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clxja16 · 12 days ago

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Not Actually Together

Charles Leclerc X Reader

Genre: fake dating au!

Warnings: swearing, emotionally dramatic

Word Count: 11K+

Author's Note: okay so I tried to do it a little different this time. usually i write like three/four part series, because it's easier for my brain. but i don't think people like that so i just wrote it all, so this is one long part but a somewhat satisfactory conclusion. lmk what you guys thinks.. thank you to anyone who enjoys this. imma be honest it feels a little melodramatic.

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It had been a few weeks since Charles first mentioned Alexandra to you. Since then, you’d pieced together bits of their relationship but he was careful to keep it discreet. You didn’t ask questions, and he didn’t offer details. It was better that way. Today, though, was different. It was the last race before the summer break, and as usual, Charles was driving you to the track.

The early morning sun filtered through the car windows, casting a golden glow over the roads. The hum of the engine was a familiar backdrop to your thoughts. In the beginning, Charles had been rigid about the drive to the track—no touching the radio, no deviations from his carefully curated playlists. But over time, he’d loosened up. First, he’d let you choose the music on practice days. Then, gradually, he began trusting your taste entirely. Now, it was almost expected of you to play the music for the drive.

You weren’t always sure if he liked what you chose, though. He never said much about it. But every now and then, after he parked the car, you’d catch him adding one of your songs to his personal playlist. It was a small thing, but it made your chest warm in a way you couldn’t quite explain.

Today was no different. As the car rolled to a stop, you saw him pull out his phone and add another song. The corner of your mouth lifted in a faint smile. “Shall we head in?” Charles asked, turning to look at you.

His eyes—those eyes—always seemed to catch you off guard. People argued over whether they were green or blue, but to you, they were something else entirely. When he looked at you like that, it was impossible not to feel something. Something deep and unspoken. Charles wasn’t yours. He would never be yours. But the way he looked at you—that was yours, and yours alone.

“After you,” you said, smiling up at him. It was a sweet, genuine smile, the kind that made his heart skip a beat.

Charles wasn’t sure when it had started, but your smile had become his undoing. Every time you flashed it at him—soft, warm, and just a little teasing—he felt his cheeks heat and his stomach flip. It was ridiculous, really. He wasn’t yours, and he never would be. But when you smiled like that, you owned him, if only for a moment.

He stepped out of the car and came around to your side, opening the door with a quiet grace. He held out his hand, and you took it without hesitation. His grip was firm, grounding, as he helped you out of the car. Together, you walked toward the entrance, his hand still in yours.

To anyone watching, you looked like the picture of a perfect couple—two people completely in love, completely in sync. But you and Charles knew the truth. Or at least, you thought you did.

At the race, Charles had crossed the finish line in fourth place. It wasn’t a terrible result, but you knew he wouldn’t be happy—not when he’d started on the front row, not when he’d been aiming for the podium. You waited for him in the garage, watching as he went through the motions of post-race interviews in the media pen. When he finally returned, his expression was unreadable, his usual spark dimmed by disappointment.

He didn’t say a word as he walked past you. You followed him silently, giving him the space he seemed to need. The two of you entered his dressing room, the door clicking shut behind you, and still, he remained quiet. You didn’t push him to talk. You knew better than anyone how Charles processed his emotions—how he needed time to sort through the frustration before he could voice it.

The silence stretched between you, heavy but not uncomfortable. You were used to this, to the way he retreated into himself after a race that didn’t go as he planned. But then his phone buzzed, breaking the stillness. Alexandra’s name lit up the screen, her picture flashing brightly.

Charles’s face softened as he answered the call, a smile spreading across his lips—a smile you couldn’t remember ever eliciting from him. It was warm, genuine, and effortless, the kind of smile that made your chest ache. You didn’t stay to listen. Instead, you slipped out of the room, leaving him to talk to her in private.

As you wandered through the paddock, you felt the weight of your anonymity settle over you. Without Charles by your side, you were just another face in the crowd. No cameras followed you, no fans called out your name, no one demanded your attention. For a moment, you told yourself you liked it this way—the peace, the freedom, the ability to move unnoticed. You repeated it like a mantra, trying to convince yourself that this was what you wanted.

But deep down, you knew the truth. You didn’t mind the chaos that came with being by Charles’s side. You didn’t mind the flashes of cameras, the constant attention, or the noise. Because being with him made it all worth it. He was the reason you endured it, the reason you smiled through it. And now, as you walked alone, the absence of it all felt like a void you couldn’t quite fill.

You told yourself you liked the solitude, but the ache in your chest told a different story.

Charles watched you walk out of the room as he answered Alexandra’s call, the door closing softly behind you. For a moment, he hesitated, his gaze lingering on the space where you’d just been. A part of him wanted to hang up the phone, to follow after you, to take you by the hand and be with you for a quiet stroll. He loved those moments with you. The moments where the world seemed to fade away and it was just the two of you, moving in sync through the chaos of the paddock.

He loved the way you held onto him a little tighter when fans approached, your fingers curling around his arm as if he were your anchor. He loved how you’d gently tug him toward the crowd, your voice soft but insistent as you reminded him to acknowledge the people who adored him.

And then there were the photos—the endless requests from fans eager to capture a moment with him. You never seemed to mind the interruptions. You’d stand patiently by his side, your hand still in his, as he posed for pictures and signed autographs.

As he listened to Alexandra’s voice on the other end of the line, his thoughts drifted back to you. He wondered where you were now, if you were wandering the paddock alone or finding a quiet corner to sit and wait. He wondered if you missed him as much as he suddenly missed you. But the call demanded his attention, and so he stayed, his heart being tugged in two different directions.

“Charles,” Alexandra says his name through the phone, “you’re gonna come tonight, right?”

Charles brings himself back to pay attention to Alexandra, “yeah, yeah.”

“And you’re gonna bring y/n right?” Alexandra questions, excitement evident in her voice, “I really do want to meet her.”

The idea of you and Alexandra meeting sends a ripple of unease through Charles. He doesn’t have a valid reason for the two of you not to meet—after all, you’re his fake girlfriend, and Alex is his real one. But the thought of the two worlds colliding makes him tense. He hesitates, choosing his words carefully. “I don’t know, Alex. I can ask y/n, but she’s not really a clubbing person. And honestly, I’m not in the mood to party tonight.”

Alexandra’s voice takes on a pleading edge. “Please, Charles. We don’t ever do anything together—not in public, at least.”

“Alex, that’s just how…”

“Charles I know that’s how it has to be, and I love hanging out at home with you, I really do. But it would be nice to go out for once, to feel like we’re… normal. And if you bring y/n, it would be the perfect opportunity. No one would suspect anything.” Alex makes her case, and Charles doesn’t want to deny her.

Her words hang in the air, and Charles can hear the longing in her voice. Alexandra isn’t just asking for a night out; she’s asking for a chance to exist in his world, even if it’s just for a few hours. She wants to feel like she matters, like she’s more than a secret tucked away in the shadows of his life.

“I will ask,” Charles says, his resistance wavering, “but if y/n says no, then i’m not going tonight. She has made it clear how she feels about this, and I'm not going to make a fool out of her.”

“I understand,” Alexandra replies, though her sigh betrays her disappointment. She doesn’t like this feeling of being second to you—not when she’s the one in the real relationship with Charles. It’s a bitter pill to swallow, knowing that she has to share him with someone who doesn’t even truly have a claim on him.

As the call ends, Alexandra stares at her phone, a mix of emotions swirling inside her. She loves Charles, but sometimes she wonders if she’s just another piece in the carefully constructed puzzle of his life. She wants to be more than that—more than the girl he hides away, more than the one who has to beg for a night out. But for now, she’ll take what she can get, even if it means sharing him with you.

As you and Charles walk back towards the car, after the events of the day, Charles asks, “what are you doing tonight?”

You sigh, “I’m hoping to pack, my flight home is tomorrow in the late morning.”

Charles stops in his tracks, his brow furrowing as his thoughts shift. “You’re not coming to Monaco with me?” His voice is tinged with surprise, almost disbelief, as if the idea of you not being there hadn’t even crossed his mind.

You turn to face him, noticing the way his expression falters. “I’ll be in Monaco before you have to go to the Netherlands,” you reassure him, your tone gentle. “But no, I’m not going straight to Monaco from here.”

Charles stands still, a few paces behind you, his eyes searching yours. For a moment, you think you see a flicker of pain in his gaze—something raw and unspoken. “I just thought…” he begins, his voice trailing off as he struggles to find the right words. He looks at you with those eyes—the ones that always seem to see straight through you, the ones that hold a world of emotions you can’t always decipher. “I just thought you were coming home with me.”

You offer him a smile, that sweet, reassuring smile that he loves, and take a step closer to him. “Charles,” you say softly, “I’ll be back in Monaco before you can even miss me.” But the truth is, he’s already missing you. He hasn’t even let go of you yet, and already he’s dreading the emptiness your absence will leave behind.

You hold out your hand to him, a silent invitation to close the distance between you. For a moment, he hesitates, his emotions swirling just beneath the surface. Then, with a quiet resolve, he takes the first step forward, his hand slipping into yours. His grip is firm, almost as if he’s afraid you’ll slip away too soon.

The two of you walk toward the car, Charles reaches the passenger side first, opening the door for you with a small, almost reflexive gesture. You slide into the seat, murmuring a quiet “thank you,” but you notice the way his movements seem to slow, more deliberate than usual. As he walks around the car to the driver’s side, his mind races. There’s something he needs to ask you, something he doesn’t want to ask of you. He tries to find the right words, weighing each one carefully. This isn’t a conversation he can rush—it requires caution, a gentle touch.

When he finally settles into the driver’s seat, the car door closing with a soft thud, the silence between you feels heavier than before. You glance at him, noticing the way his hands grip the steering wheel a little too tightly, the way his jaw tenses as he stares straight ahead. It’s clear he has something on his mind, something he’s struggling to put into words.

“Charles,” you call out softly, looking at him cautiously, “what's on your mind?”

Charles freezes, looking like a deer caught in headlights, and you smile at him. Charles sighs, running his hand through his hair. “Alex wants to meet you,” he admits.

You physically cannot hide your surprise, “Oh.” You don’t know what to say. Your mind races, trying to process the idea of meeting Alexandra. She seems nice—kind, beautiful, and clearly someone who makes Charles happy. There’s no logical reason to refuse, but the thought still makes you feel awkward, “Sure,” you smile, “when is a good time?”

Charles hesitates, his gaze dropping for a moment before meeting yours again. “Well,” he begins, taking a deep breath, “she was thinking tonight, there’s this party at this club.”

“Charles,” you start to shake your head, “that’s not really…”

“I know,” he interrupts, his words tumbling out faster now, as if he’s trying to explain before you can object. “Alex wants to go, and she thinks it would be something we could do in public if you’re there. Since, you know, all we usually do is hang out at home. But if you say no, y/n, I won’t go. I promise.” He takes another breath, ready to say more, but you cut him off this time.

“Don’t do that,” you say sharply, your voice rising as your face hardens with anger. “Do not make it seem like you can’t do something because of me, Charles.” The way you say his name—cold, clipped—makes him flinch. It’s not the way you usually say it, and the shift in tone stings. “Do not act like I’m the reason we’re in this situation.”

Charles’s eyes widen, and he quickly shakes his head. “No, no, that’s not what I’m trying to do, y/n,” he says, his voice earnest. He looks at you with those eyes—the ones that always seem to make you weak—and you feel yourself soften, just a little. “Alex wants to meet you because we spend a lot of time together. And that’s not your fault or your doing. She just wants to know who I’m spending my time with, and she thought tonight would be a good chance for that.” He looks down at his lap, his shoulders slumping. “If you don’t want to go, I won’t force you. We can just go back to the hotel, and we’ll figure out another time for you to meet Alex. I just meant… if you say no, then it’s no. I won’t argue with your decision.”

You sigh, the tension in your chest easing slightly. None of this is ideal—not the fake relationship, not the secrecy, not the way Charles is caught between you and Alex. But you know it’s not his fault. “I’m sorry,” you say quietly, your gaze dropping as you take a deep breath. “I know this situation wasn’t your idea. It’s what the team wanted, and I shouldn’t blame you.” You pause, then look up at him, forcing a small smile. “I’ll go tonight. I’ll meet Alex tonight.”

Charles looks up at you, studying your face. “Are you sure?” He asks softly, his expression showing a mix of relief and concern.

“Yeah it could be fun,” you smile, that sweet smile, that Charles loves so much. There’s a silence that falls over you both, as Charles looks at you with those eyes, and there’s so many unspoken thoughts behind them.

“Thank you,” Charles whispers to you.

Much later that evening as you adorned an outfit befitting of a night out. Charles and you made your way to the club. You and Charles walk hand in hand, into the club, he waves at some of the fans that spot him. Inside, it’s much more crowded than you expect. Charles pulls you closer to him, as he weaves his way through the crowd. You know that there were gonna be several of the drivers and their girlfriends out tonight.

As you approach the area that the drivers are gathering at you spot Kika. You and her have formed a simple friendship, just from seeing each other at the races. You and her aren’t exactly close, but she is definitely someone you find comfort in. You smile and wave at her, as you find a seat next to her.

“I thought parties like this weren’t your thing?” she shouts over the music in your ear.

“They’re not, but Charles asked me to come.” Kika nods, as she hands you a shot. Without hesitation, you down it—and then two more in quick succession. Kika watches with a mix of amusement and concern, giggling at your boldness. She’s not sure if you’re a regular drinker, but your actions suggest something is on your mind.

Meanwhile, Charles is a few feet away, mingling with fellow drivers like Pierre and Carlos. They’re deep in conversation, their words drowned out by the music. Charles is in his element, laughing and gesturing animatedly, while you and Kika share a quieter moment amidst the chaos.

You watch as Charles rises from his seat, his figure cutting through the dim, pulsating lights of the club. He disappears into the crowd, his broad shoulders and confident stride making him easy to track—at first. But as the sea of faces shifts and sways, the crowd swallows him whole, and your eyes lose him in the blur of bodies and flashing lights. You crane your neck, trying to catch another glimpse, but he’s gone.

Moments later, you spot him again. This time, he’s not alone. Standing beside him is Alexandra, her presence commanding attention even in the chaotic atmosphere. The club’s lighting seems to bend around her, casting a soft, golden glow on her flawless skin. She moves with an effortless grace, her every step exuding confidence and poise. Her beauty is undeniable—radiant, almost otherworldly.

You can’t help but notice how perfectly she fits into this world, how she seems to belong in a way you never could. Her smile is dazzling, her laughter carrying over the music as she leans in to say something to Charles. He laughs too, his expression relaxed and open in a way you can’t bring out of him.

Your eyes follow them as they draw closer. “y/n,” Charles calls your name, and he looks at you with those eyes. Those eyes, with that look, that belong to you and only you. He gives you that look, and your heart breaks knowing that’s the only thing you have. “This is Alexandra.” He steps aside, presenting her to you. His tone is polite, but there’s a flicker of unease in his expression, as if he’s bracing for impact.

“Hi,” you say with a big smile, as she moves to hug you and you are forced to stand and hug her back.

“Hi,” Alex says breathlessly, and even her voice is beautiful. “It’s so nice to meet you, Charles says nothing but praises about you.”

For a split second, your heart skips a beat. Charles talks about me? The thought sends a rush of warmth through you, but it’s quickly replaced by doubt. You force a blush, playing along. “Charles says nothing but wonderful things about you too,” you lie, your voice steady despite the ache in your chest. You realize, with a sinking feeling, that her words are probably just as hollow. Charles doesn’t talk about Alexandra to you, and you doubt he’s ever mentioned you to her.

“I’m so grateful that you let Charles ask me out,” Alex says with a genuine smile, even her smile is beautiful.

“Of course,” you say, your smile tightening, “it really isn’t my place to tell him who he can and can’t date.”

Alex giggles, a sound that’s light and carefree. “And thank god your relationship isn’t real,” she adds, as if it’s the most casual thing in the world. “I mean, I knew Charles was in a relationship when I started hitting on him, so I’m just relieved it wasn’t a real one.”

Your breath catches, and you’re not sure if you manage to keep your expression neutral. “I mean, thank god,” you echo with an awkward chuckle, your mind racing. Did she really just say that? You glance at Charles, but he’s already looking away, his jaw tight. “You guys should go get a drink or something,” you suggest quickly, desperate to end the conversation.

“Yeah, we’re gonna go check out the bar,” Alex says as she turns back and looks at Charles to point at the bar. She turns back to look at you, still smiling so radiantly, “it was so nice to meet you, let’s hang out sometime.”

You nod, “of course we must have lunch or something.” You watch as they walk away, your smile fading the moment they’re out of sight. You sink back into your seat, reaching for another shot on the table. You down it in one gulp, the burn of the alcohol doing little to numb the sting of Alex’s words. You want to believe she didn’t mean it the way it sounded, but the doubt lingers.

“Did she say she knew?” Kika’s voice cuts through your thoughts, her tone sharp and accusing.

“I think it sounds worse than-” you shake your head as you talk.

“No,” Kika interjects, “it sounds like she was willing to be a homewrecker.”

“Kika, I think you’re exaggerating,” you reply, trying to laugh it off, but the sound falls flat.

“Girl, be so for real right now,” Kika snaps, leaning closer. “She just admitted she knew Charles was in a relationship when she made a move on him. That’s not normal.”

“But we’re not actually together,” you retort.

“She didn’t know that,” Kika fires back. “All she knew was that he was in a relationship. That’s messed up, and you know it.”

Kika raises her eyebrows, daring you to disagree. You sigh, your shoulders slumping. There’s no point in arguing. Not that any of it matters now.

The rest of that night is a blur, the edges softened by too many drinks and the weight of unspoken words. You and Charles don’t discuss Alexandra again. The next morning, you leave Belgium before he does, slipping away without fanfare. The summer break stretches before you, a welcome reprieve filled with family and distance. The time away gives you space to breathe, to think, to untangle the mess of emotions tied to Charles.

Two weeks pass, and you convince yourself you’ve figured it all out. The conclusion is clear: you don’t like Charles. Not in that way at least. The hours spent together, the shared smiles, the quiet moments—they were just part of the act. You tell yourself you’ve mistaken his kindness for something more. That your feelings are nothing more than a byproduct of the close proximity. You repeat it like a mantra: You don’t like Charles. You don’t like Charles.

By the time you land at Nice Côte d'Azur Airport, you’ve almost convinced yourself it’s true. Charles insisted on picking you up, despite you arguing that a taxi would be fine. You protested, but he wouldn’t budge. And now, as you spot him weaving through the crowd, your resolve wavers.

He looks… different. Or maybe it’s just that you’ve forgotten the way his presence makes you blush, the way his eyes light up when he sees you. Your chest tightens as he approaches, and you realize just how much you’ve missed him.

“Hi,” he says, slightly out of breath, as if he’d been running to you. Before you can respond, he’s pulling you into a hug, his arms wrapping around you like he’s afraid you’ll disappear. “I missed you,” he murmurs into your shoulder, so softly that you wonder if you imagined it.

“Hi,” you reply, your voice muffled against his chest. You hug him back, your hands gripping the fabric of his shirt as if to anchor yourself. When he finally pulls away, he looks at you with those eyes—the ones that belong to you and only you.

You can’t help but smile, and when you do, Charles’s heart skips a beat. He’s waited two weeks to see that smile, the one that lights up your face and makes his stomach flip. It’s the smile he’s come to love, though he’d never say it out loud.

“Let’s go home,” he says, holding out his hand to you. The word home lingers in the air, heavy with meaning. You take his hand, your fingers slotting perfectly into his, and something about the way he says it makes your chest ache.

Charles grabs your suitcase, his free hand still holding yours, and the two of you make your way to the car. The airport buzzes around you, but at this moment, it feels like it’s just the two of you, walking toward something you’re both too afraid to name.

The drive from the airport to Charles’ apartment is quiet. The hum of the car engine and the soft music you play, filling the space between you. You stare out the window, watching the familiar streets of Monaco blur past. Charles glances at you occasionally, his fingers tapping the steering wheel as if he’s searching for an opening to speak. But the words never come, and neither do yours.

When you arrive, you look up at the building before you. You try to remind yourself that everything from here on out is just an act. Charles carries your suitcase upstairs, his movements brisk and efficient. You follow him, your stomach twisting with a mix of anticipation and dread. The door to his apartment swings open, and the smell of something delicious wafts out—garlic, herbs, and warmth.

“Welcome back!” a cheery voice calls out, as Alexandra rounds the corner to greet you.

You freeze seeing her standing there. She has an apron tied around her waist, subtle sweat beads drip down the sides of your face. The smile she wears is genuine and kind. She looks breathtaking at this moment. Even the disheveled, homebody, tirelessly working version of her is stunningly beautiful.

“Y/N! It’s so good to finally meet you properly,” she says, pulling you into a hug before you can react. Her embrace is warm, her perfume soft and floral. “Charles has told me so much about you.”

You stiffen, your arms moving awkwardly up to hug her back. Over her shoulder, you catch Charles’s gaze. He looks uneasy, his jaw tight as he sets your suitcase down.

“Alex wanted to make something to welcome you back,” Charles says, his voice carefully measured.

Alexandra pulls away, her smile still radiant, and glowing. “I made pasta, I hope you like it,” she says as she plants a soft kiss on Charles' cheek before returning to the kitchen. The act makes you clench your jaw, how you wish that it was you doing that.

You try to remind yourself that you don’t like Charles. “That was really kind of you Alex,” you say walking past Charles and towards the kitchen.

“I know I love a good home cooked meal after a long flight,” Alex says as she plates the food, “I thought you would enjoy the same.” She brings the plates to the dining table.

She ushers you toward the dining table, which is set with candles and a bottle of wine. The scene is so domestic, so perfect, that it makes your chest ache. You glance at Charles, but he’s avoiding your eyes, busying himself with pouring glasses of water.

“Please, come sit,” she says. You take your seat across from Alexandra. You can tell she’s worked hard on this meal.

“It smells amazing,” you say, your voice tight as you smile. You pick up your fork, your appetite gone, but you force yourself to take a bite. It’s delicious, of course.

“Tell me all about your summer,” Alexandra says, she looks more beautiful in the candle light, “Charles said you were with family.”

“It was good,” you say, “quiet. Different.”

“That sounds lovely,” she says, her tone warm. “I’ve been here most of the break. Charles has been such a great host.”

You glance at him again, but he’s staring at his plate, his fork pushing food around without eating. The awkwardness in the room is cutting, though Alexandra seems oblivious—or maybe she’s just that good at pretending.

“It’s nice to finally have you here,” she continues, reaching for the wine bottle. “Charles talks about you all the time. It’s like I already know you.”

“Does he?” you ask with a bit of a force chuckle, “I hope it’s nothing but good things.”

“Oh of course,” Alexandra says as she looks at Charles, nothing but love in her eyes, “I think it would literally kill him to say a negative thing about you.”

You smile, looking back at your plate. Charles looks at you, that smile you wear isn’t the same. It’s not the smile that he loves. It’s different, it’s a sad smile. “I’m glad he’s not telling lies,” you finally say looking at Alexandra. You can feel Charles’ gaze on you, but you don’t meet it.

The rest of the meal passes in a blur. Alexandra fills the silence with stories about her summer, her laughter bright and easy. You nod along, your responses polite but distant. Charles stays quiet, his presence a heavy weight at the table.

When the meal is over, Alexandra insists on cleaning up. “You two must be tired,” she says, shooing you toward the living room. “Go relax. I’ve got this.”

“Thank you again for cooking,” you say.

“Of course,” Alexandra smiles, “It was so nice having you. Now go unwind.”

You don’t argue. You follow Charles into the living room, you try to remind yourself once more. You don’t have genuine feelings for Charles. He sits on the couch, his elbows on his knees, his head in his hands.

“Charles,” you call out to him softly.

He looks up, his eyes tired. “I’m sorry,” he says, his voice rough. “I didn’t know she was going to do all this.”

You sit beside him, your hands clasped in your lap. “She’s… really kind.”

Charles sighs, his hands gripping the edge of the couch as if anchoring himself. “Yeah, she is,” he murmurs, his voice low and strained. He looks at you, his eyes searching yours for something—understanding, maybe, or forgiveness. But the words don’t come, and the silence between you grows heavier.

You lean further back into the couch, your gaze fixed on the ceiling. “When the season is over, you can be more open about your relationship with her,” you say, your tone carefully neutral. “No more pretending. No more… me.”

Charles flinches, his jaw tightening as he stares at the floor. His fingers tap restlessly against his knee, a telltale sign of his unease. “It’s not that simple,” he says finally, his voice rough, though he doesn’t elaborate.

You turn to look at him, your heart aching at the conflict etched across his face. “Isn’t it?” you ask softly, though you already know the answer.

For a moment, he doesn’t respond. His eyes drop to his hands, his shoulders slumping under the weight of everything left unsaid. The sound of Alexandra humming in the kitchen fills the silence, a painful reminder of the life Charles has built—and the one you’re no longer sure you belong in. Neither of you say anything more for the night.

Time doesn’t allow you to wallow. It never does. It throws you into the next event before you can catch your breath, before you can prepare. Time forces you to face the crowd, to put on the mask and play the part. You sit in the passenger seat, staring out the window at the paddock entrance. The sea of photographers waits, their cameras poised, ready to capture every and all moments.

Charles comes around to your side, opening the door for you. His hand is steady, but his eyes show his concern.

“You okay?” he asks, his voice soft, his gaze searching yours.

“Yeah,” you force a smile, though it feels brittle on your lips. You take his outstretched hand, your fingers slipping into his as you step out of the car. His grip is firm, grounding, and for a moment, you let yourself lean into him.

“I forgot about this,” you murmur, your voice barely audible over the hum of the paddock.

Charles’s jaw tightens, guilt flickering across his face. “We can take the other entrance,” he offers, his tone hesitant. The other entrance is quieter, less crowded, but it feels like running away.

You shake your head, your resolve hardening. “It’s okay.”

The moment you take the first step forward, the cameras erupt. Flashes of light burst around you, blinding and relentless. Charles’ smile is bright, effortless, as he waves at the crowd. You mirror him, your own smile plastered on, but your grip on his hand tightens instinctively.

His thumb brushes against the back of your hand, a small, unconscious gesture that sends a shiver up your spine. You glance at him, but he’s focused on the crowd, his smile never wavering. His grip on your hand tightens slightly, as if he’s afraid you’ll slip away.

“Charles,” you say softly, your voice barely audible over the noise. You’ve just arrived at the Ferrari motorhome, the chaos of the paddock fading behind you.

He looks down at you, his eyes dark and unreadable. “Yeah?”

You hesitate, the words catching in your throat. This isn’t real, you remind yourself. It’s just an act. But the way he’s looking at you—like you’re the only person in the world—makes it hard to breathe.

“Nothing,” you say finally, your voice barely a whisper.

Charles lets go of your hand, and the loss of his touch is immediate. You clench your hands into fists, your nails digging into your palms to keep from reaching for him. You watch him disappear into a room, his figure swallowed by the shadows. You know you’ll barely see him for the rest of the day, and the thought leaves you hollow.

Hours pass in a blur. You make yourself comfortable in the Ferrari motorhome, but your mind is anything but at ease. The weight of your feelings presses down on you, a constant ache in your chest. You don’t notice Charles approaching until he’s standing in front of you, his presence pulling you back to the present.

“Hey,” he says softly, taking a seat across from you. His fingers move instinctively, brushing a strand of hair from your face. The gesture is so tender, so intimate, that it steals your breath. “What’s on your mind?”

“Nothing,” you say, shaking your head gently. “Nothing important.”

Charles’s gaze softens, his hand lingering near your face for a moment before he pulls it back. “Everything about you is important to me,” he says, his tone casual, as if the words don’t carry the weight of the world.

Your heart flutters, a traitorous warmth spreading through your chest. You want to believe him, to let yourself fall into the comfort of his words, but you can’t. Not when you know this is an act.

“We’re heading to the track,” he says, standing up. “I’ll see you later.”

You nod, your throat too tight to speak. As he turns to leave, he pauses, his hand brushing against your shoulder. Then, without warning, he leans down and plants a soft kiss on your cheek.

The act is so unexpected, so intimate, that it leaves you frozen. Your mind races, a million questions swirling in your head. Why? There are no cameras here, no fans watching. No one to perform for. So why?

Charles pulls away, his eyes meeting yours for a brief, charged moment. Then he’s gone, leaving you sitting there, your hand pressed to your cheek as if to hold onto the warmth of his lips.

The Dutch Grand Prix unfolds like all the others—chaotic, exhilarating, and filled with the same familiar routines. You play your part as Charles’ girlfriend flawlessly, smiling for the cameras, laughing at his jokes, and holding his hand as you navigate the paddock. But every moment together leaves you more confused than the last.

Time, however, is relentless. As soon as the race ends on Sunday, you’re boarding a plane. The Italian Grand Prix is next, and the entire week is packed with events for Charles. There’s no time to breathe, no time to process. Sponsor appearances, media commitments, team meetings—his schedule is a whirlwind, leaving little room for anything else.

In a strange way, you’re grateful for it. The constant busyness means your time together is limited, and that makes it easier to keep your walls up. If you don’t see him, you can’t fall deeper into the trap of pretending this is real. If you don’t hear his voice, you can’t let yourself believe the way he says your name means something more. Distance, you tell yourself, is your only defense against the ache in your chest.

But even as you cling to that logic, a part of you wishes for just one more moment—one more stolen glance, one more brush of his hand against yours. Just one more chance to pretend, even if only for a moment.

Today is Sunday, race day—the final act of this week-long spectacle in Italy. The air is thick with anticipation, but Charles has been in a slightly sour mood since yesterday’s qualifying, where he secured fourth on the grid. You watch him now in his dressing room, his movements sharp and focused as he goes through his timing drills. The rhythmic sound of his steps fills the room, a steady beat that mirrors the tension in his shoulders.

“Don’t tire yourself out before the race even starts,” you tease, your voice light and playful, cutting through the silence.

Charles pauses, glancing over at you. The corners of his mouth twitch, and for a moment, the weight on his shoulders seems to lift. He’s grateful you’re here, sitting in the quiet with him, offering a moment of calm before the storm.

“I’m just psyching myself up,” he says, flashing you a small but genuine smile.

You smile, your tone softening. “You’re going to do great out there,” you say, your voice steady and sure. “I have nothing but faith in you that you’ll bring home the results you want.”

Charles stops completely, his drills forgotten as he turns to face you. His eyes—soft, caring, and impossibly kind—meet yours, and for a moment, the world narrows to just the two of you. The look he gives you, that look. Something so raw and intimate just below the surface.

He might not be yours, he may never be yours, but this look—that look—is yours.

“Thank you,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper, as if the words are too fragile to speak aloud.

The room feels warmer somehow, the air between you charged with unspoken emotions. You don’t say anything else; you don’t need to. The quiet understanding between you is enough.

Charles takes a deep breath, his shoulders relaxing as he exhales. He gives you one last lingering look before turning back to his preparations, a small but steady smile playing on his lips.

You stay there, watching him, your presence a silent anchor as he readies himself for the race ahead.

You watch the race from the garage, your eyes glued to the monitors tracking Charles’s car as it weaves through the pack. The tension is palpable, every overtake, every corner, every lap tightening the knot in your chest. When Charles fights his way into first place, you can’t help but jump to your feet, cheering alongside the rest of the crew. You hold your breath as he maintains his lead, the checkered flag feeling like it’s an eternity away.

The race drags on, each lap stretching time to its limits. You count them down, your heart pounding in sync with the roar of the engines. As Charles approaches the final corner on the final lap, the garage erupts. You’re jumping, screaming, caught up in the electric energy of the moment. There isn’t a garage in the paddock cheering louder than Ferrari.

The second the checkered flag waves, you’re running. You sprint with the team to parc ferme, your feet barely touching the ground. You arrive before Charles does, your chest heaving as you watch his car pull up in front of the number 1 sign.

You don’t have to pretend to be happy for him. You don’t think about the cameras or the fans or the performance you’re supposed to put on. All you care about is Charles Leclerc, standing there in his red Ferrari, victorious at the Italian Grand Prix. At the home grand prix.

Charles wastes no time. He leaps out of the car, his movements fueled by adrenaline and joy. He crashes into Fred first, hugging his team principal with a force that nearly knocks them both over. The crowd surges forward, hands reaching out to pat him on the back, to share in this moment of triumph. The atmosphere is intoxicating, a heady mix of pride, joy, and sheer exhilaration. You’re overwhelmed by it all—by the love for Formula One, for Ferrari, for the tifosi, and most of all, for Charles.

When Charles steps back from Fred, he pulls off his helmet, his hair damp with sweat, his face flushed with victory. His eyes scan the crowd, and when they land on you, everything else seems to fade.

He doesn’t think. He doesn’t hesitate. He acts on his emotions alone.

Charles strides toward you, his hands cupping your face with surprising gentleness. And then he kisses you.

The kiss is raw, unfiltered, and filled with emotions you can’t name. It feels real—so real that it steals your breath. The world around you disappears, the noise of the crowd fading into a distant hum. All you can feel is the warmth of his lips on yours, the way his hands tremble against your skin. His fingers grasping at the ends of your hair. For a moment, it feels like you’re the only two people in the world.

When he pulls away, he doesn’t say a word. His eyes search yours, a flicker of something unspoken passing between you. But before either of you can speak, Lando and Oscar are there, clapping him on the back, pulling him into the chaos of celebration.

You’re left standing there, your fingers brushing against your lips as if to hold onto the memory of his kiss. The warmth lingers, a bittersweet reminder of a moment that felt too real to be part of the act.

Alexandra watches the scene unfold from her hotel room, the glow of the television casting shadows across her face. She sees Charles leap out of his car, his joy radiating through the screen. She sees him hug Fred, the team, the crew—his smile so wide it could light up the entire paddock. And then she sees you.

Her breath catches as Charles pulls off his helmet, his eyes scanning the crowd. When they land on you, something shifts. His expression softens, his movements slow, and for a moment, it’s like the rest of the world ceases to exist.

She watches, her heart pounding, as he strides toward you. She watches his hands cup your face, so gently, so reverently, as if you’re the most precious thing in the world. And then she watches him kiss you.

It’s not the kind of kiss they share—quick, polite, perfunctory. No, this kiss is raw, unfiltered, and filled with an intensity that makes her chest ache. She sees the way his fingers tremble against your skin, the way his body leans into yours as if he can’t bear to let go. She sees the way he looks at you when he pulls away, his eyes brimming with an overwhelming amount of love.

Alexandra feels the tears before she even realizes she’s crying. They roll down her cheeks, hot and relentless, as she clutches the edge of the bed. She tries to tell herself it’s an act, a performance, nothing more than a show for the cameras. But deep down, she knows better.

She’s tried to ignore it—the way Charles’s eyes follow you instinctively, like you’re the only person in the room. She’s tried to ignore the way he speaks about you, his voice softening with a fondness he’s never shown her. She’s tried to ignore how your smile can brighten his mood, even on his darkest days. She’s tried to ignore how gentle he is with you, how careful, as if you’re something fragile and precious.

But now, watching the two of you from this private hotel room, far from the crowds and cameras, she can’t ignore it anymore. You look like a real couple. You look like his girlfriend.

Alexandra knows she can’t compete with someone like you. You’re the sunlight breaking through on a rainy day, the sparkle on the ocean under the moonlight. You’re the tinkle of the brightest star, the kind of light that draws people in and holds them captive. You’re a shiny emerald in a sea of diamonds—unique, irreplaceable, unforgettable.

You are everything.

And she is nothing. At the very least she is nothing compared to you for Charles.

The realization crashes over her like a wave, pulling her under until she can’t breathe. She curls into herself, the tears coming harder now, as the weight of it all settles in her chest. She loves him—she loves him so much—but it doesn’t matter. Because he loves you.

And there’s nothing she can do to change that.

After the podium celebrations, Charles disappears into a sea of cameras that follow him towards the press conference. You slip away, weaving through the crowd toward the motorhome. The weight of the day presses on your shoulders, but it’s the stares—the lingering gazes of strangers—that make your skin crawl. You can feel their eyes on you, their whispers trailing behind you like shadows.

You quicken your pace, your heart pounding in your chest, when you hear the rapid click of footsteps behind you. You turn, and there’s Kika, breathless and flushed, her face etched with something you can’t quite place. Pity. Concern. Fear.

“Y/N,” she says softly, her voice trembling as if she’s afraid to shatter you.

“What is it?” you ask, though the unease in her expression tells you everything you need to know. Your stomach twists as she hands you her phone, the screen glowing with a headline that stops you cold:

‘Charles Leclerc Cheating? Two Is Better Than One.’

Your hands tremble as you scroll through the article. It’s filled with photos—Charles and Alexandra, laughing on a sunlit terrace, walking hand in hand through the streets of Monaco in the middle of night, sharing quiet moments that feel too intimate to be real. Some of the pictures date back to the Hungarian Grand Prix, a timeline of a relationship you didn’t know existed.

And then, at the bottom of the article, there it is: a photo of you and Charles from just hours ago. His hands cupping your face, his lips pressed to yours in a kiss that felt so real, so raw, so yours.

The caption beneath it reads: ‘Was it just a summer fling, or is it a torrid affair for the Formula One driver?’

The article is careful to blur Alexandra’s face and omit her name, but the damage is done. The world sees her. The world sees you. And the world sees Charles caught between the two.

“He said he wouldn’t do this to me,” you whisper, your voice breaking as you hand the phone back to Kika. The words feel hollow, like a promise that was never meant to be kept.

You turn on your heel, your feet carrying you toward the motorhome before your mind can catch up. Kika follows close behind, her steps hurried and anxious.

“Y/N, wait—what are you going to do?” she asks, her voice laced with worry.

“I’m going home,” you say, the words final, absolute. “Tell Charles I had an emergency. Or don’t tell him anything at all. But I’m not staying here for another second.”

Kika reaches for your arm, her touch gentle but insistent. “Let me come with you. I’ll make sure you get home safely.”

You shake your head, your vision blurring with unshed tears. “Pierre’s going to be looking for you. You don’t have to worry about me.”

You step into the motorhome, your movements quick and mechanical as you gather your things. Kika watches from the doorway, her expression torn between concern and helplessness.

“Thank you, Kika,” you say softly, slinging your bag over your shoulder. “For everything.”

Before she can respond, you’re gone, disappearing into the chaos of the paddock. Kika stands there, frozen, as she watches you walk away—your figure growing smaller and smaller until you vanish from sight.

The noise of the paddock fades behind you, replaced by the hollow echo of your footsteps. You don’t look back.

The press conference with the podium finishers is winding down, the atmosphere in the room relaxed as the moderator announces the final questions. Charles sits between Lando and Oscar, his smile easy but tired, the adrenaline of the race still buzzing faintly under his skin.

Then, like a crack of thunder, a reporter shoots to his feet, his voice cutting through the calm.

“Charles!” he shouts, not waiting to be called on. “Care to comment on the article that was just released minutes ago?”

The room erupts into chaos. Reporters scramble for their phones, fingers flying across screens as they search for the article. Murmurs ripple through the crowd, growing louder with each passing second. Charles glances at Lando and Oscar, their faces mirroring his own confusion.

“I’m sorry, what article?” Charles asks, forcing a chuckle, though his stomach twists with unease. He can’t imagine what they’re talking about, but the tension in the room is palpable.

The reporter doesn’t hesitate. “Are you cheating on your girlfriend, Y/N?”

The silence that follows is deafening. Every eye in the room locks onto Charles, every camera lens zooms in on his face. Even Lando and Oscar turn to him, their expressions a mix of shock and curiosity.

Charles freezes, his mind going blank. The question hangs in the air, heavy and suffocating. He opens his mouth to respond, but no words come out. His heart pounds in his chest, his thoughts racing in a thousand directions at once.

Before he can gather himself, a Ferrari representative rushes the stage, their voice sharp and commanding. “We’re going to end right there. Thank you for your time!”

The room explodes into noise as crew members swarm Charles, pulling him to his feet and ushering him toward the exit. Reporters surge forward, shouting questions, their voices overlapping in a cacophony of accusations and demands. Cameras flash, their blinding lights adding to the chaos.

Charles stumbles as he’s pushed through the crowd, his mind spinning. He fumbles for his phone, desperate to see the article, but the noise around him is overwhelming. The questions keep coming, each one louder and more invasive than the last.

“Charles, is it true?”

“Who is the other woman?”

“How long has this been going on?”

He doesn’t answer. He can’t. His thoughts are a jumbled mess, his pulse racing as he’s hurried toward the Ferrari motorhome. The crowd follows, a relentless wave of voices and cameras that he can’t escape.

When he finally reaches the motorhome, he bursts inside, his eyes scanning the room frantically. “Y/N?” he calls, his voice strained.

The room is empty. His heart sinks, panic clawing at his chest.

“She’s not here,” a voice says softly.

Charles turns to see Kika standing in the doorway, her face pale and her expression grim. “I didn’t know what to do,” she admits, her voice trembling. “So I waited here for you, trying to figure out what to say.”

“Where is Y/N?” Charles demands, his voice cracking under the weight of his fear.

Kika hesitates, her eyes filled with pity. “She said she was going home.”

Charles stares at her, his mind reeling. “Home? What do you mean, home?”

Kika shakes her head, her voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know, Charles. I don’t know. Do you know where home is for Y/N?”

The words hit him like a punch to the gut. He sinks into a chair, his hands trembling as he clutches his phone. The noise outside fades into the background, replaced by the deafening silence of his own thoughts.

After hours of enduring a relentless lecture from Ferrari’s PR team, Charles is finally allowed to leave. The weight of the world feels crushing on his shoulders as he steps out into the cool night air. His mind races, trying to remember where home is for you. He knows you told him—back at the beginning of the season, right after you signed the contract agreeing to pretend to be his girlfriend.

It was supposed to be a simple arrangement, a business deal. But that first day, after the ink had dried, you and him went on a little date—just to get to know each other. You shared many little details about yourself: where you were from, your favorite foods, the music you loved. He listened, but he didn’t commit it to memory. He didn’t think he needed to.

Now, standing alone in the dimly lit parking lot, he curses himself for not paying closer attention. He should have remembered. He could have remembered. If he wanted to, he would have.

When he reaches his car, he opens the passenger-side door, his body moving on autopilot. He stops, his hand frozen on the handle, as the reality hits him: you’re not here. You’re not sitting in the seat beside him, laughing at his terrible jokes or scrolling through your phone to find the perfect playlist.

His chest aches, a sharp, hollow pain that makes it hard to breathe. He closes the door gently, as if you’re there sitting inside, and walks around to the driver’s side.

As he slips into the car, he takes a deep breath, his eyes drifting to the empty passenger seat. For a moment, he can almost see you there—your smile, your hand resting on the console, your voice filling the silence with stories and laughter. But the illusion shatters as quickly as it forms, leaving him alone in the quiet.

He starts the engine, the sound jarring in the stillness. He doesn’t remember to put on any music. You always did that for him. The silence is deafening, a constant reminder of your absence. The drive to the hotel feels endless. His mind is elsewhere, replaying every moment he took for granted, every detail he failed to hold onto.

When he finally pulls into the hotel parking lot, he sits there for a moment, his hands gripping the steering wheel. The weight of his loneliness presses down on him, heavier than any race-day pressure. He doesn’t know how to fix this. He doesn’t even know where to start.

As Charles makes his way to his hotel room, his thoughts are consumed by you. The weight of the day, the accusations, the chaos—it all fades into the background as he imagines what he’ll say when he sees you. When he opens the door, the room is dark, but he can see a figure standing there, silhouetted against the faint light from the window.

For a moment, his heart leaps. He thinks—no, he hopes—it’s you. That you’ve come back, that you’re standing there waiting for him, and that he can fix this. He hopes that home, for you, is with him.

But as the figure steps forward, the hope shatters. It’s not you. It’s Alexandra.

Charles doesn’t try to hide his disappointment. His shoulders slump, his face falls, and the breath he didn’t realize he was holding escapes in a quiet, defeated sigh. The reaction is like a knife to Alexandra’s heart. She doesn’t need words to confirm what she already knows: it was never going to be her.

“Alex,” Charles says softly, his voice heavy with exhaustion. “What are you doing here?”

He moves to walk past her, not sparing her another glance, but she stops him with her voice.

“Did you ever love me, Charles?” Her words tremble, fragile and raw, as if they might break under the weight of her own fear. She needs to hear the truth from him, even if it destroys her.

Charles freezes, his back still to her. He does love Alexandra. He loves her in a way that is unique to her, a way that is tender and real. In another lifetime, in another world, he might have been happy with her. But this isn’t that lifetime, and this isn’t that world.

“I do love you, Alex,” he says finally, his voice barely above a whisper. He still doesn’t turn to face her. “Just… not in the way I love Y/N.”

Alexandra’s breath hitches, a sob catching in her throat. “Why?” she asks, her voice breaking. “Why lead me on like this, Charles? Why let me fall in love with you when you knew you wouldn’t feel the same?”

Charles finally turns to look at her, his heart aching at the sight of her tear-streaked face. The pain he’s caused her is written plainly in her eyes, and it cuts deeper than he expected.

“I thought,” he begins, his voice faltering, “I thought you could stop me from falling in love with Y/N.”

The admission hangs in the air, heavy and suffocating. Alexandra stares at him, her chest heaving as she tries to process his words.

Charles steps closer, his hands reaching up to gently cup her face. His thumbs brush away her tears, his touch soft and soothing. She leans into it, just for a moment, savoring the warmth of his hands one last time.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you like this,” he whispers, his voice thick with regret.

Alexandra pulls his hands away from her face, her own trembling as she holds them for a moment before letting go. “Goodbye, Charles,” she says, her voice steady despite the tears still streaming down her cheeks.

She turns to leave, her steps slow and deliberate. But as she reaches the doorway, she pauses, her back to him. “I hope you get her back,” she says softly, her voice carrying a bittersweet finality.

And then she’s gone, the door closing softly behind her.

Charles stands there, alone in the silence, his hands still outstretched as if reaching for something—or someone—who’s no longer there.

“Get up!” a voice barks, sharp and impatient, cutting through the fog of Charles’s hangover.

His head pounds like a drum, each throb synchronized with the blinding sunlight streaming through the window. He groans, squinting against the assault of light, his mouth dry and sticky as he smacks his lips together. The events of last night are a blur—fragmented images and muffled sounds that refuse to connect into a coherent memory.

“Get up already!” the voice shouts again, louder this time, coming from the foot of the bed.

Charles rolls over, his body heavy and uncooperative, to see Pierre standing there, arms crossed and a scowl etched across his face. Charles doesn’t bother with a response. Instead, he collapses back into the pillows, the plush mattress swallowing him whole.

He hears Pierre scoff, the sound dripping with exasperation, but he can’t bring himself to care. Not until Pierre grabs him by the ankles and yanks him halfway off the bed.

“What the fuck?” Charles snaps, his voice hoarse and ragged as he kicks out, trying to free himself. He glares at Pierre, his eyes bloodshot and wild.

Pierre doesn’t let go. “I found Y/N.”

The words hit Charles like a bucket of ice water. His exhaustion, his irritation, his pounding headache—it all evaporates in an instant. He sits up abruptly, his heart racing as he scrambles to his feet.

“Where?” he demands, his voice sharp and urgent.

“Andrea’s already getting the jet ready,” Pierre says, watching as Charles frantically rummages through the room, shoving clothes and belongings into a bag. “You’ve got an hour to get to the airport.”

Charles’s hands tremble as he zips up the bag, his mind racing. He doesn’t know what he’s going to say to you. He doesn’t know how you’ll react. But he knows one thing with absolute certainty: he needs to see you.

His heart pounds in his chest, each beat a reminder of what’s at stake. He grabs his phone, his keys, his bag, and heads for the door, Pierre trailing behind him.

“Charles,” Pierre calls after him, his tone softer now. “Don’t mess this up.”

Charles doesn’t respond. He’s already out the door, his mind focused on one thing and one thing only: you.

Charles stands in front of your door, his heart pounding in his chest. On the other side is you. You, with your sweet smile that lights up every room. You, with the music he’s come to love because it reminds him of you. You, with all your kindness, your patience, your unwavering love. He hopes that you can forgive him, that you can accept him, that you can love him the way he loves you.

He knocks on the door, the sound echoing in the quiet hallway. He holds his breath, his hand trembling as he waits. The seconds stretch into an eternity, each one heavier than the last. When the door finally opens, the sight of you hits him like a wave.

You’re there, standing in the doorway, and for a moment, the world stops. The sight of you feels like the first light of morning breaking through the darkness. It feels like the first sip of a cold drink on a sweltering summer day. It feels like coming home.

And then, just as quickly, it’s ripped away.

You slam the door in his face.

“Y/N,” Charles calls out, his voice desperate, raw. He presses his forehead against the door, his hand flat against the wood as if he can reach through it to you. “Please,” he begs, his voice cracking. “Please open the door.”

His pleas make your heart ache, the sound of his voice tugging at something deep inside you. Against your better judgment, your feet carry you back to the door. You open it again, and the sight of him is like a punch to the gut.

Charles looks like he’s walked through hell to get here. His eyes are bloodshot, his face pale and drawn. His hair is disheveled, sticking out in every direction, and his clothes are wrinkled, as if he’s been wearing them for days. He looks broken, lost, and utterly exhausted.

You don’t say a word as you step back, allowing him to enter your home. He walks in slowly, his eyes never leaving yours. The look he gives you isn’t the one you’ve come to love—the one filled with warmth and affection. This look is different. It’s sad, heavy with regret and pain and loneliness. It’s a look that makes your chest tighten.

“Y/N,” he says your name softly, so gently it brings tears to your eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“No,” you say, shaking your head as you turn away from him. “No, no, no.” Your voice breaks, and you wipe at the tears already spilling down your cheeks. “You don’t get to come here and say you’re sorry and expect everything to be forgiven.”

You turn back to face him, your anger flaring. “You,” you say, pointing at him, your finger jabbing the air with every word as you step closer. “You told me you wouldn’t do this. You told me you wouldn’t make a fool out of me. You told me you wouldn’t let me look like some stupid little girl. You promised me, Charles.”

Your voice cracks as you say his name, and the tears come harder. Charles doesn’t hesitate. He wraps his arms around you, pulling you into a hug so tight it feels like he’s trying to hold you together. His warmth, his embrace—it feels like home.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers against your neck, his voice trembling. “I’m so sorry.”

You break down completely in his arms, your legs giving out as the weight of everything crashes over you. The two of you sink to the floor in the middle of your living room, Charles holding you as you cry. From the moment you saw the article, this is where you wanted to be—in his arms, safe and loved.

But he’s not yours. He never was yours. And he will never be yours.

The thought makes you push away from him, scrambling to your feet. Charles reaches for you instinctively, trying to pull you back, but you’re faster, putting distance between you.

“What are you doing here, Charles?” you ask, your voice laced with disdain. “Shouldn’t you be with Alex?”

“Why would I be with her?” he says, his voice steady but pleading. “I want to be with you.”

He steps closer, his hands cupping your face. You lean into his touch despite yourself, not wanting to lose the warmth of his hands.

“She’s your girlfriend, Charles,” you say, your voice hollow as you look at him but don’t really see him.

“I broke it off with her,” he says, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“Why would you do that?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper. You’re still not putting the pieces together, and Charles doesn’t know if it’s because you’re naive to his feelings or if you just need him to say it out loud.

But he doesn’t mind. He’ll say it today, tomorrow, next week, next month, or ten years from now if he has to.

“I’m in love with you, Y/N,” he says, his voice firm and unwavering. “I am madly in love with you. I don’t want anyone but you.”

You shake your head, your eyes searching the room as if looking for a camera, for proof that this is just another act. “No, no,” you say, your voice trembling. “If you were in love with me, why did you go out with Alexandra?”

Charles sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Because I was an idiot,” he admits, his voice heavy with regret. “I was too blind to see what was right in front of me. And I will spend the rest of my life making it up to you if you’ll let me.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” you ask, more tears falling from your eyes, this time for a completely different reason.

“Because I was a coward,” he says, his voice breaking. “And I was weak. But if you’ll have me, I’m yours. Y/N, I am all yours. All of me belongs to you and only you.”

This boy—this man—who you’ve fallen so deeply in love with is yours. He’s yours for the taking. He’s yours and yours only. He belongs to you.

-------------------

tags: @charlesgirl16 @janeh22

#formula 1 fanfic #formula 1 #charles leclerc #formula 1 imagine #formula 1 au #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc imagines #charles leclerc imagine #formula one #charles leclerc x reader

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acesofspadess · 1 month ago

Text

Track Walk {2}

landoscar x content creator!reader

part 1 // part 2 // part 3

series summary: You were invited to the Miami GP for your Track Walk series on social media, what follows after you run into a certain Papaya boy, no one could prepare you for...

series warnings: cursing, angst, smut, making out, mentions of people you may not like, mmf, threesome/throuple, if there is more let me know... ;)

a/n: this a long 4 part series, but the chapters will be released daily!! also... there is no hate to anyone mention in this story, it is a work of fiction and any hate towards the characters/people will be deleted.

Singapore 2024

So here you were, the Singapore GP. The past 5 days were eventful to say the least. Your body was covered in love bites from each boy, there was no telling who gave which. Apparently the entire grid and the wags knew, which helped them cover up to the media. You walked in with Lando and Oscar, laughing at a stupid joke Lando said. To anyone besides the drivers, it was a very fun friend group, but you were sure it would stir something up. “Hello, hello, hello.” You waved with a large smile at the camera. “We don’t usually do evening walks do we? But Singapore is the beginning of the night races so get used to it…” The track walk and the weekend went just as planned. During that weekend you met Max Fewtrell for the first time. It was very scary for you. This was someone Lando had grown up with, someone he had chosen to be one of the important people in his life, and you knew how this could look to an outsider- an F1 creator dating not one, but two, of the most prized drivers in the sport. But you two immediately hit it off. “I just know Oscar is enjoying not being the only one having to handle his mess.” He laughed as you guys watched Free Practise. “It’s not even the mess though, Max, it’s the food!...”

The entire weekend was looking favorable for McLaren, and then when Lando kept his position into the first lap, you knew it was game over, another McLaren win was pending. And right you were. “Lando Norris can stop hearing about his starts, and start hearing about his finishes! For the third time Lando Norris takes the chequered flag…”

You bounced up and down with Max as Lando screamed into the radio. “That's a double podium finish for McLaren!” You screamed and he laughed with you before giving you a hug. “They’ll want to see you.” He told her and she shook her head. “Too much attention, they’ll see us after.” She said not wanting to leave Max behind.

The music thumps through the club you all decided to go to after you finished at the track, vibrating the floors as colorful lights flash across the crowded room. Lando, Oscar, and you move through the throng of people, your body already buzzing with the high of celebration. Lando’s win had electrified the night, and the three of you are ready to let loose—carefully.

Lando’s arm stays draped over your shoulder as you make your way to a private booth near the dance floor, Oscar trailing closely behind.

Around the booth, the other drivers and their girlfriends are scattered—Carlos and Rebecca, Max who was running solo, Charles and Alexandra, Pierre and Kika—all laughing and cheering. The energy is high, but there’s an unspoken understanding between them. They know. “I would say cheers to Lando’s amazing race-” Carlos started, “but you only won because of her.” Lando and Oscar shook their heads as everyone around you laughed.

You laughed too, cheeks heating as Lando pulls you closer. "You’re not wrong," he teases, brushing a quick, casual kiss against your temple. It’s brief enough to pass as friendly, but the way your heart skips betrays its meaning. Oscar slides in on your other side, his hand finding your knee under the table and giving it a gentle squeeze, hidden by the dim lighting and shadows.

They’re subtle but deliberate, their touches igniting sparks that make your heart race. The conversation swirls around you, but the trio only has eyes for each other. When the music shifts to something slower and sultry, Lando tugs your hand. "Dance with me," he says, voice low and irresistible.

You follow him onto the dance floor, Oscar not far behind. Lando’s hands find your waist, pulling you against him as your bodies move in sync. Oscar presses in from behind, his chest warm against your back as his fingers brush your arm, sending a thrill down your spine. It’s intoxicating—the heat, the music, the feel of both their bodies surrounding you.

But you have to be careful. Lando shifts slightly, turning you just enough to keep you shielded from prying eyes, and Oscar’s touch drifts away whenever someone looks too closely. The tension grows with every near-miss, every stolen glance, and every lingering brush of fingertips.

Lando leans in, his breath hot against your ear. "You’re ours tonight," he murmurs, voice rough with desire. Your pulse quickens as Oscar’s lips skim your shoulder—quick, subtle, and hidden in the dim lights—adding to the heat coiling low in your stomach.

The three of you move as one, but always just discreet enough to keep your secret. The world blurs around you—flashing lights, the beat of the bass, laughter from your friends at the booth. None of it matters. All you can feel is the heat of their touches, the fire in their eyes, and the promise of what the rest of the night will hold.

f1gossipofficial

liked by user45 and others

f1gossipofficcial The papaya boys went out to celebrate last night with other drivers as well as their girlfriends, but pictures show the papaya boys very close with each other. This comes after a recent video McLaren uploaded where Oscar and Lando were seen holding hands at one point and being very touchy…

user45 oh this is crazy

user67 how do papaya rules work now’

user18 they had a good time last night

user4 how about we stay out of there lives and not dissect and try to out people who clearly don’t want to be outed

user68 landoscar was too good to be fake

user49 i for sure thought one of themm was going to get with Y/N

user23 i thought it was Lando user90 i thought it was Oscar user62 am i crazy for saying both user23 user62 yes user49 user62yes user90 user62 yes

“This sucks.” Oscar said into her neck. They were at the airport saying goodbye because they wouldn’t see each other for another month. “I know, I’m sorry love.” You giggled softly at his dramatics. Your arms were wrapped around his neck, finger scratching the strands of hair at the top of his neck. You looked at Lando who watched the scene unfold. Oscar wasn’t much of a showy person, so seeing him show anything they never took for granted.

“Osc, you okay?” Lando asked seeing his shoulders raise and then drop deeply. “I just feel so complete with her here, I don’t like when she isn’t.” He told his boyfriend who rubbed his back. He finally pulled off letting Lando hug you around your waist lifting you up. “Gonna miss you baby.” he said kissing your cheek knowing people were around. “I’ll miss you both so much. But we’ve done it before right? Osc you’ll see your family. Lan you’re going to Portugal with Max. We’ll al be so busy, it won’t feel like a month will it?”

Lando and Oscar nodded holding onto each other. You checked your RM watch, one the duo had gotten for you this previous weekend. “Time to go, babies.” you sighed. They scooped you into one big hug. “See you soon.” You kissed both of their cheeks before they walked off to their own gate, leaving you at yours.

The month at home was supposed to be a time to recharge, but it only left you restless. Your days blurred together in a haze of casual errands, late-night shows, and constant texts from Lando and Oscar. The messages were frequent and full of love—updates about their time apart, teasing remarks, random photos, and sweet "miss you" notes despite the time zones. Even with their busy schedules, they made an effort to check in, and it always left you smiling.

Then came the post.

Your best friend stormed into your shared flat, phone clutched in hand. “Y/N, you need to see this,” she said, eyes wide with urgency. She handed you her phone, and your stomach dropped.

There, on a gossip page, was a photo of Lando and Magui faces and bodies very close to each other with big smiles on their face in company of Max and Pietra. The caption read: “Lando Norris spotted looking cozy with Magui and friends. This is after rumours of them earlier in the year were clouded over by new friend Y/n L/n and his teammate Oscar Piastri that Lando has been seen getting very flirty with...”

You froze, the phone trembling in your hands, the three of you already saw the airport photos of your group hug. It was what it was to you three though. “What the hell?” you whispered, voice barely audible.

Your mind flashed back to when Lando and Oscar had confessed something about Magui. They’d told you they’d once considered inviting her into their relationship, but something had always held them back. Then they’d met you, and everything changed. They knew immediately they wanted you.

You pushed the memory away, your chest tightening as you stared at the picture.

Without a second thought, you dialed them both. They picked up almost immediately, Lando’s voice warm and his face smiley. “Hey, baby,” he greeted.

Your throat constricted. “I’m not coming to the next GP,” you blurted.

There was a pause. “What? Y/N, what are you talking about? We planned this together.” Oscar cut in confusion on his face.

“I just can’t,” you said, your voice breaking and eyes filling with tears. You didn’t want to bring up the post, unsure if Oscar even knew.

“Wait, what's wrong?” Lando asked, concerned about lacing his tone as he saw your eyes fill.

You shook your head, not trusting yourself. “I’ll talk to you later.” You hung up before they could say more.

That night, your best friend held you as you cried, her arms wrapped tightly around you. “They don’t deserve you if they’re going to pull this shit,” she murmured. But her words only made you cry harder.

The next day, your phone erupted with notifications.

From Lando: "Baby, I swear it’s not what it looks like. Please call me." "I would never do this to you. You have to trust me. Nothing happened." "I’ll explain everything if you just call me. Please, Y/N."

From Oscar: "Y/N, I didn’t think this would get so out of hand. I’m sorry." "You mean everything to us. Don’t let this ruin us." "Please, let’s talk. I’ll tell you everything."

From Max Fewtrell: "Y/N, you know Lando wouldn’t do this to you. He’s losing his mind right now. Please talk to him."

From Alexandra: "Hey, I saw the post. Are you okay? Call me if you need to vent."

From Rebecca: "Y/N, this is so unfair to you. If you need to talk, I’m here."

You ignored them all, until finally, you caved and called Lando and Oscar. They answered on FaceTime, both looking worried.

“Nothing is happening with Magui,” Lando said quickly.

Oscar nodded. “We wouldn’t do that to you. You have to know that.”

“Why wouldn’t you tell us?” You sighed aggravatedly. “If you knew she was going to be there why wouldn’t you say anything? Why would you get close with her again knowing someone's eyes are always on you.

But then, Lando and Oscar got very silent, you could have thought the screen froze, and something passed between them. It was subtle, but enough to make your stomach churn. “What?” you pressed.

Oscar sighed. “I knew she’d be there. I thought it would be fine.”

Your chest tightened as Oscar's words hit you like a punch. "You knew?" you whispered, barely able to contain the hurt. "You knew she'd be there and didn’t say anything?"

Oscar hesitated, looking like he wasn’t sure how to answer. "I didn’t think it would be a big deal," he said quietly. "I thought it’d just be... fine."

"But it is a big deal!" you snapped, your voice rising, frustration bubbling over. "If you had just told me, I wouldn’t be upset. I could have handled it, but now it feels like you’re hiding something. Like you’re trying to have your cake and eat it too."

Lando’s voice cut through the tension, softer but still desperate. "Y/N, that’s not it. We didn’t want you to feel like this. We didn’t mean for it to look like we were hiding anything from you."

"You did hide it, Lando," you shot back, shaking your head. "You knew she was going to be there, and you didn’t tell me. It makes it seem like you wanted to keep me in the dark while keeping her close, like I’m some backup plan."

Oscar looked pained, and Lando seemed to be searching for the right words. "It’s not like that," Oscar said quickly, but there was an edge of panic in his voice. "I didn’t think this would happen. I thought it’d be fine."

"But it’s not fine," you responded, your voice cracking slightly as the weight of it all hit you. "You’ve betrayed my trust, Oscar. And Lando, you should’ve known better. If you had told me, we could have figured it out. But now? Now I feel like everything we shared was an act, something to keep you occupied while you figured your feelings out."

Lando opened his mouth, clearly struggling, so Oscar spoke up in a low voice. "Please, Y/N, we didn’t mean to hurt you. We just... didn’t think—"

"Exactly," you interrupted, your voice soft. "You didn’t think. If you had, we wouldn’t be here right now. I know it's only been a few months, but I thought our relationship was stronger than this. I thought I meant more to you than this, but you’ve shown me I don’t."

“No Y/N-”

With that, you ended the call, the sound of the FaceTime disconnecting echoing in your ears. You sat back on the couch, your heart aching, but you knew this was the only way to handle it. They had crossed a line, and now you had to protect yourself from the mess they had made.

Max Fewtrell texted shortly after: "Y/N, I know what it looks like, but I promise Lando wouldn’t do this to you. He’s doing his head in and acting erratically, please talk to him. He’s about to go into a race weekend."

Hattie messaged, too.. “Oscar fucked up, but I’ve also never seen him this upset with himself. He is so sorry, I’ll never tell you what to do, but just know he really cares.

You ignored everyone.

Of course you watched the triple header, you were still their girlfriend, and before that you were their number 1 supporter. Track Walks were not as fun to you during that time, everything reminded you of what happened. They still texted you everyday, telling you about their day, about their thoughts on the race, saying they missed you and they were so sorry.

But Brazil was a disaster. The rain poured relentlessly, creating dangerous conditions on the track. Both Lando and Oscar struggled, and a red flag giving those who hadn’t had a pitstop a free one essentially knocked Lando out of the Drivers' Championship contention, but besides that, out of a win. Your heart ached watching it all unfold, tears falling down your face slowly, but you stayed silent, refusing to reach out.

A few days later, Max went live on stream with Lando. Lando sounded tired, wanting to stay muted when he didn't have to be heard, his voice hoarse. He admitted he’d been eating old food from months ago and wasn’t feeling well. Max F texted both you and Oscar after the stream: "Lando needs you. He’s not doing well at all."

Oscar replied immediately: "I’m on my way."

You stared at the message, conflicted. It wasn't until the next day when you were eating lunch that Oscar's text messages were blowing up your phone,

Osco: Baby, I know you don't want to talk to us, but Lando really isn't doing well.

Osco: I've spent all morning with him crying into my arms, degrading himself, it hurts so much to hear. He thinks everything is over, he needs you baby. I need you.

Finally, you texted Alexandra and Rebecca, asking what you should do.

Mes Amours 💗

You: Help…Oscar’s been texting me about Lando this morning. He said he spent the morning crying, degrading himself, and thinks everything’s over. I want to be there, but I’m so hurt. I don’t know what to do.

Alexandra: Wow… I knew things were rough for them, but that’s heavy. You’ve got to take care of yourself first though. If you’re not ready, you’re not ready.

Rebecca: I get that, but… it won’t get better if you don’t talk to them. And, Y/N, I’m going to be honest here: Carlos is worried about Lando too. He told me Lando’s been completely off lately—barely eating, barely talking. He’s spiraling.

Alexandra: Wait, really? I mean, I knew they weren’t doing great in Brazil, but I didn’t think it was that bad.

Rebecca: It is. Carlos says he hasn’t been himself for weeks. And honestly, if Carlos is worried, you know it’s serious. Lando needs you, Y/N. Even if it’s just to talk. You don’t have to forgive them yet, but they need you right now.

You: I’ve missed them so much, it hurts. But I’m scared. What if I go back and things still don’t feel right? What if they don’t really understand how much they hurt me?

Rebecca: Then you tell them. You lay it all out there. But Y/N, we know how deeply you care for them, and it’s obvious they care about you too. I think they understand, they just need to see you in person.

Alexandra: Whatever you do, we are holding your hand. Taking a deep breath, you texted Max Verstappen: Can I use your jet?

#lando norris x reader #lando norris x black!reader #lando norris fluff #f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #f1 fic #f1 imagine #lando norris #lando norris smut #f1 x driver!reader #oscar piastri x black!reader #oscar piastri fanfic #oscar piastri #oscar piastri smut #oscar piastri x reader

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neferaskingdom · 3 months ago

Text

♡ Are You Always This Forward? | CL16

PART OF MY IS IT CASUAL NOW? SERIES

Summary: Y/n meets Charles at a party, and what starts as a casual fling quickly becomes something more. As their connection deepens and feelings grow, Y/n begins to question— is it really casual?

A/N: Also comment if you guys wanna be added to the taglist because I've written almost 7 chapters for this series and we're nowhere near done so buckle up

PREVIOUS | MASTERLIST | NEXT

You weren’t exactly thrilled to be here. The party was crowded, with people spilling out onto the balcony, laughter and music filling the room. It wasn’t really your scene, but your friends had convinced you to come out for a change, insisting that you “needed a night out.”

"Look, if nothing else, you might at least see some familiar faces," one of your friends said, nudging you with a grin. “Rumor has it Charles Leclerc is here.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn't help the little spark of curiosity that flared up. “Oh, please,” you replied with a laugh, though you glanced around the room. “Why would Charles Leclerc be at a random party like this?”

“Apparently, he knows the host,” your friend said, looking around too, as if he’d appear on command. “Besides, you know he’s got a thing for these parties. Always in the photos with some new girl hanging off his arm.”

“Right, the ‘playboy’ Leclerc reputation,” you muttered, trying to sound as uninterested as possible. But the truth was, you knew exactly who he was, and while the rumors weren’t exactly your thing, he was… undeniably attractive.

“Yeah, that reputation,” another friend chimed in, giving you a sly smile. “I mean, look at him—he’s practically a walking invitation for bad decisions. But I wouldn’t mind, honestly.” She laughed, and you joined in, the both of you glancing around in a playful attempt to spot him.

But in the next second, you felt it—a gaze that sent a small thrill up your spine. Your friends were still laughing and joking, but your eyes had locked onto someone across the room, and there he was: Charles, in the flesh, leaning against the wall with a drink in hand. And he was staring right at you.

A rush of heat crept into your cheeks, but you quickly looked away, brushing it off as a fluke. You barely knew him; it was nothing. And yet, a few minutes later, when you glanced back, he was still watching you, a lazy smirk pulling at his lips.

“Look who’s got Leclerc’s attention,” one of your friends whispered, nudging you in the ribs. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say he was eyeing you up.”

“Stop,” you muttered, laughing it off. “You guys are reading too much into it. He’s probably just looking around.”

“Yeah, right,” she teased, winking at you. “Seems like he’s only looking at you.”

You rolled your eyes, determined to ignore it. But Charles seemed to have other plans because, a few moments later, he began making his way over to your group. Your friends scattered, throwing you quick glances of encouragement, leaving you standing there as he came to a stop in front of you, his gaze warm and entirely focused.

"Enjoying the party?" he asked, his voice smooth, just a hint of an accent slipping through.

“It’s all right,” you said, trying to play it cool. “Wasn’t really planning on talking to anyone new tonight.”

He laughed, the sound deep and rich, tilting his head as he looked at you. “Well, that’s a shame. You’re the most interesting person here.”

“Oh, please.” You shook your head, letting out a soft laugh. “Don’t you have other people you could be charming?”

“Maybe,” he replied, his eyes flicking over you again, “but none of them seem half as interesting as you.”

The boldness of his gaze unsettled you, and you bit your lip, shifting your weight slightly as you tried to keep your cool. He was every bit as captivating as his reputation claimed, and yet you were wary, keeping your guard up despite the warmth spreading through you.

“Are you always this forward?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Only with people worth it,” he said, his gaze unwavering. He took a small step closer, a glimmer of playfulness in his eyes. “So, can I at least buy you a drink?”

You found yourself nodding before you fully realized it. He waved down a waiter, ordering drinks as the conversation between you flowed easily, surprising you. He was funny, easygoing, and each small, accidental touch sent a jolt through you that you tried to ignore.

Over the next hour, you laughed, your body leaning into his as the drinks made you both looser, the edges of the world around you softening. The subtle touches became less accidental—his hand resting on your lower back, the way he’d brush his fingers against yours whenever he handed you your drink. It was heady, electric, and you found yourself drawn to him in a way that felt both thrilling and a little reckless.

“So,” he murmured, leaning in close, his face just inches from yours. “Are you going to keep pretending you’re not interested?”

You laughed, looking away, your cheeks warming under his gaze. “Who says I’m pretending?”

He smiled, his fingers brushing your cheek as he gently guided your face back to his. “I do.” And then he closed the gap, pressing his lips softly against yours.

The kiss was light at first, testing, but when you responded, his hands settled on your waist, pulling you in closer. You could feel his warmth, his heart beating beneath your palms as you wrapped your arms around his neck, the kiss deepening as the tension that had been building between you finally spilled over.

You broke apart for a moment, catching your breath, and he smiled, looking at you as if he was just as affected. “Come back with me?” he asked softly, his voice low and inviting.

Your heart raced, but you nodded, the thrill of the moment drowning out any hesitation. The ride to his apartment was a blur, the silence filled with anticipation, the only sound the occasional brush of his hand over yours. And when you arrived, he barely waited for the door to close before he pulled you close again, kissing you deeply, his hands finding your waist as he guided you toward his bedroom.

In his arms, it felt like time slowed. Every touch, every kiss was filled with an intensity that left you breathless, his lips tracing a path from your mouth down to your neck, his hands warm and steady as he pulled you against him. The night was filled with whispered words and soft laughter, the thrill of his touch and the warmth of his presence pulling you into a heady, dreamlike state. When you finally drifted off, it was with a sense of contentment you hadn’t expected, his arm draped around you, his breathing even beside you.

The morning light seeped through the curtains, and you blinked, slowly becoming aware of the weight of Charles’s arm still wrapped around you. You shifted slightly, thinking you’d sneak out quietly, but he tightened his hold, murmuring sleepily, “Where do you think you’re going?”

You laughed softly, turning to face him. “I thought I’d slip out before I overstayed my welcome.”

He grinned, his hand moving to your waist. “And here I was hoping you’d stay for breakfast.”

You raised an eyebrow, trying to suppress a smile. “You really don’t have to play the gentleman.”

“Who said I was playing?” he replied, a playful glint in his eyes. He reached over to grab his phone, tapping in the passcode before handing it to you. “Just in case,” he said, his tone casual but his gaze soft, watching as you saved your number on his phone.

You arched a brow as you handed it back. “Right. As if you’re going to remember to call me.”

He shrugged, smirking. “Guess we’ll have to wait and see.”

With a laugh, you finally slipped out of bed, pulling your clothes back on as he watched you with a lazy, satisfied smile. “Don’t worry, you’ll be hearing from me,” he called out as you left, and you shook your head, chalking it up to morning-after charm.

A few weeks later, you found yourself at another party, the memory of that night with Charles lingering somewhere in the back of your mind. But it wasn’t until you felt a familiar hand on your waist, warm and steady, that you turned and saw him, his grin as mischievous as ever.

Without a word, he guided you down a hallway, slipping into a quiet bathroom and closing the door behind you. “Miss me?” he murmured, pressing you back against the door as he leaned in close, his breath warm against your skin.

Your heart raced as you looked up at him, barely able to suppress a grin. “Didn’t think I’d see you again.”

“Well,” he replied, brushing his lips over yours in a way that made your knees weak, “I couldn’t just let you disappear.”

Before you could respond, he kissed you, and just like before, the spark ignited instantly. It was the start of something unspoken, casual but thrilling, each encounter leaving you wanting more, yet content with the moment.

The next few weeks went by in a blur. Somehow, Charles found his way into your life again and again, just as casually as that night at the party. You didn’t think too much about it. He’d message you when he was around, a simple “Hey, what are you up to?” that always had a certain charm to it, like he’d genuinely missed your company. You didn’t mind, and maybe part of you even looked forward to it.

One evening, you found yourself back at his place, sprawled on the couch together, a movie playing in the background though neither of you were watching. Charles was close, his arm slung over your shoulders, and you could feel the warmth radiating from him, his fingers tracing light patterns along your arm in a way that felt natural and maybe a little more comfortable than you’d expected.

“So, what happened this time?” you asked, glancing at him. It had become a bit of a game between you two—he’d tell you a funny story or some little anecdote, always skirting around any real details about his life but sharing just enough to keep you intrigued.

“Oh, nothing too dramatic,” he replied with a lazy grin, “just an embarrassing incident in front of the team principal. Tripped over a power cord, nearly brought the whole simulator down with me.”

You burst out laughing, nudging him. “So much for that smooth reputation of yours.”

“Oh, I’m smooth when it counts,” he shot back, his eyes dancing with that familiar cheeky glint as he leaned closer. “I haven’t heard any complaints from you. Also being smooth is more of my teammate’s thing”

You felt your cheeks warm, and you looked away, laughing softly. There was something about him, the way he moved so effortlessly from humor to something more intense, that always had your heart racing. When his hand moved to brush a strand of hair from your face, lingering just a moment longer than necessary, you felt that familiar spark between you.

The kisses started slow, a mix of laughter and warmth as his lips met yours. You’d gotten used to the way he’d go from teasing you to pulling you close, his hands trailing along your back as he deepened the kiss, his touch growing more insistent. Somehow, even though you both kept things light, there was a weight to it, an intensity that left you breathless every time.

But no matter how intense it got, the mornings were always easy. He’d hand you a coffee, tease you about how you liked it, and insist on making breakfast—even if that breakfast was sometimes just a couple of slices of toast or a quickly scrambled egg.

One morning, you woke up with him lying next to you, his arm draped over your waist, his face relaxed in sleep. You tried to slip out of bed, but as you moved, he tightened his hold, his eyes opening just a sliver. “Going somewhere?” he murmured, his voice rough with sleep.

“I’ve got things to do,” you whispered back, though you were reluctant to move from the warmth of his arms.

“Stay,” he mumbled, pulling you back down, his head finding the crook of your neck as he nuzzled against you. “Just a few more minutes.”

You rolled your eyes but settled back into his embrace, a soft laugh escaping you. Moments like these, the playfulness and ease, were what kept you coming back. And every time he brushed a kiss over your shoulder or laced his fingers with yours under the covers, it felt like he was daring you to let your guard down just a little bit more.

It was a pattern—casual, yet consistent. You never really talked about what you were doing, and maybe that was part of the appeal. There were no promises, no declarations, just the simple thrill of seeing him and the warmth of his company.

Then one night, at yet another party, you spotted him across the room, his eyes lighting up the moment he saw you. He excused himself from his conversation and strode over, his usual smirk in place.

“You just can’t stay away, can you?” he teased, his hand resting on your lower back as he guided you out of the crowded room, into a quieter hallway. His gaze dropped to yours, a familiar heat sparking between you.

“Oh, please,” you replied, trying to keep your voice steady. “I’m here because my friends dragged me out again.”

“Sure,” he murmured, a hint of amusement in his voice. He took your hand, leading you down the hallway and into a closet, closing the door behind him. Before you could say anything, he pulled you into his arms, pressing his lips to yours, and the familiar thrill washed over you, as strong as ever.

“You know,” he murmured between kisses, his voice low, “I missed you.”

You raised an eyebrow, a smile tugging at your lips. “Oh, really?”

“Maybe a little,” he admitted, his lips grazing along your jawline, sending a shiver down your spine. “You’re hard to forget.”

He kissed you again, his hands roaming over your waist, your body responding with the same intensity as if this had been brewing since the last time you’d seen each other. The kisses were heated, a rush of warmth and urgency, the world outside fading away as you lost yourself in the moment.

This was supposed to be just casual, just fun. But as you felt the way he held you close, his fingers tracing light patterns on your skin as if memorizing every detail, you wondered if maybe—just maybe—this was starting to mean something more. For now, though, you were content to leave it unspoken, savoring each moment with him as it came.

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starsintheskyandtheeye · 24 days ago

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Respect for the Dead

By Lois Lane and Clark Kent

1,436 words

By now most of the world has been shaken by the news.

Ghosts are real! And ghosts are in danger! The original publication written by Lois Lane can be found here but we are not here to follow that well trodden avenue of discussion.

Here at the Daily Planet we have elected to focus on speaking to the ghosts themselves, rather than debate their existence alongside our fellow papers. During the hunt for the new source of Kryptonite that sparked this discovery Lois Lane made contact with one Danny Phantom. Originally he chose to anonymous but since the outpouring of support from much of the world he has since chosen to come forward publicly.

Given that the ghostly teenager is operating as a hero similar to our own Superman much of his personal history could not be shared. What was safe to share however was very different from what this reporting team had been expecting.

We had gone in prepared to hear the story of what caused a ghost that looks like a schoolboy to lead a life of ghostly vigilantism.

What we got was sweetly sarcastic individual giving us amusing anecdotes of his start as a hero, descriptions of the stranger habits he's gained since his death, and many many tips on how to politely interact with a ghost. At our confusion (who knew there were so many different types of ghost!) Phantom went on to explain and correct several common misconceptions about ghosts. So without further ado; here are the highlights of that discussion.

We begin with what was given to us as the number one rule of human/ghost etiquette. Never ask the individual, be they glowing werewolf, ghostly lunch-lady, or undead rock star, about the circumstances of their death.

It seems simple does it not? A matter of everyday politeness, and yet that is the number one reason for communication breakdowns between ectoplasmic entities and still living humans. Fortunately for the health of the interview this reporting team did not make that mistake. Phantom did not explain the nature of the offense but did not need to. It was clear that the, until then, friendly conversation would have ended abruptly if we had gone any farther down that path.

What we were encouraged (and warned) to talk to a ghost about was their obsession. As Phantom explained, "It's what drives a ghost, why we are still here, or why we formed at all."

When asked about his own obsession Phantom laughed a bit and said, "I'm a bit young for a ghost, so I don't really have one yet, I bounce around a lot. My doctor, he's a yeti, says it's normal for me though! The options are all over the place though. I know one ghost that haunts the high school to prevent bullying, a really nice guy. Another just wants to have her music heard by the world. Unfortunately her music brainwashes people to love her so we aren't super close. Or another that is all about granting wishes, but not in a singing blue genie way, in a fairy tale way, it's a mess whenever she gets over here."

That seems to be a common theme in ghostly/human interaction. Ghosts largely mean no harm but the pursuit of their own obsessions can have devastating effects on any that stand between them and their goal. Something to keep in mind if you're ordering pizza when the Box Ghost is at large.

Hoping it wouldn't cross into the realm of ghostly faux pas we went on to ask how old Phantom is. Once again Phantom seemed somewhat awkward although no more than what seemed to be his baseline when talking to (self claimed) famous reporters, saying only, "Time works differently in the realms. It can be really weird sometimes, you'll be talking to someone that looks like a toddler only to learn that they were last in a human world during the 1400s or something."

As Phantom continued to share however, the everlasting aspect seemed to be the least interesting part of the Infinite Realms, or the Ghost Zone as the Doctors Fenton, previously mentioned as ghostly experts here, call the place where the vast majority of ghosts dwell.

Ghostly yetis practicing medicine, while certainly not the least of the inhabitants were just the start. Phantom went on to share with us a sampling of the being he has encountered in his travels, medieval women moonlighting as temperamental dragons, the very concept of time, a warden of any ghosts that cross his path, and of course the ubiquitous creepy toddler so often featured on the silver screen.

According to Phantom up until extremely recently (whether by ghostly or human terms we were unable to determine) the Infinite Realms was closed off from our own home except for the occasional haunting. Which was explained to us by the telling of what was, to Phantom, a very funny joke about pop culture influencing ghost culture as people died and brought it over with them. From this we can glean several things. That the realms of the living and the dead have never been so far apart as it would have seemed to the living. That the near future will hold many changes as major religions, governments, and the common people hear what the dead have to say as they weigh in on what respect for the dead really means. And that while many things do translate, ghostly humor is not one of them.

Although of course that may be that, despite his real age being possibly many times our own - combined, Phantom is still eternally a teenager. And a teenagers jokes are often incomprehensible to any who do not share that state.

When asked about the sudden ghostly interest in our own living Earth Phantom had this to say, "Lots of ghosts want to go to the lands of the living. Especially anyone that used to be alive themselves. And anyone that didn't is curious what the fuss is about. Earth is so different from the ghost zone but it's still where a lot of us came from. If someone gets a chance to hop through the portal they'll go, to see how things have changed, or to keep things from changing, or just to stretch their obsessions. Really it's a chance to go home, just for a little while," he said, reminding us that for all they look like aliens ghosts are just as human as you or I.

With a few caveats.

The portal Phantom spoke of is an invention by the Doctors Fenton, Ectobiologists. Up until recently Jack and Maddie Fenton had been the worlds foremost ghostly experts, building a portal to the "Ghost Zone" in order to study what up until recently had been considered to be a non-sentient classification of emotional ectoplasmic imprintation.

We spoke to the researchers after our interview with Phantom, at his request. Despite the recent evidence come to light the couple remain the foremost (living) human scientists in the field. When asked about the setback to their work they had this to say, "We were devastated of course. To learn that we won't be able to study spooks -" Jack Fenton broke off there, at an extremely well executed elbow jab from Maddie Fenton who then said. "We got an extreme tunnel vision, a hazard of obsessive science. We were told we were wrong about the existence of ghosts for so long that we forgot to check that we were correct about their nature. We look forward to pivoting to ghostly anthropology and human/ghost interaction technology."

Ultimately we did not learn any groundbreaking secrets, but then if a ghost willing to go on record ( a written record at least, our recorded transcript of the conversation was near unusable due to static) you sit down and listen. We can never anticipate what a reader will take from an article but if we could make a suggestion? In this reporting teams opinion, the balance of ghost and human realms is not unlike the inversion of a mirror. We are reflections of one another. Opposite, yes, and dangerous to one another for it, but ultimately we are all the same. After all what is a ghost but emotion and ectoplasm (according to current science)? And for all that we try to rise above it, what is a human but emotion and flesh?

Fin.

Coming Soon!

Keep an eye out for top ten tips on ghostly interaction and interviews with the Justice League on diplomatic efforts with GHOSTLY ROYALTY!!

#dpxdc #dc x dp #danny phantom #Superman #Lois Lane #Clark Kent #in universe article #just a bit of fluff #I was trying to get a lot of the fun stuff in there as subtext #I think I did okay #I was gonna write an article about the direct aftermath but this was more fun #no beta we die like danny #dp x dc crossover #dp x dc prompt

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arkhamsbrat · 14 days ago

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❦— jason todd x civilian! reader

in which jason is totally not planning on stealing you away from your shitbag of a bf

part 1 ! part 2 ! part 3 ! part 4 ! part 5 !

jason was returning the favor. at least that’s what he called beating the life out of your now ex boyfriend. (nearly) every single thing he did to you, he got back. there were a few lines jason wouldnt cross.

he stopped by the gas station on the way back, picking up a pint of ice cream and some extra snacks. telling himself it was just in case you woke up when he reentered his apartment.

when he walked in, you were curled around a blanket he doesn’t remember owning. it was probably yours. definitely not his, it looked too… soft. like you. he stood there staring for a moment. you deserved so much better than what that guy put you through. he’d make damn sure you got better.

it didn’t feel weird just watching you sleep. maybe he shouldve felt guilty, maybe even ashamed. but why did you come to him? why did you make it so easy for him to worm his way into your life? c’mon. it’s like you were asking him to do all this for you.

even in your sleep it seemed like you couldn’t catch a break. you tossed and turned restlessly. “y’poor thing..” he muttered to himself while he threw the snacks in the freezer. scared whines slipped out of you every few minutes. the thought crossed his mind to run back out to kill your ex. it’d be worth it.

instead, he decided to be selfish. to save you, again. it filled him with a strange sense of pride, seeing how you looked up at him with those glittering eyes. it’s addictive. you made jason feel like he was good.

jason put a hand on your shoulder and shook gently, whispering, “hey..” he waited a moment before your eyes flutter open. “jason? wha-” you rubbed the tears out of your eyes, body feeling heavier after waking up. “go to the bed.” he said softly, shooting you a comforting smile. asking what you were dreaming about was not a part of his current plan. for now, he’d just blame it on comfort. “y’look miserable on this damn thing. i’ll take the couch.”

you tried to argue with him. you told him that you wouldn’t kick him out of his own bed, he’s done enough for you. unfortunately for you, jason is a miserably stubborn man. he gave you a firm look and tipped his head towards the room. “you’re my guest, yeah? i want the couch. gonna be rude and tell me no?”

you stood, wrapped in your blanket, and almost started walking to his room with eyes still bleary. it didn’t feel right to ask him for so much with only so little you could give in return. but jason loved you, that was something you knew 100%. how he loved you, though, you weren’t exactly sure.

“jay?” your voice was barely a whisper. unrecognizable from your usual happy tone you always had with him. he let out a small hum. “do y’think…” the thought wouldn’t let itself come out.

a little spark of hope twitched in his chest you both stood there silently staring at each other. “think what?” his blue eyes bore into yours. in the dim light, you swore they flickered green. “i know im already askin’ a lot but, it’s been a while since ive slept…” your voice grew quiet. alone.

the spark trapped in his chest grew bigger. for a moment, he considered if finishing your thoughts for you was the right move. who was he kidding, of course it was. “y’want me to sleep with you, sweetheart?” his voice soothed any anxieties you had left. you nodded shyly.

jason crossed the room within seconds, pulling you into a tight hug. “y’aren’t asking for too much, i swear.” tears slipped from your eyes before you could realize it. it’s all been too much in one day. his hands moved from your back to cup your cheeks, thumbs rubbing the tears away. “y’tell me anything you need and ill do it. dont give a fuck what it is.”

you stared into his eyes, knowing good and well he meant every word. it shouldve scared you, his level of devotion. you just couldnt find the energy in you. blind loyalty like this was welcome after everything youve gone through. so, you nodded, and let him practically carry you to his bed.

jason set you down gently, pulling the covers over you before crawling in next to you. “y’sure youre okay with this?” you nod, fiddling with the edge of your own blanket. “shouldnt i be asking you that, jayce?” he laughed softly and turned on his side to look at you. “nah, dont mind you here.”

#— bambi posting #jason todd #red hood #jason todd x reader #red hood x reader #jason todd imagine #red hood imagine #JASOON TODDDDDD IS A FREAK HES A WEIRDO #is this slight yandere? is this what we’d consider this(#anyways enjoy part 5 i stared at this too long and i hate it but hopefully YOUUU like it

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urfavoriteitalian · 1 year ago

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“coming back for more”

summary: in which you and Jude can’t stay away from each other

warnings: 18+ SMUT!, friends with benefits, dom!jude, innocence kink, blowjob, fingering, slapping, degrading, praising, pet name, a bit toxic relationship, changes of pov, unprotected sex (don’t do it guys!!!).. that’s all i think

10 days, 240 hours without seeing him.

240 hours since the last time he touched me.

240 hours without a fucking message or a call.

I would love to say that I wasn’t used to this, but I was. Used to be treated like this. I could say him no. I could say him that I didn’t want to keep doing this, like everyone told me. Even Jobe, his brother, told me that Jude wasn’t good in this type of things, that I should tell him to go to hell.

When Jude was away from me, when he didn’t text me, I convinced myself to end this, that it was the best thing to do. But his touch. God. His touch was like a drug to me. It felt like he had poison in his fingers. No man, ever, ever, made me felt like this. Not that I’ve been with many men, and I thought this is why Jude liked me so much.

The innocence that I had when I first met him, made his cock twisted only at the thought. The insecureness of my touch made his mouth groan and the though that he was the only man capable of making me felt the way he did, made his ego boost in a way that wasn’t explainable.

In those ten days that I didn’t saw him, was because he was in England, 2 hours and 30 minutes away from me. He didn’t texted, and even if I knew that he wouldn’t, the spark of the hope was always alive in me.

The din of my phone took me away from my thoughts. I took a quickly look at it, wondering who was. “J.”, that was the way that I saved him on my phone. Only two of my friends knew about him, in first place because he asked me to not tell everyone, and in second place because I didn’t want people to know that I let a guy treating me like a toy.

Another din. Again him. I unlocked my phone and read the message.

hey

I’m back home

Cool.

I just said, wanting to be stronger than my need for him. Another din.

Same place, in one hour?

I rolled my eyes at the message. Me and Jude used to met in a hotel, since we lived in two different place of the city, and not to arouse the suspicions of the paparazzi. This time if he really wanted to see me, he should come at my place.

If you really want to see me, then come at my place.

I knew that he wouldn’t come. Another din.

Such a brat

I read the message without replying, knowing that probably he would text me the next day, or in the worse case, find another toy to pleasure himself.

-Jude pov’s-

I asked my mother to take me to her place, since she decided to act like a child, but I was craving her taste so bad.

We arrived in front of the place, and my mother stopped the car. I made my way to open the door, but her voice stopped me.

“Your girlfriend lives here?” she asked, hoping that I would say yes, I could say by the spark in her eyes.

“What make you think that I’m here for a girl?” I answered her questions with another question smiling innocently.

“Jude you spent an hour getting ready in the bathroom, I don’t think you’re here for your mates” she said smiling sweetly “You asked me five times if you looked good” she continued “And you do this thing at least three times at week when you’re here”

I kissed my teeth, thinking something to said my mother “She is.. I mean, kind of.. is difficult” I scratched my neck “Can I go now?”. She continued smiling “Jude you aren’t just a soccer player, don’t forget that” I nodded and after thank her for the ride and gave her a sweet kiss on the cheek I left the car.

I made my way to her apartment, I’ve only been here once, but luckily I have good memory. I knocked the door, more than one time just to annoy her. I could hear her scoffing behind the door, probably rolling her eyes.

-Y/N pov’s-

I opened the door, wondering who is the prick who’s bothering me at 10 pm, but when I did, I couldn’t believe my eyes.

“Jude..” I said quietly, he was already scanning my body. I was wearing one of his shirts, and black socks that reached my knee “What are you doing here?” I asked him.

“You told me to come here, darling” he said tiling his head to the side with a smirk “Do you want to let me in or you want to go out and have fun on the stairs? It could be interesting” I rolled my eyes after let him in, and he closed the door behind him with a kick.

“Missed me?” he asked following me like a lost puppy towards the house, I turned myself to look at him “Why you didn’t text me?” I asked looking up at him. He put his hands on my waist, for hold me still, and getting closer to me, our nose almost touching “I didn’t know you liked sex chat babe, i’m going to remember the next time”

I kissed my teeth and shook my head “Is not that” I told him “So you don’t like sex chat? I would love to see you begging me from the phone” he continued holding my waist tighter “I’m not saying that..” he hands on me didn’t let me think correctly “So you’d like it?” he said continuing his play

I broke the eye contact with him, and his hands made their way to my hips “You asked to come here and I did” he whispered to my ear, and the his hot breath on my neck made me sigh. He started making his way to the couch, still holding me. He sat on the couch and made me sat on his lap. He squeezed my thighs “Have you’ve been with someone while I wasn’t around?” he asked

That was the strange thing about our relationship. Jude wanted me only for him. He wanted an exclusive relationship with me. And it drove my mind crazy every time, because it always made me hoping for more.

“Did you?” he hated when I would answer a question with another question, but I wanted to know. One of his hands trail to my ass cheek, without squeezed it “Answer.” he just told me, clenching his jaw at the though. I decided to tease him a bit, and I started rolling my hips on his lap “Maybe” I said, it wasn’t true, I barely left the house because I had too work to do.

He slapped my ass “Get on your knees, I think you need to remember who you belong to”, he said and slapped my ass again, making me gulp. I got on my knees and started to took off his belt, then I lowered his pants to his ankles. I smirked when I saw how hard he got, I took his cock in my hand and I started pumping up and down.

“Already so hard, babe?” I said mocking his pet name. He didn’t answer, he was just staring at me, waiting for me to do the next move. I caressed his tip with my thumb, while I started sucking his ball, looking at him through my lashes. He put one hand on my cheek, and the other took my hair in his hand, squeezing it “You aren’t in the position for teasing, darling,so put that pretty mouth around my cock before i loose my patience” he warned me with a smile.

I listened to him, but in the moment that i took his tip into my mouth, he pushed my head all the way down his cock, forcing me to take all of it. I put my hand on his thigh for balance, and the second after Jude started thrusting my head up and down, while his other hand was still on my cheek. I hollowed my cheek, to gave him more pleasure, while I was massaging his balls with my free hand.

I choke every time his tip touched the back of my throat, and my nose continued bouncing into his pelvis. Tears was falling down my eyes, while I kept looking at Jude. “Don’t look at me like that, whores like you need to be put in place” he explained while I choked another time around him “I bet you’re getting so wet by sucking my cock off”. And it was true, that sight of him made my cunt clench around nothing several times. I took my hand off his balls, and leaned it between my legs, trying to get some relief by touching my clothed clit.

When Jude noticed, he took my head off his cock, and slapped me “You’re getting pleasure only by me, and only when I decide” he grabbed my jaw “Understood?” I nodded, while I was breathing heavily. The leaded my head again on his cock, thrusting my head all the way down him.

I sucked the more that I could “Fuck, I’m close” he said between his groan “You’re so good babe”. It was a matter of seconds until I felt Jude’s cock twisted in my mouth, and his hand hold me still to be sure that I took all his cum. I felt his hot cum invading my mouth, his low groans surrounding my ears, I slowly took him out, making him sigh. I licked his tip, taking all his cum, and then swallow, staring at him for the whole process, making him smirk.

He made me sat on his lap again, and touched softly my lips, indicating to open. I open my mouth, and showed him my tongue, clear. “So good for me” he said under his breath before kissing me, and taste his own cum “You taste so good Jude” I told him and then start kissing his neck, craving for more. He stood up, making my legs lock around his waist.

He made his way to my bedroom, and for the whole time I kissed and bite his neck, like it was a drug, making him groan more than one time. We got in the bedroom and he pushed softly on the bed before hardly kissing me. His tongue entered my mouth with arrogance, and his hands traveled my body with possessiveness, without touching me where I needed him the most. “Jude.. please” I begged him on his lips. Without answering me, he took my shirt off, and made it fall on the ground, and he smirked when he noticed I wasn’t wearing a bra. He started kissing and biting my breast, and his hands squeezed my thighs, putting them on his shoulders.

His fingers, finally, made his way to my starved core “God you’re so fucking wet” he said, putting my panties to the side, and slipping his fingers towards my folds “Only whores like you gets this wet by sucking my cock”

He slides two fingers inside of me, and I moaned thrusting my hips up, he continued using his fingers inside of me. Without warning he removed them from me and I whined for the loss. “You really thought I would make you come this easy after what you told me earlier?” he scoffed “Not only a whore, even stupid” he said going to kiss my neck again, and I felt his hardness on my thigh.

He made his cock running towards my wet fold and I moaned when it came in contact with my clit “Jude.. I need you” I whined, almost crying “I don’t even need to ask you to beg” he cockly said before slowly entering me. I whined again, craving for more “Shh baby” he said putting his forehead on mine “It’s been a while baby, we need to take it slow” he explained, with a sweet tone. When he was fully in me, he waited a bit and then stared moving, putting his head in the crook of my neck, making me hear all his groans.

I looked at him, his shirt still on, I tapped his shoulder unsure “Jude..” I called him, he just took his head off the crock of my neck to look at me, with a preoccupied look on his face “Can you take your shirt off.. please?” I asked between my loud moans. Jude groaned, standing up, still thrusting into me “God, you’re going to be the death of me” he took his shirt off, and instinctively I closed my legs at the sight. He put his hands on my knee “Nah ah, I need them open baby” he told me, and opened them more than before.

He was now standing at the end of the bed, and from there, he looked like a god. He took my legs and put the on his shoulders, caressing my black sock that I had still on. From this position he was deeper than ever, I could feel him in my stomach “Jude, fuck” I moaned “You’re so deep, I can feel you in my stomach” I whispered not being able to talk louder because of the moaning. Jude smirked “I want you, to feel me everywhere darling” he said and started thrusting harden into me, making the the headboard of the bed slamming against the wall with every thrust.

I felt a knot in my stomach, and locked my ankles behind the neck of Jude felling so close “Don’t stop Jude” I spoke again “I’m so close”. I was a moaning mess “God you look so good” he groaned leaning to kiss me “So drunk of my cock” he squeezed my thighs, and I knew he was close too “Can I come into you?” he asked and I just nodded. It was a matter of second until I released moaning his name. Jude followed me right after, giving me his cum for the second time today.

He took himself off me, making me whine. He lead one finger between my hole, taking a bit of our cum on it. He took it to my lips, and without saying nothing, i took it in my mouth, sucking it “How is it?” he asked so cockly, “Good” I just told him out of my breath. He lay next to me caressing my thighs

“What was his name?” he asked out of nowhere. I looked at him confused “Whose name Jude?” I kept caressing his bare chest “The name of the guy you’ve been with, while I was in London” he explained with a mix of annoyance and angriness, and I just laughed “I haven’t been with anyone Jude, it was just to tease you”, the look on his face changed to an happy one “Oh.. don’t do it ever again then” he warned kissing my forehead.

“What about you?” I asked, a little scared of the answer “I haven’t been with anyone since I started this.. thing with you”. I didn’t say a thing, I just kissed him, innocently, but the caress that Jude gave to my ass cheek made me understand that it wasn’t over yet this night. “Jude I have to wake up early tomorrow” I said in the kiss “Mhh” he protested grabbing my ass “It’ll be quick”

in the end, we will always come back to the other for more..

note: hi!! hope you guys liked it, sorry that y/n is a little bit innocent but i liked it for this story. if you have any request lmk

kisses, Carla 💋

#jude bellingham #jude bellingham smut #jude bellingham x reader #jude bellingham x you #smut #football smut #image #real madrid #yn #football #viral #aesthetic #fanfic #fandom

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shizucheese · 3 months ago

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So about that Dropout Tweet...

There's a common trend in influencer/ content creator apologies, where the person doing the apology will say they are sorry for the harm that they did, claim they are taking ownership of it and using the whole situation to become a better person, etc. etc. Usually in a way that makes it sound suspiciously like it was written by ChatGPT.

And then they'll go on to say something along the lines of "But we've been getting a lot of death threats guys, and that's bad!" As if the fact that they're getting death threats somehow absolves them of at least some of the guilt of whatever it is that made the apology necessary in the first place. As if it means they're the real victims here.

Apparently Dropout decided to just skip the "ChatGPT apology" part and jump straight to the "We're getting physcal and legal threats" part. Followed up with them once again saying they support Palestiniens and ending it with "We reject antisemitism, Islamophobia, and all forms of bigotry, and welcome all to our platform who treat others with respect, empathy, and human dignity."

And they did it on Twitter, and only Twitter. You know, the website that's notoriously overrun by Nazis. Nothing on Tumblr or Instagram, where the original statement that sparked all of this (which has since been taken down) were posted.

@dropoutdottv, @samreich, this is not listening to the Jewish members of your community who are speaking out about antisemitism. This is reinforcing the antisemitism that those Jewish members of the community are speaking out about. Because what this Tweet does is paint everyone who spoke out against the antisemitism in your original post with the same brush as the people who were sending you threats.

Which, let me be clear, they should not have been doing and I wholeheartedly condemn.

But the actions of the people sending you threats of violence and threats of legal action do not invalidate the things being said by the people who haven't threatened you with anything worse than a boycott. I have literally seen people say "the fact that they got threats just proves they were right." Is that the outcome you were trying to achieve with this?

People who did bad things get death threats all the time; refer back to the beginning of this post. Does that make their critics wrong then, too? Or is it only now, when the accusation being made is that a nerdy comedy network beloved by people on the left did an antisemitism?

I honestly can't tell if you have no publicist helping you out with one, a bad publicist that needs to give you your money back, or an evil genius publicist that knew that if you made a post like this one, it would distract from the fact that you're being accused of antisemitism, maybe even act as a dog whistle to to paint anyone who accuses you of being antisemitic of being "Zionists" (meant in the derogatory way, where people claim they're only talking about people who uncritically support the Israeli government and their actions in Gaza, but then in practice will use it against anyone who believes Israel has the right to exist, including those who want a two state solution, whose hearts break for the people in Palestine, and call Netanyahu a fascist and probably want him gone more than even the people calling them "zionists" do). Maybe even make up for all of the subscriptions you're losing over this and even gain a few by catering to the antisemitic leftist crowd.

Is that really the kind of culture you want to cultivate? If not, then do better. Acknowledge the Jewish voices that are speaking out. Listen to them. And do it in a way that doesn't bring up any other marginalized group. Because like...fuck, man, I reject Islamophobia, and all forms of bigotry too. And I'm sorry you guys are receiving threats; that truly does suck and I hope everyone that works for you guys are staying safe.

But you're specifically being accused of antisemitism. Can you really not reject it all on its own without including other forms of bigotry in the same statement?

And do it on a platform that *isn't* run by an infamous antisemitic, and overrun by more antisemitics? (You can turn off comments and reblogs on Tumblr and comments on instagram, in the same way you disabled replies on your Tweet, you know.)

Here, I'll even write the statement for you: "Earlier this week, we made a statement regarding accusations that Dropout was platforming zionists. At the time, we made a statement focusing on our support of the Palestinian people. We stand by this statement. However, we have received feedback from several members of our community that some of the things that we said were inappropriate insensitive to the Jewish people. "Zionist" and "Zionism" mean different things to different people, ranging from "people who support the Israeli government's actions in Gaza" to "people who believe that Israel has a right to exist and the Jewish people have the right to self-determination." We had meant it in the context of the former definition, but we understand that many Jewish people identify with the later, including many people who are disgusted by the Israeli government's actions in Gaza, and we should have been more sensitive to this fact. Additionally, we would like to reiterate that, to our knowledge, nobody who has appeared on Dropout has openly stated support for the Israelie's actions in Gaza, and several of those accused have voiced their support for a free Palestine. We would like to take this moment to remind everyone that just because a person is Jewish, and may have ties to Israel, does not inherently mean they condone the actions of the Israeli government in Gaza, and to suggest otherwise is antisemitic. We at Dropout reject all forms of antisemitism and are committed to providing a safe space to everyone regardless of religion or ethnic background. We apologize if we made the Jewish members of our community feel like that was not the case."

See how easy that was? I feel something like this is the bear minimum, and if you had said the things in the last three paragraphs from the start, you could have avoided having to say everything in the first two paragraphs and the apology at the end.

That's...pretty much everything I have to say on the matter. To anyone reading this: Do not use other Jewish people to silence Jewish voices.

Do not use people of other marginalized groups to silence Jewish voices.

Just...maybe just listen to what we have to say without twisting our words and putting words in our mouths? Maybe?

Thanks for reading.

I'm so tired.

#dropout #dropout tv #jumblr #jewish tumblr #antisemitism #leftist antisemitism #dropout antisemitism

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simplyzeeka · 3 months ago

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Ruffian

Part.1

Summary: Ryan has been living a lonely life on her farm for a decade now. With no family to seek company from, she developed a routine with just her and her animals, something that soothed her loneliness. Until her happiness came back a little earlier than expected.

Warnings: MDNI!!! Cussing, chaotic animals, oral (m and f receiving), dirty talk, p in v(no protection), face sitting if you squint. They just missed each other y'all 😔

A/n: So, uhmm. This was supposed to be straight fluff, nothing nasty at all. But sometimes, characters have a mind of their own.

5k+

Ryan always believed life in the countryside was much more peaceful. Although she hasn't even licked the city streets, she hears enough to have a clear and unbiased opinion about it. But that did not mean that the countryside did not have its chaos. “Daisy… Daisy! Come back here girl, where you goin’?”

And most of this chaos came from her small little farm, especially her Great Dane. If it weren't her chickens causing a ruckus, her sheep and goats were raining ditsy havoc. Her only peace came from her Friesian stallion, Ferris, always chewing on a bunch of hay in his stable away from the blasting heat.

Despite all this, Ryan loved her little farm. It was a place with many stories. Tragic and happy alike. She inherited the small plot from her grandmother who raised her into the woman she was, her parents having moved to the city since she was young as a way to send money back into the farm.

Ryan shook her head at her dog’s antics before turning back to the task before her. “Okay, Ro. We’re all done girl, you get some rest.” She spoke quietly to her cow, applying a post-dipping solution on each teat when the spotted animal did not have any more milk to give. Ryan took off her gloves and offered the cow a batch of hay, then left the stable after checking on Ro’s calf.

It was a rather long day, helping a cow give birth was the least of her expectations, luckily her grandmother had always prepared Ryan for such a situation. She carried the bucket of colostrum filled milk that would be used to feed the calf, but stopped to check on her Stallion. “What’s up big guy? Your water still good?” Ryan checked the stable for any irregularities.

Once satisfied she left the stable, securing the lash before a smooth velvet voice caught her attention. “That sissy still standin’? Thought he woulda been long dead.”

Ryan whipped her head behind her, there occupying the entrance of the shed. Worn out timbs and a pair of denim jeans that matched in condition. White wife beaters and a denim jacket over his shoulder, his signature silver chain hanging around his neck. Terrence Richmond was still as handsome as he was all those years ago.

“You lyin’ to me.” Ryan shook her head, eyes blinking slowly, there was no way he stood in front of her currently. It was too early, he wasn't supposed to be back until a few weeks. See, Ryan knew that she should stop smoking the pre-rolls that Willow always brought, they tended to leave her more paranoid than relaxed.

The smile he let out from her quiet whisper was enough to spark a flamelet to her, he really was here. Years and years of being separated and finally, he was in front of her. , “I’m right here, baby.” He dropped the bags in his hand and opened his arms.

It took a while for Ryan to react, rendered speechless just by the mere fact that he was here… with her and near her. Next thing one step turned into two, then three before she was spriniting in his direction. Ryan wasted no time locking her body around his, legs around his waist and her arms wrapped tightly around his neck. Terry held her even tighter, his hands gripping at her thighs so he could hold her up. A soft scent of cinnamon and peaches invaded his nose so delicately that he brushed his nose against her neck to inhale more of the sweet scent.

“I thought you was gon’ be out in a few weeks. I aint even prepare nothin’ for you, coulda held a party or somet-.”

Terry didn't allow her to finish, “Ry baby, I dont need a party. This is good, this is perfect.” Terry protested, honestly so because there was no better way than for him to celebrate his return than with his fiancé.

Ryan held his face, a small pinch between her brows as she inspected his face. “I coulda bought you somethin’ nice at least.”

Terry laughed, knowing that Ryan always wanted nothing more than to please. Her heart plummeted at the sound, she missed it… thought she'd never hear it again, but Terry had a way of always coming back to her. “God, I missed you, like a fish outta water.”

Their noses nudged as she spoke, until the distance between their lips became a little too much to bear and Terry pressed their lips together. He swallowed the sound of her content sigh, felt her relax as she leisurely responded.

The small flame in her heart spread to the rest of her body, little embers flicking off her body when his hands grabbed at her supple flesh intentionally.

Ryan grew into her womanhood, everything about her screamed ‘grown’ and Terry loved every moment of that realisation. Ten years… he hasn't seen his woman for ten years, didn't watch her grow and grow with her. But he had time to spare now, and he would be damned if he didn't spend it on Ryan.

It took being placed on a block of hay and Terry stepping between her legs that made her push him away gently. “Mmm wait baby, we can't. Ro just calved.” She explained breathlessly while playing with the charm on his chain.

“Ro? As in little Ro?” Terry asked shocked, “She getting down and busy?” Ryan rolled her eyes and smacked his shoulder with a laugh.

“Ro ain't so little no more. And, she been gettin’ down and busy. This her third baby.”

Terry immediately moved his body away from Ryan, running her fingers through his short curls. “Somebody got my baby pregnant?” He frowned at the declaration, no longer in the mood to get acquainted with Ryan’s body. This was big.

Ryan huffed at his Oscar winning antics. “Terry, please. She damn near eleven years old, and also a cow. Breedin’ is what they do.” She explained, not that she thought they had to, he knew what it was when he bought Ro.

“Yeah, but not my Ro.”

Ryan cackled at that, he never failed to treat all the livestock on this farm like children… except her horse of course. She couldn't blame him, Terry and Ryan bought Ro off a cow breeder before he left for the military. They were only twenty years old, freshly engaged and had a dream to grow a farm together… their farm. Ro was their first cow, a big accomplishment because cows were expensive as hell.

“Okay, Soldier. Calm down.” Ryan got up from the hay and walked over to Terry. “How bout you help me carry the milk to the kitchen?” She suggested, pointing at the half full bucket of milk behind him.

Reluctantly, Terry obliged, he picked up the bucket and followed Ryan to the kitchen. She did some work to the small area, it looked different from the last time he saw it.

“You recolored?” He asked, placed the bucket on the floor before looking around. It smelled like freshly baked cookies, which didn't surprise Terry, he knew how much Ryan loved to bake.

“Mhm, got tired of the grey.” Ryan grabbed the bucket of milk and poured it in baby bottles for the calf when it woke up, she had fed it a while before it went into a deep sleep.

Terry couldn't help but to watch her, like really watch her. Her face, her hair, her skin. Everything about her. Dressed in a plain shirt, the front of it tied in a knot, showing a bit of her stomach. Flared jeans that hugged her thighs enticingly. As always, Ryan wore a low cut, stetson hat on her head, she wouldn't leave the house without one on.

She looked good, damn good and Terry found himself unable to keep composure again. A few tentative steps was all it took until he was behind her. His hands placed on her hips while his fingers dig into her belt loops as to pull her hips into his.

Ryan let out a soft laugh when she felt tickling kisses behind her ear travelling to her neck. He smelled like he always did. Honey and a hint of musk. “I'm tryna concentrate, Terrence.” Ryan began, not detering from her task, just as stubborn as Terry was on his because he didn't let up on her.

“You can do this later. Come on, Ry. I miss you.” Terry countered.

Ryan shook her head, this was important, the baby needed their milk. “And I got you later. Gon’ make you dinner and everythin’.” She turned to face him, arms wrapping around his neck, fingers playing with the little curls on the nape of his neck.

Terry sighed and looked down at her. She was so pretty. Her cheeks softly filled out, cheekbones lifting as she smiled. He bit his lower lip to stop himself from letting out a soft grunt of frustration, how was he supposed to hold off when she looked this good.

“Alright, I'ma hold you to that.” He nodded, sending a small smack to her ass and a kiss to her plump lips. “Anything you need me to help with?”

“Can you check on Ro?” Terry nodded in agreement, pecking her lips one more time before retreating from the kitchen.

“Yes ma'am.”

Time passed slowly, that when evening rolled in, Ryan was already spent from her day. She made sure that Ro and her calf were settled in for sleeping as all her other babies. As usual, her chickens gave her more of a run around, but Terry helped put them in their coop.

She had just finished with dinner, opted for a bit of a full plate as Terry's first proper meal since being back.

He was currently in the shower washing the day away while she got the table ready. She had Janet Jackson playing in the background, something she always did to decompress from a busy day of farm work.

“Terry! Come on now. The food gettin’ cold.” She called out, impatiently seated, waiting for him so they could eat.

“I'm here, I'm here.” He rushed down the stairs. His heavy steps creaked on loose floorboards. He marvelled at the effort that Ryan put into making such a vast dinner for him. Terry couldn't remember the last time he's had a proper meal straight out the pot.

“Smells good baby.” He complimented, landing a peck on her cheek before he took a seat in front of her. “Looks good too.”

Ryan smiled in appreciation, “Thank you, baby.” She did a little jiggle at the compliment, causing Terry to laugh endearingly. “Alright, let's eat. I'm hungrier than a tic on a teddy bear.”

And at that they dug in. Ryan and Terry caught up with everything they have missed together. Ten years, and Ryan still couldn't help but feel like a giddy school kid around Terry. He always had that effect on her, and something told her that he always would.

Terry ate like a man starved and Ryan used this time he was distracted to admire him. He gained muscle… a lot of muscle. While he wasn't necessarily a man of small stature, Terry came back with his clothes stretched out. She eyed his prominent veins pop out everytime he flexed his arm even the slightest.

He trimmed his beard out and kept his goatee. It was a small change, but a nice one. She remembered constantly calling him ‘patchy’ back when he was trying to fully grow it but it wouldn't grow the way he liked it.

Once dinner was done, Terry offered to wash the dishes since Ryan cooked. “You go get the bed ready, pretty. I'ma be up there in a few.”

Ryan nodded and her small feet pattered up the stairs to her bedroom. She made sure to turn the ceiling fan on, the heat making her a little irritated. “Hotter than satan’s crack.” She mumbled lowly, naive to the presence in the room.

“Wouldn't be feeling so hot if you got out those jeans.” Terry commented from behind her, arms wrapping around her torso. “You tryna get me out my clothes, Mr. Richmond?” She turned to face him, hands rested against his ripple chest.

Terry playfully shook his head, nudging his nose against hers. “Nah, I wouldn't dare, Mrs. Richmond.”

Fuck she loved that, she couldn't wait until she could become that formally. Ryan landed a kiss on his lips, missed that. Missed kissing him so much, touching him and loving him.

The kiss picked up pace. While Terry had always been an impatient man, the time they have spent apart left him with an insatiable hunger. Ryan breathed him in, cupping his lower jaw as to pull away slightly for some air. Terry chased her lips, not giving a damn about breathing with Ryan this close in his proximity.

They crashed together again, then stumbled everywhere in the room. Terry tapped her thigh twice, before he rested his hands on the underside of her thighs and picked her up with ease, and on the bed he laid Ryan gently.

Her hands fumbled with her belt buckle, not wanting to waste anymore time talking and laughing. She wanted him, in every way he came to her.

Terry took over, gently removing her hands and undid the buckle himself, except he took his time. Once the leather was gone, he unbuttoned her jeans with his teeth, sliding them down her thick thighs along with the orange lace panties that he wished he had taken the time to appreciate on her.

Ryan was breathing heavily, watching as Terry kissed on her exposed stomach. He was serenading her with his lips, silently telling her how much he missed her.

The pillows of his lips moved from her stomach, down to her pelvis. He kissed the visible scar on the soft skin, one she got when she tried shaving without any guidance for the first time.

By the feel of his lips moving lower, Ryan was too anticipated to let him do what he wanted. She wasn't in the mood for foreplay.

“Terry, I don't need that now.” She whispered as she rested on her elbows, looking down at the earthiness of his eyes. Fuck him for being so beautiful.

“Hm? What you need then?”

Ryan shook her head, she knew what he wanted. He wanted her to explicitly tell him what she wanted. But how could she so boldly tell him that she wanted to be stuffed with his dick.

“Closed mouths don't get fed, baby. Gotta let me know what you want so I can give it to you.”

“I can't, T.” She reasoned softly.

“Yes you can, I know you can. You know why? Cause you're my baby, and my baby listens.”

Ryan sighed heavily, unable to understand why he couldn't just fuck her and call it a night. Now he was bringing all this Military obedience bullshit to her at the worst of times. It frustrated her.

“Terry, come on. Please.”

He noted her frustration, sighed in disappointment before he stood to his full height. “Okay baby.”

“We'll fix that some other time.”

And she knew that was a promise he was going to keep. Ryan smiled in relief, gasped suddenly when he kissed her feverishly.

This kiss was sloppy. They nipped at each other's lips before Ryan granted him access into her mouth.

And inevitably, allowed entrance into her leaking folds as well.

It wasn't just his muscles that grew, his dick seemed to have gained an extra pound as well because it laid heavy inside her, stretching her out that she knew nobody would ever be able to fill his space, not that she wanted anybody to.

Ryan struggled to take it, regardless of the fact that he was going slow, she still couldn't take it. The mushroom of his tip brushed carelessly at the soft tissue of her spot at every thrust, it had her recoiling away everytime he pulled out.

“Don't piss me off, Ryan. You wanted this right?” Terry gritted out, his grip on her hips tight as she rolled his hips up into her yet again. Slow, deep strokes. Just as she liked. “Hm? Answer me, baby.”

Her pussy was gold. Always has been, always will be. Ryan had no right to grip at him like that and expect him to let her run. You couldn't offer somebody candy and expect them not to indulge, it was inhumane, at least to Terry it was.

He had her holding her legs, presenting herself to him so she could watch where their hips met without obstruction. Ryan's essence pooled around her thighs and Terry's, leaked out everytime he pulled out the piping heat of her pussy to where his tip is all that stayed, before he dove his heavy dick back inside her so he could kiss her insides.

“Fuck. Y-yes I did.” Ryan managed to respond, her brows drawn together, her eyes too stuck on where they connected. Watched as rings of cream coasted the thick base of his dick. “Fat fuckin’ dick. Oh my… yess.” She whispered softly, throwing her head back, her grip on her thighs tightened ever so oftenly.

“And you love me, hmm baby? You love me don't you?”

“Yes yes yes yesss. Love you so much. Oh my God.” Ryan looked up at him with teary eyes.

“So don't run from what you love baby, don't run from me. Take this dick, there you go, girl. Pretty fuckin’ pussy.”

He fucked like a grown man now too. Before he left, Terry and Ryan had good sex, she wouldn't dispute that. But it never felt like this, he definitely missed her, and he sure as fuck was showing her just how much.

“So deep, so fuckin’ deep, T. Just like that.”

“Yeah? In your stomach baby?” Terry watched where his dick poked out on her stomach.

But Ryan shook her head dumbly, he felt way beyond that. “In my- shittt. In my heart.”

“In your heart?” Terry laughed, the sound causing Ryan's walls to pulsate around as they clenched. That drew a hiss out of Terry before he continued. “Dick got you talkin’ dumb baby.”

Ryan moaned at that. Fuck she liked that, she liked that a lot. It made her ooze more of her juices, down her ass and onto the bed.

“Ease up mama, let me in.” Terry groaned, struggling to dig her out the way he wanted to because she gripped at his dick so tight, sucking him in with every thrust. “Open up, Ryan. Let Daddy in.”

“Shittt.” She creamed at that. Fuck he was so sexy, so so sexy she wanted to give him children. Ryan tried to open up more, but the heaviness of his dick made it hard. He was impaling her, and he expected her to make that easier for him?

Terry wrapped her legs around his waist, leaned lower, his elbows near either side of her head. Their foreheads touched and Ryan wasted no time touching on him.

He was angled so much deeper like this, but that wasn't what had her heart pumping. The way he looked at her, while slowly pumping her full of dick had her reciting her love for him all over again.

“I love you, love you so fuckin’ much, T.” She spoke with her eyes stuck on his, hands caressing his jaw as her mouth fell open at his pace. “Fuck yesss.”

“Fuck this pussy magic. Wanna die in it, wetting me up so good. Pretty baby, you so pretty Ry. You hear me? So so pretty. Love you, till death yeah?.”

And she believed him, believed that he would die for her because Terry has shown her his love, showed her that she deserves that kind of love, and that kind of love deserved her.

“Oh my God… I'ma cum. I'm cummin’ baby.”

“I know, I feel it baby, I feel you. Let it go, cum on your dick mama.” He coached her, leaving kisses on her face as he maintained the pace of his hips. He whispered profanities and sweet everything's in her ear as Ryan squeezed around him.

“Fuck fuck fuhhh. Oh my God, I love you.” She gasped when she gushed on him heavily. Her cum leaked out of her, damn near pushing Terry out of her walls. He fucked her through it, kissing her slightly sweaty skin.

He pulled away from her, rubbing her thighs lovingly and watched as she caught her breath. “Turn over, I ain't done.” Terry sent a small smack to the side of her thighs and laughed when he heard her whine but still as obedient as ever, oblige to his command.

On her elbows and knees, Ryan spread her legs slightly, earning an appreciative hum from Terry as he gripped at her plump ass.

“Look at you.” He said, eyeing the slick that covered her heat before blowing on her swollen bud. “She missed me, hmm?” he asked no one in particular, yet still, Ryan responded with a silent “Yes, Sir.” that had Terry grabbing the base of his dick. The sound of her accent didn't make this any better.

He sent a long stripe from her clit to her pulsating hole. Sucked her bud into his mouth and gave her pussy lazy kisses that left Ryan leaking again.

Ryan gripped at the sheets in front of her. This man was insatiable, and she knew that there was a long night ahead of her, if not a few days as well. “Shit shit shit, like that. Just like that.”

He hummed against her, the vibrations creating pressure waves inside of her, amplifying the pleasure that was being sent to her brain. “Taste so fucking good, look at this shit.” Terry said and spread her lips apart, before diving back in, slipping his pink muscle inside her and exploring more of her taste.

Ryan's thighs shook, almost causing her to fall out of the position. “Keep that fucking arch, Ryan. You hear me?”

She whined in response, pinched her eyes together from the slight overstimulation.

Terry was a noisy eater, slurping and slipping. Didn't even mind moaning at her taste, occasionally praising how much she got wet, how pretty her pussy looked, how much he loved her.

Once he was done with his oral loving, he teased Ryan's entrance with his tip. Slapped it against her clit a few times before sliding it between her folds.

Once he slowly plunged into her slowly, he threw his head back and whimpered shamelessly. The sound made Ryan smile to herself, loving how he expressed himself freely in that sense.

“Fuckk, not sure if I can hold off mama.” She muttered, pulled out then plunged back in again, the sight made his dick twitch. “Can't believe I went ten years without this pussy. Never again, okay baby?”

Terry began the relentless thrusting. Pulled her hips back against him, watching the recoil of her ass in appreciation. “Never again. Gon’ die in this shit if I have to.” His bottom lip sank between his teeth, watching himself enter her with more and more cream decorating his veiny dick.

Ryan was at a loss of words, couldn't speak as tears filled her eyes. Dick couldn't be this good. She understood now why women often fought for their men, there was no way she's ever letting up on this. Terry would get fucked up for even doing something as stupid as think of getting with another woman.

Naturally, she threw her ass back on him, because she missed him. And he deserved this, deserved so much more. “Fuckkk that's it, show out mama. Take your dick, just like that. Taking me so good, it's yours ain't it?”

The sound of skin clapping and squelching could be heard in the room, accompanied by the sound of their persistent moans and whimpers. Their declarations of love and praises.

“So big, stretchin’ me so much. Fuck, let up Terry.” Ryan cried out, reached behind her to push against his stomach. Terry ignored that, instead, he just slid back in deeper. He angled his hips that made him kiss her cervix with so much pressure. Ryan opened her mouth agape and her arm fell forward to grip the sheets.

"Why you fucking me like this?" She moaned out elongated, using the leverage of her elbows to pull her hips away from him.

"Cause you deserve it. You deserve this nut, baby." Terry gritted out, so concentrated at the work he was putting between her thighs, watching the mesmerising waves on her ass every time their skin slapped.

"Working so hard every damn day, takin' care of the house, the farm. You don't gotta worry bout that no more though, cause Daddy's home. You hear me, Ry?" Terry angled his hip in a way that dug her out in a way that would have had her promising babies, but she held off.

All she could do was nod, grip the sheets harder. Her moans leaking out her mouth like the faucet between her legs. "Mh mh, say it. Say Daddy's home baby."

“Daddy’s home… fuckkk daddy's home. I'm bout to cum.”

“Right behind you baby, cum with me baby. Hold it just a little longer.”

Ryan tried, she tried so hard to listen but she couldn't hold it. She began squirming on him, yelling chants of ‘I love you's’.

The feel of her clenching sent Terry over the edge. “Fuck fuck fuckk, I'm cummin’.” He grunted before he spilled inside her then fucked his nut inside her.

The two gathered their breath, catching a sense of time and space while coming down their highs.

Once Terry pulled out, Ryan believed she was done. “Sit up baby.” Terry called out gently, rubbing her back gently as she moved around the bed.

Once she was sat on the bed, she was face to face-to-face with his slick covered dick. He definitely was bigger, and the sight of his cum mixed with hers had her mouth watering.

Ryan looked up at Terry, the corners of his lips lifted slightly. “You okay?” He asked for assurance to continue first, the ball was in her hands.

Ryan eagerly nodded. She wanted this, needed this even. “Clean me up then.” he ordered.

Hesitantly, she wrapped her hands around him. Even with both hands, his head still peaked out. The weight of it felt tantalising.

“Don't play around with that shit, Ry. Eat it up.”

Immediately, her lips wrap around his head, sucking gently. Her eyes met his when her tongue poked out to lick from her shaft to the base. They tasted good together, like a match made perfectly in heaven.

Ryan slid her mouth around him, sliding her lips lower as she inhaled. Her hands wrapped around what she couldn't fit into her mouth. He felt heavier on her tongue. “That's right, nice and slow. Ain't goin’ nowhere mama.” Terry watched with his lip caught between his teeth.

His brows furrowed as she took him with skill, just as he taught her all those years ago. Ryan began bobbing her head, her eyes already getting teary at the way he stretched her mouth open.

“Just like that. My baby getting me right. Take what you need.”

Ryan picked up the pace, slurping at his dick like it was her last meal, slowly easing him deeper in her throat, her nose slowly inching towards his pelvis.

“Look at you. Nasty ass, you love this dick Ryan?”

She nodded her head, hummed in response as well knowing that would drive him crazy. By now, she was damn near deep throating him, his tip kissing the back of her throat.

Ryan clenches her throat around his head which causes Terry to buck his hips forward. Ryan pulled away to get some air, breathing loudly as her hand twisted around the weight of the muscle.

She tapped the head against her tongue before sliding it back into her mouth.

Terry laughed, he wanted to be gentle, wanted to let her do her thing. But now she had him worked up, teasing him as if she wanted him to show out.

Gripping the back of her head, Terry pulled her away from him, before guiding her back towards his head.

“Breathe, baby. Breath.” He instructed, watching as Ryan nodded in understanding.

Terry slid into her mouth, watching her jaw relax as she breathed, right until her nose touched his pelvis. He heard her gag and relieved her by pulling out.

Tears adorned her eyelids, falling when she blinked up at him with spit running down her chin. “So good baby, you think you can do it?”

Ryan nodded her head. “Yeah, I can, promise. Please.”

“Mhm, ‘course you can.” He said before siding back into her mouth. “Love being slutted out, don't you mama. Mi get yuh, baby.”

The patois, fuck the patois. It wasn't often that she heard it before he left, only ever when he was angry. Then he spoke in patois, but during sex? Ryan has never heard it, and she's not sure she wanted him to stop.

Ryan hummed around his dick. He used her mouth for good measure. “You so pretty like this.” He praised as his thrusted into her mouth gently, loving the sight of her lips wrapping around him.

Ryan did a few tricks with her tongue, drawing him closer to his orgasm. “Fuckkk Ry. Fuck baby, I'm bout to nut. You gon catch it?” He asked breathlessly, brows pinched together as his grip on her head tightened.

Ryan moaned around him, her hands rested on top of his thighs. The room filled with sounds of gagging and Terry's moans.

It didn't fall unnoticed to Terry the hands that rested between Ryan's legs. She was playing with herself, smearing his nut between her fold as she rubbed leisure circles on her sensitive bud. Perhaps she liked Terry in her mouth more than she thought she did.

Terry laughed at that sight, pulled out of her mouth and heard as she gasped to take a breath. Ryan chased the head of his dick, clearly not happy with how soon it ended, he didn't even cum yet. Despite all the spit running down her chest and the tears that filled her eyes, she still wanted more.

Terry teased her, pulling her head back everytime she got close to having him back in her mouth. “Terry, come on.” She whispered desperately.

Hr knew she could get down and grimey if she wanted to. Terry knew that Ryan could fuck him to sleep if she wanted to, if only she could stop being so shy. They'd get there though, he'll make sure of it.

“It's right there baby, go head and take it.” He urged, tilting her head to see her face better. “Or you want me to give it to you?” Ryan immediately nodded her head, she liked him being rough, taking what he needed because he knew she would do nothing but give.

“You lazy as fuck Ryan. Daddy gon get you right, though.”

His hand let go of her hair, wrapped his hand around her neck instead, squeezed just enough to slow down the blood from going to her head.

Ryan felt a little lightheaded when Terry pulled her up to where she stood on her feet. Her hand wrap around his wrist, her eyes crossed eve so slightly when he squeezed tighter. “Fuck.” She whispered.

Terry pecked her lips. Once, twice, and a few more times. “You okay, baby?” He asked, releasing some tension on her neck but kept his hand there.

“Mhm, I'm fine. Thank you.” She smiled tiredly.

“Good. Cause I aint finished. Come sit on my face.”

“Terry. I'm tired, I got a lot of work tomorrow.” She shook her head incredulously. There was no way he could possible have that much energy. What water are they giving these men in the military?

“And ain't I say Daddy's home?. I'ma help with all that.” He tapped her thigh.

Ryan sighed and climbed over him on the bed, hovered over his face slightly, clearly worried about suffocating him.

“Don't play with me, Ryan. I said sit.”

Ryan rolled her eyes, happy he couldn't see her. “Sir, yes Sir.” She mumbled before lowering on his perfectly sculpted face, his eyes gazing up at her as he munched away between her thighs.

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flamingpudding · 1 year ago

Text

Ghost Twins: Lost in Gotham

A/N: I finally got my copy of AGIT and it sparked this prompt idea, I might continue on...

"Of all the times why were we thrown into a different dimension…"

"I am not happy about this either, twerp."

Danny gave his body double a scorching glare. Dan only shrugged as he leaned back into the park bench, hiding a chuckle. Even if the situation was dire, it was kind of funny too. Good things had changed so much since he got a human body. Danny had become more of a brother to him than his nemesis or time original, especially since Danny had gotten the crown and was trying to smooth things over for ghosts and humans. Plus he finally understood why Jazz like to tease them so much as her younger siblings. He got to tease his time original / cousin / 'younger' brother now too, well he did see himself as the older one when they could technically pass as twins.

"We are stuck looking like this! Our powers don't work and I can't open a portal, Dan!"

"And what do you want me to do about it? Clockwork is not responding to either of us."

Dan studied Danny who was still pacing in knee-high snow, then looked down at his hand which was smaller than he remembered. He tried reaching out to his ghost powers but nothing responded. From the corner of his eyes, he noticed Danny stopping his pacing and looking back at Dan, his voice soft from resignation.

"What is the last thing you remember?"

"It's... nothing." I don't remember what I did last. Why do you ask?"

"It's the same for me. We are stranded for some unknown reason in an entirely different Dimension in six-year-old bodies, with no clue or solution to get home and our ghost powers being all wonky as shit! And clockwork won't react to us yelling his name into the snowstorm we are currently in! At least we are cold-resistant!"

Danny resumed pacing in the snow, kicking random little snow hills he was making with his pacing as he ranted. Dan was watching him from the park bench with a scowl of his own. Both had found themself waking up to each other in a pile of snow in a park that was located in a city they had no idea about, the only thing they had was a green sticky note with the words 'Code Bat: Different Dimension'.

That led to Danny yelling for clockwork into the starting snowstorm. They knew their powers weren't completely gone. Wherever they were they were in a place with a lot of ambient ectoplasm.

"We should look for a way out of the snow twerp. Even with cold resistance, we should stay out here." Dan huffed as he tried to make out the buildings around them outside of the park, Danny instantly stopped pacing tilting his head.

"Where should-"

Both boys yelled in absolute horror as they suddenly got picked up and were carried like a sack of potatoes under the arms of strange guys. Instincts kicked in and the two instantly fought back but the guys carrying them didn't appear to be bothered.

The wind whisked past their ears making hearing anything difficult until they finally got put down next to each other. Instantly Dan took half a step before Danny, glaring at the ones that abducted them from a park. "Who the fuck are you, guys?!"

"Language kid. And I should be asking what the fuck you little kids were doing out in the middle of the worst Snowstorm Gotham had in a long time?" The guy in a red helmet said towering over them with crossed arms. "I know you street rats are smarter than staying out in the open like this. Don't you kids have a shelter?"

Street Rats? Okay, so what if their clothes looked a little ratty? Hold a second. Danny and Dan looked at each other briefly as if for the first time noticing how worn the clothes they had looked compared to what they were used to wearing. Great so not only were they in twin six-year-old bodies but also wearing such worn-out clothes that people saw them as street rats.

"None of your fucking business." Dan retorted, the fun of the situation now gone and anger and frustration settling in as he glared at their abductors. Danny on the other hand tilted his head miming the confused child as he stared up at them.

"We got lost."

"You got lost?" The other guy in blue with a mask asked them unbelieving and Danny only nodded.

"Yup, we got lost."

Dan watched how the two adults playing dress up exchanged glances. He peaked back at Danny and then back at them. Before making a probably short-sighted decision.

"Fuck this!" He said out loud and grabbed his twin's hand. Once more he reached for his ghost core and powers, internally yelling at it to get a response. And it worked, sort of.

He felt intangibility wash over them so he attempted to escape by phasing him and Danny through the ground only… to get halfway stuck as the old on his ghostly powers got lost. Dan's eye twitched as he realized he was stuck in the ground up to his tights.

"Dan what the fuck?!" Danny who was now stuck knee-deep into the floor yelled.

"I was at least attempting to escape!"

"We are stuck now! This is even worse! You could have just let me talk our way out of this!"

"Oh hell no. I remember the others saying often enough that you should not do the talking!"

"Phasing us through the floor is not better at all! Our powers are wonky or did you forget that?!"

While the twin boy's where fighting Nightwing and Red Hood exchanged worried glances.

"Hood…"

"Yea… Probably Meta Twins on the run."

"I will contact the others."

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keeryhours · 2 months ago

Text

friends don’t - jj maybank

JJ Maybank x Best friend! female reader

Masterlist

JJ Maybank Masterlist

Summary:

You and JJ are totally just friends.

Warnings:

Weed use, drinking, language, kissing

Word Count: 2.4k

A/N:

Requested song fic inspired by the song Friends Don’t by Maddie & Tae! Thank you so much for the request, I really enjoyed the song and writing this one! :)

—

“We’re just friends.”

It was something you’d heard a million times over, said a million times over. You and JJ were just friends. No feelings there whatsoever. Definitely not. No pogue on pogue macking, right?

Only it wasn’t that simple. The way JJ made you feel was never simple. He was your best friend, you could communicate just by looking at each other. You knew everything about each other. You always chose each other over other plans, just because you loved being together.

But all that is normal best friend stuff. Right?

Right.

You sat on the porch of the Chateau, talking with Kie and Sarah. Only you weren’t exactly paying attention, lost in your own thoughts. JJ was surfing with John B and Pope, and as much as you loved hanging out with the girls, you wished you had gone.

You were jolted out of your own head by the sound of JJ’s name, jerking your head towards Kie, who was looking right at you.

“What?” You asked, realizing you had missed the whole conversation.

Kiara and Sarah shared a knowing look, one you didn’t like. Kie had a mischievous smile on her face. “I said, JJ texted that they’re on the way back.”

“O-oh,” you said, realizing how it must have looked to them. Your cheeks heated in a blush, but you didn’t feel any kind of way about JJ, so what did you have to be embarrassed about? It was nothing. It was definitely nothing.

“Hey, don’t you have that date with Evan tonight?” Sarah asked. You didn’t like the way her and Kie looked at each other, like they knew something you didn’t.

“Yeah,” you confirmed, pushing your hair out of your face. “I should probably get going soon, I need to get ready.”

The girls glanced at each other again. “You don’t want to wait until the boys get back? To say bye?”

You froze. You pulled your cell phone out of your pocket, checking the time. You had a missed text from JJ, a video one of the guys’ had taken of him catching a huge wave. You smiled to yourself. “I can stay a little longer.”

Kie and Sarah looked absolutely delighted, which didn’t make much sense to you because you’d spent all day together. Kiara sparked up a joint, and you began passing it around, talking about things that didn’t involve the guys in the group.

“Are you excited for your date?” Sarah asked after a while, crossing her legs as both girls looked at you.

You shrugged. “Yeah, I guess.” Truth was, you didn’t care all that much about Evan. He had asked you out and you said yes, mostly because you felt bad saying no. There was nothing wrong with him, you just weren’t particularly interested. But you figured you might as well give him a chance.

“You’re going on a date?”

You turned abruptly at the sound of his voice. JJ stood behind you, shirtless, holding his surfboard under his arm. You couldn’t help the way your gaze lingered on his muscular chest, or the way his wet messy blonde hair hung around his handsome face.

“Uh…” you started, feeling at a loss for words all of a sudden. “Yeah. With Evan.”

He furrowed his brow. “Why?”

“He asked me,” you said simply. Really, you didn’t have a better reason than that.

“Evan’s an asshole.”

“He’s always been nice to me,” you said, wanting to defend the guy even though you really barely knew him. He’d only ever been kind to you.

JJ looked a little pissed off. “Well, whatever. Just be careful, okay?”

Kiara and Sarah exchanged another look you didn’t like. “Well, I should get going anyway. I have to get ready.”

“Yeah. Have fun,” JJ said, turning to go back into the house to change.

You didn’t like that things felt different between you all of a sudden. JJ was never mad at you. Ever. But he seemed at least irritated with you now. You had to push the thought from your head as you left, driving back to your house.

You spent the rest of the day getting ready for your date. You were dressed in a short sundress, hair done perfectly. You weren’t exactly excited for this date, but you might as well put in the effort to look nice.

You had to have your sister drop you off at the theater, because she wanted to use the car for the night. You felt a bit like a child being dropped off, but whatever. You waited out front for Evan to show up.

And waited. And waited.

You texted him five different times with no response. He was clearly ignoring you and not planning to show up. Despite the fact you didn’t care about Evan much, being stood up still stung, and you were wiping tears away as you dialed your most used number.

JJ answered the phone with your name. “What’s going on? Are you okay?”

“He never showed up,” you sniffled, feeling completely pathetic.

“Fucking asshole,” JJ spat, and he absolutely could have said ‘I told you so’, but he didn’t. “Do you want me to come get you?”

“Would you?”

“Of course. I’ll be there in ten.”

You hung up the phone, leaning against the brick wall of the theater with a sigh. You tried to stop the tears, but they kept coming anyway. You had never felt like more of a loser in your life.

JJ pulled up faster than you expected. He jumped out of the Twinkie, running over to you and wrapping you in a hug. You wrapped your arms around him, burying your face in his chest as you cried. He stroked your hair as he held you.

“Come on. Let’s go,” he said, leading you to the van. He held the door open for you and you climbed into the passenger seat. JJ got into the driver’s side, starting to drive away. “Do you want to go back to the Chateau? Everyone’s still there, we’re all just hanging out.”

You smiled a little. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

JJ returned your smile. He reached over and grabbed your left hand in his.

You wondered if he felt the electricity shooting through his body the way you did. You wondered if his heart was racing in his chest like yours was. You wondered if he thought about how it would feel to kiss you, like you thought about him.

But you didn’t have feelings for him, definitely not.

“Thank you for everything you do for me,” you said quietly.

JJ turned to look at you again, a tender look on his face. He looked like he was about to say something else, but at the last minute, he says, “You’re my best friend. I’d do anything for you.”

Spending the night at the Chateau was exactly what you needed after an awful night. Your friends always knew exactly how to cheer you up. JJ never left your side, grabbing you a beer when you needed a new one, rolling a joint for you when you mentioned wanting to smoke. He doted on you all night until all of you passed out.

—

“Oh my god, Kie,” you giggled, covering your mouth with your hand. You were definitely feeling the effects of the alcohol you’d been drinking since getting to the beach party.

“I’m serious!” She laughed. “Evan tried to hit on her and she threw her drink in his face. Serves him right.”

You laughed even harder - nothing to make you feel better about being stood up than the guy getting what he deserved. You made a mental note to find that girl at some point and thank her.

“What are you guys talking about?” Came a familiar slurred voice from behind you. Kiara smiled at you, and you turned, seeing JJ stumbling through the sand to come sit on the piece of driftwood next to you.

“Evan getting a drink thrown in his face,” you giggled.

JJ laughed hard, his head thrown back on his shoulders. “Good. Fucking dick.”

“I’m gonna go get another drink,” Kiara said, standing and giving you a wink you didn’t understand.

“Oh, okay,” you said as she walked off, wondering why she was leaving so abruptly. You turned your attention to JJ, who was taking a swig of his beer.

“You look really nice tonight,” he said as he put the bottle down in the sand. You found yourself blushing at his compliment, looking down at your feet. You were dressed in a pair of jean shorts and a crop top. JJ looked good, too - he was wearing shorts and a loose muscle tee.

“You too,” you said, but immediately felt like slapping yourself, because that was a weird thing to say to your best friend.

JJ chuckled. “You think so?”

You blushed even deeper, avoiding his gaze. The truth was, JJ always looked good. He always made your heart stutter in your chest, your breath hitch in your throat when he looked at you in that intense way he sometimes did. When there was something swimming behind his eyes, something you couldn’t quite decipher.

“Yeah, of course,” you finally said. The alcohol was making you sleepy now, and you leaned over on JJ’s shoulder, watching the way the tide crashed into the beach. The stars were bright tonight, shining above you.

He wrapped an arm around you, catching you by surprise. You froze, but it felt right, the way he was holding you. You felt comfortable against his side. His fingers rubbed gently over your exposed skin. You looked up, watching the way the stars twinkled like fairy lights. It gave the night a magical feeling.

You thought JJ was watching the stars, too, but his eyes were locked on you.

“We should make a wish,” you said quietly, picking the brightest star in the sky and locking your eyes onto it. You thought about what you’d want, and the only thing you could think was JJ.

“I don’t need to make a wish,” JJ said quietly. “I’m already with the person I…” he trailed off. “My best friend.”

—

You were home alone, your family gone for the weekend. You loved when you’d get the chance to have the house to yourself, you found the peace and quiet comforting. That’s why you often turned down their little weekend trips to the mainland.

You were getting ready for bed, already dressed in your pajamas after your shower. You were ready to climb into bed and get an early night when your cell phone started ringing.

You were confused as to who would be calling you so late, although there was really only one person who would. Sure enough, JJ’s photo was on the screen, and you smiled to yourself as you answered.

“Jay?”

“Uh, hey,” he said. You waited for him to continue, but he didn’t.

“What’s up?”

“Oh, nothing,” he said. Again you waited, but he didn’t offer anything else.

You giggled into the phone. “You just called for no reason?”

You heard JJ chuckle lightly. “Uh…I guess so.” You could practically see the way he’d rub the back of his neck nervously. “What are you doing?”

“I was just getting ready to go to bed early,” you said. “…Do you want to come over? My family’s gone.”

“Yes,” he answered too quickly. “Yeah. I’ll be over in a few.”

JJ didn’t live far, so it was less than 10 minutes before you heard a car pulling up outside. You went to the front door, opening it for him with a smile as he walked up to the house.

“Hey,” he greeted as he entered your living room, swinging his keys around his finger.

“Hi yourself,” you greeted back. There was something off about him, like he had something on his mind. He looked distracted, his gaze darting around the room.

“Do you want a drink-“

JJ interrupted you by calling your name, and you turned to him to see a look in his blue eyes you’d never seen before. He grabbed your arm, and you looked at him, confused. “I need to ask you something.”

“…What is it?” You asked, brows furrowed in concern. He never looked at you like this, and the fact you couldn’t read him scared you.

“I need to know how you feel about me.”

You raised your eyebrows. “You’re my best friend in the whole world. You know that.”

JJ shook his head. “Friends don’t cancel plans just to be with each other. Friends don’t look at each other the way we do. Friends don’t feel this intense fucking…pull, like a magnet, like I can’t stay away from you. Friends don’t feel sparks when they touch, or get as close as we do, or feel jealous when they go on dates with other people.” JJ let go of your arm, running a hand through his messy blonde locks. “You’ve got to tell me if you feel all that too, because I can’t take it anymore.”

Your mouth dropped open, taking in everything he’d said. You felt like you had to be dreaming, because this is exactly the kind of thing you dreamed about.

“I…”

“I just need you to tell me,” he said, his eyes pleading. “Just tell me if you feel the same, or if I’m just crazy.”

“Jay…” you said, as he reached for your hands, holding them in his larger ones. “I…I love you.”

His eyes lit up, a smile spreading across his handsome face. “You do? Like, love me?”

“I have for forever,” you admitted. “I-“

You were cut off as he pulled you into him, his hands moving up to rest on either side of your face as he pressed his lips to yours. They molded to yours exactly as you always imagined they would, and you felt that familiar electricity spreading through your body with an intensity you’d never felt. Your arms wrapped around his neck as he moved to wrap his around your waist, pulling you flush against his body.

His lips moved against yours with a fiery passion, your heart beat hard in your chest as you tangled your hands in his soft hair. When he pulled away, resting your foreheads together, you were breathing heavily, bodies buzzing with desire and attraction.

“I fucking love you,” he said breathlessly. “I love you so fucking much.”

You smiled, pressing another soft kiss to his lips. “I love you, too.”

“Be my girlfriend?” He asked. “Officially?”

“Of course,” you answered with a giggle. “I’ve been waiting for you to ask me that for years.”

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scourgeofmyownbrain · 1 month ago

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Y'all want to see me go insane? No?

Okay so, Bumblebee and Megatron. Specifically TFP/Aligned Continuity Bumblebee and Megatron. The ones that kill each other. Those ones.

I have gone Insane thinking about them.

TFP ends with the two of them killing each other. They were inside each other's heads at one point. Megatron ripped out Bumblebee's voice box. Bumblebee tore the Spark extractor directly from Megatron's fingers. Let me reiterate the first point, They have both been killed and resurrected. They were both Dead but now they're not. They were a corpse but then they got better.

That's not all. In ALC canon, they have been dead more than once!! Both of them!! In Fall of Cybertron the game, Megatron gets crushed by Metroplex then resurrected with some dark energon and Bumblebee gets SHOT IN THE CHEST BY MEGATRON. the one in tfp wasn't the first time in canon, no no no, the exact same scenario happens on more than one occasion- Go read the wiki, I am not kidding you. War for & Fall of Cybertron are a part of the same universe as TFP, fact check me I dare you. Yes it is convoluted, but they're all in the same universe.

I... am loosing it... slowly... painfully...

I can't stop thinking about them. Out of every Universe with a Bumblebee and a Megatron, TFP/ALC is the only one where the beef they have is truly personal. Most TF Universes, Megatron and Bumblebee's relationship is hostile but not personally driven. If they had to, they could exist in the same room without any obvious issues. TFP/ALC, on the other hand, I think they hate each other on a personal level. I think if they had to exist in the same room, they would either spend the entire time arguing like 6-year-olds or brutally murder each other in a violent blood bath. And everything in between. I do not think they could be normal with each other to save their lives. You guys think TFO Bumblebee and Megatron's tragically fractured friendship is good (you're right, btw, very good) May I introduce: TFP Bumblebee and Megatron's Deeply Personal Beef!! It's objectively funnier! Bc they kill each other!

I wrote this line down a few months ago, I feel it accurately summarizes what I'm trying to say:

Optimus is living in Megatron’s mind rent free but Bumblebee keeps breaking in and stealing the radiator.

Quick Context Section because things written below needs some extra info to make at least a little sense.

I know I listed all the things these two have done to each other, but Bumblebee barely did anything bad to ol' Megsy. From what i've listed Bumblebee just annoys Megatron - then he kills him. And I'm saying they've both done horrible things to each other. And I am right, they have committed atrocities, but Bumblebee's are just never brought up in the show, at least explicitly.

So, we know that Bumblebee is a Scout in TFP/ALC canon and he is described as a pretty good one at that. Quote from the wiki, "...made [Bumblebee] an excellent scout and messenger...".

So what makes a good Scout. Well, according to the US Army, Scouts gather information about the enemy and the battlefield for the infantry. They are the "eyes and ears" of an army. Quote, "An Army Cavalry Scout may engage the enemy in the field, track and report enemy activity, as well as direct the employment of weapon systems." They are sometimes described as “the first line of defense for Army units” and "...are considered “jacks of all trades” for their ability to perform multiple combat roles in the Infantry Division." Link if you want to read more, very good resource for fics.

With all this context, since Bumblebee was an Excellent Scout, we can assume he has been Fucking over the Decepticon cause for YEARS. Megatron probably knew about Bumblebee before he actually met him. He probably knew Bumblebee as the Autobot Scout that had crippled his organization over and over again. Oh, He probably HATED Bumblebee, even if he didn't know who he was or what he looked like.

Alright, I've given context, back to the spiral.

Imagine their relationship/interactions in TFP/ALC from either of their perspectives.

Megatron

On Megatron's side, this Autobot scout has been fucking up your operations for years. We're talking hundreds of outposts, supply lines, and missions, all gone because of this one fucking scout. He even fucks up your All spark retrieval mission, so you rip his throat to shreds, leaving him to die there. You don't really think about the scout after that, you're more focused on Optimus. But then, a few weeks later, you get reports that that fucking yellow autobot scout is somehow alive and fucking up your stuff! He survived getting his throat shredded. Apparently, that's a non-fatal injury nowadays. Back in your day, getting your throat torn up killed you, and you liked it!

The war goes on, Cybertron is dead and your organization is packing its bags and relocating. Right before you leave, you attack the Autobots base one last time. Maybe you can strand them on Cybertron, leaving them to starve on this dead planet. During the fight, you just get fucking BODIED by Metroplex, killing you. You are dead. Not long after this, we're talking like a week max, Soundwave manages to resurrect you with this shit called dark energon. Cool stuff, you'll keep it in mind for later. You intercept the autobots as they are leaving cybertron, hoping to wipe them off the map before you leave. Now you and Optimus, your eternal opponent, are fighting. You fire your cannon at Optimus, a killing blow, but then that same yellow autobot scout from earlier jumps in the way, saving Optimus and killing him instead. Then both yours and the autobot's ships get sucked into a space bridge, prematurely ending your fight with Optimus. This of course pisses you off, but now you've finally gotten rid of that fucking scout for good. Finally, thought he would never leave.

You send the Decepticons to this random planet that has a ton of energon on it, both stashed and raw, and you go off to find out more about this Dark Energon stuff. Time passes, You've found the mother load of Dark Energon and you return to the Decepticons. This Dark Energon shit is kinda wild, apparently it's Unicron's Blood. You decide putting it in your body is a great idea, and it is because now you're super powerful. Now you're gonna throw a whole bunch of Dark Energon at Cybertron and resurrect all the dead cybertronians to fight for you. So you get the space bridge open, then you see that the Autobots are on the space bridge. Optimus is there. Rematch time :). As the Autobots retreat, you see the Autobot scout, the same bright fucking yellow Autobot scout you killed back on Cybertron (you saw his dead body, kinda hard to miss that) is somehow ALIVE. AGAIN. What is it going to take- that does not matter right now, your undead army is almost here- fucking space bridge blew up, COME ON!!

Now, you're in a coma. You don't know this till one day, you're fantasizing about killing Autobots when suddenly that fucking Yellow Scout shows up. Inside your brain. While you're in a coma. What. The fuck. He's looking for the antidote for some virus you made years ago. Apparently, Optimus caught it (ha, cringe). You taunt him with it a bit but then he just fucking leaves, without warning, so you follow him into his brain. Wasn't the best plan (you just left your body to starscreams devices) but you're rolling with it. You figure out how to take over the scouts body who's fucking up who's shit now fucker!, find some dark energon and resurrect it. The yellow scout tries to stop you the whole way, of course he does, but you are successful, and now you are fully restored. Magnificent. The war goes on, the scout keeps fucking existing but hasn't directly fucked something up. Yet. You see him driving around right before Unicron shows up, and you take a nice potshot at him for fun. He deserves it. He gives you a particularly nasty look when you're in the Autobot base later. Apparently, you hurt his little human friend when you shot him. Even fucking better. One day your team finds the Spark Extractor, a wicked powerful device that could fuck the autobots up nice and good. You are personally bringing it back to base when out of fucking nowhere the YELLOW SCOUT JUST FUCKING YOINKS IT! Right from your hand! That Bitch!

Then later, you figure out how to resurrect Cybertron. Fucking sweet. But first, you decide you want to get rid of earth by cyberforming it. Earth, which is also Unicron. You forgot about that part but that's not important. You have your reasons for wanting to fuck earth up first and resurrect your home planet second, and you are sticking to them. And the Autobots come to stop you, as they do. You're fighting Optimus and the two of you get knocked down onto the Omega Lock. You keep fighting. Suddenly that Yellow fucking Scout is jumping down to give Optimus the Star Saber. And you Can Not let that happen. You're not letting this fucking scout fuck up your shit anymore. So as he's jumping, you fire your cannon directly at him. Several shots hit him directly in the chest. He goes down, falling into the Omega Lock with the Star Saber. He is finally fucking dead, you watched the light fade from his spark (you shot his chest open). The yellow fucking thorn in your side is finally dead. For good. You fight Optimus some more, you get the upper hand, you have Optimus at your mercy and you are about to end your eternal battle once and for all. Suddenly, random fucking voice behind you calls your name. You turn around. Bam, Star Saber in your chest. All the way through. You fall to your knees and grab the sword. You are dying. You look up to see the one who finally bested you, and see the fUCKING YELLOW SCOUT YOU JUST KILLED! HIS CHEST IS STILL A GAPING WOUND oh look it closed up. WHAT THE FUCK!?? THREE TIMES YOU ATTEMPTED TO KILL THIS BITCH, TWO OF WHICH ACTUALLY DID KILL HIM, BUT HE GOT BETTER EVERY TIME??? Your spark fades out, the dark energon in your body can't save you this time. You are dead.

Suddenly you're alive. Unicron has stolen your body and is torturing you inside your own head. It's horrible. When Unicron is finally defeated and you're free from him, you no longer wish to fight for control of cybertron. Having been put through the torments of Unicron, you are broken, and no longer wish to be an oppressor. The irony of this scenario is lost on you. You fuck off to go die in a hole somewhere. The end.

Bumblebee

On Bumblebee's side, you have felt the effects of Megatron's and Optimus's war your whole life. Once you're big enough to shoot a gun you join the Autobot cause as a scout. You run many missions for the Autobots; gathering intel on Decepticon troops, supply lines, bases, fucking with anything mentioned previous, all that good stuff. You're pretty good at this, in fact, you're one of the best scouts the Autobots have. So when Optimus Prime, leader of the Autobots, manages to snatch you up and make you his personal scout, you're not surprised. Of course, Optimus wants to have the best of the best in Fucking With His Ex on his team. Then the mission to get the All Spark off of Cybertron rolls around, and you're right on the front lines. You had been running around doing something, can't really remember what, when you get caught by the Decepticons. Megatron is personally interrogating you. What did you do to deserve this honour? You don't spill anything to them; of fucking course you don't, what do you take you for, a snitch? Snitches get stitches, as the saying goes. Megatron does rip your throat to shreds though. That's bullshit, you're kinda dying right now but that's still bullshit. Luckily, you are saved by a medic, though you can't speak anymore, voice box got totalled and no one has the resources to rebuild it. You can communicate, though it is limited. That sucks, you liked your OG voice a lot, actually. You're back on the field pretty quick after that, can't sit still to save your life, and enacting your sweet sweet revenge on ol' Megsy. Hopefully this is the worst thing that will happen to you.

Eventually, Cybertron dies and the Autobots are getting out of dodge. The Decepticons try a couple times to stop you. You heard that Megatron died at some point, but he showed up in person a bit later, so it was probably just wishful thinking. During the last fight as everyone was leaving on their ships, you were making your way across the Autobot ship to repair a fuse for Ratchet in the engine room when you see Megatron about to off Optimus with his cannon. You react on instinct and jump in front of your leader, taking the shot meant to kill him. You're dying and it's Megatron's fault, again. Very rude of him to do something like this a second time. The last thing you're aware of is Optimus and Megatron starting to fight again before you die completely.

Suddenly you're alive. By some fucking miracle, you came back from the dead. No one knows how, maybe it was the medics, maybe it was Primus, maybe it was spite, but you somehow came back to life. Suck it, Troni-boy! The score's 2-0, can't kill you! You learn that the ship got sucked through the space bridge and now the autobots need to find a new home base. They find this random planet that should have some energon stashes on it and the scans pick up some raw energon as well. You are sent first to scout it out. You make contact with the closest governing body, get a nice agreement made, and team prime sets down on this planet called earth.

Life goes on, the decepticons show up at some point, though no one's seen hide nor hair of Megatron hope he he died in some ditch somewhere. Then Megatron shows back up fucking COME ON one day with some wild shit called dark energon and things get fucking weird. He gets blown up (ha, cringe) and you move on. Later you find out he's not dead (aGaIN) and now you have to go inside his brain to find the cure to the cybonic plague. Fucking yay. Yes, you willingly volunteered to do this, but you can still complain; it's Megatron, he ripped out your voice box, he killed you that one time, he smells like beans. So you get in, and you find Megatron's conscious, you talk to him, he taunts you with the cure, Ratchet takes a screen shot, and you get out of there. Mission done and duste- Megatron's inside your head now. Fuck. He forcefully takes over your body, which is.. fucked up, to put it mildly, and he manages to get his own body up and running. Fucking cool, good for him, you're still dealing with having your body stolen from you and moved against your will. What did you do to make the universe hate you so much? Like honestly, you must have been a real bitch in your past life for all this to happen to you. Later on, for no reason, he shots you as you're driving with Raf. This seriously hurts Raf, the Dark Energon messing with his body... This. BITCH! Megatron just keeps fucking with your life. At this point, it's fucking personal! One day, the Decepticons manage to get their hands on the Spark Extractor, which is very bad news for the Autobots. As Megatron is taking it back to their base, you manage to race after him and yoink it from his fingers. You are very proud of this stunt, and Megatron's face was priceless. Felt pretty good about that one, yes you did. Rub it in the bitch's face, why don't you. You deserve it.

The Decepticons figured out how to resurrect Cybertron. They're going to cyberform Earth first, for some reason. Even though Earth is Unicron- that's not important. What's important is that the Decepticons need to be stopped. So everyone's fighting, Optimus and Megatron have fallen down onto the Omega Lock and Optimus dropped his sword up on the main deck. You run and grab the Star Saber and start making your way down to Optimus. As you jump, Megatron fires his cannon directly at you. You take three fatal shots to the chest. You are dying. You fall down into the Omega Lock, struck with a distinct feeling of deja-vu. Your spark fades out, you are dead. Suddenly you're alive again. You wake up in the blue goo of the Omega Lock. You don't know what's happening, but you grab the Star Saber and get to the surface. You see Megatron about to kill Optimus. You move on instinct, making your way across the goo, jumping up onto the platform with the Star Saber. You call Megatron's name, distracting him just long enough for you to plunge the Star Saber into his spark. The world stops. You feel the enormous gaping hole in your chest close up. You tell Megatron he'll never hurt anyone like he hurt you again. He slides off the Star Saber and falls into Earth's atmosphere, dead. Megatron is finally fucking gone. You fucking did it. Also, your voice got fixed by the magic goo. Not a bad day, all things considered.

A while later, Megatron just randomly shows up again, though he's possessed by Unicron. Bitch, who cares who you are, you're supposed to be dead! You killed him! Why can't the universe let you have one fucking thing?! One thing!! You and your team take care of Unicron and Megatron, now back in control you'd prefer if he left with Unicron, says that after having been put through the torments of Unicron, he is broken, and no longer wishes to be an oppressor. The irony of this scenario is probably not lost on you, though we can't see your reaction. He fucks off and no one talks about any of this ever again. You get a second show, so not The End got you.

The oppressor lines are (mostly) copied from the wiki, because I couldn't have said it better myself.

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Have Y'all actually read Bumblebee at Tyger Pax? Because I just did, and the actual malice I felt from Bumblebee was a wild experience no fic prepared me for. Here's a few quotes just to set the tone.

“You going to go solo with Megatron and whoever else is with him?” “I sure am,” Bumblebee said.

“Sorry to ruin your plans there, Megatron,” he said. “Barricade couldn’t make it. He’s out on the side of the road to Tyger Pax. He said something about an ambush, but I couldn’t make all of it out because I was too busy beating him into the ground.”

“You?” Megatron said. “This barely formed mecha, animated by the dregs of the Well? You kept the AllSpark out of my reach?” “Yeah,” Bumblebee said. “Me.”

There were so many more moments, Bumblebee is a fucking menace every second he's in this thing. Megatron's anger was very justified. His actions? Eh, not so much, but his anger? Absolutely. I don't know if I would be able to hold myself back in Megatron's shoes. Please go read it; it is actually buck fucking wild.

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Do you know what's even crazier? I don't know if the writers intended to do this but Bumblebee and Megatron are kinda similar, character wise. Let me lay it out for you.

Bumblebee:

Has a pretty hot temper - Gets angry or frustrated very quickly (Shown in S1E23, S2E30, S2E31, S3E10)

Is a very skilled fighter - (Various episodes, Best example S3E5)

Is impulsive/acts before thinking - (Various episodes, best example S2E5)

Is a good strategist and negotiator (Shown in Predacons Rising)

Is a sassy little bitch - (Shown in Predacons Rising)

Will do anything for the ones he cares about (Shown in various episodes, Best Example S1E24)

Likes racing/driving (Shown in S2E30)

Megatron:

Has a very hot temper - Gets angry very very quickly (Various episodes, Best example S1E14)

Is a very skilled fighter - was Champion of the Gladiatorial Ring (Various examples, Best Example S1E26)

is impulsive/acts before thinking (Various episodes, Best Example S1E2)

is a good strategist and negotiator - Was a politician and career gladiator (Backstory S1E26)

Is a dramatic sassy bitch (Shown in every one of his interactions with Starscream or Optimus)

Will do anything to achieve his goals (Shown in various episodes, Best Example S2E21)

Has no respect for the dead (Shown in various episodes, Best Example S2E21)

If you're wondering why the lists are so sparse, it's because the writers didn't give them any character development the entire show. Yes I have opinions about this but we won't get into that here, this post is long enough already.

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I'm gonna tell you thing's I've noticed during my aggressive thinking about these two.

Bumblebee's not experienced enough to become a warrior yet (S1E6), but he's also waiting to be promoted to do it on Cybertron (S3E5). Now how in tarnation do you go from Absolutely Not Ready to be Promoted to 100% Ready but Waiting in like a year or two max.

I've already pointed this out in this post, but in Predacons Rising, Unicron did to Megatron what Megatron did to Bumblebee in Out of His Head. And I don't know if anyone else actually caught this turning of the tables. Bc it's been driving me crazy since I first watched it.

God, these two had such stunted characters. Megatron could have been so interesting with his backstory, but they just made him secretly evil the whole time. They could have made him nuanced and complex and explored how his past shaped him today, but no. All we get is evil guy doing evil things bc evil. And Bumblebee had the opportunity to be so compelling with his trauma and experiences but he was just shoved in the background and ignored 70% of the time. In Predacons Rising Bumblebee looked Unicron in the eyes before (supposedly) falling into a pool of molten metal. He literally did the "I Will Face God and Walk Backwards Into Hell." This super compelling character trait is barely communicated in TFP.

Bumblebee killed Skyquake and Megatron killed Dreadwing. Skyquake and Dreadwing are twins. This probably isn't anything but I thought I would point it out.

Megatron's gun looks stupid. I don't have anything else to say. Look, I couldn't fit this anywhere else, and I had to say it somewhere. It's the size of his arm and it's just stuck on top it looks so fucking stupid-

God, I wanted Bumblebee to experience consequences. For killing Skyquake specifically, why did Dreadwing declare revenge on Autobots as a whole? He knew it was Bee, why not specifically try and get revenge on him. The writers leaned heavily on Starscream killing Cliffjumper; why didn't they do it for Bumblebee and Skyquake? I was fucking blue-balled, I swear.

Megatron's about face at the end of Predacon's Rising was a... choice for his character. He was exactly the same as he was in TFP at the start of the movie but after some torture he's decided to change his ways. I would have loved to actually have him reflect on his actions, but no. About face or bust, apparently.

(This just turned into me bitching about them...)

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They look similar too. I only noticed this because A: I know Bumblebee's design really well, I've spent too much time staring at it bc it pisses me off for reasons I won't get into here you better fucking BELIEVE I have my reasons and B: My siblings got me a TFP Megatron toy and I was staring at it for some reason. Fucking look at this

look at this shitty gif I made (did y'all know you can make gifs with the desktop version of Powerpoint???) Megatron is orange and Bumblebee is blue. Their body shapes are scarily similar, and yes the poses are helping a bit, but they still look waaaaayy to similar for me to say this was an accident. And they have the purple and yellow contrasting colours thing happening. Look at their feet, both of them have a little spike pointing up around their ankles. Both their guns sit on top of their hands instead of replacing them. Their chests, their waists, their hips, their legs, why are they the same fucking shape?? I can't tell if I'm making some of this up, because I just keep seeing shit! I feel like a fucking conspiracy theorist rn.

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I just keep thinking about these two in TFP and all the issues with them in the story, and it feels like I’ve found the fractured skeleton of some long-dead story in the foundations of the show. Not the whole skeleton, just a couple spine fragments, maybe a part of a rib bone, maybe a part of the leg, oh and also the

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This means legitimately nothing but in one of the Ask Megatron things the Whatever Network did, when asked "Which Autobot do you like best?" Megatron says "My favourite Autobot is Bumblebee. We drink tea in my garden every tch- What kind of question is that, do you even watch the show??" Am I fine? Fucking probably but it doesn't feel like it.

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A Collection of Posts That Have Done Nothing But Make Me Worse.

Megatron in RID2015

TFP Bumblebee's Character Issues

Partial Shit post but speaking truth in the first two points

This is how I want them to talk to each other

The Yoinking Post

Pick Youre Fighter

General Post but god please

Another General post am I ok

*Writhing on the floor* General post

hmmmm Megatron about-face reasoning good

he fuckin grabs him then throws him so hard + me w/ss

See? See? I'm not the only one who wants them to hate each other

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EDIT: I FOUND MORE STUFF I HAVE MORE PROOF https://youtu.be/t2iv4S9oYl8?si=2bcb-ssfle87RWVL

That shove that shove so much malice he wanted to do that soooo bad

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My brain is consumed with random thoughts of these two. Would you like to hear them?

idfkam

They are the same kind of person. That's partially why they hate each other so much. That and the atrocities.

I just want to handcuff them together and see what happens.

I was scrolling through ao3 and there's so many fics ab Bumblebee being super afraid of Megatron and Megatron being abusive. And that? That is boring, and therefore, cringe. Put them on equal ground. No more power imbalance, they killed each other, they get to stand as equals now. Let Bumblebee call Megatron a slur, it would be funny.

If they were human, their names would be Ben (Benjamin) and Mark (Markus). Just the vibes. Also, both of them are gay.

For some fuck all reason, I see these fuckers with cowboy aesthetics. Like in RID15, Bee likes cowboys, so obviously human him would wear cowboy hats+boots, jeans, and a huge fuck-off belt buckle, but I just can't stop imagining Megatron in jeans, cowboy boots, and a bolo tie. He's already got boot cut legs, just complete the look.

So we know Bumblebee was born after the war started, or at least around that time. What if, he was also born into the gladiatorial pits, just like Megatron. But the Pits as an organization collapsed a bit after he was born, so he never actually experienced them. He does have a very similar build to Megatron, as we've established. Might be a fun parallel. Just an interesting idea, thought I'd share it. A headcanon to pull from this is Megatron had door wings when he was small, but they got removed while he was in the pits. Second headcanon: Bumblebee is supposed to be larger but lack of energon when he was growing stunted his height.

I can't get a scene where they physically fight out of my head. Not an actual to-the-death fight, just slapstick nonsense. Or a cage match, I would take a cage match.

Bumblebee doesn't hold any grudges against anyone, no matter how much they've done. He's the kindest mech Cybertron has ever had, he can make friends with anyone. He has one exception though: Megatron. Because he deserves a little treat.

my god... they are mirror reflections of each other. They easily could have turned out like the other if circumstances were different. oh my goooood, SG Bee acts like young Megatron, and SG Meg acts like old Bumblebee, I'm having an aneurysm...

They're like feral cats in a fight.

"if they hate each other so much why don't they just kill each other again?" Well you see, they can't. Not because laws or social expectations mean anything to them, no, they are each other's enrichment. Think about it, two mother fuckers who grew up fighting for their lives every single day; do you think civilian/incarcerated life is enough for their Survival-coded brains? No, they need some additional stimulation so they don't go insane. Megatron is a shell of his former self, just hardcore depressed day in day out. However when he's around Bumblebee that spark for life comes back, just because he hates Bumblebee that much. Bumblebee is teetering on the edge of a mental breakdown every day, his brain has no idea how to cope with peace. But when he sees Megatron, he has a release for all this pent-up energy that won't go away because he hates Megatron that much. So they can't kill each other, if they did they would fall apart within the month.

I think comparing TFP/ALC Bee and Meg to the other TF Universes is very thought-provoking. Bc in every other universe (to my knowledge), it was always either Optimus or some Prime-adjacent guy who did Megatron in, but never a Bumblebee (or the universe's equivalent). This is the only universe where this set of events happens. And I find that so fascinating. What would the other universes' Megatron think of how this one was defeated? What would the Bumblebees think? Would the Megatrons regard TFP/ALC Megatron in a negative light or a positive one? Would the Megatrons treat TFP/ALC Bumblebee any different than their Bees or would they be more cautious around him. Would the Bumblebees be excited for their counterpart or feel pity for all he had to go through? Oh I just want to have a TF/TF Crossover SO BAD but there's no easy way to find them please tell me if yall know about any TF/TF crossover stuff I am desperate I want to compare universes like pretty rocks.

Imagine with me, a room. It's a big room. In this room are every Megatron and every Bumblebee (+ any others you want). Most are just standing or sitting around, quietly observing something or ignoring that same thing. The room is not quiet, the air is filled with the sounds of an angry screaming match. Three Bumblebees and three Megatrons are engaged in a very heated argument. If you're confused about which ones this would be, read the goddamn post again. Or go read their wiki pages.

I know I just spent the last couple hundred words raving about how good it would be if they hated each other, but what if they got along. Hear me out, they just click with each other. The atrocities? Water under the bridge, bestie, let's go get lunch. They're such good friends it scares everyone else. Everyone knows what happened between them, and seeing them act like nothing happened is the freakiest thing they have ever experienced.

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What if Megatron and Bumblebee were related. I'm not talking about being brothers or being father and son, no no no no NO. I want them to be Cousins. Their parents were siblings, one had a kid (Bee) much MUCH later in life and the other had one (Meg) at the normal time. Human or Bot, does not matter, I just need them to be cousins.

They don't figure this out till after the war has ended. After they've killed each other. This is the worst news of their lives. How would you feel if the person you hate most in the world shared your genetics. And to add insult to injury, they have to play nice with each other. Megatron has to help get the Decepticons in line and Bumblebee is the new face of the Autobot cause thank you optimus, so they have to be polite and cordial to each other so a second war doesn't break out. Yes they hate it. Yes it's extremely funny. They're forced to be in fucking council meetings and work on reintegration policies together, they hate every fucking second of them. And it was good for PR to reveal their familial connection, so now they have to act like they at least tolerate each other for the news outlets, going on family outings and shit. Oh, they hate it. Behind closed doors, they are so fucking annoying, they argue like fucking children. It's the "I'm not even touching you" kind of arguments, that's how bad it is. They're both full grown adults, they're fucking war veterans, and they argue over stolen pens.

I can't get this scene out of my head: Post War. Bumblebee gets a shirt; human or bot, it does not matter, logistics of bot-sized clothing be damned, that says "The Thirteenth Prime is My Ex Cousin In Law." He wears it specifically in meetings when Megatron is present. He doesn't call attention to himself, just goes about his day as normal with this shirt on. Here is a scene from one of the Cybertron's Reconstruction meetings. Open in stereotypical meeting room. Everyone files into the room and takes a seat. Bumblebee is one of the last into the room, everyone notices his shirt. No one says anything and Bumblebee sits down. The meeting begins. Optimus is very pointedly not looking at Bumblebee, only looking at him when he speaks - and even then, he's only looking at his eyes. Ratchet can't stop giggling. Every time he composes himself even a little, he takes one look at Bumblebee and loses it all over again. Megatron is contemplating making a run for it. Everyone keeps glancing between him and Bumblebee's shirt, and he hates it. He's slowly been sliding down in his seat the entire meeting, and soon he'll end up on the floor. Yes, Bumblebee is proud of this, why wouldn't he be?

They're Both the Gay Cousin

AUS

Two Words. Body. Swap. I have so many different Iterations of this story in my head, but two things remain the same: Bumblebee and Megatron swap bodies after Sick Mind, and they're both PISSED about it. Megatron gets the bare minimum in upgrades, so Bumblebee is dealing with his stupid, barely optimized body + dark energon. Bumblebee deals with all his issues silently, so Megatron is dealing with years of unaddressed chronic pains + a fucked up voice box. If they're stuck somewhere together, they force the other to follow the routines they take with their OG body. Neither of them knows how to drive the other's alt-mode. No one on either team really notices any changes bc they're so good at acting (they know each other so well and they're so similar no one can tell the difference-) In the end, they come to an understanding about the other they never had before, but they still vehemently hate each other. This has gone through so many iterations, a single episode length version, a whole season length version, the rest of the goddamn show length version, I can't stop thinking about them.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

*opens my trench coat* Hey kid, you want some Dark Energon Bumblebee? The entire thing is "Bumblebee gets infected by dark energon and Megatron gets kinda parasocial about it." Obviously, there's nuance and shit, but that's the gist of it. So in Out of His Head, Megatron gets a second piece of Dark Energon fucking somehow, fuck if I know how yet, and wants to use both to resurrect his body. Bumblebee manages to get control of his own body back just before Meg can get the second shard in and puts the shard in his own body. Bla bla bla angst ensues, but, Silver Lining: Bee can now tangle with Megatron one on one. Free emotional release therapy ;). And because Megatron is fucking weird and thinks fighting is a normal way of socializing, he gets attached to Bumblebee. (Bee not on battlefield) Where's my new fighting buddy :-:? He's so fucking weird. They still hate each other btw, Megatron just expresses his emotions weird bc he's lonely. Obviously, there's more story, but I'm working on turning this one into an actual written work, and I'm still working out the plot points. It's very slow, I'm still in the (very)rough draft stages, but maybe when it's done, I'll post it (bc I want something I make to be 100% before I post it.)

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Ok, but imagine if either of them got stuck in the other one's head at the end of Out of His Mind. And now they're stuck together forever. I think I read a post ab if Megatron had been stuck in Bumblebee's head during tfp (i can't find it someone give it to me). The whole bit is the two of them are just immensely annoying when they're stuck. Just constantly pissing the other off, bc it's all they can do.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

So, I'm pretty sure the only way these two chucklefucks would be normal with each other is if they met outside of the war, when both of them were younger. Just imagine it, there's no war, so no one is dead or insane, and Bumblebee and Megatron meet somehow. You could do the cousins thing and have some Cybertronian CPS Workers show up like "hey this kid's parents just died and you're this kid's last living relative, would you be able to care for him?" and then shenanigans ensue. Or you could have Optimus meet Bee first and then introduce Bee to Meg somehow, and then the two just become friends that way. The only constant I have is they are each other's biggest enablers and biggest haters(affectionate). They're like siblings, the chaos that would ensue. Bumblebee somehow convinces Megatron to get his silver colour scheme changed to bright fucking purple. Megatron teaches Bumblebee how to fight and win every single time. Megatron picks up Bumblebee's Young Person slang and uses it constantly (he is twice Bee's age). Bumblebee learns how to negotiate like a fucking senator because of Megatron. Can you see it? My visions?

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

RID15. Bumblebee & Company find Megatron just hiding out on earth one day, and they are forced to interact. That's it. That's the whole bit. No fighting, just "Oh, great, this bitch is here. I'm not drunk enough for this shit." Wouldn't that be great?

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Megatron's consciousness and spark get transferred into a Mini-Con body. His original body was heavily altered by Unicron during the resurrection and is slowly rejecting all the modifications. Bumblebee volunteers to be his guardian/parole officer. Why? Well, no one else wants to watch him, and the two have lots of blackmail history (they've been inside each other's heads. they know things) with each other, Bee'll keep him in line. Everything's about the same with RID15, but mini Meggy is here to make snide comments about everything. He's like an angry cat.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Slightly dumb, but take post-RID15 or post-TFP Bee and throw him back into pre-show MegOP drama. It would be funny. Bee, who knows EXACTLY how all this will play out, has decided chaos is the only option and becomes Meg's and OP's mentor/uncle/friend/thing. He is going to prevent the war if it fucking kills him, and the easiest way to do that is to babysit Megatron. Bumblebee is a jaded gay bitch about the whole thing and priority #2 is enjoying himself, so he says fuck off to decent manners and teaches Megatron every slur he knows. Someone has to show him the ways of "healthy" emotional release and it's gonna be Bee (no one's self esteme is safe, nor is their property.) Somehow, his chaos meddling prevents the war from ensuing (things still fall apart, but the divorce proceedings are uneventful and bloodless)

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Take the basic Babee and Dadimus storyline, but substitute in ol' Megsy. And keep it fun. Megatron and Starscream find a sparkling on some random excursion they're on for reasons. The first thing the sparkling does is attack Starscream, who had scared him when he grabbed him. Megatron finds this hilarious and takes the sparkling back to their base. He admires the little bot's hutzpah. He planned to hand the sparkling off to someone, but the little bot wouldn't let go of his arm (Babee didn't want to leave the big bot who saved him from the screechy bot). The sparkling would start furiously fighting anyone else who tried to take care of him, hurting his small frame in the process. Megatron (who's starting to get attached to this small violent menace) is worried for the sparkling's health and agrees to help care for him. As the days go by, Megatron begins to see a bit of himself in the little bot: his stubborn convictions, his violent tendencies, his sass and dramatics. It's kinda starting to grow on him. You know what? He'll keep him around, just for fun. So Bumblebee grows up under Megatron's wing. It's a hilarious dichotomy. The Great and Mighty Megatron, making silly faces at a sparkling to make him giggle. Megatron, the champion of the gladiatorial pits, giving a little yellow bot airplane rides for fun. Megatron giving orders to his troops with a kid on his shoulders. Megatron interrupting an interrogation to praise Bumblebee's drawing. It's hilarious, it's a crime lord and a baby. And when Bumblebee grows up, he's appointed as Megatron's Second in Command/Heir. Megatron taught him everything he knows about leading, he's the perfect choice. He is the pride and joy of (Megatron's spark) the Decepticon cause. (yes Bee is evil now, sshhhhh it's fine)

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Does anyone have any age swap stuff, like in general? I can't find anything substantial (there was like one fic?), and I want to see some.

Okay, this has gone two ways in my head. One: Bumblebee is in the Gladiatorial Pits and takes care of small Megatron. Two: Bumblebee is an Instrument of Unicron and Megatron is Unicron's unwilling new host. Here's the run down for both.

One: Bumblebee is the best gladiator in the arena. Megatron is a random fucking sparkling that gets thrown in. Bumblebee immediately goes mama bear mode and protects Megatron from just about everything he can. One day there's an opportunity for Meggy to escape and Bee starts fighing everyone to cover for him. Meggy then gets to meet up with Orion + extras and they get to work to get rid of the gladitorial pits. Meggy doesn't know if Bee's still alive and he's super worried he died without getting to say goodbye. V sad, pain and suffering, angst central with a nice reunion at the end. Idk I was feeling a certain way when I made this one up.

Two: Megatron gets kidnapped by the cult of Unicron and they want to make him Unicron's new vessel. He of course does not want this and fights back. Then Bumblebee shows up to restrain him, bc he's the strongest guy they got. Bla bla bla, monologuing, cosmic horror stuff, I can't word right now. But Bee is sympathetic to Meggy's plight, bc he didn't choose this life either. He was born into it and only knows Unicron. So, in an act of rebelion, Bee runs away with Megatron. Meggy doesn't trust Bee of course, but he is trying to return Megatron to his friends so he'll stick around till then. Bonding ensues. And Angst but mostly bonding.

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Yes, I repeated myself a lot. Were you expecting originality? After that spiral? God, this is a long post.

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