rubbing your back with his hand, as you watched Esteban get back in the car and disappear in a cloud of smoke. «He won’t bother us anymore, I promise. You’re safe, with me.» What a paradox: safe in your captor’s arms.

You let yourself be cradled by Pierre’s honey-laced reassurances, trying to digest the shock of the whole situation bit by bit, failing not to feel sorry for having deceived Esteban and yourself. You had believed you loved him; which wasn’t and could never be true. And the awareness weighed on your chest even heavier while being held in Pierre’s arms.

HOT NEWS: Alpine’s driver Pierre Gasly is told to had been seen very intimately close to another woman during a formal gathering with top sponsors of the team. Has the recent marriage with y/n cracked already?

𝚆𝚑𝚘 𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚋𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚎𝚟𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚜𝚎 𝚙𝚒𝚌𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚎𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝙿𝚒𝚎𝚛𝚛𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚠𝚒𝚏𝚎 𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚎𝚗 𝚘𝚗𝚕𝚢 𝚝𝚠𝚘 𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚔𝚜 𝚊𝚐𝚘 𝚊𝚏𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚗𝚎𝚠𝚜? 𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚐𝚘𝚝 𝚒𝚝 𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝! 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝙵𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚑 𝚍𝚛𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚑𝚊𝚜 𝚊𝚕𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚢 𝚏𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍 𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚢 𝚝𝚘 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚜, 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚑𝚎 𝚒𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚒𝚗 𝚊 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚖𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚛𝚎𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚙 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚢/𝚗, 𝚠𝚑𝚘𝚖 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚐𝚒𝚗𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚏 𝚂𝚎𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚖𝚋𝚎𝚛.

>> 𝐒𝐞𝐞 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭: 𝐏𝐢𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐞 𝐆𝐚𝐬𝐥𝐲’𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐞𝐱𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐬𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐯𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐨𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐩𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞𝐬

𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚞𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚜 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚜𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍 𝚋𝚢 𝚙𝚎𝚘𝚙𝚕𝚎 𝚠𝚑𝚘 𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚠𝚑𝚘 𝚌𝚕𝚊𝚒𝚖𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚗 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚜𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚋𝚎𝚝𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝙶𝚊𝚜𝚕𝚢 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚊𝚗 “𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚞𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚐 𝚐𝚒𝚛𝚕��. 𝙻𝚎𝚝’𝚜 𝚋𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕... N𝚘 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚒𝚜 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚐𝚘𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚍𝚘𝚞𝚋𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚙𝚒𝚎𝚌𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚓𝚞𝚒𝚌𝚢 𝚒𝚗𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚋𝚘𝚝𝚑 𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚐𝚝𝚑 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚙𝚎𝚘𝚙𝚕𝚎 𝙶𝚊𝚜𝚕𝚢 𝚍𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚊𝚐𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚖’𝚜 𝚟𝚒𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚜… 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙵𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚑𝚖𝚊𝚗 𝚒𝚜𝚗’𝚝 𝚗𝚎𝚠 𝚝𝚘 𝚓𝚞𝚖𝚙𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚙 𝚝𝚘 𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛; 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝’𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚎, 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎, 𝚒𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚊 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚛𝚍 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚎𝚕, 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚠𝚒𝚏𝚎. 𝙸𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚒𝚊𝚐𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐? 𝚄𝚙𝚍𝚊𝚝𝚎: 𝙵𝚒𝚗𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚊 𝚙𝚒𝚌𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚔𝚎𝚍: 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚋𝚕𝚞𝚛𝚛𝚢 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚝 𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚎𝚗 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚊 𝚙𝚑𝚘𝚗𝚎, 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚘𝚐𝚗𝚒𝚣𝚎 𝙿𝚒𝚎𝚛𝚛𝚎’𝚜 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑�� 𝚏𝚊𝚌𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚛𝚞𝚗𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚎 𝚜𝚖𝚒𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚑𝚒𝚖, 𝚠𝚑𝚘 𝚜𝚎𝚎𝚖𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚍𝚊𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚘𝚏 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚊𝚒𝚗 𝙰𝚕𝚙𝚒𝚗𝚎’𝚜 𝚜𝚙𝚘𝚗𝚜𝚘𝚛 𝚖𝚊𝚗. 𝙸𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚊 𝚙𝚘𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚌𝚊𝚕 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚝 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝙶𝚊𝚜𝚕𝚢? 𝙸𝚗 𝚜𝚞𝚌𝚑 𝚌𝚊𝚜𝚎, 𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚎𝚎𝚖𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚛𝚎𝚙𝚞𝚝𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚗𝚘𝚛 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚠𝚒𝚏𝚎’𝚜.

Paralyzed on the spot, you let the phone gently thud against the kitchen counter. It was nothing you didn’t expect to happen to you; you had lived through it even before whispering with soft eyes “I do” at the altar, when you used to scroll his Instagram picture-perfect shots with his girlfriends, but the timing he had chosen was way off your forecast. The thunderstorm had darkened your sky too early. You hadn’t seen it coming, you hadn’t heard a single roar of the wind in the distance. Nothing. Pierre had given you nothing either to hate or to love. Somehow, a small part of you felt sickly relief in knowing you could finally turn your eternal suspicion into hatred: you wished you could mold it in shape, form sentences to dagger him with, cries to let out your throat with violence. Nothing came. Nothing.

You stood by the counter as you let the bloody red liquid boil into the pan; staring at it, you absentmindedly kept stirring the sauce, not able to do anything else. Your ringtone blasted through the empty kitchen and it pierced your ears unexpected, instilling in your nerves a hit of anxiety which caused your hand to hit the pan; it dropped inevitably off the stove, collapsed to the ground, poured its vermilion content on the luminous tiles. Dodging quickly enough not to have the pan falling on your feet, still hearing your phone ringing, your chest benched inward with a deep, exasperated sob, sharply taking in air to fill your shaky body with. Waves of tears ran down your eyes, arms still half-hanging in the void, as if you waited for someone to pick you up and nail you to a cross, to cease your unsubduable sense of betrayal. It all crushed down on you, eyes closed, stilling liquid sadness, which ricocheted between the walls of the emptiest and loneliest flat in the world. The phone stopped ringing. It seemed to calm you down at first; the silence left you with curiosity to see if the nightmare was over, opening your eyes back to the disastrous sauce on the floor, which was supposed to be ready for dinner. With caution, your trembling fingers grabbed the phone from the marble counter, and you jumped on your feet as it started buzzing and ringing against your skin once again. A name appeared, impressed on your retina. You couldn’t help but suffocate a sob: the grab on the phone tightened together with the clench wrenching your heart, making it as small as a crumble.

>>♥<<

«Charles…» He didn’t hesitate to take in your wandering hands, flinging towards him and holding onto his shirt. Right as he had read the news, he had reached out to you: for he had witnessed you breaking down because of Pierre too many times not to know you would, eventually, need a leaning shoulder. He wore the friend’s armor with the usual embarrassment of being both friend to you and to Pierre; he was used to balancing between two sides, trying not to pick one, working as a bridge to keep you walking in the same direction. Charles always felt helpless before your broken heart: he knew Pierre and how he would’ve never done anything to hurt you, but still, he had, undoubtedly, and there was no defense Charles himself could put up. Especially if he had you weeping and sobbing in his arms, so painfully close to his heart. «I can’t do this anymore, Charles.» «I know, y/n. I know.» He swallowed hard, caressing your hair, searching for comforting words even though he was damn aware there were none. «W-why? Where did I go wrong?» Charles’s heart panged at your words: he immediately took your face in his hands, wiped tears off it with both thumbs and silently hoped to find an answer. The truth is he hadn’t a single one of them. Glancing at you, Charles wished he hadn’t been excited and bubbly about the marriage as he had been; he had nurtured so much joy, watching the relationship timidly sail the month before the wedding. He had pictured you and Pierre being the couple everyone would envy, perhaps even building a family together. He had got enamored with the way your wedding dress fitted you, how the golden ring adorning your hand had lit up your smile and your complexion even more, how every piece seemed to be finally falling into place.

In a few weeks’ time, he had witnessed the cast away of hopes. Charles wanted to tell you Pierre would’ve never done anything like it, he would’ve sworn it, if only facts didn’t force him to question everything he presumed to be sure of. «I know you’ll hate me for it, but…» he tucked a strand of your hair behind an ear, «…we should know exactly what happened before judging him so harshly.» «Charles! Do you think I really want to know the details?» your chin twitched. «I don’t need to know where… how… and since when they started fucking.» Shaking your head while picturing the atrocious scenes in your head, you put a hand on your forehead, face dropping down, incapable of tolerating Charles’ eyes boring into yours with an awful mixture of pity and sorrow. «It disgusts me.» you said, even feeling your stomach upset. Charles watched you spit out hatred as he rubbed a hand on your upper arm, slightly squeezing it in reassurance. He was friend with both of you and wasn’t keen on the idea of losing either, nor choosing where to stand. Somehow, he couldn’t pick a side. «Don’t I deserve better? Don’t I deserve to be loved?» Charles looked at you sternly, almost scolding you for such a question. «No doubts you do.» he said, definitive. «But Pierre knows that too. Before being his wife, you’re his friend.» He placed his firm hands on both your arms, searching for eye contact as he kept addressing you with a gentle tone. «He’s always loved you and respected you, even if it might have been hard to notice.» «He’s never going to love me… He never will.»

You both stood in the hall of Charles’ suite: the silence wrapping the luxury furniture was punctuated by your quiet sobs, your shaking breath, the strenuous beating of your heart. The air was warm; it flushed your cheeks and Charles’ as well. After a more attentive look, his green eyes seemed dull and tired. The night was already projecting its dark shadow onto the sky, and it was the sign which put your soul into a state of guilt: right after Charles had called you, you had run to him without a single worry of disturbing him. You had left a mess in the kitchen. You hadn’t prepared the dinner Pierre had asked you for, like the perfect lovely wife you had been up until that moment would request you to. As much as you could try to hate him, a solid and unbreakable part of you held onto the hopeless love of him, never ending source of suffering, yet inevitable. At the thought of your condemnation, you sobbed and cried a little louder, pulling Charles’s shirt near you, defeated, exhausted, distraught.

>>♥<<

The quiet sound of clinking metal timidly reached you and awoke you; you stirred, onto the couch, feeling a bit sore from sleeping all night in the same position, cranked. The sun filtered through the curtains, lighting your cheek right as you got seated. The room seemed to wheel ‘round you, on and on: thoughts started racing the new circuit of your mind, lap after lap, causing you to shut your eyes and block the incessant flow which was making you dizzy. Putting memories in order, you recalled the events. You had spent the night at Charles’ place: he had offered you to sleep in his bed, but you had decided not to profit of his generosity. In the quiet darkness of the suite, you had thrown your phone on the carpet, nestling against the squared pillow, shying away any thought concerning Pierre. But you had failed and wondered, haunted, if he might have been searched for you. After all, you weren’t home, when he clearly expected you to be there. He might have noticed. Or maybe not. Perhaps he had been taken care of by that daddy’s girl; maybe he had left you a text saying he wasn’t coming home either, leaving you wasted and rotten together with your nicely cooked dinner. If only there was a dinner to see rotting ; the red liquid crusting on the kitchen tiles printed on your mind like a crime scene you wanted to forget. The idea of your house being empty crashed your insides and twisted them in helpless disappointment. Still sitting, you eyed the phone, lying backwards on the floor, turned off since last night. What was the point of switching it back only to be flooded with more rumors you would never be ready to face?

You then finally stood up in the middle of the living area, looking around you like a stranger, and followed the noise coming from the small kitchen. There you found Charles, jogging around the counters, attempting to cook. You checked the time on the clock hung up on the wall: Monday, 1:12 p.m. «Oh, finally! Good morning!» Charles chirped, interrupting the trance status you had swamped into. «Good morning. Are you cooking lunch?» you asked, getting closer to the stove. «Yep! Some pasta with pesto for lunch!» You gulped at the mention of food. «I just woke up, Charles… I don’t know if I want to eat so much for breakfast.» «I’m sure you’re going to be hungry as soon as you see my delicious plate.» he chuckled, right before quickly removing the lid to the pan which was about to overflow in white bubbles. Done with stirring up the water, he turned towards you, who were already seated at the table, and leaned his palms onto the marble behind him. «How do you feel?» he asked. You rubbed your temple. «Tired.» Charles sighed. «You should’ve slept in my bed and let me take the couch as I-» «I’m not tired physically, Cha’. I slept quite good.» He nodded to himself in silence, looking down. «I see.» You drowned in the white noise of the pan boiling and the kitchen fan filling the otherwise dead silence, mentally visualizing the blurry picture you had been shocked by. The dizziness grew stronger and a large, deep pit in your stomach opened like a black hole swallowing your feelings. «I’ll talk to him about it as soon as I see him.» You heard Charles’ voice, but didn’t listen, as the cooking water roaring against the steel was the sound you had tuned into, and it grew louder and louder, almost unbearable to your focused hearing. With a quick glance, you saw the white foam resurfacing behind Charle’s silhouette. «Charles, the pan!» you urged. «Oh, fuck!»

>>♥<<

You stared at the plate, keeping it at a distance ahead of you with your fingertips, listening to Charles’ chewing, which never seemed that loud. The chewing stopped, together with his fork clinking against the ceramic, and you felt his eyes fixed upon you. «You need to eat something, y/n.» «Sorry, Charles, I have a messed-up stomach… After all the things I read…» «I know, but please, just have a few bites.» Charles gently pushed the plate back near you. «I can’t see you like this.» It was meant to be an unheard thought, just above a whisper, but the kitchen was so silent you could listen to his breathing. The shining fork on the tablecloth, a small piece of penne pierced; half a bite. Eyes closed, and Pierre was still there. Maybe he hadn’t even texted you: he hadn’t wondered about you at all, but left without warning, completely indifferent to your absence. The invisible wall built brick after brick in the last two weeks suddenly turned gray and heavy, painfully present. Pierre would never love you. The fork crashed against the plate, hand covering your mouth; Charles raised his eyes and stopped his every movement to observe you once again. He saw you hesitantly get up from the chair, quite unsure about what was going on, until the air punched your stomach and caused it to fling upwards, together with all its content. With no time to reach the bathroom, panic building in your chest, you abruptly turned towards the sink behind you, fingers unable to stop the wave climbing up your throat.

Charles got up, as you intended hearing his chair screeching. Not quite sure about what was happening, he first let his arms raise up a bit only to be lowered back down, helpless, indecisive, confused; then he got near you, pulling your hair out of the way, trying not to feel grossed out by the scene. «’m sorry…» you mumbled, breathing through your nausea, hoping the worst had passed. «Are you okay?» he rushed. You shook your head in denial. «Y/n, what’s up?» Your marriage was in shambles after a couple of weeks only and an insufferable urge of hiding from the entire world pulsed like a drill in your head. «I don’t know, but I’ve kind of been feeling sick the last couple of days.» «Are you ill?» Charles sighed, sorry. To think he was lying in somebody’s arms, cuddling in someone else’s warm touch, careless enough to forget about your existence and your feelings, your ego so easily, paired up with the sudden shock and horror of throwing up in front of Charles, put you in the worst state of anxiety and despair. Then, the realization. A sly thought, slithering tantalizingly amidst your scattered mind. What if…? You gripped the counter so hard your knuckles turned pale, washed out, eyes wide opened and bewildered, in fright and disbelief. Your heart ran wild, as your thoughts did, while a sigh of hysteria and awareness triggered your cry.

Charles, who had opened the tap in the meantime and had handed you a piece of paper towel to clean yourself up, slowly put down his hand and frowned, disturbed by how exasperated you sounded. «Please, please, it cannot be… It can’t be true.» you chanted low and quick, but slow and high enough in tone for Charles to understand your words. «What can’t be?» Charles asked, searching for your attention and your eyes through your erratic movements: you rinsed your mouth with water, closed the tap and swiftly dried your face with the piece of paper he was still holding. You stared at him intensely, as much as he did: he immediately read the fear overwhelming you, but still failed to see the reason, which you hoped to be able to communicate without giving it form with words. A couple of seconds were shared in that exchange of terrified glances; and before he was able to say anything else, Charles looked at you pacing quickly to the couch, raising all the pillows in search of something. «Where’s my purse?» you asked, frenzy. «I- I don’t know!» «Did you see my wallet at least?!» You picked up your phone from the ground and pressed in hurry the switching on button, cursing as it took an insufferable amount of time to turn on. Charles stepped right behind you, glancing left and right, pondering your request quickly. «What do you need money for?» Charles shouted, set in panic by your erratic behaviour. With a swift turn, you stared at him once more, eaten alive by anxiety. «A pregnancy test.» You could hear his soundless breath of surprise as he left his mouth ajar, as well as his brain’s gears in motion, getting a grip of the situation. «You… You two…» You gave Charles a regretful and desperate stare, pleading him with your eyes not to judge you harshly for falling into Pierre’s trap, chin twitching, tears pricking your eyes. «It was our wedding night. I just… I just wanted to be happy.»

You broke down in tears before you could end the sentence, covering the face and the shame it displayed with your hands. Charles froze, trying to clear his mind and think of the next step he should take; your cries, though, only distracted him from doing so. «Y/n, hey, come here.» He carefully engulfed you in a hug, shushing you, in an attempt to calm you down. «I’m going to buy a test now, okay? Stay here, sit on the couch and relax. I’ll come back in a second.» The lightweight kiss he pressed onto your head as you plopped down onto the sofa, spent, felt distant and muffled, as much as the door closing shut behind his hurried figure. You stared into the void, replaying the night of the forbidden love over and over again, in search of any possible mistake you two made, to no avail: you had been so enchanted by Pierre and buzzed in bliss that the rerun became fader and fader, the memory even more distant, as if it were a mere fruit of imagination, as if you and Pierre had never been happy together. Before you could realize it, Charles was already flinging the door back open, pouring the content of the whitish plastic bag onto the table, unwrapping the test and placing it in your hand, closing your fingers shut around it.

«Okay, so… It says to hold the stick downwards, so maybe it’s better if we use a cup or something.» Charles opened a cabinet of the bathroom and took out a plastic cup, which he handed to you. «"If testing early, use first urine of the day"… Well, that’s perfect, because you’ve just woken up! “Don’t drink lots of liquid”, done as well… I think we’re good to go.» Sniffing, you stared at Charles, in wait. «W-why are you looking at me like that?» he nervously chuckled. «I need to pee.» «Right!» He immediately rushed out of the bathroom, pressing his lips together in embarrassment.

He leaned against the door, impatiently waiting for you to signal to him to enter back again, which you didn’t. After a couple of minutes, Charles knocked, not able to bear any more silence. «Y/n? Can I come in now?» No answer. Charles put his ear against the varnished wood, trying to capture any sound, knocking once again. He got startled by a sudden yelp echoing from inside the bathroom. «Y/n?» Charles was about to put his hand on the knob, when he heard the lock being sealed under his helplessly slow fingers, which vainly tested the knob in a rush, too late. «Y/n? Please, open the door!» As if it weren’t enough, his phone started ringing and buzzing in his pocket: moving a couple of steps away from the door with a loud sigh, he was struck by the caller. «Pierre?» His name pierced your ears like the tick of a bomb: the pregnancy test in your trembling fingers, you bore your stare into the bright lines signalling the positivity of it. A child. Pierre had just cheated on you and, of all the moments, the pregnancy news had sprung at the most inconvenient time. «Have you heard from y/n? Do you know where she is? I’ve been trying to reach out to her, but she doesn’t answer.» «Yes, she is…» Charles swallowed hard and glanced at the wooden door, still perfectly closed and sealed. «She’s here with me, at my place.» «Oh, thank God. How is she?» «What?» Charles almost choked at Pierre’s enquiry. The thought of your benching figure throwing up in his sink was still vivid and his shirt was somehow slightly damp and stretched. Pierre sighed. «She trusted the news, I suppose…» Charles’ end fell silent for seconds, in which he stared at the door opening and showing your silhouette marked with tears, emotionless, holding the pregnancy test upwards so that he saw the result right as you stepped close to him. «I’m coming over. Don’t let her go, okay? See you soon.» Pierre concluded, impatient. «Bye.» You both stood in silence, thoughts taking over the room. «How can I raise a baby without a father?» The sudden question melted Charles’ heart. «Y/n, it’s going to have a father: Pierre would never leave you alone, even if you two weren’t married and the child weren’t his.» «But I don’t need him as an uncle, I need him as a father and a husband who’s present and loves us both!» To that, Charles couldn’t answer anything: he couldn’t swear Pierre’s love for you, it wasn’t in his power, though he would’ve liked to reassure you in any way possible. He hugged you for the umpteenth time, cradling your never-ending weeping self, mentally uncovering the weight of tragedy: not only you might be hurt by Pierre refusing your affection, but preferring someone else’s physical, carnal company. Discarded, thrown away like a valueless thing, having to face one of the biggest challenges of a woman’s life without the certainty of support from the man you loved.

Charles noticed a swelling point near his heart, tormented by the whole situation, which soon turned into utter panic as you twisted abruptly into his arms, startled by a loud knocking on the door. «Who’s that?» you asked, holding the pregnancy test to your chest and looking around, trembling and confused. Some other knocks thundering through the suite. «Charles! Open the door!» You daggered your eyes to the Monegasque, torn between utter terror and betrayal: why had he made him come over when he was supposed to keep you safe from the whole world, especially from Pierre’s cruelty? Charles stared at you, motionless, waiting for you to make the first move and implicitly give him the consent to unlock the door. «He cannot know.» you stated, attempting to sound firm, and failing to conceal panic. «But-» «You owe me this, for allowing him to come here in the first place. Don’t you dare to say a word about it.» Charles shook his head, eyes full of disapproval yet showing pity; then, without adding any other word, he watched you fiddle with the pregnancy test to hide it beneath your shirt and approached the door to let Pierre in. «Where is she?» Pierre urged, hurried. Your sitting silhouette towered on the couch right in front of him: your profile contrasted the long curtains of the living room and the pale, greyish tones of the weather outside casted on your skin a livid, gloomy shadow. He knelt down before you, trying to get your eyes to look at his, but he was met with the deadliest still stare he had ever seen: your glossy irises worked as a push for his hand to reach and stroke your cheek, but you shied away his touch. «Can you leave us alone for a few minutes, Charles?» The Monegasque mumbled a “Sure” under his breath, drained by the whole situation.

Pierre never stopped observing you with attention, which cost you a lot of effort into not locking gaze with him; and when you finally did, a clench of rage shut your jaw, annoyed by his behaviour. «Aren’t you tired?» «Tired of what?» you spitted out. «Of consuming yourself after a false accusation.» You reluctantly strayed away your eyes from him once again, unluckily charmed by his proximity. «But you’re not consumed, right? You expected it from me, you were waiting for me to make a mistake, weren’t you?» he sarcastically added. «You swore you would love me and trust me until the end of your life, but you didn’t hesitate to buy into whatever lie someone spread to ruin my reputation once again!» «Your reputation! Always your fucking reputation first! And what about mine? Don’t you care about how people will think of me from now on?» «I’m not saying I don’t care, I want to point out the fact that some bastard sold the news on purpose to damage me!» «I don’t give a shit about who did that, you cheated on me!» «I DID NOT! For fuck’s sake, this is what I’m trying to tell you! Someone took an out-of-context picture at a dinner where photographers weren’t allowed to try to ruin me and our relationship as well! Are you so stupid to fall for it too?»

At this point, you were crying without containing anymore; after the heated altercation, you stopped and felt your chest sting with hurt pride and feelings. «I’m stupid for having fallen in love with you since the day I met you.» Your words seemed to stun Pierre: his lips had parted in surprise at your confession, as much as his eyelids had uncovered completely the majestic blue eyes now bored into yours. The silence which followed your unwanted declaration made you curl into a ball, sobbing loudly to yourself. As soon as you felt a pair of arms embracing you, you fought back to avoid them with little whines and cries, only to be defeated by its comforting warmth: you let Pierre seal your bubble of despair, like a shield. «I’ll prove to you I did nothing, y/n, I promise. Nobody should’ve dared to write about us the way they did.» What Pierre reckoned to be soothing words weren’t reassuring to your ears at all: the missed reaction to your hopeless love for him fuelled your fears concerning the buried, but growing life in your womb. How could a child live without love? How could you? A sudden wave of nausea made you break the embrace Pierre had engulfed you in, bringing a hand over your mouth yet another time, eyes shut. «Don’t you feel good? What’s wrong?» he unconsciously put his hand on your thigh, affectionately squeezing it, as he asked. «I cooked some pasta and it tasted awful. My fault.» You quickly glanced at Charles, who had rejoined the room, getting near the couch. His stare on you was stern and tender at the same time, communicating both his blame and his will to help you cover up the pregnancy, for the moment, at least. «You’ll never learn how to cook, right?» Pierre snorted. «Probably not.» Charles huffed a smile, happy to have brightened the mood of the room a tiny bit. «I’m a bit hungry, though. Got anything in the pantries?» Pierre asked. «I’ll go check!»

While Charles walked away and left you alone once more, you sniffed and dried your cheeks, gazing down, looking away from Pierre’s burning and suddenly careful stare. «I called you a thousand times yesterday.» he spoke low, as not to be heard. You shook your head, smally. «I think you know why my phone was switched off.» «I came back home and I saw the mess in the kitchen.» he ignored your words. «What? Were you disappointed about not having dinner served?» Pierre pressed his lips together, holding back the quick answer rolling off his tongue. And then he decided to let it out. «I was worried about you.» No, he wasn’t, you told yourself. He’s trying to fool me. Still, the heartfelt tone he used to deliver the sentence rose a commotion deep in your soul: the gentle chords of golden love vibrating for him only were put in restless motion at the sound of the confession. It was just so small, but your entire feelings could feast with it for months, for years, after bearing starvation for as long. «I’ve already talked with my lawyer to sue the journalists and the source of the rumour for defamation.» he caressed your cheek, slowly, as not to startle you with the touch. «I won’t let anyone come between us. Soon it’ll be again just you and me, only us.»

As much as you would’ve liked to trust his whispered words, soft as you had never heard him talk ever before, your choked lie laid untold and yet high like a wall in the room. Pierre leaned his forehead against yours, closing his eyes, fingers still lingering over your face. Flushing your eyelids down, you recalled the same tenderness being offered to you on other occasions, too short to your liking, too faintly impressed in the memory’s film, too brutally in contrast with the bittersweet tumult raging inside of you. «I need you by my side.» Maybe you had imagined it, as it left Pierre’s lips lighter than a whisper; or, maybe, it was the first time you had witnessed some kind of fragility and sweetness in him, just so that you could fall for him even deeper and harder.

The following days, the tension you anticipated to lay between you and Pierre was replaced by a layer of anguish and plainness, wrapping you like a wet, cold cover: the pregnancy test you had hidden carefully haunted your thoughts throughout the day, making you insensitive to Pierre’s attempts at building back again a sense of familiarity, and kept you awake at night, gripping the sheets tight, shaking away the loneliness of the present and of the future.

You knew you didn’t have much time before being forced to tell Pierre: but you had never been as scared to lose him as you were, walking side by side into the paddock, sitting on a stool in the garage, avoiding your husband’s stare while he kissed your cheek, gentle. The weight of your mind drew your gaze down, to the floor. «It’s so cold in here, isn’t it?» You peeked upward at Esteban entering the garage, rubbing his arms as to shake them up from coldness; to be fair, Texas’ air was far from cold, and you struggled interpreting his sardonic smile. Pierre turned around to throw an annoyed look at him, as he gathered the upper part of the suit higher to zip it up. Having gained both of your attention, Esteban fixed his eyes on you, in mischief. «It’s so sad to see a couple being so distant and cold to each other…» You frowned, surprised by the unusual tone of his voice and the sparkle of malice shimmering on his features. Esteban tilted his head, still looking at you, his expression now turning to an unbearable shade of pity, masked by a sinister grin. «Poor y/n… I had told you Pierre would mess up.» «It’s none of your business, you don’t know a fuck!» Pierre shouted, crossing the garage to face him directly. «And stop addressing her like you’ve known her forever.» he added in a lower tone, threatening. Esteban glanced at you back again, letting out an amused scoff. «Didn’t you ever tell him?» «Stop talking to her! Take it out on me and leave her out of this!» The increasing tone of Pierre’s voice, as well as Esteban’s cornering words, made you stand up from the seat and left your mouth dry like the desert, no chance to reply. «Pierre, she can decide on her own if she wants to talk with me or not, you don’t control her. Is he always acting like that with people getting close to you?» Pierre, of course, anticipated your reactionless self. «No, only with dickheads like you! Fuck yourself and don’t get near to her!» «Isn’t it a bit pretentious for someone who cheated on his wife?» The sentence sorted the effect Esteban clearly was expecting: Pierre’s fingers gripped his suit tight, pushing him a few steps backwards due to the threatening force he used. «IT WAS YOU! You made the picture, you were there!» «Pierre, please…» your voice, shaky and feeble, made Esteban laugh. «Stop fucking laughing! Who gave you the right to ruin both our lives?!» «Oh, trust me, Pierre, if I wanted to ruin her, I had a far more interesting story… Which I think you should hear.» With one, fierce shrug, he got rid of Pierre’s tight grab, pointing his eyes back at you. «I was her boyfriend, back in high school, when you used to hang all out together with Charles.» You stood lifeless, dreading the moment Pierre would turn to give you a disappointed or maybe even mad look; but he didn’t. Esteban kept going. «You’ve always had her on your tail, but you never noticed she was in love with you… I’ve never seen anyone more pathetic.» he let out a snort. «She had so little self-respect to let me take her virginity away in a club’s bathroom… She used me like a fuck-toy and then discarded me. This is the girl you married.»

The whole garage fell silent, since nobody dared to interrupt the helpless flow of words. An involuntary yell escaped your lips as Pierre ferociously crashed Esteban’s back onto the back wall, finally getting a reaction from the mechanics and engineers, trying to get in between the two to separate them. Pierre was screaming in French, at the top of his lungs, defending you – unbeknownst to you; Esteban simply stood without reacting much, as he had done years earlier at the same physical attack he had experienced, but this time his revenge was consumed. He knew he had won after hearing Pierre shouting it was over; seeing him approaching you with big strides and hugging you, leaving the box without uttering any other word. Reading your expression on the verge of crying, a sick pleasure overtook him. He had won the war.

«Cheers, les gars!» «Cheers!» Amongst the choir of glasses jingling, toasting in delight, you raised yours without being able to reach everyone’s cup, then obliged to set your eyes on the non-alcoholic beverage you had ordered. You had received numerous side-eyed glances and mocking exclamations for even daring to ask for a banal juice on the celebration night of Pierre’s new contract with Aston Martin, which came after the unexpected departure of Lance. «Someone will have to drive us home tonight, and I don’t think Pierre is going to spare himself…» you half-joked, as an excuse. Everyone bought it with a loud chuckle, except for Charles, who didn’t miss any of your movements, bearing the incommensurable weight of truth on his chest.

He had been texting you quite a lot in the last few days: you had informed him of the explosive moments lived inside Alpine’s garage, ultimately leading to Pierre signing with Aston for next year; he had asked you, in turn, how things were now going with Pierre, if you trusted his version of the story. A few nights earlier, while reading Charles’ texts, you had looked down at Pierre, who was peacefully heaving against your chest. You couldn’t tell whether he had fallen asleep to the soothing head scratches you had been giving him since you had snuggled on the bed, as silence and quietness lingered in the air. “Did you tell him?” Pierre’s arm encircled your waist, radiating warmth all throughout your core: it served as another subtle reminder of the news yet to be shared. Though, you had never felt more terrified: it was the first time in years that you perceived Pierre’s affection being that close. Announcing the pregnancy might have taken away the precious blossom of his love, which you now couldn’t live without. Charles knew your fear, he could read it well between the lines, and he hoped you would soon rely on Pierre to get the support you’d need.

Drinking plain juice didn’t prevent you from joining friends on the dance floor, gripping handfuls of hair and shaking it to the thick, hot air of the club. Standing still at the edge of the crowd, sipping on a cocktail with eyes fixed on the group – on you, mainly – Charles and Pierre talked, undisturbed. «What are you looking at?» the Monegasque asked with a smirk. Pierre didn’t answer, he didn’t stray his irises from your dancing silhouette, drowning and resurfacing in the crowd. «She’s beautiful.» «As if you haven’t been telling me this for the past ten years, Pierre.» Charles chuckled, taking a sip from his own drink. «It’s different, now.» «How so?» Pierre hesitated before answering, gathering the right words to express his muted feelings. «Last Monday, when I came back home and I couldn’t find her, I freaked out as I’ve never done before. I called her twenty-five times, left a fucking voicemail – who does that anymore? I just didn’t know what to do, I was panicking. I slept on the couch thinking she’d wake me up after coming back at night.» «I should’ve warned you she was with me, sorry.» Pierre lightly shook his head. «No, I think I deserved that, for all the times I treated her bad.» After a small pause, Charles, frowning, prompted another question. «So what’s changed?» «I… I’m falling in love with her.» he breathed out in realization, enchanted by your vision, watching you move like a fairy amongst the large group of his friends enjoying the blasting music. Charles couldn’t stop himself from snorting and laughing. «What?» «That’s a lie.» Pierre looked at him puzzled; Charles took another sip, smiling in delight and amusement. «You’ve always loved her; but you didn’t know what love was yet.» «Said the philosopher!» Their laughter was so bright and loud that you turned your head towards the two of them patting each other friendly. Pierre’s features were painted in deep, rich warm tones, under the dim lights of the club; the sudden need to refuge in his arms and rest your lips on his draw your eyes to him like an undefeatable magnet, whose force he seemed to feel as well. «I think I know now.» Pierre said, gaze turned back again on you.

>>♥<<

Exiting the bathroom, you saw Charles waiting right near the door frame, arms crossed, distressed expression, wetting his dry lips as soon as you got near him. «Is it all good?» he asked. «Jeez, Charles! Can’t I just go to the bathroom now?» «You ran away at the speed of light! Pierre was confused and I had to stop him from following you.» Sighing, you quickly rubbed your temples. «Listen… I don’t like lying to Pierre. You need to tell him, y/n, he has to know.» His pleading voice twisted your stomach in a pang of regret and fear. «I want to see a doctor first… And I need to come back home for that.» «Why don’t you try with a clinic here?» You darted your eyes at Charles, half in disbelief, half surprised at the idea. «I can help you find one, I’ve got some contacts. Plus, I think you should check as soon as possible if everything’s okay with…» «With me, yes.» you breathed out, feeling Pierre’s heavy stare on you both. Before you knew it, he was making his way amidst the crowd with a frown, seeing you and Charles confabulate away from indiscreet ears. «He’s coming.» you whispered. Charles, visibly frustrated and failing to hide it, huffed and waited for the storm to run over both of you. And it came. Pierre’s body was burning a few centimeters away from you, igniting shame and terror, knowing you were putting the newfound trust on the line, like a fool. But it isn’t your fault, a part of you said. «Why did you stop? I want to hear about the State affair too.» Not willing to test Charles’ trust for the umpteenth time, you jumped in before he could add anything to his deadly stare directed towards Pierre. «I was telling him I’m tired and I’d like to go home, but he thinks we should stay here a bit more since we’re celebrating you.» A soft caress of his palm was enough to melt the hurried tension entangling your muscles, sure he had bought into the lie after seeing a veil of fondness cover his blue eyes. «Oh, don’t worry, I was thinking of calling it a day too. We can always party more than once, after all.»

>>♥<<

The shirts had slipped away swiftly in a matter of seconds, as your shivering skin warned your senses. You kissed in passion, somehow already accustomed to each other’s pace, yet so new and undiscovered beneath the physical layer of quickened breaths, intense heartbeats and roaming hands. Pierre dragged your head up with his long lasting, tantalizing kiss, trapping both your wrists with a smirk which spread further blush on your cheeks. «So that piece of douchebag was your first time?» He didn’t seem to wait for an answer, as he leaned down to your neck, tasting your skin open-mouthed. You simply moaned, incapable of uttering a word. It was the first time he enquired you about the awful talk you had had in the garage with Esteban and, noticing the unexpected silence on the topic for days, you had simply guessed he would never tackle it again. Still, getting drunk had probably loosen him up more than he would ever admit. «Pierre…» «What? I’m just curious.» «I don’t want to be reminded of that day.» you whined, already out of breath. Mischief gleamed in Pierre’s blue irises, pupils enlarged to take in as much of you as they could. You were able to interpret his intentions a few seconds after his stare: he buried his face behind your earlobe, teasing your skin with his teeth, just enough to gather a shot of blood cursing pleasure and electricity with its flow right where he was leaving kisses. «Is it because you don’t feel… proud of yourself?» he murmured against your neck. Guilt tangled in the middle of your chest, words and acts painfully reminding you of the infamous night. Only after years, you could realize how despicable and poor your choice had been; though, you couldn’t bring yourself to blame it. After all, it had led you to embracing Pierre as close as you would’ve never even imagined in your wildest fantasies. «Is it because you think you acted selfishly?» A sweet yet poisonous bite was left just above your collarbone, another soft breath escaping your control. «Because you hurt people around you?» Now Pierre looked hungrily at you, halting just a few centimeters from your parted lips, letting your focus drift towards his quick hands unbuttoning your jeans, as if they didn’t know any better. The stormy meaning hidden behind those words seemed senseless to you, impossible: and still his irises showed turmoil… Hurt. You were almost about to mouth a question, something along the lines of “What do you mean?”, maybe you even did; but you couldn’t tell, because Pierre thrusted his body upon yours all of a sudden, diluting your thoughts in a stain of useless reasoning, moans and whimpers the only incoherent reactions. «Is it because… you wished you were with someone else?» The floodgate of your heart crushed open: it rocked your body in such an intense wave that you had to hold onto Pierre, gripping his shoulders tight, while he kissed down on your neck once again, lavishly, anywhere he could print his love on you.

Overwhelm of senses almost ended up in a gracious state of numbness, in which Pierre seemed to be the only actor: he handled you with ease and carefulness, though intoxicated by the physical contact, and before you had realized, the night was consumed, the abatjour casting a gentle warm shade on your bare, entangled bodies. Drunk in love, you chuckled in silence, warmed by Pierre’s touch. «What’s that?» he asked. «I… When I’m with you, I feel both anxious and so happy I could die.» «Why is it funny?» «Because it’s childish. I’m still crushing on you like a kid, I only know extremes.» He hummed, pausing for a few seconds. «Why do I make you nervous?» he then enquired, again. «Because I’m scared to lose you.» It sounded so fragile that Pierre involuntarily tightened his arms around you, drawing you nearer. And deep in thought, he stared at the void. «I think I know how you feel.» «What?» you turned your head around to look at him, as if you hadn’t paid attention to his words. «I’ve felt this way too, since… forever.»

>>♥<<

The faint sound of fingers typing filled the kitchen, otherwise silent. You had woken up early, after rolling in the sheets for hours, not sleeping much; you had had a little bit of breakfast – as much as your upset stomach would allow you to – while you scrolled the online page of one of the clinics Charles had suggested you, searching for a cell phone number. You stopped, engraving the digits in your mind. If you had dialed, a spiral of appointments’ calls, check-ups and exams would follow, and you wouldn’t have been able to stop it from tumbling and assaulting you. Pierre would know soon. The mere thought scared you to death. As you saw Pierre's ruffled hair and creased eyes peeked out inside the kitchen area only to direct the slow and unsteady steps towards the bathroom, you bolted as fast as a lighting. «No, the bathroom is mine!» You stomped the door in front of his face, preventing him from stealing the precious space and time to clean yourself.

Pierre quickly eyed the laptop on the marble counter, figuring out you must've been up for quite a while; a stained mug and tiny crumbles were other signals of your silent presence, lingering around his numbed senses through the waking. He had missed the warmth of your body, the securing hold of his arms around your waist, the sweet scent cursing through him while resting his head close to yours, near enough to perceive the undeniable pull drawing him like a magnet. «You're lucky I love you!» he yelled, in order for you to drink in his amused tone. You wished you didn't. That only sentence made your guts twist and horribly enhanced the dizziness, obliging you to grip the sink tight. You had waited so many years for those words to have a meaning and now you might have it. Still, you found yourself to dread them. You were about to ruin everything.

He had not intended to; he had tried, vainly, to stop himself from looking at the screen of your laptop, but the gaze dropped involuntarily, fast, the quickest glance, while placing the mug on the counter. And the first words he read only invited him to linger on the page further. A clinic. A phone number written in bold cyphers. «Y/n?» Resurfacing from the trance status you had fallen into while lazily brushing your teeth, you answered with a whine. «Can you come here for a sec?» You deeply inhaled in annoyance, sure it was either to pull a prank on you or to get some help with the absurdly expensive coffee machine Pierre had asked for in the suite - and didn't quite know how to use yet. The puzzled look on his face told you right away all you needed, as much as his fingers brushing the laptop’s pointer pad. «Why were you searching-» «Why are you going through my stuff!?» You flung yourself onto the pc, pulling it away from his touch and his sight, hoping that could be enough to erase the content from his thoughts. As you imagined, it didn't. «What's that for? You left it spread open, how was I supposed not to see it?» Pierre followed your gushing figure placing the laptop back in the bedroom, closing the door after you two. «Can you please stop a second and explain to me what's going on?» Your body seemed to slip under Pierre's touch, then ultimately gave in, anxiety paralyzing all movements but trembling. Immediately noticing your distress, he stroked your hair in reassurance, trying to calm himself down as well through the action. «Y/n, I'm not asking again. What's the clinic for?» You avoided his stare as much as answering. «Did something happen? I need to know, y/n.» he wetted his lips, visibly frustrated. «It isn't just you, now. It's both of us. We're in this together.» After minutes spent crafting the most realistic lie, painfully witnessing Pierre being tender and caring only to be fooled by you, you were finally ready to utter a word. «I had booked a routine appointment with a gynecologist before I knew about the trip, but we aren't getting home soon, and I didn't want to miss it.» Pierre's forehead distended like a folded sheet laid spread and fresh onto the mattress, irises still concealing a hint of doubt. «Why didn't you tell me?» «I thought it'd be embarrassing… for both.» «It isn't to me.» he said, softly. «And you can talk to me about anything, you know that.» You rested your cheek upon his palm, enjoying the caress with eyes closed, quietly accepting the lie still holding up the invisible wall of miscommunication you purposely built. «Especially when the topic is dear to me.» Pierre's smug tone lifted a stone from your shoulders, as well as dropping it in your chest, heart swimming in a lake of mixed emotions. You would’ve liked to cast a spell and stop the flow of time, because bittersweet guilt and happiness were the telltale signs a fairytale was possible, after all, almost within reach. And you had ruined it.

>>♥<<

A thought had been flying around his mind all day: jogging lightly before free practice, revising the track with his performance engineer, laughing and joking around with other drivers ahead of media duties. It hadn't bothered him, it hadn't shown; not even when he came back to the hotel and didn't find you there as he expected. It slipped from his consciousness even while drifting into sleep, your scent dazzling and lulling him. It harboured beneath the surface, though, and its stealth presence made itself evident - yet misunderstood - on Saturday morning. «Where's my shirt?» Pierre asked abruptly, entering the bedroom in a hurry. Despite him trying to get you to get up multiple times as he got ready, you were still lying in bed, sick to the core, unwilling to admit it, exhausted already by the day. «Y/n, c'mon, we need to go!» Pierre huffed, poorly concealing the annoyance. You whined, weakly raising the duvet in order to get seated. Before Pierre could snort again and feel even more dissatisfied with the sudden lack of energy you showed, he hesitated on your dark eyebags, on the slow movement you dragged your limbs with, on the aura of fatigue encircling you. He stepped closer, taking your arms and lifting you up, guiding you to the kitchen steadily, but still rather quickly. As you took a seat, he placed before you an amount of food – for breakfast – which you would've always considered sufficient and that now seemed exaggerated. «If you're not hungry, drink at least. You need to keep hydrated.» Pierre's demanding voice partially saved you from the impasse of refusing food, so you obligingly sipped the cup of coffee he had pushed towards you without adding a word.

From that moment onwards, Pierre eyed you with a carefulness unknown before. He only realized now how sluggish and overall low-key you had been behaving: though, the restless rhythm of flights, hotel check-ins, suits packing and racing sessions were draining enough to present themselves as valid reasons for your lack of verve. Taking your purse underarm in a hurry, you crossed eyes with Pierre’s. «I’m ready, let’s go.» Dumbfounded by his sudden aplomb, you stood in silence, hair barely brushed, shirt carelessly half untucked in your jeans; you didn’t stray your stare from Pierre’s while he slowly took your hands in his, a strange thoughtfulness guiding the movement. The silence said more than you two were capable of. It seemed to be thrown back in time to those longing, perusing stares you studied each other with, always analyzing expressions and reactions, never sure of getting it right yet desperately needy of the other. You both swam comfortably in that tacit conversation, exchanging fears, doubts, loving care; but Pierre knew it was time to go – it had been for a while, already – and couldn’t restrain himself from clearing his throat. «Yep, I told you. Let’s go.» you whispered.

>>♥<<

It had been Charles' idea, to have a brunch all together inside the paddock: he had found a small sort of restaurant, right in front of Pirelli's backdoor, unfrequented by VIPs and paparazzi. If you didn't know Charles well enough, you would've guessed he simply wanted to check on you; but him craving some good old company and wanting to shy away from the crowd of the track was the most likely scenario. Hanging out together, the three of you, felt like a fever dream, every single time: the memories would merge, the jokes and the laughs would crack on their own with such a flow and an ease unexplainable to anybody else. Sitting next to the most important people of your life was a luck you would never take for granted. «…should buy one. What do you think?» «I think that’s awesome, really.» You became self-conscious of the wedding ring pressing Pierre’s name onto your skin as an endless kiss, recalling the ebbing moments of the day you became one. «Y/n?» Again. The wave knocking at the pit of your stomach, the sudden harmony of smells emanated by your dishes was quick to stir your quiescent sickness. «Y/n? Did you hear the question?» Charles’ voice obliged you to answer. «Uh? Yeah, yes, I did.» you composed yourself as quickly as you could. «I think it’s a beautiful opportunity for you.» «We’ll help you, if we can do anything for it. Like, if you need taste testers, we’re more than happy!» Pierre chuckled. You forced a smile too, in order not to contrast your husband’s bright expression. However, it all spiraled when a pile of used tires – the F3 free practice had finished less than a half an hour earlier, you reasoned – was dragged in a small interstice near Pirelli's building, leaving an unbearable smell of burned rubber. You felt yet again nauseous, making it blatantly obvious clasping your mouth and nose, focusing on your breathing, eyes closed. Pierre and Charles' stares laid on you in a single motion, both catching on what was happening (with different awareness, clearly). Pierre couldn't let the memory of your missed breakfast fade into nothing, and his racing mind quickly figured you must be ill; he trapped your free hand in a grab which you immediately complied, he got up and kneeled next to you, seeing you didn't give any signs of the clench in your stomach loosening.

In the meantime, Charles quietly and politely asked you if you needed a glass of water, if you'd want to go to the restroom, to which your silence only fueled his helplessness and sly embarrassment. «I'm okay, guys.» you breathed out, finally removing your fingers from your lips, but still too scared to open your eyelids and be attacked by their sharp stares. «No, you're not, y/n. You've been sick for at least a week.» Pierre's statement worked as a tymbal clang to both you and Charles, so that you looked at each other briefly but intensely, wondering whether the ticking bomb laying untold amongst you three had just exploded without you noticing. “Tell him” was painted in capital letters, bold, inside Charles' green irises.

Internalizing the truth impossible to fool, you let Pierre's fingertips gently move your chin towards him, since you had enchanted in reflection on Charles. Suddenly confronting your husband's – yes, because he was your husband – unexplainable beauty like it was the first time you really saw him, the news seemed to brim out your lips, overflowing with contrasting emotions you weren't able to conciliate. Gathering all your courage despite the trembling of your chin, you reciprocated the hold of Pierre's hands: it was building up, from your chest up to the throat, bypassing the rationality check. «I need to tell you something.» It was nothing but a whisper; Charles, unknowing to either you or Pierre, slowly got up from his chair, standing near you and placing his hand on your shoulder, squeezing it for comfort. Pierre waited in silence for your words, pupils scattered all around your features trying to get the smallest hint of which nature the news was. The tears pricked your eyes as soon as the thought hit your synapsis. «I'm pregnant, Pierre.» Releasing the pent-up distress, finally relieved by the burden of secrecy, you cried freely, ready to face the consequences of the news.

A part of you expected an endless chain of angry sentences and despair, complaints, immaturity. And the part of you who didn't expect such a reaction, or at least hoped for a better outcome without much conviction, still managed to astonish before the taken aback but sweet curve of Pierre's eyebrows, unbelievably moved by your words. «Really? Are you sure?» His mistrust annoyed you slightly and made you scoff through tears. But before you could answer with a snappy remark, he was all over you, hugging your sadness away, melting in an embrace that swiped bad omens, that dissolved the clouds of doubt in a sparkling, bubbly dust of relief. Pierre left a long peck on your forehead, which only freed tears from running ceaselessly. «I can't believe it…» he whispered out of an uncontainable smile. Your body and soul, both in shock from experiencing the most releasing happiness, trembled like leaves under the wind of Pierre's affection. He glanced at Charles, looking for confirmation, which he found expressed through the dimples of his best friend; then focused back again on you, whose reaction Pierre couldn't quite make out. «You're happy, right?» he asked, almost fearful of the answer. Sobbing a laugh, you leaned against his hand cupping your cheek and enveloped it with yours, fond. «Of course I am.» He paused, taking a full look at you in excitement and amazement, letting the thought settle in his heart. «When did you find out?» he asked, cupping your cheek as a fragile corolla of petals. Your mouth dried out, your throat was still knotted; thankfully Charles beat you on time in answering. «Almost two weeks ago.» You waited for it, you anticipated the hatred and the – righteous – disappointment in getting to know that his best friend had witnessed and received the news first. Fear invested you once again, through sobs and hiccups. «Y/n… Look at me.» It all seemed to down on you at once: sat in your weakness, you had disclosed all your cards and were now the most vulnerable you’d ever been with him. Not even when you had promised in front of your families to love him for the rest of your life, not even lying in his embrace and cuddling with him after breathing out affection and pleasure on top of each other’s skin; no rejection could hurt you more than now, while carrying two lives inside of one body, two souls, doubling the sorrow. His serious demeanour only spiked up your anxiety, as you realized you weren’t ready at all, neither emotionally nor mentally, to face him yet.

He shut his eyes closed, he prepared himself to talk; you braced yourself for the impact of the cruel reality. It had been fun, until it had lasted. This is no fairytale, you chanted to yourself, lulling your crying soul. «I love you.» You looked at him dumbfounded, waiting for the answer to be completed with a "like a friend", or something of the sort which would've stabbed your heart with pain as he would always do; but a peaceful silence followed his words, and the longer you stared at each other, the deeper the realization would set in your heart. The promise you had been waiting for since the day you had met Pierre, which you expected to hear at the altar, was now vowed to you, him still kneeled down. «When…?» you involuntarily voiced your reasoning, not able to make sense of it, caught by total surprise. «Since forever. It just took me a while to realize…», he then glanced at Charles. «… and the help of a friend.» Spontaneously, you flung your arms around him, heart aching in joy and bliss. You watered and creased Pierre’s shirt, feeling life flourish just by listening to his words; to seal them, he plastered a kiss on your reddish, smooth lips, and heaven reached earth. «A baby, uh?» Pierre said almost to himself, placing his spread hands on your belly. You couldn’t help but have eyes brimming with emotion, gently brushing with your fingers his: was there anything which could make you happier and more strongly bonded together? «Charles… I think we’ll need plenty of your ice-cream in the near future.» «Hey!» you patted Pierre’s shoulder, amusingly offended. «Oh, for sure. I’ll make you a discount, since you’ll buy it in large quantity.» «Guys!» you laughed, trying to stop their endless flow of jokes. With your left hand still pressed onto Pierre’s, you gazed down at your wedding ring, shining and glimmering under the sunlight. Maybe, no matter how unhoped and unplanned, yours was truly a fairytale.

to @gaslysainz: Thanks again for the request! I really hope you’ll like it…I’m not fully satisfied with how it turned out, but I couldn’t work on it any further 😂 I’d be glad to know what you think 🥹❤️

AND TO ALL OF YOU, THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING AND FOR BEING PATIENT! I’D REALLY APPRECIATE IT IF YOU LEFT A NOTE FOR FEEDBACK, SO THANKS IF YOU DO! HOPE YOU HAVE A NICE DAY! . · ˚✧

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