#and they keep using it in almost every argument

[m-neuvillette]

First kiss interrupted - Wind Breaker boys

Togame, Umemiya, Suo, Kiryu x fem reader

Author notes: HAPPY BIRTHDAY UMEMIYA🩵🩵🩵 spoilers for Umemiya’s background in his and don’t worry you and the characters will kiss at the end so you aren’t left hanging!

Togame:

You hear an obnoxiously loud knock at your door and it can only be one person. Your next door neighbor and your childhood friend, Choji. You’re glad that your grandma is always out when he decides to come and “knock” on your door, she would think someone is trying to break in. You laugh at the thought and swing your legs off your bed to go answer the door. You weave through your house and open the door to see Choji raising his hand like he was going to knock again and Togame holding his arm back. “Choji, you seriously need to wait more than 10 seconds. You could have hit her.” Togame says as he releases Choji’s arm.

Choji laughs and turns his whole attention to you, “Well I didn’t so it’s all good! Anyways come hang out with us and Shishitoren! We are hosting a party at Ori and thought you would want to come.” Togame is quick to add in, “Don’t feel like you have to, no pressure.” You look to make eye contact with him and he gives you a little smile. You feel your knees almost give out, his smile is something really rare so your heart races anytime you see it.

You debate on what you want to do. Yes you would get to hang out all night with your crush, but you would have to deal with all of Shishitoren and some of them can be a lot especially at these parties. You haven’t seen Choji and especially Togame since the whole restoration of Shishitoren so you think it’s worth it. You look at Togame and reply, “I’ll go. I haven’t seen you guys in a while and I bet the party will be fun. Come inside and let me change. Oh I also have to leave a note for my grandma, she’s at the senior game night with her friends.”

Choji starts jumping up and down while Togame pushes him inside and shuts the door, “YAY! But seriously it’s sad that your grandma gets out more than you.” Togame smacks the back of his head, “Leave her alone. Not everyone has the energy to run around the city 24/7 like you.”

You are walking to your room but you laugh at their argument and call out to them, “See Togame gets me. Keeping up with you is hard, I don’t know how he does it.” You get in your room and close your door but can still heari Choji and Togame bicker. You want to impress Togame tonight because you think tonight is the night you are actually going to try and confess to him. You look around your closet and decide to pick out a black skirt and white sweater with a little bear drinking boba. You are happy that your grandma dragged out of the house earlier to go grocery shopping because you put on some makeup before the two of you left, so now you don’t have to keep the guys waiting too long. You tie up a pair of converse then spray some perfume on and walk out of your room.

You just see Togame standing in the living room, “Oh no, where is Choji? He didn’t break anything right?”. Togame is quick to face you and quick to turn your bad thought down, “NO! No, he just went to the bathroom.” He looks you up and down and you feel your cheeks start to burn, “You look really pretty.” Togame makes eye contact with you again and gives you another smile. That smile can quite literally kill you but you smile back at him and thank him. He just nods his head and watches the tornado known as Choji come back into the room. You quickly write a note to your grandma saying you are hanging out with Togame and Choji and will be back later tonight. Then the three of you head off.

The entire walk to Ori was you and Togame listening and sometimes adding to Choji’s endless rambling. Choji is really passionate about telling you every detail to the new video game he got that you aren’t paying attention to your surroundings. You hear someone call out “MOVE” but you before you can even try to move you feel someone pull you into him and hold you close. You are facing a firm chest and you can recognize that cologne from anywhere. It’s Togame. You then pick up your head to see the biker blow by the three of you really fast. Choji starts yelling at the guy to bike somewhere else while Togame catches your attention, “You okay?”

You turn back to look and him and nod, “Yeah I am. Thank you Togame, if you didn’t do that I would have been road kill.” Togame’s grip tightens on you and gives you a sharp look, “I would never let that happen to you.” You go to respond but Choji cuts you off saying hurry up. Togame rolls his eyes and lets go off you but still stays super close to you the rest of the walk to Ori.

Before you even walk into the abandoned theatre you can hear just how loud the party is, it is going to be a long night if that’s how loud it is going to be. Togame is quick to sense your discomfort towards the noise, “Hey, just stay by me alright?” You look to him then nod. He grabs your hand and leads you inside to a quieter part of the theatre. You and Togame stand by a table and catch up. He tells you all about the restoration of Shishitoren and why he cut his hair. Before he gets to the next story you are quick to compliment him, “You look really handsome with short hair.” Togame gives you a blank stare and you start to ramble, “WAIT! I am not saying you looked bad with long hair. You looked handsome with long hair too, I even loved when you would let me play with it. I just feel short hair fits you a lot more.”

Togame lets out a deep laugh on that makes him nearly fold in half, “I knew what you meant, that ramble was cute. But thank you.” You look away and nod. Togame excuses himself really quick to get you two some snacks and drinks. You see Sako a little further away and give him a wave, he returns it and walks over to you. You two chat until Togame comes back, the two guys say hello and Sako goes back to the group he was standing with. Togame brought back some sweet treats and ramune. You two eat and chat more until you hear Choji’s loud voice get even louder if that’s possible.

Togame mumbles a little “Damn it” under his breath. Before you can ask whats wrong Choji’s voice cuts through the crowd again. “HEY EVERYONE! WE FIGURED OUT THE MIC AND SPEAKER SYSTEM. SO YOU KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS… KARAOKE TIME!!” You physically shiver at the thought of the guys “singing” super loud into the mic. It is already so loud now and it’s only going to get worse. As if Togame can read your mind he calls your name, “Let’s go outside and take a break okay?” Once you agree, Togame grabs your hand and leads you outside.

“Wanna go on the roof?” You look up there and think about how Togame and Choji always talk about how pretty the view from the roof is but don’t know if you can exactly get up there yourself. You respond, “I would love to, but I don’t think I can climb up there myself. Togame is quick to turn away any doubt, “Don’t worry I’ll help you. I can either lift you up or climb up first and help you up. The choice is yours.”

“How about you go up first? That’ll probably help my nerves.” Togame nods and climbs to the first level, he turns to crouch down and holds a hands out to you. You reach for his hands and he reminds you to hold on tight. He is quick to pull you up but you still need to walk a little bit on the wall to help you get up. Once you are both on the first level he makes sure you are okay before he climbs to the last level. Togame reaches his hands down again, “Really hold on tight to me here and be careful climbing up the wall is more messed up here.”

You take a deep breath and respond with a nervous “okay”. Togame catches your attention again, “I will not drop you. I promise.” He really always knows what to say to help you calm down. You look up and smile, “I never believed you would.” He returns the smile but it is quick to go away because he starts pulling you up. You pay really close attention to the bad spots on the wall and avoid them. Once you’re to the ledge Togame steps back and pulls you into his chest once again.

You two stand like that for a little bit until he lets go and grabs your hand again to lead you to the back where the railings are. Once you see the view you let go of Togame’s hand and run to the railing. The view of the city and the night sky is so pretty. You see people laughing outside the restaurants and the stars gleaming in the dark night sky. It really is the best of two worlds. “Togame this view is absolutely beautiful no wonder why you and Choji talk about it all the time.”

Togame stands next to you and leans his forearms on the railing, “Yeah I love it. I am glad you finally get to see it.” You close your eyes and take a deep breath and taking everything in. You think this is the perfect time to confess since you and him are alone. You open your eyes and look ahead, “Hey, Jo…?”

“Mhm? Something wrong?” You shake your head and close your eyes again, “Not necessarily. I- uh, well there is something I want to tell you.” You take another deep breath and open your eyes once more and turn to look at Togame, he is looking at you with the utmost patience. He is letting you take your time and not rushing you at all. The man is truly an angel. “I am sorry in advance if this ruins everything. I like you Jo. I have for such a long time, really ever since Choji introduced me to you. You make me feel so happy, safe, comfortable, beautiful, and I just have so much fun around you. The times I am with you, I never want them to end because all I want is to be around you.”

Togame stands straighter, “You like me?” He smiles and looks in the distance. He looks back at you, and leans in closer to you. You two are a barely apart, “You like me?” You nod your head in response. Togame leans in a little more until your lips are almost connected, you decide to close the rest of the distance. Your lips are about to touch until you hear a couple pairs of feet jump onto the roof yelling for Togame. Togame stands up but you can still feel his heat radiating off of him. He gives the other men a deadly glare, “What. Do. You. Want.” You watch the men stutter out, “We need your help. Choji started a big brawl because he lost the karaoke battle…”

Togame groans in frustration, “I am going to kill him. Give me a second and I will be down.” The men nod and hop down off the roof. Togame gives you his full attention and you speak first, “Go ahead, go stop the tornado. I’ll just head home.”

Togame’s eye widen, “Hey come on don’t do that, stay here.” You shake your head trying to hold back tears of frustration, “Really it’s okay, so go Togame. He probably already made a big mess.” You back up and go to jump down off the roof leaving Togame stunned, mad, and upset. Once you’re off the roof you are walking fast to get back home. You think about the whole situation again. He didn’t say he liked you back and he was probably just caught up in the moment that’s why he tried to kiss you. You definitely ruined everything.

You hear a pair of heavy footsteps coming up behind you and feel someone grab your wrist. You try to wiggle out of the strangers grasp until you hear your name and “It’s just me.” You turn to see Togame breathing heavily obviously from his run to catch up to you. Between his breathes he says, “We aren’t done talking. I didn’t get to say anything. So here it goes,” he says your name, “You are so captivating. The first time I met you I thought you were the most beautiful woman I have ever saw. I like you so much and have for the longest time. Your presence is so warming, when you smile, laugh, or just do anything my heart races so much. I never want our time to end either, the time I get to spend with you is such a highlight to my days. So please give me a chance, I want to be your boyfriend. I promise I will treat you right.”

You are at a loss for words so you just throw yourself at Togame, you hold him tight and nod your head. Togame is quick to return the embrace and holds you tight against him. After a couple minutes of calming down and holding one another, Togame tilts your chin up, “Can I kiss you now?” You smile and say “Yes.” Togame leans down to connect your lips for a soft kiss. It is short but it gets your whole body warm and fills your stomach with butterflies. You look into Togame’s eyes and tell him, “I have been wanting to do that for a while now Jo.”

Togame gives you a smirk and says, “Not as long as me.”

Umemiya:

You were hanging out with Kotoha in Cafe Pothos baking some sweet treat of Umemiya and the Furin boys for their harvest festival. Umemiya was ecstatically yelling over the phone to you about how well his garden did this year so he had to host a “harvest festival”. He was telling you him and Hiragi were going to grill different kinds of meat and then a couple of people have volunteered to cook the veggies or set up platters. Which all that left was sweet treats. That’s why he reached out to you. A lot of the Furin boys love the sweet treats you make to give to Kotoha to sell at her cafe so he thought you would be perfect.

Umemiya said that you and Kotoha can come to the festival since you two are helping. It makes you excited because Furin get together are always fun and energetic.

You are putting the last batch of cookies in cafe’s oven when you hear the door slam open. You then hear Kotoha groan, “UME WHAT DID I SAY ABOUT SLAMMING THE DOOR OPEN!?”

You turn to see Umemiya giggling, “Oopsies. Well I came to check how you two are doing. I brought extra hands to help carry the treats over.”

“We are almost done Umemiya, the last batch of cookies are in the oven then have to cool. So like 20-30 minutes if you all are willing to wait.” You respond to him. Umemiya nods and waves the other boys in.

Sakura grumbles, “No wait said we would have to wait. This is so much work.” Hiragi comes up behind him and pushes him a bit, “You’re fine. Not like you’re doing anything else.”

The boys sit at the counter and make small talk while Kotoha gives them some coffee. Half way through the conversation the oven goes off so you pull out the cookies and set sheet on the counter. Umemiya calls out your name, “Those smell great!! I can’t wait to eat them.”

You giggle, “Thank you Ume. Ironically they are your favorite, sugar cookies.” Umemiya’s pupils are basically in the shape of hearts. Umemiya tries to reach over and grab a cookie but Hiragi grabs the back of his coat and pulls him back, “You idiot, fucking waiting. There’s plenty you can have at the festival.”

Umemiya pouts and silently agrees. The boys finish their coffee while you pack away the cookies in the last box. Kotoha closes up the shop real quick while you sort out who is going to carry what.

Once the cafe is locked up you all make your way to Furin. Hiragi and Kotoha are picking on Sakura while you are walking a little bit behind him. Umemiya bumps your shoulder with his, “Thank you for doing all this. I took a peak in all the boxes because I couldn’t help myself and saw you obviously put a lot of time into this. It means a lot.”

You smile brightly at him, “No need to thank me! You and Furin do so much for the town so it’s the least I can do. Plus you’re my favorite person to make treats for so I was happy when you asked me.”

“Well your treats are my favorite. I can’t wait till you make a bakery. I am going to go there everyday and make it another hang out spot for the school.”

“Well hopefully I can open a bakery after I graduate.”

Umemiya stops in front of you making you stop too, “I’ll make sure it happens. I’ll help you every step of the way no matter what you happens.”

You stand there shocked but feel fuzzy inside. No one has ever encouraged you this much to follow your dream. It feels so special, he makes you feel so special. He makes it so easy to love him. You realize you were stuck in your head too long and respond, “Thank Ume. That really means the world to me. Once I open my bakery you’ll get a free pastry box.”

“NO! I HAVE TO PAY!! That’s how you stay in business silly, can’t give free stuff out all the time. But I won’t turn down being a taste tester.”

You shake your head, “Fine, fine. You can be my taste tester.” Umemiya brightly smiles and turns to walk again, “Well let’s go get this party started!!!”

After your talk with Umemiya the walk to Furin isn’t too long. Once you get there Hiragi leads everyone to a classroom to put everything for now until everything is fully ready to set up. Once you place everything in the order you want you feel a tap on your shoulder and see Umemiya, “Hey, meet up on the roof in 20 minutes okay? I gotta do some checks of all the classes but I want to talk to.”

You are a little concerned because it’s out of nowhere, he’s okay right? “Are you okay Ume?? Nothings wrong right?”

“Oh no not at all! Everything is all good. Just want to talk to you about something.”

It still makes you a little nervous but it seems nothing is wrong, “Okay! I’ll meet you up there!” He nods and goes to walk out of the room until Hiragi stops him. Hiragi whispers something in his ear and he nods to whatever Hiragi says. Then Hiragi looks at you and smiles. Umemiya walks out and Hiragi follows.

You decide to go talk to Kotoha about it. You find where she is talking to Nirei and Suo. You walk up to the group and grab Kotoha’s arm and tell them, “Sorry boys but I need to borrow her real quick.” You drag her away to empty classroom.

“KOTOHA, UMEMIYA WANTS TO TALK TO ME!!”

“Uhhh okay and???”

“IT’S OUT OF NOWHERE!?! WHAT DO I DO!?! You know I like him, omg what if it’s him saying he knows and he rejects me. I can’t deal with that. Especially not with a crowd on his home turf. I think I’m going to be sick.”

Kotoha smacks her face and drags her hand down it, “You’re an idiot and oblivious. No way that idiot doesn’t like you, he’s basically obsessed with you. Just calm down and talk. Confess if you want.”

“I don’t think I could do that. I would end up making a fool of myself and then he would reject me.”

Kotoha rolls her eyes, “Whatever. I’m leaving.” Then walks out of the room. You stand there baffled she just left, jerk. You look at your phone and see that you should head up to the roof now. You leave the classroom and head up to the roof.

Once you get to the double doors you take a deep breath then open the door and see Umemiya standing in the corner already. He hears you come through the doors and waves you over. You walk over to him and stand in front of him.

You two stand in silence for a bit looking over everything. Then a big gust of wind comes and makes you shiver. Umemiya is quick to take off his coat and offer it to you. You deny the offer because he would get cold without it.

Umemiya sighs and starts talking, “You know the first time I came to Furin, I actually was really young. It was after my parents died and I ran away from the orphanage. I wanted to die so I could be at peace again. But a student from Furin was the one the helped and saved me. I learned a lot that day and it shaped me into the man I am today.”

Umemiya then takes the corners of his coat then wraps it around you and pulls you into him. “I learned you can’t do everything alone. You need people you care about to help you when you need it. No matter what you’re going through those people are always willing to take the time to help you because they care about you. Those relationships are very important to me that’s why I changed Furin so I can make more connections with the people in this town.”

Umemiya leans his forehead against yours, “You are one of those people I treasure. You make my life brighter and happier. You mean everything to me and I like you so much. I want so much with you. I want to have a future with you.” He leans in closer making his intentions clear. He wants to kiss.

Umemiya just told you so much. You can’t believe someone who is so bright was at one point so dark and alone. He really is the most incredible person to grace this earth. But he really does return your feelings!! You then make your intentions clear that you want to kiss him as well.

Before your lips can connect you hear the door to the roof open. You and Umemiya snap your head to the noise to see a mad and bright red Sakura. “HEY WHAT ARE YOU DOING UMEMIYA!?! WASN’T THIS FESTIVAL YOUR IDEA!? WE ALL ARE-“ then Sugishita grabs him back the back of his shirt and throws him down the stairs. After he throws Sakura he walks down the stairs. Hiragi is standing watching the whole thing go down.

Hiragi turns to you two, “Uh sorry. Couldn’t stop him, I was busy grilling. Anyways carry on, but don’t be too long Umemiya. Everyone is waiting for you.” He turns back and shuts the door on his way down.

You and Umemiya turn back to look at each other and burst into laughter. After you two are done laughing, Umemiya wastes no time to connect your lips in a passionate kiss. He pulls you closer with the grip he still has on his coat to deepen the kiss. Before the kiss gets too heavy Umemiya breaks it off.

He smiles down at you, “Sorry I didn’t want to waste any time on doing that. Jeez, that was great. So what do you say about being my girlfriend gorgeous?”

You smile brightly at him, “I would love nothing more to be your girlfriend Hajime.”

“YAYYYYY!!! Time to go have a festival now!! I’m going to show you off all night.” He then leans down and presses a kiss to your forward and leads you back down to where everyone is at.

By the end of the night everyone calls you two the king and queen of Furin.

Suo:

Suo has always been a gentleman. That’s what made you fall for him in the first place, you accidentally rammed right into him on the street with all your groceries. He kindly helped you pick everything up and even helped you carry everything back to your house! That day you exchanged numbers and began talking each day, slowly getting to know each other.

As time went on, and you two talked and hung out more, you began to fall in love with Suo. He eventually introduced you to Sakura and the rest of his friends and you began to hang out with them when you all were out of school. You and Suo still spent plenty of time alone together, which only made you fall for him even more.

One day when you two were walking around town you turned to him and tilted your head. “Hey Suo? What is going to Furin like? Are the other guys there as fun as your other friends?” He turns his head towards you and stops walking to ponder on your questions. He puts his hand on top of your head and laughs softly.

“Well if you really want to know dear, it’s quite fun there I suppose. There’s all sorts of guys there, but none nearly as fun as you are to hang out with.” Your eyes widen before you look away blushing. “Ah I see, that’s very sweet of you to say Suo.” He lightly smirks before grabbing your chin and titling before teasing you. “Oh? What’s this? Are you blushing over a little compliment, how cute.”

You blush even more and lightly hitting his chest. “Suo, stop teasing! You do that way too much, it’s crazy! I’m gonna die from embarrassment one of these days I swear!” He softly chuckles before letting go of your chin and continuing to walk. “Well, let’s continue our walk shall we?” You sigh before shaking your head and running to catch up with him.

As the day stretches on you decide that you are going to confess to Suo, and you are going to do it soon. You can’t wait any longer without telling him how you feel, you don’t care if you get rejected, you just need to get it off your chest. So once you get outside of your house, since Suo always insists on walking you back, you decide to ask him to meet up.

“Suo? Can we meet up tomorrow? In front of Furin is fine, I just need to tell you something and I think tomorrow is a good day to tell you.” You decided to pick tomorrow because it’ll mark one year since you met Suo and you think that’ll be the perfect time to confess to him. He tilts his head down at you before lightly smirking. “Oh? What could you wish to tell me that must wait until tomorrow? I’m quite impatient you know, I’m not sure if I can wait that long.” He huffs softly before chuckling, “I’m kidding, of course we can meet up, you don’t even have to ask you know that? I would meet up with you every single hour of every single day.”

You give him a deadpan look before giggling. “You’re so weird sometimes you know that Suo? But I’m glad, I never tire of hanging out with you, it really makes me happy.” You smile before striding forward and wrapping your arms around him. “Just wait a little longer okay? Then I’ll tell you all that I have to say, because I won’t chicken out any more, I promise.” His eye widens slightly before he wraps his arms around you. “You can wait as long as you need to tell me whatever it is you need to. I’d wait forever for you, just know that dear.”

You part ways for the night and walk into your house. The next day comes and you are full of jitters, because today is finally the day that you confess to Suo. Hopefully it all goes well and he likes you back, but it’ll be okay if he doesn’t right?

Once you arrive outside of Furin, you see Suo already standing outside looking at his phone. You call out to him and walk up to him. “Good morning Suo! How was your night? Did you sleep well?” He picks his head up and puts his phone away. “Hey there dear, I slept just fine no need to worry.”

He walks up to you and gently wraps his arms around you. “Now, just what did you need to tell me today, hm? Could you possibly be professing your undying love to me?” Your arms freeze and they go to wrap around him because did he seriously just guess that? He’s got to be some sort of mind reader right? “Wow Suo, you should switch professions, because I think you’re a mind reader. Because yeah, I did want to confess to you today, I love you Suo and it’s okay if you don’t feel the same, I totally understand.”

Once again his eye widens at your confession, he didn’t think that he’d be right on the money with that guess of his. “Well then, aren’t we lucky? Because I get the pleasure of you loving me and you get the pleasure of me loving you in return.” He gently kisses the top of your head after he confesses to you as well.

“Suo, you better not be joking with me right now because I’m being serious. I really do love you!” He softly sighs before taking a step back to tilt your chin up and looking you dead in the eyes. “I would never joke about this, I know you know that. I may tease you a lot but never would I joke about something like this. I love you beyond words, and I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

Your eyes widen at his confession and before you know it, he’s leaning in to give you a kiss on the lips. But before his lips ever reach yours, you hear yelling and feet pounding against the ground. And next thing you know Nirei is ramming right into Suo and ruining the moment. “Oh Suo! There you are! I’ve been looking for you all over! There’s a meeting with the grade captains soon so we need to get going now!”

Suo sighs before turning to Nirei and smiling tightly. “You got it Nirei, I’ll be there soon alright? Let me just finish up here first.” Nirei looks around beside seeing you and his jaw drops, “OH NO DID I INTERRUPT?? I’M SO SORRY PLEASE FORGIVE ME!!!!” Your eyes widen and you softly giggle. “No need to get all worked up Nirei, it’s okay.” Suo looks softly at you before hugging you once more and whispering in your ear. “Don’t worry, we’ll finish this later alright. I’ll try not to keep you waiting too long, I know how impatient you are, hehe.”

You give him a deadpan look before hugging him back. “Don’t make me wait too long then lover boy, I’ll be waiting for that kiss alright?” You wave goodbye to the two of them before walking back to your house all giddy because now you and Suo have confessed and you know he’s going to kiss you later.

Once his meeting with the other grade captains is over, he immediately goes to find you. You had texted him that you were sitting on one of the bridges in town overlooking a river and he practically ran there. Once he saw you sitting on the ledge of the bridge he decided that he was gonna sneak up on you to surprise you.

Once he gets behind you he wraps his arms around your waist and softly whispers in your ear. “Well my dear? Shall we continue where we left off?” You about jump out of your skin when you feel arms around you but when you turn and notice that it was just Suo you relaxed immediately. “You really know how to scare someone, you know that right Suo? But anyway let us continue, I’d quite like to see how good of a kisser you are.”

He raises an eyebrow at that and smirks. “Oh? Is that a challenge?” He grabs you by the waist and lifts you off of the ledge and swiftly turns you around. After that he grabs your face with both of this hands and pulls you into a deep and passionate kiss. After a little bit you two separate to catch your breath. “Well how was it dear? Was it to your satisfaction or do we have to do it again?”

Your eyes widen as you blush. “Well that was amazing but I will not turn down doing that again. I would love to kiss you for the rest of my life, Hayato.” He softly smiles as your use of his given name and he hugs you close to his chest. “I will gladly fulfill that wish of yours milady, until the end of time.”

Kiryu:

You had met Kiryu in middle school and became the best of friends. Though right before you two graduated you started to develop feelings for him, you were doing to confess the day of graduation but chickened out when he told you he was going to a different high school.

Though you lived in Makochi and could still see Kiryu when you two weren’t in school, you thought against confessing because he was going to the school for good fighters. You didn’t exactly want to get caught up in any quarrels. But things didn’t really go as planned on your part, because you two ended up hanging out every day after school.

Since he got out of school before you he always walked to your school to pick you up to hang out. Those hang outs were the highlight of your day, but it didn’t help your feelings whatsoever. You thought since you didn’t go to the same school, you two would drift apart. That didn’t exactly happen, and your feelings only ended up growing more.

One day you got out of school early, so you decided to walk over to Furin when Kiryu got out to surprise him. You were waiting outside the gates with your school bag in hand while scrolling on your phone. When you heard people walking out you put your phone in your pocket and waited for Kiryu.

When he walked out with his friend you waved and called out to him. “Hey Kiryu!” He looked in your direction a little surprised, he didn’t expect you to be out of school before him. “Hey there, did you get out early today? You didn’t tell me, how rude.” He lightly joked before patting your head.

“Hehe yeah I did get out early. I wanted to surprise you, wanna go to Café Pothos? I’ve been craving Kotoha’s cooking all day.” He lightly smiled at you and nodded his head, “I’d never turn down going anywhere with you, wanna head out now? Or did you want to drop your stuff off at your house?”

Sakura and the others were standing there baffled because where did this girl come from? And how does Kiryu know her?? Nirei was the first to voice his confusion. “Uhh Kiryu, who is this girl? And how do you know her? Does she live in Makochi? Does she go to school around her? Does she-“ He was abruptly cut off by Suo placing his hand over his mouth. “Sorry about that, but we are curious, who is this mysterious lady? Sakura’s romance radar is going nuts.”

You both look at Sakura before looking at each other giggling. “This is my bestest friend from middle school, she just goes to a different high school that’s why you’ve never seen her before. I always pick her up from school too.” You smile softly at him before kindly telling them your name. After you introduce yourself Kiryu grabs your hand gently and asks if you’re ready to go. “Well we’re gonna leave now, see you guys tomorrow.”

As he gently tugs you along, you turn around slightly and wave to his friends. “Bye you guys! It was nice to meet you!” When you turn around you run a little to catch up with him. “Kiryu, your friends seem so fun! I hope you’re having a good time at Furin, though I do miss going to school with you. It’s not nearly as fun without you.” He turns his head to face you, “Yeah, they are pretty fun, but you are even more fun to hang out with. Let’s get going to the café shall we? You said you’ve been wanting Kotoha’s food all day.”

He gently taps the tip of your nose before turning forward again. You were thankful he turned forward so he wouldn’t see the ever growing blush on your cheeks from his actions.

You two arrived at Kotoha’s place and walked in. Kotoha turned around to see who came in and greeted you two. “Well if it isn’t my favorite love birds! What’ll it be today you two? Same as usual?” You cursed mentally because you just got rid of your blush from before and now your face turns red once again. “Kotoha you know it’s not like that!” Kiryu giggles softly before responding to her. “Yeah we’ll have the usual, thank you Kotoha.”

Your eyes dart to him because he always brushes over when Kotoha calls you two lovebirds, could he feel the same? Or does he just not want to be rude? You two sit down and chat amongst yourselves while you wait for your food. “Hey Kiryu? Do you want to hang out tomorrow? There’s a spot that I’ve been meaning to take you for a while, it’s near my school and it’s super pretty, I think you’ll really like it!”

He tilts his head at you and nods right away. “Sure! Sounds like it’ll be fun and I’ve got no other plans, so let’s do it!” You breath a slight sigh of relief, even though you knew he would agree, you have decided that tomorrow will be the day that you confess to Kiryu and the spot you want to take him to will be a perfect place for it. “Perfect! Do you want to meet up outside here at 10 tomorrow morning?” He thinks about it for a second before responding. “Yeah that’ll work for me, sure you don’t want me to pick you up at your house?”

You gently shake your head, “No, no there’s no need for that! I like the walk here anyway!” He softly laughs and that’s when Kotoha brings your food. “Well here you go you two lovebirds, enjoy!” You both thank her and begin eating your food. When you finish you two walk out of the café, hand in hand yet again. When you are outside of your house you smile softly down at your intertwined hands and lightly squeeze his hand. He looks down at your hands when you do that and looks back up at you.

He lets go of your hand and immediately wraps his arms around you tightly. “I’ll see you tomorrow yeah, my dear?” He whispers the last part so quietly that you barely heard him but you wrap your arms around him before placing your head in the crook of his neck. “Yeah I’ll see you tomorrow, I have something to tell you then too okay?” He gently nods and lets go before waving and walking away.

The next day arrives and you walk over to Café Pothos and wait for Kiryu. When you see him walking towards you, you run up to him and hug him. “Hey Kiryu! Let’s head off shall we?” He wraps his arms around you for a gentle hug before nodding. “Yeah let’s go, I wanna see how pretty this spot is.”

You two walk to the spot, a spot right by the river a little ways off from a bridge near your school. You turn to him and ask him, “Well? How do you like it?” He doesn’t turn to face you but responds, “This is beautiful, definitely somewhere we need to come more often!” He turns to face you before gently taking your hands in his. “Now what did you need to tell me?” Your eyes widen at the fact that he remembered that, but it was now or never.

“Well Kiryu, I have liked you since before we graduated middle school and I just couldn’t wait any longer to tell you, I understand if you don’t reciprocate and that’s okay! We can stay friends or not stay friends, whatever you think is best!” His eyes widen before he pulls you into his chest.

He gently whispers into your ear, “I’m so glad that you said that, I’ve been meaning to confess to you for so long but I’ve always been too nervous. I cannot begin to express my love for you but let me just show you with my actions instead yeah?” He takes a step back and places his hands on your cheeks and brings your face closer to his.

Right before his lips press against yours you hear someone yelling. “KIRYU!! WE FINALLY FOUND YOU, WE HAVE A PATROL NOW COME ON LET’S GO!” Your heads snap in the direction of the yelling and you see Sakura, both of your eyes widen and you both blush furiously. Kiryu huffs loudly before turning around to face his friends. “Yeah, yeah I’m coming stop rushing me will you?! You interrupted quite an important moment you know!”

You giggle softly before grabbing his hand. “It’s okay Kiryu, we can talk more later okay? You should go on that patrol of yours, Furin needs you.” He sighs lightly before nodding his head. “We’ll have that kiss of ours later alright? Look forward to it!” He pats the top of your head before walking off and waving to you. You smile softly before waving back. You stand in place while thinking back on what just happened, because Kiryu really does like you back and he told you to look forward to a kiss later!

You smile to yourself before jumping up and down and walking back home. For now though, you’re just going to have to wait for that first kiss of yours with your new beloved.

Kiryu texts you as soon as he’s done with his patrol to meet up at the same spot you were at earlier. When you finally get there the sun is setting and you see Kiryu. As soon as you see him you start running towards him and as you reach him you jump into his arms. He wraps his arms around your waist to catch you and that’s when he locks your lips together in a soft and warm kiss. He spins you around while kissing you and when he sets you down he separates from your lips to catch his breath.

He sighs happily before tucking your face into his neck. “That was amazing, well worth the wait I suppose. Let’s keep doing this everyday alright? I liked this a lot and want to do this forever.” You smile into his neck and give it a soft kiss. “Yeah I’d like that a lot. That was an amazing first kiss, thank you for that Mitsuki.” His eyes widen before he presses a gentle kiss to the top of your head. “Anytime my dearest, I’ll kiss you forever and ever, no matter where or when.”

[elysianightsss]

AAAHHHHH! HI! So sorry to bother you, but I read the neurodivergent reader x 141 and AHHHHH I AM LITERALLY SCREAMING, DROOLING, CHEWING AT THE BARS OF MY ENCLOSURE they wont let me out

i have a little idea… how would poly 141 react when they find out your job isnt this cute barista or something along those lines, but just a regular stocking associate or a cashier for some huge corporation. like, they know you work. and every time you leave, they see you die a little on the inside from having to go to *insert shitty job*. They just didnt know that you were working there and now they are trying whatever they can to convince you to quote your job and stay home… i know i would rather stay home and take care of them than going to my job…

Oh anon I love your brain! As someone who used to be a cashier before I got my fucking wonderful, literally no joke amazing office job, I fuck with this. I’m writing them as roommates tho don’t know why just deal with it😘

It starts off with a debate over what time you get up in the mornings given how tired you seemed today. But then they realise, they don’t even know what you do for work. Johnny predicts that you’re one of those cute baristas in sweet little aprons with how good the flavoured coffees you make him in the morning when he’s back from his run, are.

Kyle can’t seem to fathom you’re not the office sweetheart he seems to picture you as. Though you’d been living with them for almost over a year now, the guys were gone before you left for work and back long after you arrived home. Still he had it in his head the whole time that you were putting on tight pencil skirts and heels in the morning before going off to work. Something he argues tooth and nail with Johnny about.

John scoffs hearing the guys argue, usually keeping out of it, but this time he can’t help himself when he interjects with, “Yer both chattin shit. She’s obviously a baker with those mouth watering pastries she makes us.” Now that opens up the argument further.

Simon is the only one who doesn’t speculate, instead he walks right up to you on a Sunday night as the guys are all readying themselves for bed and you’re making your lunch for tomorrow. “Luv.” He calls, you glance at him, eyes honing in on the way his grey sweatpants hang low on his hips. Dangerous, dangerous man.

Looking back to the fruit you were slicing, you hum in acknowledgment, “Wot’s ya job?”

You bite back the grin that fights to split your face in two, turning to him you see he visibly softens at your little smile, “I’m a cashier.” You answer, ears tinging red a little. In all honesty you were embarrassed that you worked for one of those big corporations. The dreams you had once but were never able to reach are like a damp on your heart. Like a festering mould that only grows in the worst conditions.

Sometimes you enjoy the people, there are some nice ones that overcome the bad interactions. But everyday you pull on the trousers and trainers, and that itchy uniform top, you wish that a snowstorm would lock you inside the house. You pray to receive a call telling you not to come in due to a fire that started in the bakery. Your heart aches to be told you’re allowed to go home early even if you won’t be paid as much at the end of the month.

Simon hadn’t said much after you told him, his eyes darkened a little when he asked if you enjoyed it and you had answered swiftly and without hesitation; no.

Then suddenly, the guys are leaving for work a little later in the morning. The same time as you. John offering you a lift to work, Johnny making you coffee instead of the other way around, Kyle giving you one of his soft jackets so at least your arms will be comfortable even if your torso is covered in that itchy material.

Simon is the one who places his hand on your forehead and tuts beneath his black surgical mask. You scoff when Simon says he doesn’t think you should go in today, “I feel fine.” You counter with a frown, pushing his big paw away and shoving your feet into the uncomfortable trainers.

John stares down at them like they’ve offended him personally, “You own comfier shoes lass.” Johnny comments and Kyle nods in agreement.

“I have to wear them.” You say quietly wondering why they suddenly have such an interest in your work attire. Have to. Well, that just wasn’t acceptable. The guys didn’t think you should have to do anything.

The weekends were a little weird too. You would usually cook them meals and sweet pastries or cakes with how hard they worked, they deserved nothing less. But Johnny is ushering you away from the kitchen when you walk past the dining table and the marble counter island to make him a coffee.

John says no thank you in the most strained way you’ve ever heard it when you offer to make him a sweet treat. He deflates even further into the sofa when you look offended at his decline. Kyle pulls you close to him on the other side of the couch, putting an arm around you, he continues reading his book but it’s out loud this time.

You sigh snuggling close to him, head on his shoulder when Simon brings over one of the many plushies you’d left on the floor of the lounge, again, and one of the many soft blankets you’d unnecessarily bought for the house. Maybe you could get used to this, you thought as your eyes started to blink slower. It had been a really long week, with lots of assholes. A week of sitting in that uncomfortable chair had done a number on your back too.

You’re just lucky that you’d said from the very beginning that you won’t work weekends, at least you could have those to yourself. The guys became even more attentive, not that they weren’t before, but it increased tenfold. And you wondered why.

Why Kyle is packing you a lunch box everyday now. Why Johnny is cuddling up to you at night just so you sleep warmer, better. Why John is willing to race away from very important paperwork to sit outside the big supermarket you worked at just so you didn’t have to take the bus home. Why Simon keeps buying you lush smelling soaps, bath salts and those sparkly bathbombs he knows you love, you have so many now you don’t know what to do with them. Even when you ask him to stop, he shakes his head and grunts out, “Baths are good for sore muscles.” And that’s all you get.

You just want to know why, what brought all of this on. And most of all why it all suddenly stops.

Almost like a calculated mission, like a big discussion had happened before hand. All of it stopped. They had left long before you got up for work, no lunch ready to go, no soft jacket waiting by the door, no cuddle reading sessions on the weekend, no more new bath stuff, no more lifts and an expectant look in John’s eyes when it gets to dinner time.

They’d done a total three sixty. Like they wanted to show you how good it could be with their help, how much easier life could be, going to work could be, only just to take it all away.

That’s exactly what their plan had been, Simon’s idea mostly with little suggestions made by the rest of them. They all executed it thoroughly, now all that’s left for them is to compete the final step.

“Doll I think you should quit your job.” John goes first, you frown excessively. What the hell is he talking about, you think.

“Have you gone mad?” You huff. John knows you’re annoyed with them, hell they all know you’re angry by their actions. But it’s a necessary evil.

“Not yet I don’t think,” John jokes and feels a little lighter when the corner of your lip quirks up slightly, “I am serious.” He says simply, his blue eyes burning into you before he walks away. You think it so odd, strange that he says that out of the blue.

And then Kyle says it too. Coming into your room with the same baby Yoda squishmallow Simon had placed in your lap two weeks ago, and the same blanket. He gestures towards your bed, it’s subtle but you nod. Failing to hide his grin, Kyle gets snuggled up under the blanket with you, your arms wrapped around the plushie.

He’s halfway through the book, hand brushing through your hair scratching at your scalp deliciously when he broaches the subject, “Bun?” You scrunch up your nose, blinking your eyes open to look at him accusingly. The sight makes him chuckle softly, you’re screaming with your eyes, how dare you make me open my eyes and be fully conscious.

He leans forward before he can stop himself and rubs his nose against yours sweetly, something he tells himself later was just to butter you up before talking. It wasn’t.

“I don’t think you should go to work anymore.” He says simply, with ease, his voice calm.

“What?” You blink rapidly waking yourself up fully to actually take in what he just said.

“Just something to think about bunny.” He shrugs and goes back to reading with that damn lulling voice. You don’t stop him, don’t interrupt but your mind is swirling the same way it had the day before when John had said something similar.

Johnny is not so tactful, shovelling his breakfast in his mouth. Half masticated bacon and scrambled eggs rolling around in his wide open trap, when he spits out the words. “Quit yer job lass, no one wants to be stackin shelves and scannin someone else’s shit all day.” He scoffs washing his food down with the caramel flavoured coffee you made him five minutes ago. He’s quick to put the plate in the sink and place a sloppy kiss on your cheek. His head bend slightly, eyes level with you, “Think about it pet.” He pats your cheek lightly and earns a much more harsh smack to the back of his head by Kyle on the way out of the house.

And finally Simon…well Simon…um Simon just did what he thought was best, what he thought was necessary, what he thought would get you to comply the quickest…

You pant harshly, fingers gripping onto the light bronde hair painfully hard, yanking with each stripe Simon licked up your cunt. You barely noticed John walking passed your open bedroom door with a smirk, Simon had his face buried so deep in your pussy it was hard to think, hard to conjure up your own name let alone open your eyes and catch Kyle and Johnny pushing your door open a little wider and watching for a moment before Kyle drags Johnny away.

Simon’s broken too many times to fix, crooked nose brushed against your clit wonderfully, tongue fucking into your quivering hole making you buck your hips desperate for the release he’d been denying you for around twenty minutes now.

“Say it.” Simon cooed, encouraging you gently. Shaking your head, teeth biting down on your lip, holding on as tightly to your words as you held onto Simon.

Simon grips your jaw in his big paw, a sharp look comes across his features as though he’s about to scold you when you meet his gaze, thumb rubbing your clit in tight, rough circles to keep the stimulation enough, to keep you there on the edge so he has you right where he wants you.

“Say it and you can cum.” He promises, your eyes widen, stinging harshly with their own promise of tears should you keep this up.

“b-but-“

“No buts. We’ll take of everything sweetheart, oll ya afta to do is write the resignation letter, then stay here as our pretty little housewife.” He kissed your clit before moving his thumb back in its place, circling slower this time. You gasp, a broken sob wrenching itself from your chest as your orgasm starts to slip away with the lack of stimulation.

“Please! Please Si! I-“

“Oll ya afta do is say it. Quit, find yourself a cute hobby, cook and clean for us a little. Oll ya afta do is say yes and I’ll let ya cum luv.” He grins evilly when you whine, blowing on your cunt before licking a hard long stripe from your puckered asshole to your swollen, throbbing clit.

“yes! please yes I’ll quit just pl-“

Simon doesn’t let you finish your plea, devouring your pussy like a man starved. He licks, sucks, and flicks your clit, slipping his thick fingers inside your clenching, empty hole thrusting them in and out doing his best to match the pace he set with his tongue on your clit.

You cum hard, untamed. Back arching uncomfortably, limbs shaking rigorously and Simon slurps up everything you give him. You lay there trying to catch your breath when Simon crawls up your body to hover over you. His eyes meet yours when he grins, “Good girl. Now why don’t we get started on that resignation letter hmm.” It wasn’t a question.

Safe to say you happily quit your job.

[goldsbitch]

Twelve Grapes

-chapter 7, part 1 - A bit of a bad boy

Yeah, sure. Let’s do the talking on track. Only - the track is public roads of Monaco and the talking is a couple fight.

word count: don't even ask, it's getting out of hand warning: kissing, m/m, Jos Verstappen A+ parenting introduced, few awful homophobic comments, couple fight

"Max, if you don't want to have the whole of Monaco gossiping about us, you're going to have to stop touching me every time the realtor turns his head around," Charles stifles as he reluctantly pushes Max's arms away from his waist. Both of them know Charles does not really mind Max's hands roaming around his body.

The Dutchman laughs. "The guy is too focused on explaining why this specific faucet is the best in the world, I don't think he remembers we're here," Max argues and steals one kiss and pinches Charles' hip. But, after that he caves in and puts his arms away from Charles and does few steps back, to create a distance that would somewhat be acceptable for "a buddy who's helping him pick out a new apartment to move in". Charles walks toward the realtor guy to listen to a lecture on kitchen cabinets, something that Max knows he secretly enjoys. Max still does not understand why all of a sudden Charles needs his own apartment. Yes, technically, he's still living with his mother. However, realistically, he spends any free moment in Max's place. The phrase "a Ferrari driver can't be living with his mother" is not a strong argument in his opinion. He lets them debate about the marble tile materials and takes one more walk around the place. It's a particularly nice apartment, the best one so far. Main feature being the massive terrace overlooking the city and sea. Provides enough of privacy for them to let go and promises a notion of domestic freedom. It's been just a few months since they first hooked up. Seems like ages ago, everything went to quickly and naturally after that. Max especially appreciated the fact there was no bullshit needed with Charles. They both understood the predicament. Keep things private from others. Don't let their relationship affect racing and vice versa. It was surprisingly hard to watch Charles and his first potential win slip through his fingers. Max won't ever admit this to him, but it's going to be way harder to balance this than he ever expected. And the season has just started. He will uphold their unspoken agreement. Charles has entered his life in a measure like no one else before. Max prays that he is mature enough to not fuck it up for both of them.

He joins Charles back in the kitchen and waits for the damn realtor walk away to the bedroom again, before caging Charles against the kitchen counter, back to back. He bends him over and hold him by his hair.

"Max," the man, who's ass he's pressing into, warns. But even though he can't see Charles' face, he can hear the hidden amusement in his tone. Max chuckles and rolls his hips into him. It would only take a moment for the realtor to turn and spot them in this position.

"What?" he whispers into Charles' ear while giving it a quick lick. In return, he starts to melt under his touch immediately and almost gives in to whatever Max would suggest. As always. "I need to make sure the kitchen is up to our standards. We don't exactly use it for cooking," he comments, images of him fucking Charles hard against the counter at his home flooding Max's brain. He knows Charles enough to know that it takes everything he has to wiggle out of the embrace and walk away, like a responsible adult would. But it's all clear when he flashes him a flirty smile on the way over to the realtor. Just like Max, he is nothing but a horny post-teenager, who would happily get bent right then and there. His hot, desirable and inescapable Charles. With dimples created specifically to make Max lose himself in them.

//

The start of his dream career in Ferrari is about as hard as expected. Completely new environment to blend into, battling the strange combination of part of the team believing Charles is there to help them get to the top, generational talent and all that, and the other side of the garage, that is still bitter about Kimi Raikonnen getting replaced by a rookie. Then there is Sebastian Vettel. Someone he used to look up to. It took him the first two races to abandon that sentiment completely. Seb radiated a sort of tired, I'm-so-over-it energy that poisoned anyone who was willing to listen. And the fact Charles looked so happy to be part of the old, somewhat stagnant team, was not exactly helping their teammate energy.

The Ferrari engagement is ten times more demanding than his workload in Sauber was. Charles' life lately has been reduced to his work and Max exclusively. Time with friends replaced by PR duties and trying to make space for some downtime with one of his biggest rivals. And here's the wildest thought he keeps for himself. He'd give anything to have Max as a teammate. It might be not exactly the healthiest of wishes, but after getting stuck in another strategy meeting, when he's on the receiving end of Sebastian's self-introduced Ted talk about how the current newcomers into F1 don't follow the proper ethics of racing (something Charles finds incredibly ironic, coming from this man), he's getting more and more annoyed with this approach. They are not there to drive around all politely and harmoniously. He never thought that the biggest inspiration he'd take from this legend of a driver is to make sure he never falls into the trap of this attitude.

He can feel himself spacing out during the drivers parade. Sebastian is standing next to him, nagging something to his ears about a hot reporter standing nearby, challenging Charles to come out of his shell for once. He's not listening to him. His eyes keep sliding over to a certain driver.

Charles can’t stop himself from watching Max, even when it’s dangerous to look. Which seems to be the case all the fucking time. There’s something magnetic about the way Max carries himself, completely unaware of how he commands attention. Not just from Charles, but from everyone. It’s in the sharpness of his jawline, the way the light catches in his sun-streaked hair, and the way his eyes, icy and calculating on track, turn softer when they’re alone. Max Verstappen in public is a machine, a flawless embodiment of focus and precision. Max in private? That’s the man Charles loses sleep over. Endlessly proud to know he's the only one who can see him like that. They never discussed what they were - and Charles is grateful for that. Because there is no need. It took them one night spent together to know it is inevitable.

Max, dressed in his Red Bull kit, stands at the other end of the drivers’ parade truck, casually leaning against the railing. His laughter cuts through the general hum of the crowd, drawing Charles’ attention like a moth to a flame.

Charles knows he shouldn’t stare, not with Sebastian Vettel by his side, who is murmuring something that’s no doubt vaguely inappropriate. But Charles has stopped caring. He can’t help it. There’s a warmth in Max’s laughter that Charles rarely sees, a kind of unguarded joy that makes him wish they could exist in a world where nothing had to be hidden. Where Charles could walk across the paddock, curl his hand around Max’s wrist, and pull him into a kiss for everyone to see.

His pulse quickens at the thought.

He knows the paddock is connected through and through with affairs and relationships. But, he can't help but fall into the pattern of thinking the two of them are just so much more than what anyone here around them have. They don't need the layer of secrecy to keep the blood flowing. It's a burden, not a blessing. Max glances over at him, catching him mid-stare. For a moment, the world narrows to just the two of them. Charles feels like he’s standing still while the truck rolls on, the crowd cheers, and the cameras flash. Max’s lips quirk into a small, knowing smile. It’s nothing much, just a subtle curve at the edge of his mouth, but it’s enough to make Charles’ knees weak. It’s infuriating how easily Max gets under his skin, how even in a sea of people, Max can find him, target him, and ruin him with a single glance.

He recalls last night - another impulsive, reckless visit after terribly long day. Max had pinned him to the wall of his hotel room, breathless and relentless, as if daring Charles to pull away. He hadn’t. He never could. They made a deal to avoid visiting each other's hotel rooms as much as possible, keep their affair locked in Monaco, where they could be somewhat safe. But how does one do that, when they get to spend so much time together?

Standing on the track, anthem blaring, Charles feels the weight of it all. The impossibility of their situation. The inevitability of it. Max is the one thing Charles has, and nobody can ever know. The one thing making him able to unwind and with that, he's giving him all the power in the world to destroy him.

When the anthem ends and the drivers disperse, Charles doesn’t let himself glance Max’s way again. Not until he’s strapped into the car, visor down, engines roaring around him. Only then does he let his mind wander, let himself imagine what it would feel like to have Max beside him - not as a rival, but as a partner.

And in that fleeting moment, before the lights go out, Charles feels it in his chest. The ache of loving someone who has set his entire world on fire. Charles knows this is real. There is no need for the "what are we" talk. It's been so obvious, even for his anxious soul, that what they have is real.

At that time, he has no idea that last night was the last one he'd spend moaning Max's name in good faith and not cursing him until the morning hours.

//

It's his first Monaco home race as a Ferrari driver. The team has got his schedule planned out to minutes every day. Still, he manages to sneak in one dinner at mamma's apartment, just like the old days. Charles sits at the table, in the same chair he’s occupied since he was a boy, but tonight it feels different. Heavy. The kind of heavy that presses on your chest, makes you shift in your seat, and has your fingers nervously spinning a fork against the edge of the plate.

His mother bustles around, humming softly, the clatter of pots and pans filling the room. She’s always been able to fill the space, even when it’s quiet. Normally, Charles finds comfort in that. Tonight, though, it just makes the knot in his stomach tighten.

She’s been on him for weeks now - little comments slipped into phone calls, questions disguised as casual curiosity but cutting deeper than she probably realizes.

“Where do you spend your nights, Charles?”

It’s why he got his own apartment. Her gentle but relentless probing on where he hangs about when she knows he’s in Monaco. 

“You’re doing a bad job at pretending you’re only happy because of Ferrari. Is there someone special in your life? You look like you're in love.”

The hardest one. The one that makes him want to blurt it all out something he had never said out loud to anyone ever, not even Max: Yes, I am in love, more than I ever thought possible.

“Why can’t you tell your own mother?”

He puts the fork down harder than he means to, the sound startling both of them. She looks over her shoulder, brow furrowed, silence crawling around the room, filling every free space. 

Charles takes a deep breath, his heart hammering in his chest. He’s dying to tell someone. To tell her. To share the happiness that bubbles inside him every time Max so much as looks at him, the way Max’s smile makes his world turn upside down. He’s already nearly spilled it to Pierre more times than he can count. And now, sitting here, the words claw their way up his throat faster than his brain can stop them.

“Okay,” he blurts out, his voice louder than he intended. His mother turns fully now, watching him with that patient, all-knowing gaze that makes him feel like he’s still ten years old and caught stealing cookies. “Yes, I’m with someone.”

Her face softens immediately, curiosity lighting her eyes. “I knew it,” she says, tone laced with the feeling of winning, the same one he uses when he himself stands on a podium. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner? Who is it?”

He hesitates, his hands curling into fists on the table. Every muscle in his body tenses as the next words tumble out.

“You won’t like it, Mamma. Nobody will. It’s career-ending if it gets out.”

She sits down slowly, her brows knitting together in concern. “Charles,” she says carefully, leaning forward. “I might not understand racing as much as you do, but I do understand love. The time I spent with papa was the best thing I could ever wish for. And if my child, the one born out of our love, is experiencing the same thing, nothing else matters.“ It's becoming impossible to fight the urge to tell her the name immediately. Because what does one say to follow up that. 

She continues. "Is it someone from Ferrari? You can tell me. You know you can tell me anything."

"No," he speaks, his voice sharper than he intended. Her expression flickers, and guilt washes over him. He softens, exhaling shakily. Fuck it, there goes nothing. Maybe the questions will stop after this. "It’s a man."

There it is. The truth. The first and most terrifying step.

She doesn’t flinch, doesn’t even blink. Instead, her head tilts slightly, a small smile playing at the corners of her lips. "And?"

Charles stares at her, his mouth dry, his heart pounding. That’s it? No judgment, no hesitation?

He swallows hard. "And... I’d like to bring him over for dinner," he mumbles, the words feeling foreign on his tongue. His chest feels tight with adrenaline, but there’s something exhilarating about it too. Like throwing himself into a corner on a wet track, knowing it could go horribly wrong but trusting himself to pull through.

His mother reaches across the table, placing her hand gently over his. "Charles," she says softly, her voice unwavering. "Anyone who makes my child happy is welcome in this house."

The weight in his chest shifts. Small wave of temporary relief washes over him, so profound it nearly makes his head spin.

"Sunday," he says quietly. "After the race."

She nods, smiling warmly as she squeezes his hand. "Sunday it is. I’ll make something special."

It all dawns on him on the way home. By patching a small wound, he managed to create a whole different one. He’s not just made a promise to his mother. He’s made a promise that relies entirely on Max agreeing to something he knows Max won’t like. Charles stops in the middle of the street, the cool night air biting at his cheeks. He can already imagine the way Max will react. The scowl, the tension in his shoulders, the way he’ll cross his arms defensively and say something like, "Schatje, why do you always have to make things complicated?"

For a moment, Charles considers calling the whole dinner off. He could make an excuse, tell his mother Max is traveling, or the timing isn’t right. But then he thinks about Max - about the softness in his eyes when they’re alone, the way he reaches for Charles in the quiet moments, the quiet vulnerability he hides from the rest of the world.

Charles loves him, even if he struggles to say it out loud. He’s just going to have to convince him, let him break through his shell.

As he unlocks his apartment door, Charles resolves to talk to Max. He can already feel the nerves twisting in his stomach, but for once, the fear doesn’t outweigh the hope.

For Max, for them, he’ll make it work. He just has to. Otherwise, what is the point of all of this? He does not need to flaunt their love in everyone's faces. But he wants at least someone to know. He's proud of their unlikely journey. So proud, it makes his heart want to jump out of his chest sometimes.

//

Max loves race and practice debriefs. He always has. The precision, the data, the raw feedback, it’s where he thrives. Things are clear when data is involved. No margin for assumptions of decision based on false pretense. But today’s debrief feels different. Suffocating. Mainly, because the data speaks for itself. 

The sour feeling starts with the slides. A giant screen dominates the room, displaying Charles’ lap times from practice, sector by sector, alongside Max’s. Every thousandth of a second where Charles was faster is highlighted in beaming bright red, as if to drive home the point. This season, there are people specifically designated to dissect Charles’ times. He’s the main enigma, the unknown. Max tries to shut off any guilt creeping in. His personal life has nothing to do with what happens on track. He knows that’s not what team would think. Had they found out that Charles regularly wakes up in his sheets, they’d find a way to use it for the team to beat Ferrari. 

“Leclerc was gaining on you in Sector 2 here,” the one of the strategists assistants speaks, circling a specific corner on the map with his laser pointer. “You carried too much speed into Turn 6, and he took a tighter line—clean, precise. That’s where the gap started.” Long gone are the times when the people in the room would feel like they had to sugarcoat the truth to Max. Overtime, they leaned that the best way is to serve it as it is. 

Max’s jaw tightens. He stares at the screen, but the words blur together. This isn’t the first time they’ve dissected Charles like this, and it won’t be the last.

“His medium-tire stint was particularly strong,” another engineer chimes in, clicking to the next slide. It’s a chart, Charles’ performance in clean air compared to Max’s in traffic. “He’s consistently managing his degradation better than you in the latter half of the stint. We need to figure out how to counter that.”

Max’s fingers tap against the table, a restless rhythm that no one seems to notice.

"It’s not just the car," the strategist continues. "Charles is not afraid to play dirty with his teammate." Max should feel proud. He’s the one who’s been drilling that into his brain. Now, it’s starting to feel more like digging his own grave. "You saw how he defended in Turn 3 today." The unspoken end of the speech hangs in the air. He’s beating you, Max. If he goes like this, he’ll finish the season above you. Get a grip. 

There’s an edge to the words that grates on Max’s nerves. He knows what they’re implying. That Charles is evolving, becoming sharper, stronger. 

"He’s reading you," the engineer adds, tapping his pen against the table. "You’re predictable to him in some situations. We need to mix things up. Throw him off. Make him doubt himself."

Max finally looks up, his expression blank but his voice cold. What a bizarre thing to get asked of. "You want me to play games with him?"

The room falls silent for a moment. The engineer hesitates before replying. "Not games, Max. Just… keep him guessing."

Max leans back in his chair, exhaling through his nose. His team has no idea how hard it already is to keep things straight with Charles. On the track, off the track - it’s all a balancing act. A line he has to walk perfectly every single time.

"Anything else?" Max asks flatly, his voice cutting through the tension.

The strategist frowns, glancing at the screen before turning back to Max. "We’re not saying he’s unbeatable, Max. But you need to stay sharp. Leclerc’s coming for you, and he’s not going to let up. He’s your biggest threat this season."

The words linger in the air, louder than the hum of the projector or the scribble of pens against paper. Max doesn’t respond. He doesn’t trust himself to. Because what can he say? That Charles has already gotten under his skin in ways his team could never imagine? That every time they ask him to find a way to "beat Leclerc," they’re unknowingly poking at something far more personal?

Max clenches his fists under the table, his nails digging into his palms. He forces a small nod, his face carefully blank.

“Understood,” he says, his tone clipped. "Monaco race this weekend is a crucial one,“ the head strategist adds and Max almost laughs, because he says this about every fucking race. 

The debrief continues, more slides, more data, more dissection of the man Max has to pretend he’s indifferent to. But the truth lingers just beneath the surface, raw and unresolved.

Charles isn’t just his biggest rival. He’s his greatest weakness.

As he drives home, he can’t stop small doubts forming in his head from getting louder with each corner he passes. Days, months and years spent, sacrificed, only to get him to where he is now - and suddenly, it feels like he is letting that all pass through his fingers for few moments of unfiltered pleasure. Guilt enters the chat. Work of so many people tainted, because he can’t keep it in his pants. This is the first time he cancels on Charles. He does not trust himself around him today.  

//

It's a long Thursday evening talk, topic being the Sunday dinner. And it goes just about as Charles expected. Back and forth - it's not a fight per say, but it does resemble one.

Max argues that Charles is pushing things too quickly. That to bring up the topic of official introduction to his family day before qualifying is a low blow. That he should have talked to him before agreeing to step big like that. Charles apologizes many times, comes close to pleading for making this happen. Apologies don't seem to land well with Max. Surprisingly, Charles is the first one to reach anger. Does not understand why Max pushes so much against this. He asks hard questions that Max can't answer. Throughout the talk, Max becomes more and more numb. In the end, he agrees to the dinner. They fall asleep next to each other and don't fail on kissing each as a last thing of the day.

//

Once the idea flourishes in Max's head for few days, he becomes more accostumed to it. Pascale is a kind woman. If Charles believes she will be supportive, he just has to trust him. He wishes he could find the time to tell him in person, but another busy weekend prevents him from doing so.

//

DNF. In Monaco. Charles is fuming. He's smashing things again. Tears fall down his cheek in the privacy of his driver room. His home race. Fumbled from the start, he didn't even get to finish - which in hindsight might be a blessing. Having to drag his half functioning car back to the pit and look at the faces of sympathetic mechanics. As always, he stares misery right into its face and watches the rest of the race, eyes glued to the monitors. He gets to watch Max, cruising through and then experiencing the brutal Hamilton ruling the world of racing. He's witnessing the cheer in Ferrari garage as penalties push Vettel in front of Max. He's not even sure how he feels about that one. What he would like to believe is that there isn't any part of him that would be happy about Max missing the podium. The internal decision comes - ignoring any thoughts reaching that topic, shutting down and focusing on his own tragic race. Next year. It will just have to be next year. As he walks through the hoards of reporters, sponsors, fans and just about everyone he's ever met, he feels so painfully small. A confused, beaten up child. It all melts into one big blur. He hides in his new apartment and ignores Max's texts.

//

Max manages to get hold of Charles the following noon. It's clear in Charles' tone that this one stings. Max tries to distract him and for a moment it almost works.

"I'm excited about this evening," he hears Charles getting little more relaxed once they get onto this topic.

"Are you sure you don't want to meet up before that? So that we could like, hang out prior to speaking to Pascale?" Max can't shake this strange feeling that he does not want to walk in there without seeing Charles first. Just few months ago, the man on the other side of the phone call would do almost anything to prevent her from finding out. And now, he's urging him to walk in as if it was the most casual thing ever.

"I think I need to clear my head from the race alone. Just for a little longer...Oh and Max, just a reminder - my mom does not really like red roses," Charles says instead and has Max roll his eyes. Talk about subtle demands.

"You're impossible," he says instead of any filler words.

"And yet..."

"And yet."

//

Somehow, with the way how tragically his first home race with Ferrari went, this dinner is starting to become the one light that's still up there to guide Charles out of this with at least some achievement in his pocket. The one thing he can win. Last part of his life where has some control left. These past few days have been several steps back for every one tiny leap forward. But his mother and Max might just be the last people who won't look at him with the quiet, suffocating pity that twists the knife of his own humiliation. With Max, it's an agreement - they don't hang out together directly after one of them has a bad race. It's too hard to navigate. They don't feel sorry for each other. The urge to seek validation after a failure is something they have to saturate elsewhere. It feels like first day of school. Charles gets ready at his apartment and arrives to his childhood home with enough time to spare, with the intention of pretending to help his mother in the kitchen, while both of them know she'll do anything in order for him not to meddle. He ignores everything else happening, pushes all this weekend inside and fills his head with daydreams about Max and Pascale finding common ground, about Max fitting into his safe space perfectly, cementing their connection. They'll tell the story of how they got together for the first time and truth be told, Charles can't wait to hear Max telling his point of view. His mom will get to be the first witness of their connection. He'd been terrified of her finding out about them, so to allow himself to make this extra step has been a thrilling distraction from it all. He can see it clearly: Max in his sharp, casual confidence, offering his blunt humor in the way that always disarms Charles, even when it shouldn’t. Pascale teasing Max, probably about his awful performance at the hair salon that morning after their first night together, and Max would lean into it, charming her in that effortless, maddening way of his. By dessert, Pascale would see exactly what Charles sees - the real Max, the man beneath the hard edges. He has a good feeling about this - his mom is already asking him so many question about "the mystery guy" that's on his way. And Charles talks and talks and talks.

A long hour later, the table is set, the food is warm, and Pascale is opening a bottle of wine. But Max isn’t there.

At first, Charles tries not to think too much of it. Max is probably running late, nothing unusual in the racing life. He tries to ignore the fact Max is rarely, almost never, late. Charles double checks the text he had sent him, just to make sure he did not mess up the information about the time or address. In the middle of each of her stories, Pascale finds a moment to pause, seemingly addressing the situation, non verbally. It only takes one look. While she does not approve of this behavior, she is there as a supportive figure. It keeps Charles going. Max won’t miss this. 

Still, as Pascale lights the candle in the center of the table, Charles finds himself glancing at his phone. No messages. No missed calls.

Pascale has a talent for addressing the unspoken. She’s been silent on this topic for some time, filling the space with latest stories from the neighbors, skillfully getting away from the topic of Charles’ visitor. 

"He’s probably just caught in traffic," he says aloud, mostly to himself. "Lot of the roads are still blocked," he addresses the obvious. Like this is Pascale’s first time being in Monaco during a Grand Prix. 

Pascale doesn’t comment, though he notices the small glance she gives him, her quiet way of observing.

Charles picks at a piece of bread, his nails all gone now as a result of his never-ending bitting. Ten minutes pass. Then twenty.

The silence starts to press in. Pascale makes an effort to fill it, chatting lightly about the neighbor’s new dog or the strange man she saw at the market, but Charles can’t focus. His mind keeps drifting to Max.

What’s taking him so long?

His phone vibrates, and he grabs it instantly, his heart leaping. But it’s just a notification from one of his racing group chats. He sets the phone back down, his chest tight. Pascale is doing her best to lighten the mood up. She began to avoid the subject of Charles' lover just when it started to be clear he is late. Painstakingly so.

//

The bouquet of white lilies and pale pink roses sits forgotten on the counter, the paper wrapping soaking at the bottom. Max glances at the clock for the third time, his chest tight with the nagging guilt of being late. Pascale is waiting. Charles is waiting. He needs to leave.

But, that is currently not an option. Just as he was about to put his shoes on and head out, his dearest father decided to pay him an unannounced visit. One of the pro's of Monaco racing weekend. Everyone is in town.

"Dad, I'd love to chat, but I really have to get going," he says again, speaking in Dutch, as they always do when their alone. But Jos is standing firmly, blocking the hallway, his arms crossed, and that familiar expression - half-smirk, half-glare - plastered on his face. He owns the room. Max knows this face. Whatever is about to follow is not going to be nice. He asks him once more, if the matter at hand really can't wait until tomorrow. The only reaction he gets from his father is a nod towards the kitchen table. There is nothing else for Max to do than follow his lead, unless he want to get into a fight immediately.

"So, where are you rushing so much?" Jos asks once they're both seated, his tone calm but carrying the unmistakable weight of trouble in the air.

Max knows better than to not proceed with caution. This is not a friendly catch up. This is a screaming warning: negotiations ahead.

"Dinner," he keeps his answer deliberately short. Somehow, even this one word gets Jos rilled up. His lips shut into a thin line, his gaze stuck on the table, where his fingers are tapping the glass.

"With who?" Jos shots back, his voice slicing through the air.

Max is calm on the outside, storm of panic brewing on the inside. He knows. "Nothing serious," he lies.

There is a momentary shine is Jos's eyes, as he smirks once again. "That is a good answer. Remember it."

It's like a knife to his chest. Before diving into the difficult conversation, Max manages to send a quick text to Charles, while his father smirks at him. He does not have time for an apology.

//

The text message is short. Too short.

I’m not going to make it. Need to talk.

The words blur on the screen as Charles stares at them, his breath catching in his throat. 

He reads it again, and again, his fingers tightening around the phone until his knuckles turn white. Need to talk. The phrase feels like a punch to the gut, its weight heavy with implications he doesn’t want to consider.

Pascale’s voice pulls him out of his spiraling thoughts.

"Charles?" she asks softly, her brow furrowed with worry.

He blinks up at her, forcing himself to breathe. His mind races, scrambling for something to say that will keep her from asking too many questions.

"He’s not coming," he concludes finally, his voice flat, hollow. ůSomething came up."

She frowns, leaning forward slightly. "Are you okay?"

"I’m fine," he lies, sitting still. "He’s not like this…He cares," Charles does not know where the tendency to defend Max comes from or why it is here, but it's an automatic reflex. Nothing is lost, yet. He tries, desperately, not to panic. His racer instincts kick in and his body is taking in this new wave of adrenaline. He must have pushed Max too far. It was a mistake to force this upon him. He’ll need to do some damage control. The realization that just because someone is willing to spend every available night kissing you goodnight does not automatically mean that they are ready to be your official partner. Charles is a romantic person - something that not everyone might share. He like to believe life is better than it usually is.

It’s fine. It’s fine, it’s fine, totally fine. He’s trying to hide his hand that began to shake a minute ago. If he stays strong, his mom might just believe that Max is not a complete asshole. 

There is unmistakable sorrow and a hint of disappointment in his mother’s face, but her words tell a different story. Somehow, this disconnect makes it all just a little redundant. She is dancing around the truth that both of them don’t want to address. "I know, Charles. I’ve known you well enough to know that you won’t just settle for anyone. It’s ok. A strong relationship won’t crumble over one missed dinner. Don’t let that happen."

They sit like that for about ten minutes, which for Charles seems like seven hours. Charles knows there is nothing his mother can say to make this go away. He is still for one more second, before he stands up abruptly, the chair nearly falling down.

"I'm sorry mamma, I have to see if everything is alright." Without waiting for her response, Charles grabs his jacket and heads for the door. His heart pounds as he pulls it on, his mind a swirl of emotions - anger, disappointment, confusion, fear and all of these are tripping one over each other creating a cacophony he does not want to listen to. Not this weekend. Not after the fumble of a race he's had.

As he steps into the night air, one thought rises above the rest: This isn’t like Max. Something’s wrong. All he knows is that he can’t sit still, can’t wait for Max to decide when and where they’ll have this talk, which is apparently so important they can't have dinner at his mother's house prior to that.

Rip the bandaid quickly. If Max won’t come to him, Charles will go to Max. Whatever’s happening, he’ll find out. He has to.

//

With a swift move, Jos whips out a paper folder, its edges worn as though it had been handled too many times. He sets in on the table, slowly, and to be honest, overly dramatically. It slides toward Max.

Max glances at the folder and then at his father's face, obviously inviting him to open this up. Max is determined to stand his ground as long as possible. He does not move.

His father only smiles at the lack of reaction. "You already know what this is, don't you?" It could be anything - leaked texts, phone call recordings...But most likely a photo. Max tries to brace himself and his last though is that maybe, just maybe, he is wrong and whatever this folder contains does not have anything to do with Charles. He is not wrong. It's obvious from the first second he sees the image. Staring back at him is a blurry, but clear enough photo of him giving a small peck on Charles' cheek. The smile on the Ferrari driver, wide as the sun, makes it sting all that much more. On a normal day, he would be almost grateful to have a photo like this in his possession. He recalls precisely what moment this commemorates. He forgot himself, or possibly ignored for one second the fact they were out in the open, and kissed Charles, after he messed up yet another English idiom. It was the cutest thing. He was about to pay a gigantic price for the warmth he felt that one time. Max is not a man to cry easily. But there's only so much he can take as a person. After the initial drop of his stomach, he gathers up all the strength he has within him to keep it together in front of his fucking father. He looks up and is met with one of the worst expressions he has ever seen on him.

"What, you're only going to look at one photo?" Jos teases, raising his voice, while smiling evilly and starts to shuffle the folder. "Because, there are plenty. Oh, look at that, here it looks like you're holding his hand! It'll look great in the family photo book!" He smashed the pile of photos down with unnecessary force. There must be about ten pictures mapping their short trip from Max's apartment. His heart keeps sinking.

"I'm sorry," Max mumbles quietly, not really knowing what else to say. Part of him hopes that this is all just a really bad nightmare.

Jos switches up his expression, going from almost mocking Max to more distressed. "I'm not even going to comment today on the fact my son likes to fuck pretty boys," he says casually and ultimately, by putting it like that, it brings Max back to when he's ten again, keeping his helmet on just in case his father decides to hit him because of his bad performance on karting track.

"Where did you get this?" Max asks quietly with the intention to keep the conversation as factual as possible.

Jos snorts. "Where do you think? Do you think this kind of thing stays hidden? Do you think nobody is watching you, waiting for you to slip up?" He gestured at the photo. "This? This is a gift. A warning. One that I had to pay a hell of a lot of money to make disappear. More than most people earn in a year."

There is a part of Max that is grateful for his father being one step ahead of him. He just wishes he wasn't so cruel about it. "How long do you know?"

Jos clearly has no plans on being the one answering questions. "How long is this going on?" It's rhetorical one, a mockery laced with Jos' obvious disgust. He has the upper hand. Max is barely able to hold it together. Anything he says will result in an angry response from his father. Because even it this talk lasts for ten minutes, it's too long.

"Let me be absolutely clear, Max," he speaks again, before actually giving him a chance to respond. "This - whatever it is - ends now."

"You can't force me..."

"I can't? Well...Oh ok. You go and fuck whomever, for what I care. You know what, go on and stay with Leclerc. Wait until someone finds out and then you finally become someone who makes a mark on motor racing. The first openly gay driver. Doesn't that sound amazing?" The way he says it makes it sound like the most pathetic title in the whole world.

"Dad.."

"No, seriously. Judging by your performance of late, you don't have it what it takes to become the legend I've managed to convince everyone you will be. So maybe, this actually might be the only way for you to have a legacy." It stings. Awfully familiarly.

"The world has moved on from this homophobic approach," Max tries, but his words come out weak.

Another half-smirk. "Not the world of F1. Half of our sponsors are from countries where they stone people like you," he says with utmost snobbishness. "This is a direct path to ending your career. But maybe it's good. At least you'll have something else than your abilities to blame for not winning a championship." It's like Jos is a cook and Max is nothing but a piece of bread for him to rip apart. No words come for him to defend himself, or Charles.

Jos takes a dramatic pause and closes the file. "Leclerc is using you. He knows he's not better than you, unless he gets into your head. Which is exactly what is happening now."

Max knows deep down his father is not right. Charles can't be doing that and it would take a hell of a lot trying to even get Max to consider this option. It's everything else that his father has said so far crawls around Max's brain and he struggles to find any arguments to defend the whole affair.

"I saved you this time. But we got lucky. I trust you know what to do."

Max wishes he never woke up that morning.

//

Charles does not wait before knocking loudly, nonstop. No sound comes from the inside, after a moment the door opens to silent Max, who stands in his otherwise empty apartment. Charles takes a good look at Max, who seems to not be hurt or particularly distressed in any way. 

Charles gulps. The air of casualty floating around Max, as if this is just another boring day, is infuriating. His expression speaks a different story. Cold, unapproachable and icy. He imagines this is the look other drivers receive when they cross him. The worst kind of Max is silent Max. He manages to become completely unreadable and in that moment, Charles questions whether he had imagined their whole encounter. 

Max does not even greet him. He just stares. There is no quick pulling inside for a kiss. It makes Charles feel guilty, the thought that he’d rather see Max in some sort of crisis, something that would give him a valid excuse for ditching the dinner. But no. There he is. And the sight hurts. Charles fights the urge to rip the beer he’s holding and smash the glass on the floor. 

"I see you're ok," he proclaims as casually as he’s currently able to. His mother's words are ringing in his ears. 

A strong relationship won’t crumble over one missed dinner. Was this even a relationship? 

Max nods and reluctantly steps back, inviting him in and refusing to meet his eyes once he gets closer. Charles can't stop his memory from flashing back to the first time he stormed his apartment and his stomach turns in disgust. He'd probably give up his seat in order to get back to that night, rather than this one. 

He has to fight his body from shaking, and his mouth from spilling out sour and needy comments. 

"You said we needed to talk. And here you are - not talking." Max shifts his weight, fingers tightening around the beer bottle in his hand. "I'm sorry for missing the dinner." His voice is flat, too controlled, like he’s reading a scripted apology and hoping it’s enough to move on.

Charles does not want to know "what came up". Whatever he might say would probably be a lie anyway. He always believed Max’s biggest issue was telling the truth obsessively. But he has seen him lie to others about them endlessly in the past few months. Keeping him like a little dirty secret. His heart sinks. That must be it. He is so ashamed of being seen with him that even the idea of his mother seeing them together is too much. "I'm sorry I pushed you into it." He does not know why he’s apologizing. 

There is a pause on the other side of this conversation. "I like it when you push me out of my shell. I mean, this is how this all started in the first place," Max exhales sharply. It might sound like a fond sentence on paper, but his tone makes a clear emphasis on being pushed.

"I'm sorry I pushed you into that too," Charles lets the words out flatly.

"Stop apologizing, please!" Max finally snaps, his voice cracking with something that’s neither anger nor frustration, but exhaustion. His grip tightens around the back of his neck as he turns away, like he can’t bear to look at Charles when he says it. Like it might break something in him, too.

And it does break something, mainly Charles' patience. "Well then, what do you want me to say? Do you want me to tell how embarrassed I feel, how I couldn't look my mother in the eyes because even after the shitfest of a weekend I've had, this was the moment when she started feeling sorry for me? Because you couldn't even say why you didn't show up?" Max won't even acknowledge Charles' pain. He's searching for any proof in his eyes that he cares.

Finally, an emotion creeps into Max’s face. Despair and guilt, if Charles is still able to read him correctly. 

"I can't do this," Max says the damning sentence. Charles flashes him a look and more adrenaline kicks in. No. He stares back at him. And, like the enigma Max is, he follows that sentence with launching onto him, gripping Charles' head with everything he has and connecting their lips together, before Charles can even register the words. Charles is helpless. Leans into his touch without any hint of self-control. His thoughts are still, but his tongue is roaming about Max's mouth and this kiss is anything but cute, light or romantic. It is hungry, desperate, borderline aggressive. Somehow, they're finally on the same page. Anger ruling their bodies and it all ends up with Max slamming Charles into the wall, full force, so much it almost hurts. In return, he grips his t-shirt as if the goal was to rip the fabric apart. This is wrong, everything about this is like from a bad dream. He can sense it in Max's touch. Charles feels the first tear of the evening rolls down his cheek and it's all so unhinged, which he realizes only once he can taste his own salty tear mixing with Max's saliva. It acts as a catalyst and he breaks down completely, gripping Max's shoulders, as if he's about to disappear if he lets him go. He knows he's losing him, unless he's already lost him. Charles can feel it in the way Max kisses him - desperation, restraint unraveling at the seams, a kind of hunger that feels more like a last resort than something born out of love. He's never felt smaller, so insignificant and down right doomed. Charles is selfish and a dreamer - he wants to have it all. And right now, it’s making him drown in it, as he grasps on the last remaining straws. 

Inevitably, Max slows his movements down, initial fire dying down and Charles bites his lip one last time before he starts pulling back. "You're the worst things that's ever happened to me," Max whispers and it's probably intended sarcastically, but right now it only makes a harsh chuckle and few more tears come out of Charles. He leans against the wall and stares into the ceiling, trying to swallow the words I love you before they can escape.

He doesn't say them. Max's words burn him like fire.  

"Well, then get ready, because we have a long journey to go through. I have not pulled out my greatest weapons, yet" he replies, not even sure what he means by that. It does however earn him a small sad laugh from Max. 

Then, he exists Charles' personal space and starts pacing slowly around, hands on his hips and Charles can't do anything but watch him and wait for his final sentence. 

"This has gotten too far," Max announces after few moments and Charles can't but agree - but most likely in a completely different context than Max intended. While he's probably referring to their affair in general, Charles would be referring to the fact he left him stranded and cancelled the last minute - and as it looks like, with zero to no remorse. He stays silent. Max stops pacing, his hands still on his hips, his jaw clenched so tight that Charles wonders if he’s actively holding himself back from saying something worse. There's something new in his expression now - something calculated. Charles braces himself for whatever comes next.

His speech is becoming apathetic. "So, one dinner with my mother is too far."

"No."

Charles spots set of flowers on the table, looking truly out of place in Max's apartment. They're smashed up, like he'd thrown them against the wall and then tossed them aside. Kind of like he does with Charles. 

He thought they were meant to be. Painfully similar destinies, yet different enough to keep it fresh. Nobody understands him like Max does. And at the same time, nobody understands him less. They won't make sense to the outside world. He'd always thought that's a good thing. A proof that what they have is real. If it's there, loud and clear, but without a reasonable explanation. That's what love is suppose to be, right? 

"Max, what is going on? Tell me. Speak to me. I'm so lost," he pleas, holding on last strain of hope that this is all just one big mistake. 

Max stops abruptly, voice heavy with something final. "I can't keep doing this."

Charles grips the wall behind him. Max shakes his head, like he's convincing himself of his own words. "Things are different now. Too complicated. We're risking so much and one mistake can cause us our lives. Fuck - I - Charles, you're my biggest rival."

Charles freezes. It's the desperation with this the last word hit the ground that shuts off all the roads leading back to the place they were at just few days ago. He can't help but laugh.

Max exhales sharply, raking his hands through his hair and speaks in a defensive tone. "Every single meeting, briefing, interview - your name is the first thing to come out of their mouths. ‘Charles is faster in Sector this and look, he's doing that...'" his voice tightens. "Do you know what that's like? To sit there and listen to them rip you apart, to tell me exactly how to beat you - and then come home and pretend none of it matters?"

Charles swallows. Of course he does. He's been sitting in meetings like that for the past two years in F1. Ferrari strategist bring up Max at any given opportunity, mainly to avoid the subject of Sebastian. But...they agreed. Racing and home don't mix. He promised. "Max…" The hint of yet another betrayal is probably more than noticeable in his voice.

Max laughs, but it's cold, tired. "You think they wouldn't drop me in a second if they found out I was fucking my biggest competition?"

Charles flinches. Because now he gets it. This is not about Max being afraid. This is Max's ego swallowing him up hard. This is him, unable to tone out the voice of people who don't even have an idea on what kind of damage they cause with their casual remarks. Max probably loves him - but, he will never hear those words. Because Max also has to destroy him. And he doesn’t know how to do both.

It's clear as day. Some sort of mania takes over his body. It's what it is. Now he gets it. It's sudden, quick - the total opposite to the way how he fell for Max. Charles takes a breath, nodding slowly. "Okay."

Max stiffens. "Okay?"

"Yeah." Charles laughs, but it's empty, broken. "I actually get it now." He leans away from the wall and heads towards the door.

Max moves forward like he's going to stop him, but Charles doesn't let him.

His breath shakes, hands clenching at his sides. "You know, I always thought we had something special," he tilts his head slightly. "But maybe we were just inevitable. Two drivers, too fucked up to be anything but this." It's plain as a day. They were way past their expiration date anyway. Charles tries to burn the image of Max permanently in his memory, standing in his kitchen, vulnerable and open - because he knows he's never going to see him like that again. In a way, Charles appreciates that they depart in this way. He probably couldn't stand watching Max grow sick of him. They were fine just two days ago and now there is no "them" to even speak of. Simple, clean cut.

Max studies the floor, as if it holds some answers. "Charles-"

"No." Charles shakes his head, voice all calm now. "You're right. I don't want to be your weakness. And you don't want to be my distraction," he says, making sure to have the last part come out as cruelly as possible. "So I guess that means we're nothing."

Max’s face twists, his whole body going rigid. "Charles, wait - let's pause and think this over, you're everywhere in my life and I-"

Charles interrupts him, because his mind is already made up. "Well. Let me solve one of your problems for you," he says bitterly and does what is most natural to him when he feels like his presence is making the situation worse than his absence. It's like he's being served this option on a silver platter. He has to smile. They'll end just how they started. 

So, he walks out. He recalls promising Max he won't ever do that - and there is a part of him that is doing this purely out of spite, because he knows just how it’s going to infuriate him. And it gives him a sense of control. No longer just reacting to things. He does not need Max. There must be a guy somewhere that will not think of him as an obstacle in his life mission. As an accident that’s gotten out of hand. It's a wave of rush all of a sudden. So he opens the door to unknown rooms inside his head and leaves self-control behind. Invites the most malicious parts of himself inside. 

He has to, in order to save what's left of him. It's bitter and he hates it. But he fails to see any other option. 

Major chords turn into minor. Leading vocals fade out and the only thing guiding him now is the background noise and the beat of his heart. 

He's barely out of the building when his phone start blowing up. Brief check confirms that it's Max. He mutes the phone and buries it deep in his pocket. He needs to get out. For once, Monaco truly has him in a choke hold and he will do anything to leave the city behind. It could burn all down, for what he cares. With Max in it.

//

Max stays glued to the floor as he watches Charles vanish into thin air. Again.

There was no clear plan when Charles inevitably stormed into his apartment. His father kept on urging him to break it off with Charles, so much that Max smashed the flowers when the door closed behind him. His brain worked in overdrive, justifying following Jos' direction, while every cell in his body screamed to do anything but that. And it all mixed together in a perfect mush. There is a way, there always is. But definitely not the way he handled the whole thing up until this point. Do something, you moron. He's fighting himself on every front and if keeps on doing that, he'll stay frozen in the same spot for eternity.

He whips his phone out while he reaches for his car keys. Charles' number on dial - and then few times more - always ending up in voicemail.

That's it. Unable to just stand there and let this slip past his fingers, he heads out the front door of his apartment building and frantically looks around every surrounding street for a glimpse of Charles. The ghost of him seemingly gone into thin air. So, he hops into his fastest car, cursing himself for losing time.

There is zero remorse regarding road traffic rules as he springs out towards Charles' apartment. He's driving on autopilot, lost in the thoughts about the only person who makes him drive like a possessed madman even outside of the track. Nobody else does that to Max. Is that good? Is that bad? Let's not dwell on that.

The brakes certainly do not appreciate the way Max slams them down, the car barely heating up before he swings it into a violent stop against the curb. The tires screech in protest, the engine growling as if it, too, is furious with him.

Max does not care. The only thing he's focused on is Charles, who is approaching his own car right now. He barely registers throwing the door open, feet hitting the ground with the same force that’s been thrumming in his chest since Charles walked out of his apartment. He calls his name, in loud and sharp voice, cutting through the empty street, but Charles doesn’t even flinch.

Max swears under his breath, picking up his pace and crossing the street. "Charles, wait. Just...Just stop for a second." Nothing. No reaction. Not even a glance over his shoulder. Max's heartbeat pounds against his ribs, frustration boiling over. He reaches out, fingers curling into a fist like he's about to grab Charles by the arm, force him to listen. But Charles is already pulling his car door open. He slides into the driver's seat, fingers gripping the wheel with the kind of easy control Max knows too well. Max watches, helpless, as the engine roars to life.

The brake lights flash red against the night, burning into Max’s retinas like an direct beam of sunlight. And then - Charles drives away.

Not with fury, not with recklessness. He doesn't spin the tires, doesn't make a show of peeling off in a rage. No, Charles drives away calmly. Smoothly. Effortlessly. Not skipping gears or overbearing the clutch. Still, in the split second before he disappears down the street, Max swears he sees it. A smile. It's small, barely there, but it's real. A cruel, bitter thing. A smile that tells Max everything he needs to know. Max stands frozen for a moment, the street too quiet now, the air too thick. His pulse is still racing, and the back light of Charles' Ferrari seem to mock him too. His fingers twitch at his sides.

Slowly, stiffly, he turns back to his own car. The driver's door slams shut behind him. Max grips the wheel too hard, the tension in his jaw spreading through his entire body. The engine hums beneath his hands, ready and waiting. He exhales through his nose, sharp and short.

Then, without hesitation, Max slams the pedal.

Fine, have it your way.

He accelerates at alarming speed and leads his car to follow the annoying red one. There is no tears speared for anyone living nearby, let them all suffer with the sound his car is making. It's a long straight followed by a turn to the left - and then he can see Charles' car again. He's still driving like a civilian, perhaps slightly above the speed limit. Max flashes his eyes further down the line. The road is narrow, but not impossibly narrow. He does not think twice about his actions. Let's hope there is no car driving in the opposite direction. No hesitation. His car surges forward, roaring past the tiny gap between streetlights, sliding up alongside Charles, like they're racing down a straight at Spa instead of a dimly lit city road. Funny, how overtaking becomes possible in Monaco all of a sudden.

Max barely registers the blare of a distant horn, the way the world tilts slightly as he swings into position alongside Charles' car. The only thing he's focused on, apart from the road, is him. Hands steady on the wheel, streetlights flickering over his face, mouth set into something too sharp to be neutral. And finally, Charles turns his head.

Max catches the split-second flicker of pure disbelief in his expression - the way his brows snap together, lips parting just slightly, like his brain is still processing the fact that Max is actually here, driving next to him, in the wrong fucking lane. It's not panic, just shock. Max does everything in order to convey to Charles to stop his car. But, the only thing that does is replacing Charles' shock with something else. Something equally crazy as what can be found in Max's eyes.

Charles fixates his look ahead, position of the hands gripping the steering wheel changing. His shoulders settle, his body falling into something that Max knows better than anyone. The click of instinct taking over and just like that, the all-polite Charles is gone. Max barely has time to react before Charles yanks the wheel right, cutting across the road without warning.

"Fuck!" Max slams his brakes as Charles' car swings violently into the turn, tires marking the street. His tail lights flicker as he disappears around the corner, leaving nothing but the smell of burnt rubber behind. Max barely breathes before he reacts. He shoves his foot against the brake, twisting the wheel hard as his car twists into the intersection. The back tires lock up, the entire chassis shuddering violently as he spins - too fast, too fucking sharp, the whole street blurring past in a rush of movement.

He lunges after Charles. Quickly, he's right behind him again, but this time the other car is ready and expecting him. Max has seen these moves countless times before, but never outside of his helmet visor. Charles does not give him any space, recklessly driving in both lanes, only barely letting random car in the opposite lane pass by. He's reading the street like the beast on wheel he can be. Predicting Max's moves and doing everything possible to avoid Max getting ahead of him. At this rate, this is going to end badly very quickly. Max does one more thing to make this even more dangerous and shuffles around, searching for his phone. This makes him lose few seconds on Charles, but nothing he won't be able to catch up to. Once he manages to find it, he dials up Charles' number, his phone thankfully connecting to his car automatically, as Max has to do another manic turn of his steering wheel. Another intersection passed by. The sound of the phone dialing echoing through the whole car, mocking him and making this all much worse.

Charles is heading east, away from the centre and onto the highway. But, before they get there, he turns the car over the an actual part of the Monaco circuit. A track that has barely been dismantled few hours ago.

Max is now calm and focused. Charles is leading them through turns that feel like they should still have barriers up, marshals waving flags. The ghost of the Monaco Grand Prix lingers. Finally, the familiar angles of corners they both know, not just streets of Charles' childhood hometown.

The hairpin is coming up. Max is calculating all the possible moves the Ferrari can make. Charles is setting up wide, making sure he owns the entry, just like he did in the actual race. Max knows what he's doing. The bastard is using the street as his personal defensive line, keeping Max behind him just enough to make sure he can't dive in without risking everything, in a car that is nowhere near as safe and a formula 1 car. For a moment, he considers doing just that, to prove a point and get the lunatic to talk to him, like a normal person. But, racing instincts prevail. It's a Monaco move. And it's fucking working.

The phone still rings, unanswered, the sound piercing in Max's ears. He clenches the wheel tighter, body moving on pure instinct. The next thing he does is a fake move to the outside, knowing full well Charles will react, will shift his car to cover the line. And the second he does, Max cuts inside.

It's a lunge, one he wouldn't have dared to try in an actual Monaco race, but this isn't an ordinary race. It's something else entirely.

Charles reacts fast - of course he does. He sees Max's front light tilting and closing in and jerks his car over, forcing Max to hesitate for couple of milliseconds. That's all it takes. Max almost gets alongside him again, but Charles slams the gap shut, leaving Max inches away from scraping against the concrete barriers still lining the street.

Max slams the brake, feeling the car lurch beneath him, his heart pounding as he barely avoids disaster.

The phone stops ringing. Finally, Charles picks up. There's a pause, just breath and static, before Charles speaks. His voice is frighteningly calm, steady, like he’s completely unfazed.

"Max. Are you trying to kill us?"

It only makes Max chuckle. He's in line behind Charles' car, practically glued on his back. If Charles slowly down even by one second, Max is full on crashing into him. He does not think about that, he only stops at the thought that this is strangely thrilling. Once again, they're speaking the same language.

"Stop the car and talk to me," he orders and copies Charles' racing line.

Charles laughs. It’s breathless, sharp around the edges, the kind of sound he makes when he’s seconds away from snapping.

"Stop being a little bitch, Max. It's pathetic," he sings and hangs up the phone.

Strong words coming from someone who cried in his apartment just minutes ago. Is this his position now? Playing it out tough, acting like a baby? "Dickhead," he comments to no one but himself.

And then - Charles takes off. Max barely has a second to react before Charles swings his car out wide, flooring it onto the open stretch ahead, heading toward the tunnel.

Max doesn't think. He just follows.

Full send into the last turn of the circuit as he heads over to the regular road. The other lane is filled with cars, preventing Max from making any moves. He's cursing himself for missing few opportunities before, the words of his strategist ringing in his head like a loud alarm he can't turn off. Ironically, this might be the best Charles has ever driven around here. Simply fuckin' lovely. It's impossible to get ahead of him. And even if he does, what will happen then? Is Charles going to crash into him? Will he turn the car around without a care for safety of anyone nearby and this whole circus is going to happen all over again?

They are forced to drive more calmly now, nevertheless, to the other people on this road, it still looks like two reckless idiots trying to kill each other. As the scenery changes and houses get replaced by small trees, Max starts to doubt his genius plan of following Charles. They drive like this for half a kilometer. It's obvious where Charles is heading. The last place where Max can be seen.

He dials the phone one more time. To surprise of no one, Charles does not pick up. Max counts his options one more time. His emotions settling down and reality creeping in. Charles does not want to be caught.

All the fury is gone with the wind. Reluctantly, he slows down the car and at the first opportunity turns in the side of the road and kills the engine. He watches, as the scarlet car keeps on going and going, until it disappears over a hill.

He sits in the car for few minutes, then gets out into the cool spring air. The sea below does not provide any answers into what's going to happen now.

chapter 7, part 2 incoming

------- @chezmardybum @biancathecool

[dear-satan]

Beginning Of the End III

player 230/Thanos x Reader

★ word count: 10K

★ CW: fem!reader, reader is a player 457, funding issues, fraud, mention of cigarettes, alcohol and drugs, mentions of death, blood, normal squid game stuff

★ previous part, next part

Player 001's voice changed everything.

You stood there, even though the voting had ended a moment ago. You felt like you were still dreaming. Like the nightmare you woke up in would never end. You even pinched the bare skin on your hand. The momentary pain only confirmed your belief that it wasn't a dream or a nightmare, but a terrifying reality that you were stuck in by your own will.

Tomorrow more innocent people will die, and you didn't have the strength to keep playing.

You didn't want to keep playing.

So tomorrow you'll die too.

"Is everything okay, honey?" his voice brought you back to earth. His shaking hand gently touched your cheek. "Are you feeling bad? Why are you ignoring me?" the questions he asked you made you angry and feel helpless. You looked at his name tag first - a blue O. Looking at it, you felt like he betrayed you in the worst possible way. But then you looked at his face, his eyes. His dilated pupils almost covered his unique, for an Asian, blue irises.

It was too much.

"Are you kidding me?" You said it quietly at first, far too quietly for Su-bong to hear. "Are you fucking kidding me?!" You pushed him away, your chest moving at a rapid pace. "You're high." It wasn't a question. "You're fucking high, having the time of your life when people around you.. When WE almost died and you're asking me if I'm okay?!"

His jaw clenched. You watched as he swallowed the unspoken words, a lump growing in his throat. He always acted like this when he was high. He couldn't get a word out when you first screamed at him not to take.. To be clean. But he never listened. Never. And you knew he wouldn't listen this time either. That your words will only echo empty, one he wouldn't remember when he sobered up.

That's why you didn't continue.

Barely holding back tears, you shook your head. You turned around and walked away, leaving him in the middle of the hall. You sat down on your bed with a loud sigh. You felt helpless against everything - the world, life, your boyfriend.. And your love. You thought Su-bong would press X with you. That he would follow in your footsteps just this once, when you were playing for your life together, and not for money.. Not anymore.

But he didn't go.

You weren't even disappointed, because he hadn't done it in a long time. Su-bong had disappeared somewhere, along with his stupid jokes, songs written just for you. It's funny that you only noticed it now.

Damn blue O.

・・・・★・・・・★ ・・・・

The morning was really hard. If you could, you would stay under that thin blanket all day. But you couldn't, and you knew it.

Players, another game will start soon. Get ready and remember to follow the rules.

“I wonder what's in store for us today.” a foreign girl crouched next to your bed - a 380 player with a blue O on her right chest. She looked in front of her for a moment before turning her head toward you and bestowing a small, but really sincere smile. “I hope there won't be that big doll. Disgusting, it will haunt me every night.”

For the first time in a long time, you laughed. “Yeah, me too.”

“You are with player 230, right?” She asked “Sorry, I don't want to be nosy but…I saw your argument yesterday…. And, he's really an asshole.”

Your smile disappeared as quickly as it appeared. You started searching with your eyes for purple hair. He was sitting on his bed with player 124. “He quickly found a friend,” a lump appeared in your throat, but you ignored it. “Yes, we… We have been dating for a long time. We live together but…. You know, debts came up. Senseless investment in crypto, loans, loss of work…. You know.”

“You agreed to invest in crypto? You seem more reasonable than him.” was curious, which you couldn't blame her for.

“Yes.” the lie was heavy ”We let ourselves be made like children.”

“I see.” The 380 player only nodded, looking ahead again.

“But you're right, he's an asshole.” You added quickly, at which she laughed quietly..

“You know, if you want we can stick together.” She looked at you again. You saw the warmth in her eyes and the will to survive that you lacked. “Me, you, and player 125 - we'll make a nice team.”

For a while you steamed at her without any response. The thought of the team filled you with some form of hope. But what about Su-bong? You couldn't leave him alone, you weren't a horrible heartless girl thinking only of herself. “I…” you looked at Thanos once again. You were angry, so terribly angry at his behavior. But something inside you told you that he could handle it and, despite everything, he would be beside you. “Gladly.”

“Great!” she got up from the floor and extended her hand toward you, ”I am Se-mi.”

・・・・★・・・・★ ・・・・

Going through the pastel corridors again was much worse than the first time. Guards stood in every possible place, guarding you with guns in their hands. It's funny how false a sense of security they tried to give you at the very beginning.

You entered a huge square, similar to a classroom for kindergarten children. Two large rainbow circles were painted on the ground. Everything about the messy place was candy, looking seemingly safe. But wasn't that exactly how you were supposed to feel? Safe?

Players, you have ten minutes to assemble a team of five.

The announcement was loud, too loud for you. You immediately looked at Se-mi and Min-su with whom you formed a team of three. You started looking around for potential companions. Unfortunately, people matched up in teams really fast leaving you with fewer and fewer options.

“Damn, I didn't find anyone,” you groaned disappointedly. Time was slowly running out.

“I didn't manage to find anyone either,” Min-su also said, still looking around.

Se-mi opened her mouth, but before she could say anything a familiar voice interrupted her, causing all three of you to look toward its owner. “Señorita, excuse me.” Thanos' smile widened as your gazes met, “I noticed that you were looking for two players. Here we are, Thanos will grace your team with his presence.” he couldn't be serious..

You rolled your eyes amused when 380 commented on his artistic nickname. When Su-bong greeted Min-su then approached you. The warmth of his body eminated enough to send a shiver through your body.

“Still angry?” he asked, cautiously nudging your hand with his finger as if he feared your repulsion.

“Still high?” you answered with a question to a question, but did not move away.

Thanos laughed while shaking his head. His hand grasped yours and lifted it to place a gentle kiss on your skin. “Don't be angry, this is the last game.” you didn't know , whether to believe him. “After it, I'll vote for X, you'll see. We will return to our home. Safe and sound with our money.”

The time to find a team was over, and all the teams were sitting in the middle of two rainbow circles. The game you would play was titled Six-Legged Pentathlon, during which you would play five, smaller games - ddakji, biseokchigi, gonggi, paengi chigi, and jegi. You started to determine who would play what - you chose ddakji. You were really good at it, considering that you won over the recruiter almost immediately. Se-mi chose biseokchigi, claiming that in childhood she had won against every kid in the yard. The boys divided among the other three games, each choosing what they felt most comfortable with. They were, after all, games from your childhood, nothing new so theoretically winning was really easy.

The game had begun. You all sat close together. Thanos' hand was on your knee as you watched with precision as the guards pinned the legs of the first two teams. They had five minutes to pass each competition and reach the finish line. That complicated things. Five minutes is really not a lot of time, considering the possible failures with each game.

You swallowed saliva, squeezing Thanos' hand. Fear set in your body again. “I can't handle it, I can't do it.”

“If you talk like that, we'll definitely lose.” Nam-gyu looked at you, and more at the red X on your chest. You saw something along the lines of contempt in his gaze, and you didn't know why. After all, you had never spoken to him before. “Get it together.”

"Nam-su-"

“I'm Nam-gyu.”

“After all, I did say that.” Su-bong clenched his jaw. His hand squeezed your knee. “Change your tone when you speak to her. Is that clear? Because I don't like to repeat myself.”

Player 124 only muttered something under his breath, turning his head away. “Sure, bro.”

・・・・★・・・・★ ・・・・

The paper square seemed extremely heavy when you held it. Your ankle was pinned to Thanos' ankle. The black material was fastened far too tightly, bruising you with every step. You took a breath and threw at the pink square - it didn't fall over You bent over picking up the blue square and threw again - this time it hit next to it. Your breathing sped up, you heard Nam-gyu's nervous voice and Se-mi's disappointed groan. Your hands began to tremble.

“Hey hey hey.” Su-bong leaned over and handed you a paper square, “Relax. You can do it. . Take a deep breath and throw it again.” His tattooed hand stroked the top of your head.

You nodded and closed your eyes. Time seemed to stop as you took air into your lungs. Your heart slowed down and when you were ready, you opened your eyes, throwing the paper square once more.

You've succeeded.

Joyful cheers spread through the room and your team moved on. Se-mi handled the biseokchigi effortlessly, as did Min-su in the gonggi. At the spinning top there was a problem, but Nam-gyu turned it around on his second attempt. You were at the very end, Thanos' game remained. By the high he was on, he seemed not to notice the time pressure when the last 40 seconds. But he bounced the damn ball five times. Crossing the finish line was like having a weight lifted off your back. Your legs were splayed and you immediately hugged Thanos standing next to you.

“Thank you.” You groaned inhaling his scent.

He just picked you up and turned you around, hugging you as if he had completely forgotten how soft and comfortable your body is. “It's all right now señorita, we're going home.”

taglist: @ttokyocat @itsvaleriegarza @jdbxws @hyunjinieandlix @chrisstyle @the-iridescent-phoenix

[sillyravenpassingby]

I've seen a lot of ppl say Gwen/Peter B betrayed Miles. But maybe 'betrayed' is kinda strong word to use? I mean, couldn't tell the truth isn't exactly the same as betraying someone.

For Gwen, she didn't care much abt her mission when she visited Miles (+ she wasn't supposed to go see him, if anything she betrayed her mission for Miles). Her interest was solely on Miles, so she never really did anything there other than place a spyspider only to completely forget about it moments later. Keeping an eye on the tracker but never really focusing on what's happening with The Spot. (Again, she's slacking off her mission FOR MILES)

Gwen and Peter B weren't also actively pursuing Miles at HQ with malicious intent. Gwen caught him when he was falling and waited on him. Understandably, Miles broke her web but hey... she let him go anyway.

Peter B was dreadful when his tracker went off when he was talking to Miles. Judging by his reaction, that was NOT his doing and he never meant for that to happen.

Also, they both tried to reason that Miles isn't an enemy, he's literally just a kid, and that they should let him go. Only for Gwen to be shut down by Jess, and Peter's pleases be ignored by Miguel.

I think the reason her and Peter B were trying so hard to tell Miles to stand down was because they were concerned that he was gonna get himself hurt.

What's more is that, Gwen and Peter B defended Miles against Miguel anyway. (I know it was a little late, but Miguel's actions were becoming dangerously concerning and THEY were the ONLY ones to have realized this and acted against it) This caused both of them to get kicked out.

So...no betrayals there whatsoever. But maybe that's me being biased idk.

[torchickentacos]

The world may change at rapid paces that induce constant emotional whiplash, but at least there's one constant (pokemon xy anime discourse on twitter)

[mortalityplays]

This is a dangerous sentiment for me to express, as an editor who spends most of my working life telling writers to knock it off with the 45-word sentences and the adverbs and tortured metaphors, but I do think we're living through a period of weird pragmatic puritanism in mainstream literary taste.

e.g. I keep seeing people talk about 'purple prose' when they actually mean 'the writer uses vivid and/or metaphorical descriptive language'. I've seen people who present themselves as educators offer some of the best genre writing in western canon as examples of 'purple prose' because it engages strategically in prose-poetry to evoke mood and I guess that's sheer decadence when you could instead say "it was dark and scary outside". But that's not what purple prose means. Purple means the construction of the prose itself gets in the way of conveying meaning. mid-00s horse RPers know what I'm talking about. Cerulean orbs flash'd fire as they turn'd 'pon rollforth land, yonder horizonways. <= if I had to read this when I was 12, you don't get to call Ray Bradbury's prose 'purple'.

I griped on here recently about the prepossession with fictional characters in fictional narratives behaving 'rationally' and 'realistically' as if the sole purpose of a made-up story is to convince you it could have happened. No wonder the epistolary form is having a tumblr renaissance. One million billion arguments and thought experiments about The Ones Who Walk Away From Omelas that almost all evade the point of the story: that you can't wriggle out of it. The narrator is telling you how it was, is and will be, and you must confront the dissonances it evokes and digest your discomfort. 'Realistic' begins on the author's terms, that's what gives them the power to reach into your brain and fiddle about until sparks happen. You kind of have to trust the process a little bit.

This ultra-orthodox attitude to writing shares a lot of common ground with the tight, tight commodification of art in online spaces. And I mean commodification in the truest sense - the reconstruction of the thing to maximise its capacity to interface with markets. Form and function are overwhelmingly privileged over cloudy ideas like meaning, intent and possibility, because you can apply a sliding value scale to the material aspects of a work. But you can't charge extra for 'more challenging conceptual response to the milieu' in a commission drive. So that shit becomes vestigial. It isn't valued, it isn't taught, so eventually it isn't sought out. At best it's mystified as part of a given writer/artist's 'talent', but either way it grows incumbent on the individual to care enough about that kind of skill to cultivate it.

And it's risky, because unmeasurables come with the possibility of rejection or failure. Drop in too many allegorical descriptions of the rose garden and someone will decide your prose is 'purple' and unserious. A lot of online audiences seem to be terrified of being considered pretentious in their tastes. That creates a real unwillingness to step out into discursive spaces where you 🫵 are expected to develop and explore a personal relationship with each element of a work. No guard rails, no right answers. Word of god is shit to us out here. But fear of getting that kind of analysis wrong makes people hove to work that slavishly explains itself on every page. And I'm left wondering, what's the point of art that leads every single participant to the same conclusion? See Spot run. Run, Spot, run. Down the rollforth land, yonder horizonways. I just want to read more weird stuff.

[chososrightnipple]

❝𝐣𝐣𝐤 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 + 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐬 (𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐭𝐰𝐨)❞

a/n: almost four hundred followers omg.. i love all you freaks mwah!! here is part two as promised. included some requests for characters. aged up! megumi and yuji of course. might do a part three maybeeee? afab body w/no gendered language as usual.

part one.

── დ ──

. *. ⋆ TOJI FUSHIGURO

▸ panty stealing. he thinks of it as memorabilia. snatching your panties from the floor before you have the chance to put them back on- just something he keeps to remember you bye.

▸ daddy kink. we all saw this coming, right? you call him daddy once and it's all he needs to fuck you into the bed for the rest of the night.

▸ thigh riding. seeing you frotting against his large thigh, desperate to cum, pussy practically drooling for it... his favorite foreplay 100%.

▸ cum play. this man will cum anywhere and everywhere and he'll love it. let him cum on your face, your ass, your chest, your back, down your throat, etc etc.

▸ hatefucking. angry sex after an argument where he takes out all of the stress you caused him on your poor holes :(

▸ breeding. you can give him another baby, can't you? you can make him a daddy all over again, right? just let him cum inside of you as much as he wants, he'll make it happen, he swears.

▸ exhibitionism. you grind against him once on the bar floor and next thing you know he's dragging out to the empty alleyway and pressing you against the nearest wall.

▸ size difference. he's so large, so big, every single part of him practically overtaking you. and he gets off on that fact so fucking hard!!

. *. ⋆ NANAMI KENTO

▸ cockwarming. seating himself inside your warm pussy while he's stuck doing all kinds of boring paperwork. he'll fuck you, he swears, you just gotta sit pretty on his lap for a little bit, okay?

▸face fucking. he loves taking out all of his stress on you. gripping your hair as he uses your mouth mercilessly, bullying his cock down the back of your tight throat.

▸blindfolding. silk ribbons in a variety of colors that he matches to the underwear you're modeling for him. only the best for his lover <3

▸ thigh riding. there's no better way to put him in the mood than pathetically grinding yourself against his thigh, using his body selfishly for your own pleasure.

▸ hair pulling. y'all know that one scene... he pulls at your hair exactly like that. fingers going white with how tight he's tugging at you, manipulating your position until you're face to face with his scowl.

▸ spanking. makes you count for every slap and if you miscount, he's starting all over again. pay better attention to him next time, yeah?

▸ semi-public. yes, he will bend you right over his desk, no he doesn't care there's a meeting going on next door. or better yet, against the window of the fourth floor, overlooking the busy street below it.

▸ phone sex. it really isn't any problem that he's across the country on a mission. even just the sound of your whines over the phone is enough to get him off.

. *. ⋆ MEGUMI FUSHIGURO

▸ panty stealing. he would say he feels bad about it, but he doesn't. you looked so good in the lacey little things, he can't help but want to keep them for later. even has his own little drawer for them.

▸ masochism. the stinging pain of your nails running down his back is utterly euphoric. and don't get him started on how harshly you tug at his hair when he's eating you out- he can cum in his boxers just from that alone.

▸ breast play. massaging at the skin, feeling the plumpness under his fingertips. sucking at your nipples and leaving a trail of kisses down the valley of your breasts. he's obsessed.

▸ edging. leaving you just on the brink of release over and over again, until tears are streaming down your face. he'll let you cum eventually, you just look so pretty this worked up for him.

▸ marking. oh my goddd do not get megumi started on this. he doesn't know why it gets him so worked up- seeing you covered in the hickeys and bite marks that he's left on you- but it does.

▸ cunnilingus. eats you out like a man starved, like he'll never eat you out again. pulling him away from your poor pussy is next to impossible if he's not yet done with his meal.

▸ mutual masturbation. sometimes you both just need to relaxation of release and nothing more. sitting across from each other on the bed, or maybe side by side, listening to the moans of the other as you both touch yourselves.

▸ dacryphilia. like adoptive father like adopted son. seeing your eyes brim with tears from how good he's fucking you drives him crazy.

. *. ⋆ YUJI ITADORI

▸ ass play. we all know he's an ass man i mean come on?! doggy style is his favorite position just because of it. seeing how the fat of your ass moves with every slap of his hips is fucking addicting.

▸ praise kink. tell him how good he's fucking you and how much of a good boy he is pleaseeee!!!!

▸ toys. he didn't realize how much he would love bringing toys into the bedroom until he sees how hard you can cum around him while he holds a vibrator to your clit.

▸ raw sex. he knows it's stupid, fucking you with no protection. you're pussy just feels so good, so warm, he needs to fuck you raw.

▸ face riding. please sit on his face, suffocate him, he doesn't care. it's his favorite position to eat you out.

▸ overstimulation. poor baby doesn't even mean to overstimulate you half of the time- he just has so much stamina, you understand that, right? and seeing you so flushed and fucked out under him has him so horny. just one more round, yeah? you can do that for him, right?

▸ dirty talk. yuji is a yapper and that doesn't stop when he's fucking you. the filth that comes out of his mouth has you wet just thinking about it.

▸ dry humping. the tension, the intimacy, the panting, the friction?? all of it, it's like a drug to him.

[mrsbarnesblog]

just us

masterlist

summary: a situation between pogues and kooks at the beach made Rafe rethink his priorities

word count: 1.8k.

warnings: season 4 spoilers, established relationship, mention of the dead turtle, that hoe Ruthie, protective Rafe

a/n: i'm obsessed with season 4, y'all. absolutely in love with everything that's going on and especially with Rafe being in a better place with a girl that he actually likes 🥹 this scene at the beach with turtles just made me sob, so I really need someone to drag that bitch by her hair. sorry not sorry.

Your heart was beating with adrenaline from the scene that just happened at the beach, with Topper’s girlfriend almost running over the pogues and being the usual insane bitch that she was. Rafe stood beside you, silent but shaking his buzzed head in disapproval.

Kie was standing on her knees on the sand, in shock, with juice still dripping down her face and hair. She brushed off the help of her friends, instead standing and picking something up from the ground, without hesitation, going towards the group of people around you. They seemed absolutely delighted by the whole situation, laughing, fist bumping each other, and making you want to punch every single one of them in the face. 

You didn’t even want to be here in the first place, not with a bunch of people with whom you shared mutual hatred towards each other. Rafe was your only connection with them, and it seemed like even for him it was a bit too much. A fun day at a beach with a little surfing competition, where even Topper and JJ seemed to have some fun together, took the wrong turn way too quickly.

“Look what you did! Is this okay?” Kie stopped in front of Ruthie, reaching out her hand to show something that you weren’t able to see, but by the look on her face it was obviously serious to her. “There was a turtle hatch, you idiots! You drove right over it!” Your stomach twisted at the realization, and you took a step closer to see it yourself. 

“Oh my God.” You whispered, catching a glimpse of a tiny dead turtle with a crushed shell laying in the palm of her hand. So little and harmless that the picture of it brought tears to your eyes. 

“Don’t look, baby.” Rafe’s deep voice mumbled near your ear, with a warm hand sprawled across your back to try to distract you, but you shook your head, unable to take your eyes off it. 

“All right, but it was only one.” Ruthie said with her usual attitude, nonchalantly pointing to the rest of the turtles that, luckily, were perfectly fine. Your mouth opened in disbelief, and you looked at Rafe to see him uncomfortably rubbing the back of his head. 

“I’m so sorry, Kie…” You whispered to her, stepping further away from the kooks, eyes drifting again to the dead animal in her hand. No matter how hard you tried to fit in with Rafe and his friends, you could never be one of them if it meant to be a bunch of pompous and cruel rich kids. You thought that, maybe it was time for you to finally admit that. 

“It’s not your fault, Y/N.” She briefly looked at you, because despite not being friends, there never were any arguments between you and the rest of the pogues, always keeping cool and friendly with each other. “There’s something wrong with you, people.” Kiara looked back at the kooks with disgust written all over her face. 

“I’m leaving, Rafe.” Barely holding back your tears, you looked back at your boyfriend, before picking up your beach bag from the sand and turning around. “I’m sorry again for them, Kie.”

“No, wait, Y/N.” He pushed through the crowd, wide-eyed, quickly approaching you and grasping your wrist. “This is not—“

“I don’t want to be here. I didn’t sign up to hang out with your friends when I started dating you, okay?” You groaned in frustration, attempting to move, but Rafe stopped you. “I don’t even know why we’re here, why you are here, when you clearly don’t enjoy it anymore.” 

“Listen, this is not so easy, okay?” He rolled his eyes, but you knew it was not fully directed at you; Rafe was already struggling with trusting those around him, and the fact that you slowly but steadily made him reconsider his current surroundings did not help. 

“You are not like them, they are not your friends, don’t you understand it?” The pure desperation was speaking in you, searching for the answers in his eyes. You overheard some people laughing at you, as they were too confident that Rafe would never listen to someone like you, someone from the cut, not even realizing the war that was currently going on in his head. 

He was silent, thinking, making his already overwhelmed mind go hundred miles per hour to figure something out, because you were right. The more time had passed, the more the two of you were together, the less Rafe found himself enjoying the presence of his old friends, the less he wanted to do that childish bullshit. 

“This dumb fucking bitch almost ran over people and killed an innocent animal because her big ego got hurt, do you understand?! So I’m leaving. Alone or with you.” You almost whispered the last part to him, too scared that he'd not choose you. At the end of the day, you were a pogue, and no matter how much you tried, you would never be good enough for Rafe. 

“What did you just call me?” Ruthie arched a brow, now shooting daggers at you. 

“I called you a dumb fucking bitch, didn’t you hear me?” You spat, finally having a good enough reason to tell the truth right in her face. “Or are you too stupid to get that through your thick scull?” 

“That’s rich, coming for a pogue. It’s just a cycle of life. And if you, losers, are so offended by that, it’s not my problem.” 

“A cycle of life? Getting flattened by a truck is not a cycle of life.” Kiara pushed Ruthie with her hand, and it nearly turned into a fight, with JJ standing by his girlfriend's side. You turned away from them, too frustrated and drained to bother listening to the rest of the conversation, your gaze shifting to Rafe, who still held your hand.

“I want to leave. Stay here if you want to, I don’t care. I’m done with them, Rafe.” Your teary eyes met his blue ones, and he shook his head, pulling you closer with your forearms. The mere thought of you leaving him, angry and upset, triggered a whirlwind of panic within him.

“Hey, no, I’m not staying, okay?” Rafe's hands, now much gentler and delicate, touched your cheeks, wiping away a few tears that you could not keep back. Rafe had never been too comfortable with the display of emotions, and he was pretty sure that it was the first time he had actually seen you cry. And he knew how much you had always carried for animals, how you petted every stray cat or a dog on the street, and how you hated any form of violence against them. 

The pulsating and aching feeling in his chest at the sight of your tears made him want to drop everything, or rather, eliminate everyone who had upset you, and just hold you in his arms. 

“Aw, look at you.” You heard that annoying voice behind you back again, pulling you out of the bubble in which you fell, and turning around, you saw that Kie and JJ were no longer there. Your eyes instantly rolled back as Ruthie looked at you with her usual fake sympathy, crossing her arms over her chest. “Go back to your side of the island, you’re not one of us. Don’t even know why Rafe bothers to bring you here when you’re just another dirty toy to—“

Rafe left your side before she could finish her sentence, looming over her with the most furious expression you had ever seen on his face. Everyone and everything seemed to fall silent for a moment, and you held your breath, unsure what he would do. “Wanna say some bullshit about her? Try to do it right in my face and see what happens.”

“You’re not seriously protecting the pogue. She’s not on our side.” Her smile faded, her eyes now nervously looking between Rafe and Topper, who was standing behind her back. 

“C’mon, Rafe…” He started, but quickly shut his mouth as soon as Rafe turned his head towards him with a silent threat. You felt your heartbeat quickening as the atmosphere started to get even more intense. Everyone around you also started arguing and saying God knows what, but Rafe was awfully calm, and it frightened you even more. 

You moved closer to them as you made your way through the warm sand, until you were able to place a comforting hand on your boyfriend's back. He was so tense under your touch that it amazed you how the hell he was not shaking because of it. The only times you had ever seen him behaving that way was when people whispered something about his father behind his back.

“It’s okay, Ray.” You whispered, kissing his shoulder and sliding your hand down his back to take a hold of his bicep. 

“You’re lucky that I don’t hit women. But if I hear a single word about my girlfriend again, you will regret it, I promise you." Your stomach flattered from the way he protected you, from the way his friends opened their mouths in shock at his words. Even Topper and Kelce were too stunned to speak, sending each other weird glances. “Control, your crazy bitch, Top.” 

As if nothing had happened, Rafe stepped back, throwing a protective hand over your shoulders and guiding you away from the group. He was silent for a whole walk towards his truck, only stopping near the passenger door and turning you to face him. 

His worried blue eyes were almost shining under the bright and hot sun and you saw words forming in his head and sitting at the tip of his tongue. You waited another minute, while Rafe was focused on your necklace, thinking. His hands found a place on your waist, rubbing circles into your skin, until he finally took a deep breath and looked up. 

“You’re right.” He said simply. “I’m not this person anymore. That shit with racing with pogues was fun and all, but I didn’t like what happened today.” You half smiled, nodding and encouraging him to talk. “If—if I want to be like my dad, I need to have my priorities straight. No more of this bullshit, no more fake ass people, yeah? You’re the only one who's been here for me for a long fucking time. You’re the only one who I can trust, baby.”

His hand cupped your cheek, eyes focused solemnly on you, before he lowered himself closer to you to place a kiss on your lips. 

“This is the right decision. You’ve overgrown them, you’re a better man now. And i’ll be here for you whenever you need me, I promise. I guess it’s just us now." Your body sagged against his, too wrapped in the comfort of his presence to even care about anything else. Your lips brushed against his, making Rafe groan.

“Just us, baby.”

[lokissweater]

“i would never lie to you.”

{toge inumaki x f!reader}

summary: inumaki’s always coming home to you from missions coughing up mass amounts of blood and completely overdoing it while fighting curses with his cursed speech technique. and no matter how many times you tell him to be careful, he just doesn’t, arguing with him, giving him the cold shoulder, and completely unaware of the reason behind why he fights so hard when he’s out there— that reason being of course… because of you.

warnings: angst, fluff, cursing, toge and reader have a lil argument but it’s more the aftermath, slight sexual mention but it’s literally once and nothing LOL, no smut!, toge thinks he’s not doing enough SNIFFF, angst with comfort, toge is DEVOTED to you, aged up characters, pet names, afab!reader.

word count: 2.3k

authors note: short n sweet one!! wanted to give you guys a break from my MLA format essays i always make y’all read LMFAOOO!! this one is SHO SOFT AHHHH :] i hope this keeps you guys fed in the meantime while i write the next one! i love you and i love you all ALWAYS MWAAHH <33

————————————————————————

toge inumaki hates it when you don’t talk to him.

as if he doesn’t do that enough already, toge absolutely despises when you both get into arguments or heated discussions and you turn a cold shoulder to him— needing space to unwind and prevent yourself from lashing out even more, to let the situation simmer down.

he understands it. believe him he does— you’re upset and angry and you need time to cool off… but toge is stubborn and needy and just doesn’t care, needing you and only you, him going absolutely crazy at the silence in your shared apartment that he was starting to hear random ringing in his ear drums.

so as he sat on the couch, eyes unblinking as they stared off into the darkness of the living room as the sun had already began to set, you upstairs locked away— he wanted nothing more than to open his mouth and let his cursed speech force you to come downstairs and talk to him.

but he didn’t, though the thought was definitely tempting, as toge vowed the day that he laid eyes on you to never ever use his cursed technique on you, even if it was harmless, an oath he wanted to carry with him until his very death bed and until he was six feet under.

his ears perked up then at the quiet sounds of the upstairs room door knob twisting and clicking open, soft padded footsteps making their way down the hall and closer to where he was, feet sticking against the cold tiles of the kitchen floor.

at the sight of you with your hair a little disheveled, your eyes so red and puffy, and an arm wrapped around yourself as you rummaged through the fridge looking for fuck knows what and not sparing a single glance at him— toge felt like a fifty pound gutting weight was resting on his chest and crushing his heart.

you had both argued about something you always seemed to circle back to almost every week. but this time, you were sick and tired and fed up, seeing as toge was never going to try and understand the situation at hand through your worried eyes.

every time toge was out for a mission, you would spend your days anxiously throwing yourself over the couch or trying to keep yourself busy with random activities like baking or scrapbooking (which you deemed later meaningless), all within the sole purpose of trying to get your mind off of your boyfriend and the recklessness he always seemed to pull while on missions, regardless of how much you begged and pleaded with him to be more careful and aware of his health.

toge inumaki had such a powerful and lethal cursed technique that frightened and astonished you all at the same time, a conflicting feeling to have when he had to leave you in the middle of the night or during the early hours of the morning to run around and fight curses… but always coming home to you warm and loving and safe.

but not right now.

not when toge had literally come home this morning with not even two steps in the door and he was already on his knees, coughing up strings and loads of crimson blood, it pooling on the floor as he had used his cursed speech to the highest degree today and had you a crying mess thinking he was dying.

and he always did that. always. today was just the worst of them all, him without a fault coming home with excruciating pain in his bruised and clawed up throat, the cough syrup medicine he usually downed like water having absolutely no effect anymore as you scrambled around every time trying to find a solution, toge brushing off your distressed and frightened rambling as if his health wasn’t a big deal, and as if how much it affected you wasn’t a big deal either.

upon you closing the fridge, toge slowly stood from the couch and carefully walked over to you, his throat still in pieces but his mind lurching and guilty over how upset you were at him.

he slowly raised a gentle hand and placed it on your shoulder, you shaking your head somberly in response— your back to him.

“i don’t wanna talk right now toge i’m sorry…” you mumbled, rubbing over your tired sore eyes.

he squeezed your shoulder, insisting.

but you only shook your head again.

toge huffed and placed both hands on your shoulders this time, physically turning you around to face him— his eyes soft and his eyebrows pinched together in pure concern for you.

you peeked up reluctantly, but the sight of his face and the events from earlier flashing through your mind only made your bottom lip wobble and the bottom of your palms shoot up to dig into your eyes, more stinging tears flooding in and slipping through the corners of your closed lids.

his heart fucking broke.

“why don’t you care toge?” you hiccuped. “i worry myself sick every time you leave for a mission and— and that’s fine because it’s what you do but you never take care of yourself!”

he gently pried your shaking hands away from your eyes and wiped your tears softly with his thumbs, caressing your cheeks after— wishing so badly, more than anything in this fucking world, to just be able to speak to you like a normal human being instead of resorting to words scrambled on a piece of paper or text messages on a screen.

he gently placed a little timid peck to your nose before releasing your face and fumbling around in his pockets for his phone, tapping it awake once he retrieved it and opening his notes app to write out a sentence.

he flipped and faced the screen towards you, the brightness making you squint a bit.

“i do care i swear. i just always forget when i’m in the middle of it and i’m sorry baby.”

“so you keep forgetting after what feels like the fifteenth time i’ve told you?” you wiped more tears from your cheeks. “how— how do you think it makes me feel when you come home and you’re coughing up blood all over your clothes and the furniture huh? all over me?”

he sighed softly through his nose and went to type again, but you continued.

“i get scared toge that one day you’ll push yourself way too far and then you just won’t come home. you scare me when you cough up so much blood like that!—”

toge tugged you in then with his unoccupied hand and wrapped his arms around you, pushing your head in and stuffing your face against his chest— the scent of his freshly washed t-shirt filling your nose as you cried softly.

fuck he felt like such a douche.

he typed for a moment behind your head, a pit in his stomach that only grew in size the longer he heard your little sniffles.

toge pulled back a bit, his arms still keeping you in place but just enough so that he could lower his phone and show you his message.

“please please don’t cry. i’m really sorry okay i really am and honest to god this won’t happen again.”

you nodded meekly and he flipped his phone back, quickly typing again and showing you once he finished.

“i feel like you think i don’t care but that’s not true at all. part of the reason why i try so hard when i work is because the more curses i fuck up the safer you’ll be when you’re out there without me.”

you laughed a bit at his wording, and he beamed at that, typing.

“i love you pretty girl. and im sorry i always get blood everywhere.”

“oh i don’t care about the mess baby, i care about youu,” you whined lightly and wrapped your arms around his torso, pulling him in tight.

“and i love you too, a lot… like an embarrassing amount that strips away my dignity.”

he chuckled boyishly and pressed a tender kiss to the top of your head, his body stuttering slightly as a single thought grazed his mind— the same thought that’s been in the crevices of his brain since he asked you to be his.

you felt his tension and pulled back.

“what?”

toge bit the inside of his cheek and looked down at you, his weight shifting as he contemplated telling you something he didn’t want to burden or upset you with, the pad of his thumb softly rubbing over your chubby cheek.

you quirked an eyebrow. “what? are you cheating on me?”

he burst out laughing and shook his head, kissing your forehead before dropping his hand from your cheek and pulling out his phone again.

he typed for a minute then showed you.

“me not being able to speak to you like a normal boyfriend should or respond to you whenever makes me freaking useless. so i push myself out there to keep you safe because that’s literally the least i can do for you, since i can’t even do the bare minimum.”

you gasped softly. “toge huh? this is—”

he shook his head once more and you stopped as he typed again.

“i always try to make you laugh with the things that i do or whenever i text you because i’m afraid that one day you’ll get tired of me not being able to talk to you and you’ll leave. which is also something i would never blame you for and understand.”

your heart squeezed in the worst excruciatingly way possible, completely baffled and mortified to the fact that toge was thinking about things like this and wholeheartedly believing it without you noticing or him saying anything to you about it.

he typed again.

“that’s why i cosplay as gojo when i leave for missions and come back a dumbass with blood in my mouth. that’s why i forget when you tell me to be careful because the need to be something for you is way fucking greater.”

“togeee!” you sobbed, bursting out crying like a little baby as you were moved and haunted by his words simultaneously, your arms engulfing him as he desperately shot his hands out and quickly wiped your tears again, shaking his head frantically as if pleading with you not to cry.

“how could you ever believe that?” you nudged him away and hiccuped, your eyes serious. “why haven’t you told me about this? everything you just said is literally propaganda.”

he chuckled, but you could tell he wasn’t convinced.

“toge, why do you think i’ve been with you for so long? do you think i’m just dicking around?”

“dicking around on my dick?”

you swatted his phone away. “no! not right now.”

you both shared a small giggle, twinkling eyes looking at each other.

“if i felt like you weren’t doing even the bare minimum, i would’ve been gone before you had the chance to put this ring on—”

his gaze drifted down to the black shiny heart promise ring on your ring finger that you held up for him, and he smiled softly.

“baby what you do for me everyday is above and beyond the bare minimum. i’m happy. i’m so happy to be with you that you not doing enough has never crossed my mind and it never will.”

you slid your arms around his neck and pulled him down a little, gently. “i’ve never cared about your ability to speak. i fell in love with you, who you are, and the fact that i did without you having to iterate words to me? olympic sport.”

toge rolled his eyes playfully at your comment, and you stood on your tippy toes and kissed the tip of his pretty nose then. “all men do when they talk is lie anyways…” you tilted your head. “but i know you’ll never lie to me.”

“never.” he mouthed silently.

he bundled you up in his arms and lifted you like you were nothing, him carefully leaning in and pressing his lips to yours as if you were a fragile little thing— kissing you so devotedly, warmly, his forehead resting against yours once he pulled apart after greedily getting his daily fix of you.

“i know your job as a jujutsu sorcerer pays the bills and comes with you putting yourself in difficult situations… and my job doesn’t even compare, but please don’t overdo it for my sake. i want you to come home, okay?”

you know it’s selfish… he should be saving lives no matter the cost.

but he was your man. was it so bad to just want to keep him for the rest of your days? to get the chance to grow old with him, and buy a little quiet house on the country side like you always joked about in the late hours of the night with him? drinking cool glasses of lemonade on the porch?

“please don’t always be the hero.” you whispered guiltily. “but if you must… just keep me in mind while you do it.”

you’re always on his mind. he hopes you know that.

toge breathed softly through his nose and smoothly set you back down, the pads of your feet making contact with the icy tile flooring as his hands dragged up from around your waist to the sides of your head, him pushing a hard kiss to your cheek as if to seal your request.

“do you promise?” you mumbled.

he pulled back and held his little pinky out for you, and you giggled, linking yours with his firmly.

“you can’t go back on it okay? you used your pinky it’s legally binding!” you warned, a silly smile on your face. “don’t lie to me and break it.”

toge grinned and leaned towards you as he bent down a bit— your gaze locking with his as he looked at you at eye level with his hands on his knees, him mouthing his next words, slowly.

words that made your cheeks buzz a cutesy pink, words that he took seriously, and words that tied you to him and the little house by the countryside he wanted so badly with you, as those words solidified how much he truly truly loved you— him hoping you always knew.

“i would never lie to you.” he mouthed.

taglist!! <33: @saebaey

[streetlamp-amber]

never ending night

bruce wayne x femwife!reader

word count: 1.7k | divider by @saradika | requests are open!

CW: pregnancy, pure fluff NOTES: hello hi i’m ailís and i’ve been meaning to start a blog where i can post some one shots that i’ve been thinking of as a way to motivate myself to finally write down my ideas so this is it. i’ll be double posting my stuff on ao3 (which you can find in my bio) and will eventually make a masterlist as well as a navigation post with a list of fandoms/characters i write for. also, english isn’t my first language.

It was close to three in the morning when Bruce finally joined you in bed after a long night of patrolling and fighting bottom of the barrel criminals all night. He showered in the bathroom on the first floor of the manor to avoid making too much noise and waking you up, but when he finally walked in your shared bedroom, you were already awake, sitting up against the headboard.

“Darling, what are you doing still up?” Bruce asked you as he reached his side of the bed.

The room was dark par for the moonlight filtering through the gap between the curtains, meaning your husband had yet to notice the state you were in.

“Dick had a nightmare,” you answered, voice barely above a whisper due to how tired you were. “It took me two hours to get him to fall back asleep and when I finally came back here, this little one started kickboxing me and keeping me awake for another hour,” you continued rubbing your round belly in hopes of soothing your baby to finally catch some sleep.

“I’m sorry I wasn't here to help,” Bruce apologised, planting a kiss on your temple as he held you close to his body.

“It’s alright, Gotham needs you,” you dismissed, not at all angry.

“Still, you’re six months pregnant. You’re growing our child inside your body, you need all the rest you can get,” he softly argued. “I would've come home earlier but all the amateur criminals came out tonight.”

“Bruce, it’s fine,” you brought your hand up to his cheek and he leaned his head into your touch. “You’ve already been cutting your patrols shorter since we found out about the baby. As long as you keep coming back home to us, alive, then I’m not mad.”

Not knowing what to say – his gratefulness for having someone so accepting of his duty as Batman was almost overwhelming, even after all those years – Bruce kissed your palm while staring at you with the same look full of love that he has been sporting since the first time he met you six years ago.

“How’d I get so lucky to fall in love with the most understanding and selfless person I know?” He asked while grabbing your hand on his cheek, wrapping his fingers around yours and squeezing them gently.

“Now that’s a lie,” you rebutted, a loving smile on your lips, lowering your joined hands on the bed. “You’re more selfless than I am. You’re the most selfless man in the world.”

“Let’s not start this never ending argument again,” Bruce chuckled, now his turn to hold your face as he brought you in for a kiss.

You happily sighed against his lips, the feeling of home that overtook you every time you tasted them was a nice welcome in this interminable night. But the kiss was cut short as you felt your baby kick again and you let your head fall back as you groaned.

“She’s still kicking?” Bruce asked you, he couldn't see the movements under your skin due to the darkness of the room and your hand on your belly.

“We don't know it's a she,” you reminded him instead of answering. You had both decided to wait until the birth to know the gender.

“And I’m telling you, I know it's a girl,” your husband repeated for what could be the hundredth time.

You also secretly hoped it was a girl, but Dick really wanted a little brother. Bruce and you were still in the process of warming him up to the idea of a little sister and it was slowly starting to work.

“As long as she doesn't come in my room,” your eight year old son had said last week, with his arms crossed over his chest and a pout on his lips.

“I doubt she’ll be doing that for the first few years, chum,” Bruce reassured him, fighting off a slightly amused grin.

“And the baby will have its own room with its own toys,” you added.

“Will I still be able to play with the baby?” Dick asked after a moment, uncrossing his arms and a hopeful look filling up his blue eyes.

“Of course you will, bubs,” you said, your fingers threading through his black hair that fell over his forehead.

“But only with her toys at first, some of yours are not suited for a baby,” Bruce pointed out, ever the overprotective father.

Bruce had lowered himself down under the blanket so he could be laying head levelled with your belly, his hand now replacing yours over the bump.

“Hey trouble,” he whispered to your child and the baby kicked again, making him smile lovingly at the movement he felt under his hand. “You shouldn't be awake this late at night, you know.”

“You're one to talk,” you commented, tone almost reprimanding.

“She doesn't know that,” Bruce looked up at you as he defended himself before his gaze fell back on your belly. “Mommy is really tired,” he continued talking to your baby, his hand now rubbing soothingly over your round stomach, “and she needs her rest to do all the work so you can come out all healthy and beautiful. Well, you're definitely gonna be the most beautiful baby if you end up looking like your mother, but that's not the point.”

You smiled at the cheesy comment and your fingers found their place in Bruce’s hair, brushing through it and nails occasionally scratching his scalp.

“Your brother Dick can't wait for you to come around,” he carried on. “Said he will teach you all sorts of acrobatic tricks once you know how to walk. And he asked Alfred if he could help paint the nursery when we finally decide on a colour.”

“And I keep telling you we should do soft green,” you argued.

“I’m not changing my mind from primrose pink,” he told you with a sly grin.

“The room won’t be pink, even if it’s a girl. And that’s final,” you firmly said. Your husband will not be winning this one argument, no sir.

Bruce sighed, rolling his eyes before focusing back on your belly. “I hope you’re not as stubborn as your mother,” he whispered to the baby, as if he was having a private conversation with them and that you weren’t there. “Don’t get me wrong, it’s one of the many reasons why I fell in love with her, but I won’t be able to say no to you even when I have to, so it would save me a lot of reprimanding from Mommy if you’re not as tenacious as her.”

You smiled to yourself as you continued listening to your husband talk to your unborn child as you threaded your fingers through his hair, enjoying the softness it had after a shower. Bruce usually gelled his hair to appear more professional when he was working in the day, and then it would get all mixed up with his sweat under his cowl when he was working as Batman. When he would come back to you after the day was over, you would refuse to touch his hair until he had showered, the texture of the gel and sweat too gross on your fingers for you to ignore.

As Bruce continued talking to your baby, his voice started lulling the two of you to sleep. The baby hadn’t kicked in over almost ten minutes now, and the peace you had waited for so long to arrive made you aware of how heavy your eyelids were. You slowly lowered yourself down the bed, getting in a comfortable position with Bruce’s help where you could finally lay your head on your pillow and it didn’t take long for sleep to catch up on you.

At the sound of your soft, barely audible snores, Bruce turned his head away from your bump to find you asleep with your free hand raised next to your head on your pillow, the other one still tangled in his hair.

He planted a soft kiss on the exposed skin of your belly, eyes closed as he took a moment to absorb the fact that a baby that was half you and half him would be joining your world in a little more than three months. Bruce wasn't known to cry, the only time you ever saw him cry was as you walked down the aisle at your wedding, but tonight, a lonesome tear rolled down his cheek and fell on your stomach, where your child was growing, because Bruce never believed he would ever get to experience again the amount of love he hadn't felt since he was eight years old.

As he observed you, sleeping soundly with his child coming to life inside you, after you comforted Dick back to sleep, Bruce, for a moment, felt overwhelmed by all the love in his life. When he became Batman, he crossed out the idea of ever having a family (other than Alfred), of settling down with someone he loved and who loved him back.

But somehow, the universe put you on his path, as a miracle or a guardian angel or simply as an anchor to life outside of Batman, he didn't know. You walked into his home, into his life, to remind him that he, Bruce Wayne, was also deserving of love, of family, of happiness. Then Dick came along, rather unexpectedly but still no less welcomed, and Bruce started entertaining the idea of having children with you. He definitely wasn't opposed to it, but it wasn't something he wanted to jump right into, especially with Dick having just entered your lives. You were both young, he in his early thirties and you in your late twenties, you could allow yourselves a couple of years just the three of you (four with Alfred) before expanding the family.

So it was rather shocking when two months after you and Bruce had officially adopted Dick that you found out you were pregnant. It both took you by surprise but after talking through it together, you couldn't be happier. And the two of you haven't stopped being happy about this new little addition ever since.

Bruce rose up from his position next to your belly, your limp hand fell from his head as he did so, and he laid on the bed next to you. He delicately kissed your forehead, then your nose before falling back on his pillow and whispered “I love you” as he curled around your body, his hand resting on your belly as he fell asleep.

[kamitv]

Thinking about Toji who…

Is so big in comparison to you.

He’s simply that— big. His shoulders are so broad that when he’s standing behind you, his shadow almost always casts over you. Even if you’re not exactly small yourself, this man is just fucking huge and beefy.

You’d tease him about it too and “joke” about wondering what it’s like to be put in a chokehold by him. He’d probably put you in one too if you asked nicely.

Isn’t completely broke but damn sure isn’t rich either.

He makes enough money to please you. Although his gambling is a bit of a problem, Toji tries to distract you from it by flattering you with occasional gifts that he bought using his wins.

Toji makes do with the money he has. If he’s not gambling it away, it’s 100% going to you to keep that pretty lil’ smile on your face. He’s happy you weren’t hell bent on marrying a rich man and that you accept him for who he is financially.

Has a breeding kink.

For someone who didn’t do much for his children, he was very determined to fuck you full of his cum after seeing how you sweet-talked some little girl on the street. Something about such a small interaction drove him crazy later that night.

Your legs would he dangling over his big shoulders, body folded exactly how he wants you, pussy sopping with every harsh thrust of his hips as he buried his thick cock inside you over and over again— listening to the way you babble his name and watching how your jaw hangs open, eyes rolled back with drool dripping down your chin.

Fuck, you’re a complete mess but he loves it. Especially with the way your cunt spasms around his dick every time he starts talking to you. Toji would have his face hovered right over yours so every breath is shared and the sex is beyond intimate.

Saying things like, “Gonna let me stuff this pretty pussy full of me, huh?” “Yeah? Y’like the sound of that, baby?” “Want me t’make you a mommy? Hm?”

To which you’d just nod along, not against the idea in the slightest but too fucked out to truly respond. Toji would groan at your agreement, heavy balls slapping against your skin whilst his cock splits you open. Huffing an almost desperate, “Uhuh… You’ll look s’pretty walkin’ around with my kid, ma’.”

Is infatuated with your ass.

Toji almost feels as though he shouldn’t go twenty-four hours without feeling your ass at least once. The way the fat fits and molds into his palm perfectly, how soft you are, and the way it’s every movement captivates his attention like a baby with a sensory video is quite amusing.

Even if you didn’t think you had the fattest ass in the world, Toji believes otherwise. He doesn’t care if you nearly fall over every time he slaps your ass as he walks by, hearing the loud smack that follows and the squeal of surprise that leaves your lips makes him happy.

One time, he found you lying on your stomach and saw that as the perfect opportunity to lay his head against your ass, the rest of his body weight rested against your legs and leaving you immobile.

It never really matters what you’re wearing either, he knows what’s under all those clothes so he’ll compliment you on how your ass looks in anything. Though, he will admit that seeing your ass in a tight dress makes his cock spring up.

Would never admit it but is often needy for you.

If you ever call him such a thing, he’ll curse you out while fucking you dumb— claiming to show you just how “needy” he is for you.

He hates when you catch faint pitches in his groans or moans, especially while you’re kissing him. His neck is so damn sensitive, more-so right under his jawline, so whenever your lips and tongue swipe against that area, his throat would vibrate with a deep groan. And fuck if you’re sitting on top of him, steadily rocking your hips against him, you may catch him slipping and he might just whine-

Not that he’ll ever admit he did or does.

Hates when you ignore him.

And you know he hates it too so that’s exactly why you do it.

After any argument, you just go quiet and start giving him those annoying little mhm’s or uhuh’s, clearly not paying attention to a word he’s saying.

Sometimes you ignore him on accident though, not that it changes how much he hates it. It’s usually when you’re working on something or trying to focus and he’ll come talking to you only to receive silence in response as everything he’d just said goes through one ear and out the other.

Typically, he fixes this problem by getting really close to you and talking right against your ear, forcing you to hear every word he’s saying and smiling at the way you find his lips ticklish against your skin.

Forgets important dates sometimes.

He once forgot your anniversary with him and you put him on sex ban for a month. To you, it should’ve been longer but Toji tried his best to make up for his forgetfulness during that month.

Forgot Megumi’s birthday but was happy to have you there to remind him. Again, you scolded him and he promised to work on it.

Doesn’t bother getting jealous.

The fuck is he getting jealous for? You’re his woman. Any man that looks at you doesn’t disturb Toji’s peace, he knows you’ll never leave him (he tells you that you’d be dumb to do so).

If he ever caught someone flirting with you, he’d casually walk up to you and shower you in lewd kisses and touches just to scare the person off. Toji will walk up mid-conversation and grab a firm hold of your jaw, tugging you toward him just to press his lips against yours. After which, he’s dragging his kisses down to your neck, moving a hand to your waist and the other to your ass, silently telling others to fuck off through his touches alone.

Would kill for you.

This should be obvious too. Taking some’s life for you is no different than his job— even though you don’t know much about it…

He may not tell you he’d murder someone for you but if you seemed distressed enough by someone’s presence, Toji will have them dealt with. You’d later ask “Hey, what happened to…” Only to hear that they got into some “strange accident”. But in reality, your lover had disposed of them.

Cherishes you in his own way.

He doesn’t say anything too sappy to you but he does have his ways of showing his love for you.

Toji has a tendency to stare at you, admiring your features and wondering how or why the hell you still put up with him. You’re so perfect in his eyes that sometimes he thinks you deserve someone better and less forgetful or violent.

And yet, every time he comes home— you’re there with that sexy smile of yours and gentle voice that drives him crazy.

Pet names with Toji slip off of his tongue naturally. “You look s’pretty today, doll.” “Love you too, pretty girl.” “I like your hair like that, ma. Looks nice.” “C’mon, don’t be mad at me baby, I can buy you more snacks…”

Loves fucking you from behind.

He’s always bending you over some surface or pressing you against some wall. While, yes, he loves that pretty face of yours, he also loves pressin’ it against the bed as his drills his fat cock inside you.

Toji likes watching the way your ass bounces back against him. He loves looking at the arch in your back, watching your nails scratch and scrape at the sheets, and staring at the way your pussy messily spreads around his cock— such a pretty white ring of cum forming at his base.

He’ll get the whole scene even messier too, spitting down where you’re connected, making his cock slip in and out of you faster so he can fuck deeper. Oh how he loves smacking your ass til’ it’s left with marks, gripping onto your cheeks and just toying with you while he fucks you to tears and incoherent cries.

Then he’s teasing you, “C’mon, throw that ass back on me, girl.” “There ya goo, such a good slut f’me, aren’tcha?” “Uhuh, take my cock baby, jus’ like that.” “Look back at me, lemme see those tears, doll.” “Mhm, feels s’good, huh?” “Oh fuuuck, don’t stop. Keep… Keep movin’ those fuckin’ hips baby, doin’ so good f’me.”

Doesn’t mind listening to you ramble.

You’re a talker, that’s for damn sure. In the beginning of the relationship, he thought he’d grow to hate how much you talk but he actually loves it.

When you talk about your day or any drama that’s happened, he’s happily sitting there listening to every word. Hell, sometimes Toji even makes sassy comments, “Girl, you need better friends.” “You told her off? Type shit.”

And if you pay attention close enough, you may notice how he’s picked up on things you say and started saying them himself. Whatever phrases you often use, you’d catch him using from time to time & you think it’s just the cutest thing in the world.

Would lose his mind if you ever called him Daddy.

You did it one time as a joke and you nearly got pregnant the same night.

A/N: Not proofread— apologies for errors. This is for those that requested! Lastly, UHM HELLO THANK Y’ALL FOR 3K FOLLOWERS HERE? ^.^ y’all are so sweet I’m gonna eat you guys.

[khioneee]

CATER 2 U

synopsis. rafe knew you weren’t a hardcore partygoer. but every once in a while, you’d indulge him and come along. pairing. rafe cameron x reader content. lowkey fluffy. dotting boyfriend (mans down bad). slight jealousy. alcohol. word count. 1.1k

the moment you walked in, rafe was already in protector mode. he found you a comfortable spot to sit, clearing the area like a professional bodyguard.

‘here, baby,’ he said, handing you your kindle, which he’d thoughtfully grabbed from the car. ‘brought this just in case you needed it.’ he crouched down in front of you, his hand brushing against your knee as he smiled softly. ‘water or soda? unless you’re planning on drinking tonight. your choice, sweetheart.’

you shook your head, amused at how seriously he was taking this. but you knew it was just his way of making sure you were comfortable in a space that wasn’t naturally yours.

throughout the night, rafe’s eyes would drift to you, even while he was in conversation with his friends. he’d glance your way, mouthing a quick ‘you good?’ from across the room.

you’d nod, and he’d give you a satisfied little smile before turning back to whoever had his attention.

at one point, he returned with a big bag of chips, setting it in your lap. ‘here, sweetheart. the kitchen’s packed, wouldn’t want you to get caught in a stampede.’ you couldn’t help but laugh at how thoughtful he was, even in the middle of chaos.

when you needed to use the restroom, he was right there, following close behind and standing outside the door like a loyal guard dog. he leaned casually against the wall, arms crossed, his sharp eyes scanning the hallway for any sign of trouble. he didn’t care if anyone teased him.

he knew how unpredictable parties could get, and he wasn’t about to take any risks when it came to your safety.

when someone drunkenly stumbled too close to the door, he stepped forward, his broad frame blocking their path entirely. ‘keep walking,’ he said firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument.

and when you emerged from the restroom, his eyes immediately softened. ‘all good?’ he asked, one hand instinctively brushing against your back as he guided you back toward the main party.

it was little things like this that reminded you why you felt so safe with him.

as the night wore on, rafe found himself caught in a lengthy business interaction outside. but even then, he wasn’t about to leave you unattended.

‘lover boy’s doing business,’ topper announced as he plopped down in the armchair near you, a playful smirk on his face. ‘hi, doll.’

you looked up from your kindle, surprised but grateful for the company. ‘he sent you over?’

‘of course,’ topper said, crossing his arms and leaning back as if settling in for the long haul. ‘can’t let you fend for yourself, can we?’

you chuckled softly, pushing your undrunk beer toward him. one of the many drinks rafe had brought for you earlier. ‘want this? i’m not gonna finish it.’

topper waved it off with mock seriousness. ‘no, ma’am. i’m on duty.’

you raised an eyebrow, amused. ‘duty?’

‘yep,’ he said, leaning forward slightly, his tone teasing but good-natured. ‘rafe made it clear—keep an eye on you. so,’ he gestured toward your kindle with a grin, ‘what are we reading tonight?’

you laughed, appreciating how even his friends were roped into rafe’s overprotective tendencies. but that was just rafe, always making sure you were cared for, even when he wasn’t by your side.

as night blurred into morning, rafe wandered over to you, his steps slow and deliberate. you glanced up at him with a soft smile as he crouched slightly in front of you, his hand reaching up to gently brush a stray hair out of your face.

‘you good, sweetheart?’ he asked, his voice quiet, almost lost in the muffled bass of the party music.

you nodded, though the faint yawn you tried to stifle didn’t go unnoticed.

his lips quirked up into a knowing smile, his thumb grazing your cheek for just a second. ‘just say the word, and we’re out of here, alright? we don’t have to stay if you’re tired.’

you shook your head lightly, touched by his attentiveness. ‘i’m fine, rafe. really.’

but he tilted his head, narrowing his eyes just a bit. ‘no need to be polite, baby. you know i’d rather be with you anyway.’

rafe’s sharp eyes caught sight of you across the room, and he froze mid-conversation. there you were, sitting on the couch, your usual spot.

but this time, someone else was next to you.

a guy.

he was leaning in, his arm casually draped along the back of the couch, too close for rafe’s liking. worse, you were laughing at something he said. you were laughing, completely unaware of the tension building across the room.

rafe’s jaw tightened, the edges of his calm facade slipping as a flush of irritation rose to his cheeks. his friends followed his line of sight, their chatter dying out.

topper raised a brow, muttering, ‘uh-oh.’

rafe didn’t respond. he didn’t need to. he was already moving, cutting through the crowd with purpose, his broad frame towering over anyone who didn’t step aside quickly enough.

reaching the couch, rafe didn’t say a word to the guy. instead, he dropped onto the arm of the chair beside you, his movement sharp and intentional. as he sat, his hand brushed against the guy’s arm, deliberately shoving it off the back of the couch.

the guy flinched, looking up at rafe, only to be met with an icy glare that sent him reeling.

‘hey, baby,’ rafe said, turning to you with a smile that was a little too tight.

‘hey!’ completely oblivious, you beamed up at him. ‘we were just talking about books. turns out we’ve read a lot of the same ones.’

rafe let out a low, unimpressed hum, his arm moving to rest on the couch behind you, claiming the space the guy had just occupied. ‘is that so?’

the guy stammered something about needing another drink, his confidence wilting under rafe’s glare as he quickly stood and disappeared into the crowd.

you blinked, glancing at rafe. ‘did you scare him off?’

rafe tilted his head, his lips twitching into a smirk as he looked down at you. ‘nah, baby. he just realized he wasn’t needed here.’

you furrowed your brows but let it go, leaning back into rafe’s arm as he relaxed against the chair.

after a moment, rafe glanced down at you, his voice softening. ‘let’s go home.’

you smiled, nodding as rafe helped you up, his hand steady on your waist.

and as you left the party together, rafe cast one last glance at the guy from across the room—a silent warning that needed no words.

after a beat, rafe tilted his head down toward you. ‘you don’t need anyone else to talk books with, baby,’ he murmured, leaning in close, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. ‘you’ve got me.’

[xenteaart]

the hard way

pairing: vampire!chris x to be vampire!reader genre/warnings: dark romance, mean chris, angst? kinda dead dove, mentions of death, blood and a lil gore (not too graphic tho imo), it's okay in the end??? and they're in love plot: reader is getting turned into a vampire and it's not as cool as she imagined author’s note: obvsly heavily inspired by railway and that SPITTING SCENE. idk it's prolly gonna flop but i wanted to picture that process and a not so hot side of it

“no.” “why not?!” “because i told you so a million times already. we’re not discussing this.” chris spits out and furrows, growing more agitated with each passing second.

“what, you don’t want me to be equal to you?” you ponder desperately while your mind searches for any, any reason at all as to why chris won’t turn you. it’s been getting to you for the last couple of months, and you’re sure you’ve gone through every possible explanation your troubled brain could come up with: he doesn’t love you. he doesn’t wanna spend eternity with you. or maybe it’s a power thing. or, or, or...? this endless cycle of worry and uncertainty has been keeping you on edge for way too long to think clearly now. “gosh, it has nothing to do with equality,” he rolls his eyes and shakes his head. “what is it then?” “drop it.” you snap. “we’ll have to find out the hard way, then.”

you grab the nearest kitchen knife, and it turns out to be the one you use for cutting meat, a chef’s knife as they call it. how fitting. chris barely has enough time to catch up with your madness infused impulse, and when he turns his gaze back to you, the knife is already deep in your guts.

you thought it was gonna be romantic or somewhat dramatic at least. something from the movies where he sinks his vampire teeth into your neck, and just like magic — your eyes flash bright red, announcing the beginning of a new life.

“you dumb bitch,” he exhales shakily and somehow manages to catch you in time because the sharp pain in your stomach makes you lose your balance instantly. you’re still bitter and angry in the heat of the argument and you expect him to be the same way, but when you glance up, chris looks nothing but panicked. “that’s a new look on him,” you think, and it confuses you.

chris growls and sinks to his knees, carefully holding you and trying to move as fast as possible. what you don’t know is that turning can only be done in around thirty seconds since fatal injury. that might explain the rushing and chris’s pure bambi eyes panic but your consciousness is already starting to drift away to hold onto that train of thought.

chris bites into his wrist with unmasked fury, tearing and ripping his own veins even though using a knife would have been much cleaner. probably less painful, too. “swallow. now! come on, don’t you fall asleep on me now, focus!” he grabs your face and presses hard on the jaw joints, making you open your mouth like a puppet doll.

the sickly metallic taste of your own blood at the back of your throat from the internal bleeding mixes up with chris’s thick blood that he generously spits into your mouth, and you want to throw up. your head feels dizzy as your eyelids are getting heavier, your hearing suddenly fails completely as if someone turned the volume down from ten to zero. limbs are falling weak, and the pins and needles in them are so, so far from pleasant.

the thing about turning is... you actually have to die first. be fully, completely gone to be able to come back changed and corrupted, turned to the extent of your DNA having been violently rewritten. that you did not think through enough. the muscles in your throat contract almost on reflex, swallowing and gagging on the gooey salty substance, making your chest heave while coughing strangles you further. the tingles and nausea are so overwhelming and all consuming you actually catch yourself thinking dying would be a relief now. and then it follows as you wished.

you doze off for god knows how long but, by the looks of it, it can’t have been more than a few minutes because as you regain consciousness, chris is still looming over you, his own blood fresh on his lips. he’s blurry, though, everything is.

“come on, suck on me. c’mon, baby, there we go,” he coos as he brings his wrist to your lips, forcefully pressing it into your mouth and leaving you with little to no choice. the phrasing, unlike usual, doesn’t sound dirty or hot now, more like a life-saving command while you’re still so out it. it feels good, though, chris’s blood.

it doesn’t taste so metallic and gross anymore, and the texture feels almost soothing on your dry throat, like hot honey milk on a friday evening. suck, gulp, suck, gulp, suck, it almost lulls you back into serenity, some primal instinct of being attached to your only life line, finding comfort in someone’s warmth and touch and taste.

you wonder how much you’ve drunk already and whether chris will have anything left but you’re so, so thirsty you can’t even bring yourself to care.

what finally makes you stop is the sudden sharp ache in your gums. it feels so piercing the aftershocks are almost reaching your brain and eye sockets, and as you feel your old teeth fall out, a pair of longer fangs cuts through and settles into the upper teeth row. hot tears are stinging your eyes and you whine like a wounded deer, still unable to speak properly. it’s all too much, and you start to regret what you’ve done, and maybe, just maybe that’s why chris so passionately refused to put you through it. this kind of hunger and the animalistic, blood thirst driven rage were never something he wanted to inflict upon you.

your entire body is shaking but it’s not really a fearful tremor, more like restlessness, a new sort of “itch” somewhere deep, deep inside that you’ve never experienced before, the feeling so intense and soul wrenching you simply can’t disobey it. it makes you want to jump up and run.

“don’t worry, i’ll teach you how to handle it.” chris cups your face after taking off his leather gloves so you can feel the comfort of his actual skin. the touch is calming, but barely enough compared to that growing desire and need to satisfy the itch. “you stupid crazy cunt, why do you never listen,” he whispers into your forehead, his lips lightly brushing over your cold sweat covered skin, as he holds you closer, squeezing you against his chest in a protective manner, though the real danger to yourself is now planted within you.

[iniquitousyearning]

SLYTHERINSLUT0’S KINKTOBER

october 18th. mattheo — hate fucking / enemies.

KINKTOBER MASTERLIST. | 2024.

summary: “at least her favourite form of foreplay isn’t an argument…” “or being a bitch her kink..”

warnings: 18+ MDNI, dubcon(meh), ex bf/gf trope, toxic behaviour, mutual manipulation, these two are chaotic as fuck, mentions of blood, gagging, degradation, rough sex PIV, hate fucking, spitting, spanking, uhhh i think that covers it. this one is a ride. can you tell this is my fav trope?

"I'm so fucking sick of you.”

"Get well soon, princess."

"Get fucked, Riddle."

Three sentences, three venomous insults that cut the room in half—heavy enough in their intensity to make you want to tear through dungeon walls, splintering stone and mortar with bare hands if it means sparing yourself another second in this blasted room, with him.

Detention at midnight—on a Friday, no fucking less—is unheard of. But leave it to your dickhead ex to make the impossible a reality. His fault, of course. Like always.

Snape had turned a blind eye for months. It was only a matter of time before something had to give. An hour unsupervised was as good as you'll get.

Sulking defeat, you sink back in your chair, rough wood digging into your spine as you eye Mattheo with a glare that could rival a bullet. He looks like hell, and it's infuriating how even in that state he manages to look so nonchalant, so maddeningly unbothered—like even exhaustion makes a home on him and he's comfortable with it. Bags under his eyes, scar cutting across the bridge of his nose, those dark curls falling messily over his forehead, white dress shirt wrinkled and open at the collar.

You roll your eyes, a gesture that feels like your only act of rebellion left.

And he notices. Of course he does.

"You haven't changed a bit," he spits, and you know it's an insult. You scowl as he swipes the blood off his chin with the sleeve of his shirt. "Always a bitch to me over something."

Bitch. The name strikes you, but you won't let him see it, won't let him know that it lands. You've bled too many times at his feet for him to draw blood again tonight.

"Am I not allowed to be pissed off that you dragged us into detention? We should be at the party, Mattheo. We should be anywhere but here." You hear the frustration rising in your voice, like it's boiling up from somewhere deep, somewhere you can't quite reach. It's hard not to let it slip, especially when he looks at you like that. "This is so fucking typical of you. You mess up, and somehow I'm the one who pays for it."

For a moment, there's silence, and it almost feels like a victory until you realize he's only biding his time, waiting to strike back.

"You really want to get back there? To that party?" He leans forward, elbows resting on his knees. You long for the chair to break from under him. "After what your new man was caught doing with Lovegood?"

You snort before you can stop yourself, the sound slipping out like a reflex. You hadn't expected that. And quite frankly, it's amusing—no, downright hilarious—that he's clearly been keeping tabs on you and "new man", and now here he is, trying to play it off like he doesn't care. Like it's nothing.

"I'll spare you the insults this once," you mutter, fingers loosening the tie around your neck with a tug. "Because, clearly, you're ignorant to the truth, even if you think you know every goddamn thing." You pause, ripping out your earrings. "He's not my man, so I don't give a shit what he does with who. He ended it last week. Good fuck, sure—but other than that..."

You trail off, making a mocking noise with your lips, a derisive puff of air, as if you could blow away the memory of him as easily as dust off an old book. A Ravenclaw. Brilliant in all the wrong ways—sharp mind, yes, but utterly thrill-less, like he saw you as just another page to flip through, a textbook he was annotating.

It is what it is.

A moment passes and then Mattheo grins—slow at first, but spreading across his face like fire, destructive in its consummation. It unsettles you. He looks more intrigued than he's been in months.

"A good fuck, huh?"

"That's what I said," you reply, clipped, your tone offering no room for him to crawl inside.

"And why didn't it work out? Too good for you?" He says, twisting the knife just because he can. "Too clean, maybe?"

Your eyes scan the room, searching for something within reach to throw at him, anything to break this unbearable tension. Insufferable. Every inch of him, insufferable.

You find nothing, so you throw words instead. "You're an asshole, you know that?"

He nods, as if that's the truest thing either of you have said all night. Of course he knows.

You barely suppress a dry laugh at his idiocy. "Like I told you—he ended it. If you're so fucking interested in why it didn't work out, then why don't you go ask him?"

There's a pause—he's chewing the inside of his cheek as he stares at you. You imagine chewing his head off as you stare at him.

"I'm sure you gave that bookworm the ride of his life," he says, voice half-dry, half-sarcastic, as if he's already bored of the conversation. As if he knew all of this information already. "Everyone knew that was temporary. Your first rebound, congrats."

And just like that, your blood is boiling. He knows how to needle you, how to get under your skin with the slightest flick of his stupid fucking tongue. Your eyes trace the cold stone of the dungeon walls, desperately trying to find something—anything—to distract yourself.

But it's no use. Mattheo's an asshole. He's always been an asshole. That's why you left. All the two of you did was fight and fuck, a chaotic spiral that was as thrilling as it was destructive. Now, he's easily your enemy—dragging you into his messes, never letting you get too far without ruining your life somehow.

And yet—

If you said you didn't miss the sex sometimes, that'd be a lie. Or at least a half-truth. The kind that slips out when you've had one too many glasses of firewhiskey, the kind you'd regret in the morning.

"What about you, dickhead?" You cut through the silence, ignoring his obvious attempt to rile you up. "That Hufflepuff you were seeing—why'd I see her all over Theo tonight?"

He answers far too fast. "They're friends."

You snort, disbelieving. "Right."

You rise to your feet, crossing the room to the bookcase as if it's the most natural thing in the world. The books feel safer somehow, less volatile.

"You're bored of her, aren't you?" You don't care to look at him. You can imagine the way his jaw tenses at the question.

The silence is telling. He doesn't answer right away. You know him well enough to understand what that means. Then, finally, he speaks, a half-answer that doesn't really answer the fucking question at all.

"At least her favourite form of foreplay isn't a fucking argument." He stands, slow, pushing his hair back from his forehead with one battered hand. You glance at him, pulse quickening. "Or being a bitch her kink."

"Does she even have kinks?" It slips out, a knife thrown without aiming. "Sounds like you're bored, Matty."

You watch as he blinks, his eyes darken. That nickname—you know you don't have the right to say it anymore, and that's exactly why you do. It's an insult wrapped in familiarity, and it hits its mark by the way his shoulders tense, jaw tight.

He steps toward you, one calculated step, and you feel it—that chaotic pull, the gravity that's always drawn you both in, no matter how far you try to stay away. A smile pulls at your lips, a cruel thing.

"How cute." He tilts his head just enough to inspect you, eyes dragging over you like he's searching for something to confirm what he already suspects. "Looks like you're jealous."

Your hand grips the bookshelf, eyes locked on him over your shoulder. Jealous? There's not a soul on this planet who could make you jealous. She may be the hero of this story, the girl that gets the guy, might even be everything you're not—

"Looks like you're learning the hard way," you're inspecting him now, too. Every piece of him you once touched. "When it comes too easy it's never gonna' hit as hard, babe."

Another pause from him—something dancing in his eyes. Anger? Maybe. Or something more, something twisted that you don't care to name. You've already lit the match, and now you're just watching him burn.

"You're so clever, huh? So full of advice," he sneers, ripping off his tie and chucking it on a desk. "Go on then, tell me more about how I feel, professor. Since you know everything about me."

You can't help the smirk that curls on your lips. Oh, he's pissed. And that means you're winning.

"What? You don't like hearing the truth? Too much for your delicate ego?" You take a step toward him, savouring every second of this. He hurt you, over and over, the scars from those days still fresh, still bleeding beneath your skin. This has been a long time coming. "You think I care about your new girl, Matty? The one you let your boys fawn over in the common room?...she kissed Theo tonight." You pause, letting that linger. "You think you're doing something, but I see right through you. You don't give a fuck about her. If you did, no one would dare touch her like that. So don't sit here, accusing me of jealousy, like I'm the one hung up on you. You're projecting. And it's pathetic."

He doesn't waste a goddamn beat—his laugh is bitter, sickeningly so—and he advances again, his shadow moving behind him, the space between you now barely there.

"That's amazing, truly. If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were a goddamn oracle. All-knowing, all-seeing." His voice is infuriating. The look on his face more-so. "What's your verdict then, my lord? You think this is all an act? That everything I'm doing is just to spite you?"

Your heart races, breath catching in your throat as he steps closer. This is a dance you both know too well, the kind where neither of you win.

"I know how you operate." Your chest heaves, anger rising with every breath. "It's all a game to you, Matt. A sick, twisted game to keep yourself entertained."

"That's rich, coming from someone who played it just as well." He takes another step forward. You could reach out and touch him now he's that close. His grin grows. "Too bad your Ravenclaw figured it out before you could sink your teeth in too deep. Next time you see him, make sure to tell him I said you're welcome."

Your brows pinch—the blood in your veins screeching to a halt, backing up like New York traffic at a standstill. You feel it, hot and furious, rushing toward a place it can't go, clogged behind the wall of rage building up inside you—

"You're welcome?" You spit, a sharp snarl caught between clenched teeth. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

He's watching you, his eyes darting over your shoulder, fingers brushing over his lips like he's trying to dull that familiar smirk, that cruel little game he's always played.

Your stomach sinks, drops to your feet.

"Mattheo—" you snap, cutting him off just as he opens his mouth, before he can throw another snide word. "Spare me the cryptic bullshit for once in your life—“

His eyebrows lift at that, but there's a nod, a hint of something deeper in it. You taste the smugness in the air between you, can almost feel it slithering through his silence.

"Looks like you don't know everything after all. Isn't that ironic?" He straightens up, letting the moment breathe before his face hardens into something almost serious. "Your rebound came to me in the courtyard about two weeks ago. Had some questions about you."

"What?" Your nerves are vibrating, every cell in your body on edge. Your blood is so clogged, you swear you're seeing red. "What questions?"

"The usual sort of normal stuff. Your birthday. Your favorite colour. Childhood traumas. Our downfall. You know."

The casualty in the way he says it makes you sick, bile rising in your throat, a bitter burn at the back of your mouth. It's all starting to come together now. This stupid motherfucker—

"You're lying." The words feel weak, frail. He wouldn't—no, he couldn't. "You're fucking lying."

"Am I?" His fingers brush your cheek, but your skin's gone numb, your blood too frozen to feel anything but the cold burn of your fury. "Or, is the truth just…too much for your delicate ego to handle?"

Oh, fuck off—

Your wand is in your hand before you even realize you've grabbed it, instinct, pure reflex. There's barely a second of rational thought before you're casting, the spell hitting him square in the chest, sending him flying back into the chair he once sat in. His eyes flash, anger igniting there, and he scrambles for his wand—but you're faster.

"Expelliarmus."

One word and you're across the room before you even know you've moved, chest tight as you slam the tip of your wand against his throat. There's a cut on his lip, blood trickling down his chin for a second time tonight, but that stupid fucking smirk is still there, showcasing rubies for teeth and carved into his face like it belongs.

"Tell me what you did." Your voice cracks, but not from fear—it's fury, burgling through you, burning hot enough to make your whole body shake. You half want to cut him open just to bury your rage inside him, let him feel it. "If what you're saying is true, he ended things just days later. Tell me what the fuck you said to him."

Mattheo’s leaning back, hands raised in mock surrender, eyes glinting with the same smug amusement that's always haunted him. He's daring you, taunting you. He knows you never cared about that guy, not really.

You both know it. He was boring, easy.

This—this is something else.

His tongue swipes at the blood on his lip. "He didn't tell you—"

"Don't." Your wand digs deeper into his skin, cutting off whatever he was about to say. The pressure makes his breath hitch, but not enough. Not nearly enough. "I said tell me."

"Merlin—okay—I told him nothing, nothing really," his voice makes your grip tighten on your wand. He stares at you for a long, hard minute before he adds; "except that he should show me some fucking gratitude."

Your jaw slips, confusion rushing in like a flood. But before you can even question him—

"I told him he should be thanking me." Another pause. "When he's fucking you."

He laps at the blood seeping from the cut on his lip for the second time in only a minute and you barely notice the movement—the words hit you like a brick, but it's deeper than that, something visceral that crawls under your skin and settles in your bones. It's sharp, raw, cutting through the wall of rage so fast it leaves you breathless. You don't know how to explain it, this feeling that twists through you, something far too complicated to be named.

And then, you become aware of everything at once.

His legs, spread wide on either side of yours, the space between you so small, your chest just close enough to his face that his breath feels like it's fogging your skin. You're towering over him, wand pressed hard into his throat, your heart hammering in your chest like you're ready to ruin him—but his eyes, the way he looks up at you, says he'd let you.

"I may have even added that although you're with him, you'll always think of me. Both you and him know it’s true.“ That stupid smirk is gone, replaced with something you've never quite seen before. He pauses, before he continues. "You miss it. Us." Another pause. There’s something victorious in his tone, something that's almost breaking you. "And no matter how many times you try to forget, you never do, do you?"

Salazar save you—you should hex him. You should fucking hex him. Every nerve in your body is screaming for it, begging for it, but you can't. You can't fucking move. Your wand is still pressed to his skin, but it feels like you're the one pinned down.

"Shut up," you finally manage, but your voice is meek, thin, nothing like the fury you want to feel. "You...you're being—"

"I'll shut up," his hand finds your wrist, pressing your wand tip against his neck with more force—enough to make himself wince. "If you make me."

You blink, stunned, and you can feel your anger slipping, slipping faster than you can catch it. You don't know what's happening to you—it’s just him—his sick twisted insanity that disarms you. Time and time again. An endless fucking cycle.

"I could ruin you," you whisper, but it sounds more like you're trying to convince yourself than him. You press the wand deeper, just enough to draw a grunt from him, but the look on his face—he's not afraid. No, he's enjoying it. "I have more reasons than most to leave you here bloodied for Snape to find in the morning."

You say the words but the conviction is gone, swept away in the flood of heat between you—the dizzying proximity, the way his lips curl, almost smiling but not quite—

"What are you so afraid of?" He whispers, and there's something fragile in his voice now. "That you might actually want this?"

"I don't want this." You force the words out immediately, hoping they will make it real. Hoping they'll stop this spiral. "I regret ever wanting this."

He’s silent for a moment as he lowers his hands, dark eyes falling to trace your lips—

"I know you hate me, the feelings mutual...but I know. I know I'll always be your favourite regret," those chocolate curls shift, his head tilts closer, too close. Not close enough. "You're still my weapon of choosing."

Merlin. Merlin bloody forgive you—

"…to hurt yourself with?” It's half a question, but you already know the answer.

He nods, and that does it.

Your lips are on his, fast and hard and bruising—and the reaction is immediate, visceral. All that backed-up blood—all that rage frozen in your veins rushes forward in a single, scorching wave. It crashes low, between your thighs, a heat so sharp it aches. The shame comes with it. So does the disgust. A sick knot of self-hatred pulsing through you as you taste his blood on your tongue while his hands are under your skirt, grabbing you like he owns you, pulling you into him. It's only a moment before your wand clatters to the ground, and your hands are tangled in his hair, yanking hard, hard enough to hurt.

You want it to hurt. God, you want it to hurt.

He growls at the sting on his scalp—and then, everything flips.

His fingers tug at something, and you realize it's his own wand, the one you tucked into the back of your skirt—and before you can even think, he's got it, casting a spell that sends you flying back onto the desk behind you. You groan—the world spins, but you don't even have a second to gather yourself before he's advancing toward you, casting another spell on his tie.

Within seconds it's slithering across your lips and tying itself around your head, gagging you.

He steps between your legs, parts them with the ease of someone who's done it a thousand times before—rough hands gliding up your thighs, eyes wild. His fingers slip beneath your underwear, through your slit, and you try to hold on to any shred of control, but it's gone. You can feel it. The way you forget everything except the way he leans down, breath hot in your ear.

"Look how fucking wet you are," he spits through a sneering grin. "You're goddamn shameless, aren't you?"

You roll your eyes, but your thoughts scatter the moment his fingers shove inside you, curling hard—so hard you gasp into the tie, your back arching violently off the desk.

"He ever get you this wet?" His voice is like gravel, each word grinding into your bones. "Nod your head if he did."

Your body reacts before your mind does, arching against him, but you don't move your head. As much as it hurts your pride to give him that win. You dig your fingers into his hair and pull—hard enough to make him grunt, hard enough to hurt.

His hand comes down hard on your thigh in response, a sharp smack that stings, a warning. You squeal, and his fingers start pumping faster, deeper.

He huffs. "That's what I thought."

His fingers make quick work of you, relentless, and his thumb presses to your clit, rolling circles in a rhythm that has your blood on fire, shame licking at the edges of your vision, but it only makes you burn hotter. This is all wrong. Everything about this is wrong, something you'll regret with every fiber of your being tomorrow, but right now, it's an ache you need.

It's the wound you keep reopening, the pain you crave because it's the only thing that ever feels real.

"Fuck, you're close, aren't you?" He sounds almost shocked, like he can't believe how easily your body betrays you, but you feel it too, the disbelief crashing through you as fast as the pleasure does. Too fast. Far too fast. "Did he ever make you cum? Huh? When's the last time you fucking came?"

You can't answer, just groan, yanking at his hair again. His response is immediate, another stinging slap to your inner thigh, sharp enough to make fluid prick your eyes. Your orgasm is right there, teetering on the edge, ready to tip over—but then he slows his pace, dragging it out, torturing you.

You whine. A pitiful, desperate sound you hate yourself for.

"Look at me." His voice cuts through the haze, and begrudgingly, you do. "He didn't make you cum, did he?"

Your face burns, not from his breath or his fingers or even the astronomical amount of shame you feel—but from the truth of it. You shake your head.

"How long?" His voice shatters the air between you. "A week?"

You shake your head again, biting into the fabric of his tie as his fingers curl deeper inside you.

"Two weeks?"

Another shake. He curses under his breath.

"You poor little thing." His words are venom, but the second they spill from his lips, he pumps his fingers into you again, massaging at your walls, and your vision goes white. "Can't even cum without me."

You would've slapped him if you could, would've torn him apart, but the orgasm hits you like a freight train, ripping through you with violent force. You clench around his digits, thighs trembling as you ride the wave of pleasure, convulsing, moaning into the tie as he watches you like he's won.

"So fucking easy." He withdraws his fingers, and immediately, his hands go to his belt. "We'll make up for lost time."

Everything about this feels like a rerun. The same scene playing out on loop, again and again—a cycle of self-destruction you know too well, like running headfirst into a burning building, certain you can handle the smoke only to choke on it.

He's taking off his belt, ready to fuck you stupid, and by morning you'll be back to the same familiar hatred, tearing each other apart in new, inventive ways. Your hands move sluggishly to rip the tie from your mouth, but you're slow, too slow, still dizzy from the release that blindsided you, one that you haven't felt in so long—the fabric barely grazes your fingers before Mattheo catches your wrists, yanking them back, dragging you to your feet in one rough motion.

The spin disorients you—arms pinned behind your back, his cock sliding between your thighs.

"You've done enough talking today," he hisses at your ear as he drags along your slit. "You want this, don't you?"

Your mind screams for you to shake your head, to end this here and now. You know he'd stop—he's an asshole, but not that kind of an asshole. You know it. You almost do it, almost say the word that would shatter this madness. But then he drags his tip against your clit and you moan before you can stop yourself.

Your head nods with a wanton moan, and it's so full of shame your eyes sting with tears.

"Yeah, I know, baby." He's taunting you, every syllable smug, condescending. "This pussy missed me so much, huh?" His hand tightens on your wrists until your skin burns, the other hand finding its way around your thigh, pulling you closer to him. "Fuckin' lost without me. S'all it's good for, isn't it? Taking my cock."

You groan, shaking your head in defiance, but even that feels like a lie. You hate him. You want him. You hate yourself for wanting him.

"No?" His fingers inch toward your clit, ghosting over it—you squeal, hips jerking for more. "Maybe we should call this off then?"

You blink once and his fingers are gone—wrenching a whine out of you, pathetic as you push your ass back against him, shame burning through you as you shake your head. Fuck him. Curse him. But you need him inside you, need him to fill the aching void that gnaws at you.

"That's my slut," he growls, and before you can process the words, he's inside you—one long, brutal thrust that spears you open, the stretch burning deep. The sting mixes with shock of his fingers returning to your clit, rubbing circles that make your knees buckle. "You know you're the only girl I've fucked raw? This pussy will always be mine."

He's fucking insane. Completely insane. And the worst part is, you're just as insane for wanting him. For needing him. You can't fight it. You don't even want to. Not now. Not when his voice drips like poison and he's tearing you apart in the only way you understand.

"Mmmf—" you groan into the tie and he's matching you, his teeth grazing your shoulder, marking you in ways that will last for days.

"I hope it hurts," he grumbles against your skin, his breath ragged. He's lying, you can feel it in the way his fingers are moving, coaxing you to cum, even as he pretends to wish you pain. "I hope it fucking stings."

Your hands ball into fists, trapped in his grip, and you imagine clawing at his back until you draw blood, sinking your nails in until he feels every ounce of your anger.

"I want you to feel it—fuck—I want you to remember this," he pants, his voice barely more than a growl as your climax crashes toward you, unstoppable now. "Remember how weak I make you. How much of a slut you are for me."

Another harsh thrust and then, you're there—falling into the void—pleasure is so strong it bleeds out of you, forcing your cunt to clamp tight around him, legs trembling, barely able to support you through it. Mattheo’s curses slip through clenched teeth, but this only fuels him—his rhythm picks up, brutal, hips slamming against your ass with a pace that borders on unhinged.

"Fuck. Oh, fuck." The words are barely audible, grunted against the shell of your ear. You're whining, still twitching with aftershocks, but he doesn't care. His hands are on your hips now, fingers digging deep as he thrusts you forward, slamming you over the desk. The wood bites into your palms as you try to brace yourself, but his anger is palpable, drilling into you— "you wanna bitch at me now?"

The moan you release is automatic, instinctual. You can't stop it. Can't control it. His fingers curl around your throat, shifting the tie down to shove two into your mouth.

"Hhhhh—" you're trying to form words around his fingers, but it's impossible. The garbled sound is pathetic, but he knows exactly what you're trying to say.

"You hate me. I know." It’s smug, punctuated by a sharp smack to your ass, the sting of it making you yelp. He pulls his fingers from your mouth, wiping the spit across your cheek before he grips your jaw, forcing your head to turn, to meet his eyes. "Open your mouth."

There's no time to process the demand. His eyes are molten, crazed, filled with something raw and uncontainable. His next thrust is punishing, slamming into your cervix, making you sob—your mouth parting just enough—

He leans in close, and then he spits into your mouth.

"Swallow it." His fingers dig into your cheeks, pressing the order into your bones. "Be a good girl for once."

You choke out a laugh, even as you're panting, even as he's splitting you stupid.

"Never." The word barely leaves your lips before you’re spitting back at him—your entwined saliva landing across his chin and lips.

For a second, you expect the worst—you brace yourself for the retaliation—the slap, the insult, the way he'll tighten his grip and take back control. But to your surprise, instead of anger, there's a grin—wide and feral, big and crazed enough to reach his eyes.

You smile back. His cock twitches inside you.

"Fuck me," he mutters, then crashes his mouth to yours.

You taste the salt and bitterness of mingled spit, a mess of his and yours, and it pulls a moan from somewhere deep inside you. He devours it, greedy, his hips growing erratic, sloppy as his high nears.

His hand drops to your clit, fingers pressing with a precision that obliterates every last shred of sanity—and it takes only moments before the pressure builds again, fast and furious. Your third orgasm rips you apart, your body clenching tight, muscles seizing as you're lost in it. You're not sure where you end and he begins—your breath congealing with his, your moans swallowed in the space between you.

His release follows right after, crashing over him as he buries himself deep, spilling into you with a groan that reverberates through your bones. You hate the way it feels. You hate the way he fills you. But you also can't deny the twisted satisfaction of it—the way you sought this punishment, needed it. The shame consumes you, but it's comforting in its familiarity.

He pulls out, and the silence between you is easy, broken only by your ragged breathing. The room feels impossibly small now, your body still thrumming with the aftermath, but the moment is over. You both start to move—piecing yourselves back together, pulling clothes into place, avoiding the weight of what just happened.

You don't understand how it came to this, how it always does, but you're not surprised. Not anymore.

After a long, silent moment, he looks at you. “I don’t regret what I did.”

You know he doesn’t.

“I know.”

He blinks. “I won’t apologize for it.”

You know he won’t.

“I know.”

He nods, now, a smirk on his lips as he watches you fix your skirt. You note the hair sticking to his forehead, how he’s still catching his breath even though he’s pretending he isn’t.

“You aren’t mad.” An observation.

“I’m not.” You reply. You know you should be, but the relief you felt when that Ravenclaw ended things tells you everything you need to know. “Just, never do it again.”

He nods again. “Sure.”

You’re pretty sure he doesn’t mean that—but, at least now, as you glance over at him, there's a small comfort in knowing you no longer want to kill him.

[olive-main]

oooo if you’re interested would love to see your take: reader is Azriel’s mate, nobody knows. The inner circle keeps trying to set him up with females (including Elaine & Gwyn). They like reader but don’t view her as an option for being his partner. Lots of angst, she’s hurting, she overhears them saying she’s not an option for him. Up to you what happens for her and Azriel. Loved your last story, and that you wanted more angst ideas!! And if this isn’t what you’re looking for, all good!

Between Us Alone

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Summary: Azriel’s mate overhears a conversation that shakes her confidence in their hidden bond, but he reminds her that love, even in shadows, is unbreakable.

Wc: 1.2k

A/N: Annndddd welcome back to our regularly scheduled programming. This time I come with the gift of some fluff (with angst ofc bcs duh—who do y’all think I am?) Enjoy the happy endings while they last…..evil laugh

Masterlist

——

The corridors of the House of Wind were quiet, save for the faint hum of conversation that drifted from Rhysand’s office. You’d gone looking for Azriel, hoping he might steal away from his “boys’ night” early and join you at your shared apartment.

A secret, the two of you. Hidden in plain sight. Quite fitting for Rhysand’s spymasters.

It was exhilarating at first—the quiet smiles across rooms, the fleeting brushes of hands, and the stolen glances when no one else was looking. But there were cracks now, small fissures of insecurity that made you wonder if keeping the bond private had been the right choice.

Your footsteps slowed as you neared Rhys’s office, voices clear now, though you didn’t mean to eavesdrop. You were about to knock when you caught the sound of Cassian’s boisterous laughter.

“Oh, come on, Az,” Cassian said, his tone teasing. “You’ve been spending all that time with Gwyn. Don’t tell me you haven’t thought about it.”

“Gwyn’s sweet,” Rhysand added. “And she clearly enjoys your company. You’d make a good pair.”

Your heart clenched painfully, the words hitting you like a physical blow.

Azriel’s reply was quieter, almost unreadable. “Gwyn is a friend. I’m not looking for… that.”

Cassian scoffed. “You say that now, but it’s been centuries, Az. When was the last time you even tried to let someone in? Gwyn’s perfect for you—kind, strong, clever. She gets you.”

“She’s not the only option,” Rhys said smoothly. “There are others. Nesta’s mentioned a few priestesses who would be good matches.”

Cassian nodded in agreement. “There’s also Y/N.”

You pressed your hand to the doorframe, your breaths shallow as you heard Cassian say your name.

“No, I don’t see them together. They rarely speak to each other outside of missions and a few shared words at dinners.” Rhysand says with a shake of his head as if the thought of you and Azriel together was the most unlikely thing he could think of.

You shouldn’t have stayed, shouldn’t have listened, but you couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. They didn’t mean to hurt you—you knew that. You’d always been on the periphery of their circle, a friend but never a true equal in their eyes. Azriel’s shadows had been your sanctuary, his quiet love a solace you cherished.

But to hear them speak so casually, as if you weren’t even a possibility…

Azriel’s voice cut through, firm and unyielding. “I don’t need you to play matchmaker. I can handle my own life.”

“You’re avoiding the question,” Cassian said, clearly amused.

“Drop it,” Azriel snapped, his tone brooking no argument.

The room fell silent after that, but the damage was done. You turned and fled, the ache in your chest twisting tighter with every step.

—

The space you shared with Azriel was small but cozy, tucked away in a quiet corner of Velaris where no one thought to look. It was your haven, the only place you could truly be yourselves without prying eyes or whispered questions.

But tonight, it felt suffocating.

You sank onto the couch, wrapping a blanket around yourself as the doubts clawed at your mind.

This charade was necessary. You both knew that. If they ever found out you and Azriel had been together for months—years, now—it would complicate everything. Not just for him, but for you.

As Azriel’s partner, you worked in the shadows as he did, your work as vital and delicate as his own. Secrecy was second nature to you both, and you’d agreed early on that revealing your bond—to anyone—was too risky.

You’d thought you could handle it. But moments like this, when they talked about Azriel’s love life like you didn’t exist, like you weren’t his, made you question how much more you could endure.

You told yourself it wasn’t Azriel’s fault. He hadn’t encouraged them. He’d even told them to stop. But the weight of their words lingered, stirring fears you’d tried so hard to bury.

What if they were right? What if Azriel deserved someone like Gwyn, someone who could stand beside him without the need for secrecy?

You didn’t hear the front door open, too lost in your thoughts to notice the familiar sound of Azriel’s footsteps until he was standing in front of you.

“Something’s wrong,” he said immediately, his hazel eyes scanning your face. His shadows swirled around him, restless and sharp. “What happened?”

You shook your head, forcing a smile. “It’s nothing. Just tired.”

His brow furrowed, and he crouched in front of you, his hands resting gently on your knees. “Don’t lie to me.”

The sincerity in his voice nearly broke you. You looked away, your throat tightening as you tried to hold back tears.

“Y/N,” he said softly, tilting your chin up so you had no choice but to meet his gaze. “Tell me.”

You hesitated, the words sticking in your throat. But you couldn’t keep it in any longer.

“I went to Rhys’s office,” you admitted quietly. “I was going to find you, but… I heard you all talking.”

Azriel stiffened, his jaw tightening. “What did you hear?” He already knew. There was only one part of the conversation that could’ve had you so distraught.

You swallowed hard. “They… they were trying to set you up with someone. Gwyn, mostly. Rhys mentioned others.” You laughed bitterly, the sound hollow. “They said I wasn’t even an option.”

Azriel’s eyes darkened, his shadows curling tighter around him.

“They didn’t mean it to hurt me, I know that” you added quickly, seeing how Azriel was ready to go back and pummel his brothers. “They don’t know about us. But… it still hurt.”

He exhaled sharply, standing and pacing the room. His hands curled into fists at his sides. “They had no right—”

“They care about you,” you interrupted. “They want you to be happy. And maybe they’re right. Maybe you’d be better off with someone like Gwyn. Someone who—”

“Stop.”

The word was a command, sharp and unyielding. Azriel crossed the room in an instant, kneeling before you again. He took your hands in his, his grip firm but gentle.

“Don’t you dare doubt this,” he said fiercely. “Don’t you dare doubt us.”

Tears spilled over, and he reached up to brush them away, his touch achingly tender.

“You are my mate,” he said, his voice breaking. “You. Not Gwyn, not anyone else. You are the only one I want, the only one I will ever want.”

“But they—”

“They’re idiots,” he said flatly. “I’ll deal with them. But don’t let their ignorance make you doubt what we have.”

You searched his face, finding only unwavering certainty in his eyes.

“I love you,” he said, his voice softening. “More than I thought I was capable of. And I don’t care if they don’t see it. I see it. I feel it.”

A broken laugh escaped you, relief washing over you like a tide. “I love you too.”

He pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly as if he could shield you from the world.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I never wanted you to feel like this. I thought keeping the bond private would protect us, but if it’s hurting you—”

“It’s not,” you said quickly. “Not really. I just… I needed to hear this. To hear you.”

He pulled back just enough to press his forehead to yours. “You’ll never have to doubt me again.”

——

Aren’t they just so sweet *sigh*. Thank you for reading <3

Requests are still open ;)