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chuluoyi · 4 months ago

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𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐍𝐄𝐑𝐒 𝐊𝐄𝐄𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐒

- sylus x reader

you suspect something’s off when you catch your lover with the hunter girl, so you decide to give him the cold shoulder. his way of winning you back? trapping you in a bet—if he wins this underground fight match, you’re back to being his

genre/warnings: 18+ suggestive content—minors do not interact!—brief smut, comfort, total fluff, assassin!reader (not l&ds mc), based on sylus' card radiant brilliance

note: this has been looong buried in my drafts since before my writer's block started :') again, a part of the assassin!reader that started with strictly (un)professional

Your lover— he is definitely hiding something.

“Mmph!” A moan escaped you mid-kiss as his palm suddenly cupped your right breast, squeezing and stroking it, while two of his left fingers thrusted inside you, getting you wet.

His fevered lips and tongue melded with yours, his wicked fingers driving you to the brink of madness—and oh damn, the devil that possessed them felt so heavenly—as he pressed you against the vanity, bending you over its edge.

A knowing gleam flickered in his eyes. “Mm, you talk too much, woman.”

Your thoughts blurred, teetering on the edge of control, yet deep within, a spark of aggravation incessantly burned, especially when you remembered the person you had caught him manhandling earlier this afternoon—

Miss Hunter.

“Sylus—! Stop!”

"Tch." He pulled away with a hiss as soon as you pushed his chest away with everything you had. Just like that, you were left high and dry; the emptiness his fingers had left behind made you instinctively cross your legs. "Why are you so uncooperative tonight?"

"You—" Gasping for breath, you clutched your slipping nightgown, glaring sharply at him despite the discomfort of the hard surface beneath you. "You really think you can shut me up... with sex?"

"I'm telling you, nothing happened." Sylus’ lips curled with a smug hint of satisfaction, only fueling your irritation. "Didn’t know my woman had such a jealous streak until now."

If there was one thing you’d learned from years by Sylus' side, it was that everything he did had a purpose. If it had been some random bimbo hanging around the casino or his resorts, you wouldn’t bat even an eye.

But this was the Miss Hunter—the very girl he had spent decades searching for, the one with whom he shared a bond so profound that he had forsaken everything just for the chance to find her again.

And compared to her, you were just his bedwarmer... who just happened to catch his eye.

"You two were kissing," you accused almost spitefully, the words laced with bitter edge.

His grin vanished, replaced by a look of distaste. "We were not."

You knew what you saw—he cornered her in the furthermost corner of the base, far away from even from the prying eyes of Luke and Kieran, and they were definitely just an inch away from each other. "Then what were you two doing?"

"Can't we talk just like acquaintances do?" The lack of viable answer gnawed at you. If there was nothing to hide, why didn’t he just say so and put your suspicions to rest?

"Will you do her like you do me?" The venom in your voice startled even you, slipping out before you could stop it. "Ha. I should’ve known..."

By now, he had this sour yet stern look in his face that made you almost shudder but you stood your ground. His tone was almost mocking, "Insecurity makes you so bitter, sweetie. Get yourself together."

It felt like a prick in the heart. Oh. As heartless as you were in the face of blood and gore, you still had it apparently when faced with your lover's conniving red eyes and sinful lips.

But more than that... as they said, heartbreak is one thing, but your ego is another.

"To hell with you!" you snapped, sitting up straight. Sylus blinked, momentarily caught off guard by the look on your face—was it showing the hurt? Or just plain defiance? Even you weren’t sure as you spun on your heel and stormed out of his room promptly.

Not for the first time, the very idea that he might be getting on with another woman twisted something inside you, the ache sharper than you expected. It suddenly saddened you to a degree that it brought mist to your eyes.

For the next three days, you ignored Sylus almost completely. He tried to get back to your good graces, but you paid him no mind, acting as if he didn't exist.

“Missus, please— just say yes!”

And caught in the crossfire, poor Luke and Kieran had become his reluctant messengers.

You unconsciously shot a sharp glare at the twins. Perhaps it was the mental strain you were putting yourself under, but you truly hadn’t meant to scare them more than they already were.

"Boss is really cranky when he isn't in a good mood," Luke pleaded, clasping his hands together. "Please just help us this time, will you?"

"He promises he’ll make it right!" Kieran chimed in with a hopeful grin. "As soon as he wins his match this weekend, you’ll see—there’s nothing to worry about!"

Sylus and his penchant for boxing. You knew these underground matches were something he indulged in now and then, and you'd let him be.

But this time...

"How are you so sure he's going to win?" You lifted your chin, a taunting smirk curling your lips. "And no, I'm not going. Tell him that."

"Missus, you have to see reason— there is no way Boss is having an affair—" Kieran insisted, shaking his head in frustration.

"Boss is whipped!" Luke cut in, throwing his hands up. "For you! Can't you see?!"

"..." For a solid five seconds, silence blanketed the room. You arched an eyebrow so high it made Luke look like he'd just spilled the world’s best-kept secret, while Kieran slapped a hand over his mask in exasperation.

And things were obviously not getting better—

"Ha. I'm what?"

You could see the twins visibly gulping the very second Sylus' voice boomed across the hall, and you rolled your eyes.

"Pfft," he let out this low chuckle as he made his way towards the three of you. "Hear that, sweetie? Luke isn't wrong."

"..."

"The little kitty's anger hasn't subsided, I see," he murmured, tilting his head to the side with a playful smirk, arms folded across his chest. "Such little trust you have in me."

You sighed. "Don't tempt me to hate you prolifically, Sylus."

"You wound me," he retorted, ruby-red eyes narrowed. "I have been nothing but honest and transparent."

You turned away, pressing your lips into a tight line. Deep down, you knew how childish all of this felt. Maybe it was nothing, after all. Maybe, just like he said, it was your insecurity twisting things.

And why are you so insecure, anyway?

"Keep your eyes on me, kitten."

Suddenly, caught off guard, you almost yelped as he tilted your chin towards him, forcing you to meet his gaze. Your heart raced wildly, but you fought to keep it in check.

"I win, and you’ll do what I say," his eyes flicking from yours to your lips, his voice a velvety whisper in your ear. "But if I lose... you can have your way—however you want."

Your pride took over. A second later, you jerked your face away, refusing to give him the satisfaction. To salvage your dignity, you let out an indignant scoff.

"Best hope you lose then."

You’d never been fond of crowds, let alone sitting in the stands of a boxing match.

And yet here you were, clutching a bouquet of fresh flowers—the twins had practically shoved them into your arms before bolting away—surrounded by the deafening roar of fans.

You would punish them later, you so would. It was humid and you were fuming. There was nothing interesting here, and to top it all off, Sylus’ turn to the ring was taking forever.

Until it didn't.

When he finally stepped into the spotlight, you caught sight of him on the big screen. And in that moment—when that devilish smirk curled his lips—you could’ve sworn he wasn’t aiming it at the crowd.

He was throwing it right at your direction.

And oh, how the rapid and traitorous thump-thump-thump inside your chest drowned out everything else, as if the roar of the crowd gradually faded at the realization.

How is it that he always manages to get your heart in his grasp?

. . .

When they said this sport wasn’t for the weak, they weren’t lying. No matter how tough you thought you were, you still flinched every time the opponent’s fist connected with your lover’s jaw.

Despite all the aggravation you harbored about him, watching him stumble and get knocked back felt like a punch to your own gut. In that moment, all you wanted was for it to end.

And when it finally was—when the referee raised Sylus’ arm and declared his victory—you exhaled a shaky breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. Relief washed over you in a quiet, fleeting wave.

However, reporters and cheers quickly swarmed him, and the distance between you felt even greater then. There he stood, proud as ever, lofty as if standing atop clouds, surveying the world with thinly veiled contempt. Meanwhile, you…

You were still dissatisfied. Sylus had a way of winning everything he set his sights on, while you remained stuck with your own petty grievances and emotional baggage you subjected yourself to.

It was vexing, really. How you wanted him to win and not at the same time. How you wanted his everything and knowing you would never be able to.

“What’s the secret to winning this match?!” one reporter asked, voice brimming with excitement.

Sylus answered with a casual smirk. “I made a bet I absolutely can’t lose,” he said coolly. “So, I won.”

The girls in the stands erupted into deafening cheers at his response, their shrill voices forcing you to cover your ears.

The nerve. You scoffed, irked by his answer and by the crowd’s adoration. You decided you wouldn’t let him have the satisfaction of you lingering here any longer.

Snatching up your bag and that damned bouquet, you marched toward the exit with long, determined strides when—

“Ooh? And who is this special person?!”

“Ah, look, there she is.”

You froze mid-step as the spotlight suddenly pinned you in its beam. Whirling around, your breath caught as you saw Sylus descending from the arena, his gaze locked onto yours.

What the hell?

For a moment, you froze in utter disbelief as he approached you with that effortless grace, as if the crowd around him didn’t exist. Before you could piece together your fragmented thoughts, he was already standing before you.

“Are you mad?!” you murmured in a hiss, your voice barely louder than a breath over the distant roar of cheers, yet pointed enough to pierce the air between you.

Sylus, however, only let out a snort, swiftly snatching the bouquet from your arms, and pulling you by the shoulders— his breath tickled you ear as he whispered:

“Got you.”

—and before you could react, he crashed his lips on yours in a bold kiss that at sent the crowd into an instant uproar of cheers.

“Whoa, whoa! The champion! Look how manly he is!”

“He has a girlfriend?!”

“Oh, my! To be that girl!”

“—!” You almost pushed him away, only to falter when you realized his kiss was anything but forceful. It was deep but disarmingly gentle.

Sylus pulled back just as quickly, his eyes twinkled with mischief as he took in your stunned expression.

“You’re mine now, sweetie,” he said with a smug grin, giving you a light pat in the head.

The way his eyes crinkle as he looks at you... Your cheeks burned, and your heart thundered in your chest, drowning the roars of the swooning crowd—

Because in that moment, you could’ve sworn there was nothing but pure adoration in those mesmerizing garnet eyes of his.

“You've gone and done it... What if anyone recognizes us?”

Later that night, freshly showered and wrapped in silk nightgowns, you sat at the edge of the bed, towel in hand as you dried your wet hair. You cast a glance at Sylus, who had just bathed with you and now lounged nearby with an unbothered grin.

The events from this afternoon still felt like somewhat of a dream to you. You had never been under that much of a spotlight before— too used to a life shrouded in shadows, quietly biding your time, preparing to brandish your blade when the moment came.

But through Sylus, every now and then, you caught a glimpse of what it felt like to stand on the other side of that darkness. And it felt freeing— like you could finally breathe, unburdened by the scent of blood and gunpowder.

"Wouldn't that be fun? Imagine the headlines," he shrugged nonchalantly. "The Onychinus leader and his missus... masquerading as a boxer and his fan for a day."

You huffed, shooting him a stink eye. "That's not even funny."

Despite the public display that Sylus had more or less pulled and made the two of you known as lovers even in underground world, there was still a gnawing curiosity at the back of your mind, feeding your insecurity—

The sight of him and Miss Hunter replayed again in your mind's eye. It was never fun finding them together in such close proximity.

And yet, in the end... he returned to you, still. Unspoken it may be, but Sylus had always taken your side so far.

You let out a long, resigned sigh. That caught his attention as he turned to you. "What is it?"

"Nothing," you quipped, slightly grimacing. "Forget it. I'm going to sleep."

Sylus raised an eyebrow, his gaze lingering on you. Even when you hid it, he knew what you'd wanted to ask and if you asked it now, he would tell you.

The way your face had fallen bothered him more than he'd like to admit. He rose from the recliner and moved to your side. "No, you won't be sleeping."

"What?"

He knelt beside you, gently taking hold of your leg, and pressed a kiss to your calf, his touch warm and unhurried as he met your gaze with a sly smile.

"Sylus..." you eyed him with incredulity, feeling yourself getting warm.

His red eyes crinkled. "Don't you want to ask me something?"

Your hand reached out to caress his face, and he leaned into your touch. That simple act alone brought a small, intrigued smile to your face. "No."

"Hmph. Really?"

"What?" You traced your fingers on his sharp jaw, admiring it. "You think I'll demand you for answers about whether you're two-timing me with Miss Hunter again?"

Sylus tilted his head, relishing the way your fingers cradled his face, staying quiet, however.

You were really great at this pushing and pulling game. It irked him to see how detached you seemed now when he knew a part of you had been fazed by it days ago.

He disliked it when you tried to hide what you were feeling. He hated it even more when you doubted him for anything. But seeing how unhappy you had been lately rattled him.

"Nothing happened," he said in a low voice, catching your hand and locking eyes with you. "Would you feel better if I had told you that since the beginning?"

"Who knows?" you replied with a soft shrug, a wry smile on your lips. "You didn't tell me before."

What a vixen. The thought simmered in his mind. Mine, though.

Like a cat pouncing on its owner, Sylus suddenly moved, going straight for your lips and pinning you to the bed. Intertwining his fingers with yours, he pried your lips open with his tongue.

Yet despite it all, you felt how gentle he was. The Sylus from before would just fuck you senseless and be done with it, but the one with you now... he treated you with an unexpected tenderness, as if savoring every second with you.

He pulled away only when you were breathless, the saliva string between your lips breaking as he gave you a moment to gasp for air. His gaze softened, lingering on your flushed face, a satisfied smile curling on his lips.

"You will see for yourself tomorrow. Tonight, however..." he trailed off, his lips hovering just above yours.

But you placed one hand on his chest and another on his neck, looking up at him with bleary eyes, the vulnerability in your gaze tugging at something within him.

"Actually, I'm a bit exhausted..." You found his intense gaze and blinked slowly. "So, can you be not as rough?"

"Ha." Sylus let out a snicker at your request, taking the hand you had on his chest and pressing a soft kiss on it.

What a precious little thing you are. Your face right now... It was a look he couldn’t resist, one that made him want to protect you and ruin you, all at once.

His smirk lingered. "Of course, sweetie. I'll go easy on you tonight."

And true to his word, he didn't break his promise.

Even as he pinned both your wrists above your head, capturing your lips in a heated kiss—

—as he dived between your legs, his tongue skillfully devouring your clit—

—and as you tangled your fingers in his hair, pulling him impossibly closer.

And later, when he pulled you into his arms and murmured softly until you drifted to sleep.

When you woke up the next morning, it was because of two things.

One— it was freezing. Your thin nightgown was definitely no match against the biting chill of a winter morning.

And two— Sylus wasn't here.

You wondered where he could have gone as it was his bedtime, but as you pulled the comforter closer to keep yourself from shivering, something caught your eye.

It took you a full three seconds to process it.

There was a ring on your finger.

"Huh...?" You were jolted awake by the sight of the glittering ruby. It was intricate, yet strangely nostalgic, reminding you of Sylus' eyes. How? Why?

You immediately turned to the nightstand, your gaze landing on a small jewelry box sitting neatly atop it. You scrambled for it, the name of the jeweler embossed on the lid caught your attention. It wasn’t from anywhere in N109 Zone.

It clicked to you at all once. So, that was why he was with Miss Hunter?

But more than that, what caught your heart was when you flipped it open and found a note inside, with a scrawled handwriting you would never mistake for anyone else's—

Because forever is too long and boring to be spent alone. So, your answer is…?

#sylus x reader #lads sylus x reader #love and deepspace x reader #l&ds x reader #love and deepspace #lads x reader #love and deepspace x you #lads x you #sylus x you #l&ds x you #sylus smut #lads smut #lads sylus #sylus love and deepspace #love and deepspace smut #l&ds smut #love and deepspace sylus

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pukefactory · 14 days ago

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Dream BBQ Ena x reader who helps out with he job and stuff!! I think it’d be super interesting

Author’s Note

Keep the Ena requests coming, everyone! I’m having an absolute blast writing and exploring these characters. A new hyperfixation might be on the horizon!

-Rush

•☽────✧˖°˖ FALLEN DOWN ˖°˖✧────☾•

★ Summary: A Compilation of Headcannons Featuring Salesperson Ena X Reader Who Helps Her Throughout Her Job In The Lonely Door

★ Character(s): Salesperson Ena (ENA: Dream BBQ)

★ Genre: Headcannons, SFW

★ Warning(s): None - Completely Safe!

★ Image Credits: @Joelg

☆ You’re not supposed to be here. The moment Ena lays eyes on you, her dual-colored gaze flickers with surprise and intrigue. She leans in too close, scrutinizing your existence like a puzzle with missing pieces. “Ah, a stray marble in the machine! An uninvited guest at the banquet of fate!” Her voice lilts between amusement and concern, but she doesn’t turn you away. Instead, she offers you her mitten-shaped hand. “Shall we make a mess of destiny together?”

☆ She narrates your presence like an unreliable tour guide. As you follow her through the casino and its labyrinth of surreal doors, she provides commentary. Not on the scenery, no—that would be too easy. Instead, she describes you, your expressions, your reactions to the bizarre world unfolding around you. “Look at them! A brave little duckling, waddling into the jaws of the absurd! Oh, how they hesitate at the sight of Dratula’s many, many claws… A performance of hesitation! Exquisite!”

☆ She’s weirdly protective in the most Ena way possible. If something dangerous lurks ahead, she doesn’t say, “Be careful.” No, she says, “Let’s see if your presence bends the laws of probability in our favor, shall we?” And if it doesn’t? If something lunges for you? She laughs, but it’s nervous, her red side flickering into something sharper. “Ooo, bad hand of cards, dear! Let’s reshuffle, quickly now!” And suddenly, she’s pulling you behind her, claws glinting.

☆ Ena insists you have a “role�� in this world, even if you don’t understand it. She gestures wildly at you while speaking to Froggy. “What do you mean they don’t belong? Can’t you see? They’re the thread that keeps the whole tapestry from unraveling!” She winks at you. “Or maybe they are the unraveling! Delightful, no?”

☆ She tests the boundaries of your existence. At one point, she stops abruptly, twirling to face you with her usual grin. “Say, say—if I push you towards that door, will you clip through it? If I blink, will you cease to be?” She blinks dramatically. You don’t disappear. She pouts. “Ah, how disappointing. But reassuring!”

☆ Her moods shift like rolling dice, and you’re always there to catch the aftermath. There are moments where her pale yellow side takes over, and her voice dips into something quieter, more melancholic. “The boss… the boss… Do you think I’ll even reach them?” She shakes her head, forcing a grin. “Oh, but enough of that! We mustn’t let the blues—oh, or the reds—consume us!”

☆ You become her moral compass in the most absurd situations. “Should we accept a deal from the nice, floating hand offering us a reality-warping contract?” No, Ena. “Should we ride the mysterious conveyor belt labeled ‘certain doom’?” Absolutely not, Ena. She groans, exaggerated and theatrical. “Ugh, you’re such a buzzkill! …But a lovable one.”

☆ She starts incorporating you into her metaphors. “I’m the wandering performer, you’re my steadfast stagehand! I’m the rogue dice, and you’re the velvet-lined cup that keeps me from rolling off the table! I’m a fever dream, and you… you’re the cold rag against my forehead. How poetic!”

☆ The world recognizes you as an anomaly, and Ena revels in it. Characters you meet pause, staring at you with unreadable expressions. Some whisper, some laugh, some don’t acknowledge you at all, like you’re a half-rendered NPC. Ena waves her mitten hand dismissively. “Ignore them! They just love to fuss over continuity errors.”

☆ By the time you reach the Genie, she refuses to leave you behind. Even if you were never meant to follow her this far. Even if something in the world strains against your presence. “No, no, NO,” she argues, gripping your wrist. “We’ve come this far together! I REFUSE to be a solo act now! If the script demands separation, well—” She grins, sharp and unyielding. “Let’s improvise.”

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holy-amelie · 5 months ago

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Hello!! Can you do how hsr men (specifically Boothill or Sunday) like to cuddle or how they approach physical intimacy in general? ❤️❤️❤️

'Physical Closeness' sfw (multiple)

...how they approach physical intimacy ˎˊ˗

·.༄࿔ characters: Aventurine, Boothill, Jing Yuan, Sunday

·.༄࿔ pairing: Aventurine x g/n!reader, Boothill x g/n!reader, Jing Yuan x g/n!reader, Sunday x g/n!reader

·.༄࿔ cw: no tw, fluff, physical closeness (sfw), non-native english author

·.༄࿔ a/n: thank you for your request! This is SFW version, but you can request NSFW one as well with the same or different chars ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ I've decided to add my other favs here, hope you won't mind!

Aventurine

Aventurine rarely lets people get close to him, despite his usual bright social behavior. He is always careful to choose his surroundings, lest he find himself in another difficult situation in his life. So you're lucky to be with him. Just as he is lucky to be with you.

Pure physical intimacy without any subtext is very precious to him. It makes Aventurine feel that he's really loved and appreciated, that it's not just an affair to satisfy your needs a few times. He enjoys being in your arms, it gives him a warm feeling of security somewhere deep inside.

In private, he lets you do many things. Hold him kiss him. Even touch the mark on his neck, that ugly reminder of who he was and what he'd been through. Somehow, when you touch it with your gentle hands, it's like a weight is lifted from his shoulders. Even if only temporarily. When you are alone, Aventurine is gentle and vulnerable.

But in public, whether you're gambling at the casino or strolling through the mall, everyone knows who you belong to. He shows you off to everyone as the most precious thing in his life. And you actually are.

Boothill

For Boothill, physical intimacy is a rather difficult thing. Not because he doesn't crave it, but because his mechanical body doesn't allow him to fully experience it.

The only part of his body that hadn't lost sensation is his head, especially his face. So even if he really wants to be physically close to you, he can only feel something there. Cup his face with your palms, shower him with kisses, or let him nuzzle your neck and stay there for a while.

In return, Boothill is willing to do whatever you want, even if he's not sure using it as a pillow is such a good idea. As long as it doesn't hurt you. Don't get me wrong, it's just that his strong, mechanical body isn't exactly built for tenderness (though he tries), so cuddling with him can be… Pretty tight.

He is not at all shy about showing physical closeness in public. Boothill's hands are always on you, showing everyone around him that they shouldn't even try to flirt with you. Otherwise, those muddle-fudgers will be introduced to his gun.

Jing Yuan

Jing Yuan is a person who has lived many, many years and experienced many hardships. It is no surprise that he longs for warmth and love. And while before it was Mimi who brought comfort and peace to his heart, now it is you.

Cuddling with the General has become your daily routine. While he works, plays chess, reads important documents, or rests, you are almost always there. Even better, if you're on his lap, lettimg him lazily lean onto you. This man is acting like a very big cat, judgin by his behaviour.

He enjoys not only initiating physical intimacy, but also receiving it. Despite his calm exterior, Jing Yuan is often tired. The effort he puts into solving problems is often hidden from others. So coming back to you after another hard day is the best thing that can happen. It doesn't matter where or how, the important thing is that you are there for him and that you are comfortable too.

He's not afraid to show physical affection on public. After all, he is no longer a teenager who is easily embarrassed; he has enough life experience to ignore people's displeasure and enjoy the envious looks. After all, you're hsi and only his treasure.

Sunday

Sunday was always like a beautiful bird in a gilded cage - desirable by lots of people but so far from physical intimacy with anyone. His position in the family left no time for romance, or even the thought of it.

So starting a relationship with you was something completely new and uncharted for him. At first, Sunday is actually terribly shy in private as well. Be prepared that it's going to take a long time for him to get used to even holding hands (although he likes it a lot, to be honest). With him, you'll have to take small steps toward something more serious.

If intimacy is initiated by you, he won't say a word against it. Probably because all the words will be stuck in his throat the moment you decide to hug him or, dear Aeons, kiss him. He'll probably try to cover his face with his wings, but it just looks adorable.

Old habits die long, so in public he tries to show as little physical affection as possible. Simply because he doesn't really want everyone to see his embarrassed red face. However, that doesn't mean he won't put his hand on the small of your back and throw sizzling glances in the direction of whoever tries to lay eyes on you, covering it all up with a polite smile.

please, do not rewrite/copy/repost/translate my work without me knowing, you can always ask first, thanks

#.・✫・゜・。.#aventurine hsr #boothill hsr #jing yuan hsr #sunday hsr #aventurine x reader #aventurine x you #boothill x reader #boothill x you #jing yuan x reader #jing yuan x you #sunday x reader #sunday x you #hsr x reader #hsr x you

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pixiefelixie · 4 days ago

Text

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ THINKING 'BOUT YOU, THINKING 'BOUT YOU

: ̗̀➛ pairing — nonidol!felix x fem!reader : ̗̀➛ word count — 2.8k : ̗̀➛ content — fluff, mutual pining, first kiss, drinking, did i say fluff

hi guys!! its been a while since ive posted so in honour of spring finally being here, here's a little something ♡

listen while you read 🎧

you didn’t really know what to call it—this thing with felix.

you weren't dating—at least, not officially. but there had been late-night calls that bled into 3 a.m. giggles, inside jokes only the two of you understood, lingering looks, and “thinkin bout you” texts. there were shared secrets beneath shared clothes, hands that sometimes brushed against yours like it meant something, and a thousand almost-kisses.

you step back out into the yard, cold drink in hand, and the whole place practically buzzes with life. fairy lights are strung overhead like stars trying to compete with the real ones, glowing warm against the inky sky. there’s a group crowded around the lawn chairs, someone’s half-passed out on a beanbag, and rocky is thumping through the speakers like the heartbeat of the night. the bass pulses through the grass, the kind you can feel in your chest.

your red cup is already slick with condensation, and you wipe your hand on your jeans shorts as you weave back through the party. you bring the cup to your lips and take a sip—immediate regret. you grimace, jaw clenching slightly at the mess you dared to call a drink. who told you beer and liquor was a fun mix? oh right, you did, thirty minutes ago when you thought you were some sort of backyard bartender.

you’re shaking your head to yourself, when a voice cuts through the music.

“there you are,” it says, and you already know who it is before you even look up.

felix.

your heart does that stupid little flutter like it always does, even though you try to play it cool. he’s got that knowing smirk, the kind that’s equal parts trouble and charm, and he's dressed in all black like the night wrapped itself around him and called it fashion. his pants hang just right on his frame, and his blonde hair’s all messy in that on-purpose kind of way. there's a glint of something mischievous in his eyes, soft but sharp, like he’s been watching you this whole time and finally decided to make his move.

“hey, stranger,” you say, with that smile he always put on your face.

“hey, hotshot,” he shoots back, his own grin spreading. before you can blink, he plucks the red cup right out of your hand, holding it up between you two like he’s inspecting it for poison. “what's this?”

“you're gonna hate it” you say, biting your lip, already bracing for his reaction.

but of course he drinks it. because he’s felix. one hand holding his own drink, the other bringing yours to his lips like it's nothing.

you giggle as you watch him tilt it back, just a small sip, and then bam. instant regret written all over his face.

his eyes squeeze shut, and he kind of recoils, dramatically pressing the back of his hand to his chest. “oh my goodness,” he says, voice half-hoarse, half-laughing. “that’s horrible. what did you do?”

you’re already cracking up. “i told you!”

he’s still looking at the cup like it just insulted his family. you reach for it, but he holds it away from you. “i am not letting you go back to this. here, take mine.” he offers you his own cup, and his tone softens, eyes a little gentler now.

you pause for a second, the switch in his voice catching you off guard. he’s watching you carefully, like he’s been paying attention, like he already knows what you’d like. and not just the drink.

“you sure?” you ask, voice a little smaller now.

“positive,” he says, pressing it gently into your hand.

you smile, soft and a little shy despite everything, and then—without thinking too hard about it—you lean in and press a light kiss to his cheek.

it’s quick. barely there. but it leaves behind something electric.

felix’s smile freezes for half a second, like his brain short-circuited, and then it stretches wider, softer. his eyes crinkle a bit, and those dimples—those stupid dimples—make an appearance as he looks at you like you just handed him the stars.

he tilts his head just a little, eyes still locked on you like nothing else at this party exists—not the music, not the lights, not the dozens of people laughing and dancing around you. just you. his thumb brushes the edge of his own cup absentmindedly, but his focus is all yours.

“if you keep doing stuff like that, i’m gonna start thinking you like me or something.” he says, voice low and velvety,

“maybe i do,” you say, your voice playful, but your heart is thudding hard enough you wonder if he can hear it over the music.

he grins, eyes flickering to your lips just for a split second before he looks back up. “good. ‘cause i’ve been thinking about kissing you for, like… a really long time.”

you blink at him, momentarily stunned, because he says it so casually, so sincerely, like he’s telling you the sky’s blue or the stars are pretty tonight. and yet it lands right in your chest.

his fingers brush against your elbow, featherlight. “can i?”

your breath hitches.

it’s like the world slows down for a second—the music fades into the background, the laughter becomes a distant hum, and all you can hear is your own pulse thudding in your ears. your skin feels too tight, too hot, like your heart has pushed up into your throat and your body’s forgotten how to be normal.

he’s looking at you like you’re something fragile and precious, like he doesn’t want to spook you—but also like he knows. knows how much you want this. knows how long you’ve been dancing around it. knows you’re nervous, and he’s not in any rush to push past that.

you nod. barely. just enough.

and he moves in slow.

one hand comes up to brush a piece of hair away from your face, his fingers so gentle you almost shiver. then, finally, his lips meet yours—soft and warm and careful, like he’s pouring every unspoken feeling into something that barely even needs words.

it’s not rushed. it’s not messy. it’s just perfect.

his lips part just slightly, inviting but not demanding, and you follow instinct more than thought, leaning in a little bit closer. you taste the faint tang of beer on his tongue, cold and bitter and so distinctly him. it lingers for a second before it’s swallowed by the heat curling between you, the way his mouth fits against yours like it was always meant to.

you both pull away, slowly, reluctantly—like neither of you really want to, but you need a second to breathe, to process what just happened. your eyes meet his, and it’s like something clicks. like some invisible tension that had been stretched tight for so long finally snaps in the gentlest way.

his lips are still curved in the softest smile, his cheeks a little pink, and you can tell he's feeling just as dazed as you are. but then—you both lose it.

you burst into laughter at the exact same time, this messy, giddy kind of laughter that bubbles up out of nowhere and shakes your shoulders. the kind that makes your heart feel so full it almost aches.

out of sheer embarrassment, you lean forward and press your forehead to his chest. he smells like cologne and spring and something a little smoky, like the fire pit still burning a few feet away. his arms come around you instinctively, wrapping you up like he’s been waiting to do it for ages.

you stay like that for a moment—pressed into his chest, tucked into the safety of his arms, giggling softly like the two of you are in on some secret the rest of the world hasn’t figured out yet. his fingers rub slow circles into your back, and his chin dips to rest lightly on the top of your head. neither of you say anything, and you don’t need to.

it just feels right.

around you, the party continues, but it’s gone a little hazy now—like someone turned the dial down just enough to let the moment breathe. the fairy lights overhead glow in a soft gold haze, muted like candlelight behind frosted glass. smoke drifts lazily from the fire pit, curling through the air like it’s dancing to the beat of the music.

shadows flicker across the lawn. people are lounging around now, sprawled in chairs or slow dancing in the grass, voices hushed and blurred together like a watercolor painting. everything feels dreamlike, like you’ve slipped into a different world just slightly off from this one—a little quieter, a little warmer, a little softer.

felix’s fingers tighten gently around your waist, and he leans down, voice brushing your ear like velvet. “wanna sneak off?” he says. then, with a mischievous curl to his lips,

you don’t even hesitate.

you look up at him, eyes wide and nod.

he grins—giddy and boyish—and immediately reaches for your hand. you lace your fingers with his, and together you start weaving your way back through the crowd, ducking past conversations and the trailing edge of someone’s scarf, stepping over a half-empty bottle on the grass.

inside the house, there’s a group crowded around the kitchen island shouting over each other, someone sitting on the counter peeling an orange like it’s the most important thing in the world. someone else is singing way too dramatically into a tv remote. the lights inside are warmer, buzzing, a little dizzying.

you quickly tilt back the drink felix gave you, finishing it in a few smooth gulps. you toss the empty cup into the flooded garbage by the hallway door, turning just in time to see felix standing behind you, holding your old red cup—the one with the infamous death mix.

without a word, he raises an eyebrow at it dramatically, like it personally wronged him. then he throws it straight into the garbage can without giving it a last sip.

you and felix exchange a look—wide-eyed and stifling laughter—and quicken your pace, dodging between people and whispered excuse me’s and the occasional sticky beer puddle on the tile floor.

the second you step out the front door and onto the road, the night wraps around you like a breath of fresh air.

cool, quiet, and soft with the kind of calm that only shows up when everything else has faded. the street is dim and empty, lit only by the faint glow of porch lights and the hazy orange halo of a streetlamp down the block.

you and felix cross the road, sneakers scuffing quietly against the pavement, hands still intertwined like muscle memory. the houses across the street are asleep—lights off, windows shut, the occasional curtain fluttering with the breeze. it's the kind of silence that feels sacred, like the world paused just for you.

a little farther down, you spot it—a small building tucked between two tall hedges, maybe a community hall or some long-closed shop. it’s plain and quiet, its brick wall catching the dim glow from the streetlamp above. you tug felix’s hand, moving toward it without saying a word, drawn to the way it just feels still.

you reach it first, and as soon as your back touches the cool wall, you slide down with a soft sigh, knees folding up to your chest. the grass is damp and smells like spring. you pat the spot next to you, eyes flicking up at him.

felix doesn’t hesitate.

he drops down beside you with a soft thud, stretching his legs out and leaning just close enough that your shoulders brush. the second you rest your head on his shoulder, he exhales—like maybe he’s been holding that breath since the kiss.

you sigh again, softer this time, letting yourself melt into the moment.

his thumb brushes gently over your knuckles, slow and absent like it’s second nature. you watch his hand in yours for a beat before turning your eyes to the quiet road, the stars barely peeking through the haze above.

no words. just warmth. just stillness.

and the slow realization that maybe, just maybe, this night has only just started.

then, his voice breaks the silence, soft and low, like he’s afraid of disturbing the calm.

“you know…” he starts, eyes still trained on the road in front of you. “i don’t think i’ve ever really said this. not like this.”

you glance up at him, but he doesn’t meet your gaze just yet. his fingers squeeze yours just slightly before he goes on.

“you mean a lot to me,” he says. “like… a lot. and not just in the ‘i think you’re cool’ kind of way. it’s more than that. you make things feel lighter when they’re heavy. you make me feel like i don’t have to try so hard to be anything other than… me.”

your heart stumbles over itself, caught off guard by the sudden shift in tone. you smile, small and unsure, warmth flickering in your chest—but there’s something else too. something tugging at the edges of your comfort.

you don’t know why he’s being so sappy. it’s not that you don’t like hearing it—it’s sweet, it’s felix—but something about the weight in his voice, the way he’s looking at you now, finally meeting your eyes like he’s bracing for something.

and that realization settles in your stomach like a drop of cold water.

you try to keep the smile, to hold onto the sweetness of the moment, but your fingers tense in his just slightly. “why are you saying this now?” you ask, your voice quiet, cautious.

he hesitates.

felix goes quiet for a beat, eyes flicking back down to your intertwined hands. his thumb is still tracing slow circles against your skin, but now it feels more deliberate—like he’s trying to steady himself.

you feel the breath he pulls in before he speaks again.

“and i keep thinking… what even are we?” he says, voice low, like he’s afraid of saying it too loud might make it feel less real. “we’re not nothing. we never were. but we’re also not—” he cuts himself off with a breath, shaking his head again, softer this time.

“i don’t want to keep pretending like i’m okay with the in-between. because i’m not.” he glances down, then back up at you, his expression gentler now—like he’s not just saying it, but feeling every word. “and tonight… i don’t know. being with you like this—it makes everything else feel so far away. and it hit me.”

he looks at you then, full-on, no flicker of nerves this time. just him. honest and open and so felix.

“i want to be yours,” he says, steady. “and i want you to be mine. for real.”

your breath catches again, and you’re too stunned to look away.

he leans in just a little closer, like he needs you to hear it perfectly, no confusion, no room for misreading.

“will you be my girlfriend?” he says, voice soft but certain,

and just like that, all the air in your lungs evaporates. your heart feels like it’s trying to climb its way into your throat. you weren’t wrong—he was building to something big.

just not in the way you feared.

you blink, a slow smile spreading across your face despite the shock. “you absolute dork,” you whisper, eyes stinging a little with the pressure of how full you suddenly feel.

felix grins, sheepish. “that a yes?”

you squeeze his hand, lean in, and kiss him again—soft and sure, the kind that says yes a hundred different ways. you feel him smile into the kiss—just the smallest curve of his lips against yours, and somehow, it makes everything feel even more real.

you pull away slowly, your noses still brushing, breath mingling in the soft space between. his eyes flutter open, hazy and full of something gentle and glowing.

you stay close, forehead resting lightly against his, both of you quiet for a second. just listening to the soft rustle of the grass and the low thrum of the music still floating from the house in the distance.

“no take backs, lix.” you say, playful but breathless, like you just made the best kind of deal with the universe.

his eyes sparkle. “wouldn’t dream of it.”

276 notes · View notes

kannouo · 6 months ago

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I'm so lucky, lucky!

fandom: obey me pairing: demon brothers x gn!reader warnings: none prompt by @ember-is-clueless: Can I request the brothers with an extremely lucky MC? The MC might not go to gamble a lot but when they do they win every time, it also strays off to other aspects like if they guess which answer is right on a test, they get it correct. Thank you <3 A/N: ty for the request <333 I hope this is okay. this idea was pretty fun to think about actually as there are a lot of scenarios that could happen surrounding this. i also went super far with just how lucky the mc is lol, just letting you know i basically went the superpower route.

LUCIFER

• Lucifer notices how lucky you are very early on during your stay at the Devildom.

• You were somehow always in exactly the right place at the right time to avoid his and his brothers' wrath. When demons at RAD would make any attempt to harm you, you would just happen to run into him or even Diavolo himself before they could do anything. In fact, even when you went against his orders and went out late alone, you would always come back unscathed.

• Lucifer doesn't believe in luck, and therefore isn't comfortable relying on chance alone to keep you out of danger. It might save him a headache or two, but overall, he won't loosen up his overprotective tendencies. What if the one time he puts his faith in your luck to protect you, something goes wrong?

• He realises later on that your luck comes into play with him too. Whenever you're caught alongside the anti-Lucifer squad — if he ever even manages to catch you in the first place — he always just happens to be in a merciful mood that day, so the punishments you all receive are comparatively light.

• He is trying to work on this. He can't have anyone thinking he's gone soft.

• Is admittedly impressed by your ability to pass any test by guessing the answers, but cannot support you getting by on just that. He will still enforce studying time for you and insists you actually make an effort with your schoolwork, even if you don't think it's necessary.

• Lucifer is not amused when his brothers start trying to drag you everywhere with them to use your luck to their advantage, and encourages you not to let them do so. Even if you don't mind it, nothing good comes from them getting their way all of the time.

You were really in trouble this time. Caught trying to give a cup of coffee laced with one of Satan's newest concoctions to Lucifer, it seemed lady luck was absent today. You knelt before him with your head lowered as he glared down at you, but just as he opened his mouth to begin his lecture... CRASH! You jumped at the loud sound of glass shattering in the hallway, followed by a yelp that sounded suspiciously like Mammon. You turned to Lucifer, who had directed his attention to the door, where the sound came from. "MAAAMMOOOOON?" As Lucifer stormed over to the door and out into the hallway, you lived to thank your lucky charms another day.

MAMMON

• Mammon noticed you were lucky pretty quickly, but it took him a while to realise just how lucky.

• He'd make jokes about how lucky you seemed to get all the time for going out at just the right time to always conveniently avoid Lucifer's wrath, but he only took it seriously when he challenged you to a game of poker and lost all of his savings, as well as the jacket and belt he was wearing at the time. He was stunned.

• Mammon might have a reputation for losing all of his money on gambling, but that doesn't mean he's bad at it. He just suffers from the same habit a lot of gambling addicts do — he can't stop. He wins and wins until he loses. So, now knowing you're even luckier than he is...

• How do you feel about being a walking lucky charm?

• He'll take you with him to casinos as "arm candy" and have you blow on his dice before he makes a move, or even just play the round in his place and split the winnings. You don't even have to know the game, just go with your gut and you'll end up winning by complete chance.

• Another thing he likes to do is walk up to random demons and make a bet such as, "do you think this human here can flip a coin that'll land on heads 10 times in a row?" It being a statistical unlikelihood, the demon will usually allow Mammon to take one of their pennies (so they know it's not a fake) and bet against it. They never bet that much grimm on it, but the shocked look on the demons' faces every time as you just keep landing on heads is completely worth it.

• Lucifer isn't happy about any of this.

• Don't worry though. Outside of making bets surrounding you and dragging you to casinos with him, he's practically your personal servant. He has to butter you up so you don't refuse next time, you know? So, he waits on hand and foot for you all day. Practically worships you.

"MC! MC, babe!" You peeked over the couch as you heard Mammon shouting your name from the hall. Just as he passed by the living room, he caught sight of you and broke into a grin, hurrying over and leaning over the back of the sofa. "There ya are! C'mere, take a look..." You shuffled closer so you could get a view of what he was holding. "...Lottery tickets?" You questioned, glancing up at him. "Yeah! I just bought 'em— will you scratch 'em out for me, baby? Please?" He begged. "I'll do anythin' ya want!"

LEVIATHAN

• Levi takes a while to find out about this ability because of how much time he spends in his room. There are very little opportunities for your luck to come into play there... except for in video games.

• The first time you demolished him in a game you told him you had never played before by pure chance, he demanded rematch after rematch until he solemnly concluded that it wasn't going anywhere. You were pretty sure he hated you for it, judging by his refusal to talk to you or message you afterwards, until he invited you back to his room again, this time to play a co-op game together.

• Predictably, he's jealous of your luck. How come you don't even have to try, and all these good things just seem to come to you naturally? It's not fair.

• He mostly gets over any petty resentment he holds after you two start to get closer, and actually really enjoys games where he can team up with you. He's pretty bad at explaining controls, but it doesn't even matter because you always end up with the luckiest possible circumstances. You contribute even when you aren't trying to.

• Thinks it's hilarious a lot of the time, too. If he's in a voice chat lobby he'll start mocking the other players for losing so badly against a total noob. He's surprisingly toxic.

• One time, Levi had to leave his room because Diavolo had arranged a student council meeting on the day where a special, limited-edition figurine of one of his favourite shows was dropping. He damn near had to be dragged away from his computer by Lucifer, and was sulking the whole meeting. Why today of all days...?

• But you just so happened to pull out your DDD and open Akuzon at the exact moment the figurine dropped. Blissfully unaware, you ordered it, thinking nothing more of it other than "Levi will probably like this".

• He was devastated when the figurine was already sold out by the time he got home, but when it showed up at the door anyway, he couldn't decide between being ecstatic and confused. Was this some kind of miracle?!

• When you explained that you had ordered it for him, he literally drops to his knees and starts thanking and praising you.

• Joins Mammon as your second personal servant.

"LOLOLOL, I thought you losers said you were good at this game!" Levi taunted into his headset, provoking the other players in the lobby to talk back, hurling all kinds of insults his and your way in response. "How much of a normie do you have to be to lose that bad against a total noob?" "Levi," you hit his shoulder. "Stop it." Levi looked at you then paused, a sly smile forming on his face as he listened to the other players yell. "They're saying I carried." You furrowed your brow. "Like hell you did! Oh, it's on."

SATAN

• Also doesn't really believe in luck, but his opinion can be changed if you allow him to experiment with it a little.

• Here's a pop quiz about various subjects in the Devildom you should, by all sound logic, know nothing about. Let's see how you perform when all you can do is guess. Huh... they're all correct. Alright then — could you crack this egg for him? Just a regular egg, and he'll see... its a triple yolk. Well... for the final test, here's a random lottery ticket. You couldn't possibly—... did you just hit a jackpot? Seriously?

• After a while of "observing" your unnatural abilities, he is eventually forced to conclude that lady luck really does exist, and she plays favourites.

• Your luck definitely comes in handy, and he will use it to his advantage, mainly to gain the upper-hand in pranking Lucifer. As long as you're around or are the one performing it, it's far more likely for their pranks to succeed. And if they get caught, the punishments are always far less severe, so they can get back to finding new ways to inconvenience Lucifer as fast as possible.

• He also likes bringing you with him to bookstores, because whenever you wander around or randomly pick out a book, it always happens to be some kind of rare edition or cursed book that is... for some reason in a public bookstore. And it's not like the curse will hurt you either. No, you're just too lucky for that.

• Sort of develops a more laid-back attitude to what you do overtime, unlike Lucifer. Satan has full faith in your luck, and doesn't tend to worry much about your safety. That isn't to say he doesn't care, more like he believes fate itself will always keep you safe.

• Also, whenever he takes you to cat cafes or areas popular with stray cats, they always surround you and jump up onto your lap. Even the feistiest of cats are calm enough to be pet by you. He loves this, and tries to take you with him every time he goes out somewhere like that.

"Pspspspsps..." "Oh, that's Paprika. She doesn't have an owner and is scared of people, so she won't—" Satan's sentence was cut short by the usually shy and aggressive kitty jumping up into your lap. She 'mrrp'ed as you pet and cooed at her, and it took you a moment to notice the utter silence from the man next to you. "Satan? What's wrong?" He blinked and gazed lovingly at you, completely starry-eyed. "...I love you."

ASMODEUS

• He knew you were lucky right off the bat. I mean, you had to be with looks like yours. You basically won the genetic lottery!

• Obviously, your abilities go far beyond just good looks. But he honestly doesn't care as much as his brothers do about all of that. He's much more focused on how you are absolutely slaying every single outfit you try on! No matter how hideous a combination is, you always make it look good... How?!

• I would say he's jealous, but that would be a lie. He's still hotter, obviously... but you're close second! Well, no, you're not that close behind, but still!

• If there's anything he is jealous of, it's your lack of bedhead. He's drawing a line, it's completely unfair for you to wake up looking perfect every morning.

• If Asmo were to ever use your luck to his advantage, it would be to score his most desired modelling shoots. Just having you near him makes scouts more likely to approach him, and having you in a picture makes it go instantly viral. You're his lucky charm for stuff like that.

• Doesn't approve of his brothers stealing you away for all kinds of shenanigans though. Mostly because it's taking your attention away from where it should be, on him. He may not take advantage of your luck as frequently as the others, but if that's what it takes to have you all to himself, he might start to!

• Designs a cute little four-leaf clover accessory for you to wear, like a bracelet or a hairclip.

"MC, honey!~" Asmo came running into your room, a big smile on his face. Before you could even speak, he latched his arms around you in a bone-crushing hug, kissing all over your face. "Thank you so much for getting me that photoshoot~ it was amazing!" Confused, you wriggled around for a bit of freedom, and he loosened his grip on you. "I didn't get you anything?" "Of course you did, sweetheart! It's all thanks to you I was lucky enough to come across an opportunity like that~ so, how about a special reward for my favourite lucky charm, hm?~"

BEELZEBUB

• Beel is unlikely to notice unless your luck is pointed out to him. Not because he's stupid or doesn't pay attention to you, but because he just doesn't think in that way. He'll notice when things seem to conveniently always go your way, but he doesn't piece all of those events together and come to the conclusion that you have absurd luck on his own.

• It's only when one of his brothers comment on it that the puzzle pieces all connect and he's like "ooooh." His only real reaction beyond that is a shrug. He frankly doesn't care that much.

• He notices that whenever he takes you out to eat, he always ends up with extra food on his plate that he didn't ask for. He notices that there always happen to be extra replacements for any ingredients he eats when he's on dinner duty, as long as you're in the house. He notices how some vendors are more willing to give him samples on-the-house when you're by his side. It's just not the main reason why he wants you around all the time.

• He loves you because of how unique you are and because of how much you've helped his family. Your luck is convenient, yes, but he doesn't go out of his way to use it for himself. The last thing he wants is for you to think he's using you.

• ...He might ask you to help him sneak food into places though.

• Beel is also unlikely to put much faith in your luck to keep you safe. He knows you've managed to evade danger in the past, but he'd much rather protect you himself so he can be sure.

• Even though he doesn't use your luck to his advantage, he'll ask a lot of questions about what you've been able to do with it in the past. He might ask you to try out a few things solely for experimental purposes, but it's usually just to see how far-reaching your luck actually is. Treats it like a superpower, which it kind of is.

• Such as: what if someone tells you to cook a meal you've never heard of without a recipe? If you just try random stuff, will you end up with a good meal anyway? You tried that one out — the answer was, somehow, yes.

You felt a rough tap on your shoulder. Turning, you were met with Beel, looking very guilty and with a bag full of snacks. "Can you hide these in your coat?" He asked. "Beel, we're at a movie theatre..." You spoke with a hushed voice, looking around warily. "We can just buy popcorn." "I know, but... just popcorn isn't enough." He looked at you with such sad eyes that you couldn't help but give in. You took the bag from him, tucking it under your arm, and he lit up. "Thank you, MC."

BELPHEGOR

• Sure, he noticed, but was pretty sure he wouldn't care about it at all. He sleeps through most days anyway, so...

• He was totally wrong, though. He remembers waking up next to you one morning, cuddled snugly into your chest and arms lazily draped over you from the night before. Groaning, he turned and looked over at his bedside clock... 12:00, it read. He blinked. Had he slept through the beginning of RAD? Without Lucifer or Beel coming to wake him? Seemed unlikely...

• It was only when he checked his DDD that he saw a few messages in the House of Lamentation group chat of Lucifer informing everyone that there had been some sort of mishap with a potion, so RAD's halls were closed off for the day, and perhaps tomorrow. How lucky, he thought. He gets to spend all day in bed with... MC.

• Anyway, he tries to sleep in your bed literally every night from then on, because whenever he does there always seems to be some kind of event that causes RAD to be cancelled or delayed.

• Lucifer bans him from doing this after realising it. He can't just have the entire school year amount to nothing because classes kept getting cancelled, after all. Belphie was not happy about this at all.

• Even when staying overnight with MC is banned, he'll still find ways to use their luck to his convenience. When he naps on them or near them, he's far less likely to be disturbed from his sleep. There's also the bonus of MC helping him and Satan get away with their pranks on Lucifer more often.

• That's what he gets for revoking Belphie's sleepover privileges.

• Your luck sometimes backfires on him, though. Whenever he tries to pull a prank on you, it always goes horribly wrong. To be fair, he probably should have predicted that outcome.

"Belphie... wake up..." You spoke softly into Belphie's ear and he twitched in his sleep. All it took was a few more gentle shakes and he finally stirred, looking at you with sleepy eyes. "Come on, it's time to get up." "What?" He huffed and rested his head back down on top of you. "RAD's cancelled... I don't need to get up..." "It—" You paused and blinked down at the avatar of Sloth. True, it was cancelled for the day, but that announcement was only made about thirty minutes ago. Belphie had been sound asleep. "—How did you know it was cancelled?" The only response you got was a smirk and a knowing look before he went right back to sleep.

#obey me #obey me x reader #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me headcanons #obey me shall we date

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hanihaato · 1 year ago

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a/n: yandere aventurine x female reader, suggestive, non-consensual touching and forced kisses

“Ah, ah, ah, don’t say a word, darling,” a glowed finger pressed to your lips makes words die on your tongue almost as effectively as the Aventurine’s vivid, piercing eyes. Except for the shallow breaths, you stay in silence, and he glides his hand from your lips to cup your cheekbone. “I must say, you are really bold, testing my connections like that to find you. Being sceptical is a great quality…”

He pushes you onto the bed and lays on top of you, interlocking your fingers together so you don’t ever try to push him off yourself. He stares at you, his smile growing smug with your every try to wiggle out yourself of the embrace.

Aventurine’s head falls on your shoulder. You shiver as he chuckles and his warm breath sends a chill through your spine he muchly adores tracing his fingers on.

“…But not when it comes to me.”

You turn your head away from him. Ugh, you wish you could have at least a full day without him, but you could pride yourself in having a plan good enough to escape the room he locked you up two weeks ago when you first arrived on this planet.

Though, it hurts your ego a bit that Aventurine doesn’t seem to be bothered at all.

He shifts on the bed, and you hate how the sheets that smelled of the hotel’s cleanliness are already starting to stink with his perfumes. The smell you once loved now suffocates you with each breath.

He wraps his arm around your waist so he spoons your back for a second before grasping you tighter and throwing you over himself, having you face him. He entangles your legs before you can think of hitting him with a knee.

You whisper into the pillows.

“…At least I know you are a real deal.”

Aventurine chuckles in a tone you would find endearing if you didn’t feel he laughs at you. When he first started to show you the best parts of the world he’s been living in—the casinos that always had a nice pianist playing on a grand piano, the numerous vine tastings, the breakfasts that make your mouth water, clothing that feels like silk in touch—you could hear the tone everywhere, usually just by your ear. He then told you how he loved how your eyes shone and how much more enchanting you look every day.

You wonder which night he started to plan to cut you off from both worlds, yours and his, to only have him as your everything.

“That’s news to me,” he says, theatrically raising his eyebrows. “You didn’t believe me at all? You must know, darling, that everything I told you after we got together is true. That’s a real privilege right there.”

His finger starts to trace circular patterns on your forearm’s skin. Your heart throbs painfully.

“Aventurine…” Your voice is as demanding as can be the voice of a woman squished in the arms of a man who knows how to use words and guns. “I don’t believe you really love me. That’s not how love looks like.”

The man is still in his position. He blinks, and his eyes are fully on you. You have yet to find out if that look is a warning for you or whether he is enticed by what are you saying. Or maybe he just wants to hear your voice—you know Aventurine is not a man above misleading you into believing you aren’t in a hopeless position just to hear your pleas.

“When you love someone, you want the best for them. You want— You see them as equals. You don’t strip them of what they love to do, and… and people they love. You just… join their life and slowly build a new one together…”

When you fall silent, Aventurine pulls you in and with the other hand brushes hair off your face.

He hums. “That’s an inspiring speech. Oh, and I loved how you looked when you talked about it. Such a view. You must’ve thought about it for quite a while, huh?” He pats you on the head, lingering a bit to loosely twirl your hair on his fingers. “But, dearest, everything you’ve said, well, it all checks out.”

“No.”

“I do view as equals. We have a trade: my everlasting love for a bit of your freedom. It looks like a good deal.”

“It doesn’t look like—”

Aventurine shuts you up with a kiss. You hate, hate, hate this feeling, because in these moments you wonder if you could ever truly fall in love with a man you despise that gives you the hugs you long for and kisses you think about for days.

As he pulls away, with your free hand, you wipe off the traces of the kiss on your lips. Of course, you know it’s meaningless—he kissed you many times, you would have to count in hundreds at least—he will revenge you for that later.

“Awh, don’t be like that,” He says, kissing you again and holding your wrists this time. “You know, I pride myself in being a good businessman. If you are going to put your undying love for me, I will give you the freedom back.”

“You may beg all you want, but with begging you can’t get my love.”

It’s a brave thing to say when you are at the mercy of a man who’s famished for your affection.

“Hm, is that so?” Aventurine chuckles, but for the first time in the evening, it lacks the usual flippancy. He begins to pepper your neck with kisses, and you feel his sturdy hands travel down your stomach and a tugging on your shirt. “Well, say what you want, darling. But since you’ve been by my side for such a long time, you must know I only engage in bets I know I will win.”

#honkai star rail #hsr #aventurine #aventurine x reader #yandere aventurine x reader #yandere aventurine #yandere hsr #yandere hsr x reader #hsr x reader #yandere honkai star rail x reader #the act

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madamechrissy · 8 months ago

Text

♡ Time after Time ♡

♡ ♡ Pairings ♡ ♡ CEO! Satoru Gojo x Fem Reader

♡ ♡ Warnings ♡ ♡ MDNI- Just sexual tension in this chap hehe, more explicit as we go. Gojo is really a dick at first FYI

♡ ♡ Word Count ♡ ♡ 4.2k

♡ ♡ Summary ♡ ♡ Satoru Gojo is your boss And you've been his head assistant for over two years now. You do everything for him, including and not limited to cleaning his messes, picking out his clothes, and writing his speeches. Sixteen hour days... night calls... You are tired of being overworked and at his beck and call. You decide you are going to put in your two weeks notice. He is shocked, and wants to try to keep you, because you're the best. But you know better. Right? .You really wanna fucking quit. You also wanna fuck him. Also, fuck him.

A/N (Kinda has 'two weeks notice' vibes a bit! No use of y/n.) Fully finished. This was my first gojo fic so maybe a Lil less put together than my current ones

Masterlist- Playlist

Chapter 1

You looked up at him from your desk. You were tired, so damn tired. You needed a fucking break, a long one. Your mind wanders to that vacation away from Tokyo that will never happen, not because you don’t have vacation days or money. Nope, it was because you work far too fucking much, twelve to sixteen hour days sometimes. For him, your damn boss, Satoru Gojo.

Always asking you to stay late, always running his errands, saving his ass, covering for him. Writing speeches, making presentations, finding him dates even. When Gojo wanted something, he got it, and it didn't matter if it ruined every plan you ever had, you had to get it done for him.

He ran casinos, owned a hotel, a nightclub, you name it, Satoru Gojo owned it. He’d inherited some from his family but mostly he was self made. Even the tower you worked in, Kamo Tower, was one of the best in the city. Everything Gojo touched seemed to turn to gold, or better yet platinum.

You had been so excited two years ago to be his intern, then ecstatic when you quickly moved up the ranks to be his head assistant. You made good money, enough to send home to your family and take care of them too. But you literally were constantly at that man's beck and call.

Your tired eyes lower as you rest your chin on your hand for a moment, for even last night at two am you'd had to run to his fucking rescue.

You were asleep, but the phone never stops fucking buzzing.

Dick boss: I need you.

You: no.

Dick boss: triple OT pay?

You: fuck. What is it?

Dick Boss: I'm in a bit of a bind…

The bind? Three passed out naked women in his bed, and a room destroyed, that he needed to get fixed so he could sleep. Yeah.

The night before? Well he had urgently needed you to pick out his outfit for his soiree, he was too coked out to pick apparently. And Gojo Satoru had so many three piece suits, ties and shoes, it was actually disgusting.

Nanami Kento walks up to you, overworked from his own boss in the building, a trait you two share as head assistants. He hands you a cup of coffee in a styrofoam cup, with your name written on it in sharpie, clearly from one of the coffee shops nearby. If you had time to have a fucking life you would have flirted with him, for sure. Maybe he would have, too?

Dirty blonde and handsome, his suit stretched across his muscles just so… and fuck if he didn’t look like he needed a damn vacation too.

“Long night?” Kento asked, grabbing you out of your thoughts, an amused and tired expression on his face. You sigh, nodding.

“Thank you for the coffee. I owe ya one.” You let the sweet liquid hit your lips, eyes peering to Gojo's office. There was some lady in there, pretty as fuck in some crazy attempt at business stripper, but he for some reason was scowling at you. What, you dared to sip coffee and not work for two minutes?

“Not at all. Happy birthday.”

“Shit that’s today?” You teased, but you did know.

“We don’t really get birthdays.”

“Haha no we don’t. But thank you!”

“Of course. Take care of yourself okay? Gojo is… ugh.” Nanami looked disgusted as he shook his head, pushing up his fancy glasses. You couldn’t help but giggle at that as Nanami walked off.

Your phone rings, because of course Gojo can't just come to you, you must go to him. Your eyes roll.

“Yes, Sir?” You answer the phone, tapping your glittery manicured nails on your desk, the one treat you gave yourself.

“My office.” That silken command may have excited most women, shit, most human beings, but it was a source of annoyance for you.

“Coming.”

You sighed, hanging up the phone and sipping your coffee. The office coffee usually went cold daily with the amount of shit you had to do. You smooth down your dress, adjusting the buckle of your belt just a tad before walking towards the giant glass office.

Gojo’s office had floor to ceiling windows surrounding it that had a ridiculous view of the cityscape below. You all were on the top floor of Kamo Tower, after all. The air was filled with a faint scent, woodsy and fresh, a signature fragrance that lingered in the space, distinctive to Gojo.

As you enter, you see Gojo himself reclining casually in a lavish chair, his signature Gucci sunglasses on, covering those ridiculous blue eyes. Which you honestly appreciated because he made shit hard to focus, even after two years of working as his assistant.

“Sir?” You stand there cautiously, thinking of just putting in your notice then and fucking there, like that dream you had in your two hours of sleep.

“Status update on my meetings?”

“I sent you them all.” He smirked, arrogant. You grit your teeth. “You have two meetings today, Sir, one for the new hotel partnership, then you have a meeting with Mr. Suguru about your casino. And of course, you have your event tonight.”

“Speaking of that, I need you to come with me tonight for the charity ball.” You sigh, shutting the door behind you, resting your aching head against it.

“I asked for tonight off.” You murmur, and Gojo scoffs, grinning, damn fangs like some vampire glinting from the sun that beamed in. He stands, stretching his long elegant limbs, before he walks closer to you, making the scent of him waft through your senses.

“I'll pay you well. Plus you’ll be going as my date for the event, not going to make you actually work. You'll get to relax and shit. Drinks and food.”

“As your date?” You blink, pursing your lips.

“I know, it’s kinda a dream scenario.” He laughed at his own joke, a habit he certainly had.

“Since when does CEO Satoru need a date? Especially me . I can just arrange you a date like I always do.”

“It's a delicate partnership and I need someone who is smart. Not eye candy. I need you, law school girl. Plus you’re American, and a lot of the people there are too. So it’s a no brainer.” You sighed, the comment about eye candy biting.

Men hit on you pretty frequently, any time you weren’t working, which you could not say was very often. But of course Gojo banged models on the regular, and you had no time to look like a model, you barely had time to slap on some mascara and concealer every day to hide how tired you were.

“So you don't need anyone pretty… is what you're saying.”

He pauses then, frowning at you. “You're very pretty.” He'd never said that. He'd barely complimented your work. You catch your breath; looking up at him, curious how he had gotten just an inch away.

“‘Not eye candy.’”

“We'll no, you dress kinda boring… like business and shit. Not sexy at all. I mean I’ve never seen you not in a business dress unless it’s at night and I call you, then you wear pajama shorts and shit?”

You snort. “I would dress up if I had a life. All I do is work.”

“Exactly, that’s what I mean by not ‘eye candy’. How you dress, not your looks. But I'll make sure your outfit looks killer, no need to thank me.” Gojo winks at you, lowering his shades, those insane cerulean eyes making you overheat against your will. Big and glittering with silver, the irises the prettiest blue that the earth could scarcely recreate. Eyes that made anyone do anything he wanted.

You were almost immune to that by now.

“It's my fucking birthday and you want me to do overtime?” You demand, and frowns with those full lips.

“Birthday?” Gojo looks confused, as if you should not have one of them, for it’s inconvenient.

“Yeah. Twenty-sixth.”

He evaluates you. “Why did I think you were like twenty two?”

“I’m not sure. If I was I wouldn’t even have my law degree yet, baby face maybe. But it’s my third birthday here, and you never give me the day off. I will absolutely not put in OT.”

“What, you have plans, hot shot?” Gojo chuckles, his tone mocking.

No. Sure don't. “Yep.” You lie. He knows.

“Cancel em.” He shakes a hand dismissively and you scowl.

“No.” You cross your arms under your breasts, and his gaze darts down for the briefest of moments.

“No?” No one turned Gojo down. No one ever told the gorgeous CEO no. His six foot four frame hunched as he placed an arm on one side of you, peering down, frown still on his handsome features. You bravely glare back up at him.

“No. Gojo, I'm really exhausted, and I just want to have fun and actually relax for my birthday.”

“Have fun with me. And make killer money. Win win.”

“That's work. Not fun.”

“Hmm.” He tilts your chin up with his long fingers, making you peer up at him, surprised at the contact. “I'll make it fun. Promise. Then I'll give you the day off tomorrow. Deal?”

“I could find you a smart American girl? Eye candy too.”

“You're my best, though, I need you.”

Bastard.

“Ugh. Fine.”

He grins, and you catch a breath as he backs away. “Good. I'll have the outfit brought to your apartment later? I’m assuming you don’t have anything fancy enough for this one.”

“Probably not. Fine. Need my size?”

His eyes are drinking you in as he smirks. “You think I haven’t gathered your size by now?” Your cheeks overheat. Though you’re used to him, at the end of the day you still had a damn vagina, and it reacted to him. He chuckled deeply, turning away and waving a hand. “You're dismissed.”

Just like that, your birthday night was just work. Work for Gojo.

***

“Can’t wait to put in my two weeks ugh.” You grumble to yourself as you finish up your makeup, for once having fun with it. If you had to work your birthday you would absolutely look gorgeous for it. Lashes, winged liner, red lips.

The dress he had ordered laid in a satin box on your white day bed. You sigh, opening it finally, and you blink rapidly as you look at the gown encased in baby blue and white tissue paper, the colors of Gojo himself. You gently pulled out the gown and most of your irritation died off.

Black and decked with sequins, it glittered in the light, it was a velvety fabric, as soft as a caress. As you slid it on it glided over your curves, accentuating the nip at your waist, the arch of your hips. The neckline plunged ridiculously low, revealing a generous amount of cleavage that you typically kept under wraps at work. You wonder how Gojo knew you had just so much up top…

Pervert is what he was.

Pervert with killer taste.

The dress had a slit that went dangerously up one of your well toned thighs, exposing nearly all of one leg, while the rest of the dress hit the floor. It was if he truly knew every measurement you had, for the dress could not have hit any better. Those damn analyzing eyes of his…

You spun to look at the back of the dress, which dipped daringly as well, exposing an expanse of skin, from shoulder blades down to the dimples on your lower back. You rummage through your little cherry wood jewelry box, eyeing to see what would work with the dress. Luckily, everything went well with black, so you snatched up a pretty silver cross necklace and earrings.

A text pops up, and you read it.

Dick Boss: Waiting out front in the car.

You: Just a few.

You slip on your shoes and spritz some body spray on, your favorite from Victoria’s Secret you save for special things, then slide on a pair of black heeled boots, contemplating putting on underwear. Did it matter what kind? It wasn’t like you’d had any dick since like college at this point. And you definitely weren’t fucking Gojo, since neither of you were interested.

You because you saw the girls he fucked. Him because… you weren’t ‘arm candy’. Or a dumb ass bimbo. Sometimes you wished you were, since they seemed sweet and happy in life, while you drowned.

Dick Boss: I’m waiting…”

Fucking Gojo. Ugh. You decide to slide on some lacy boy shorts, just in case that slit did go too high you’d have some coverage. Peeking one last time at the mirror, you had to admit you looked beautiful. You text Gojo.

You: Coming now.

You locked up and headed down the stairs of the apartment building, and there was Kiyotaka, Gojo’s driver, opening the door of the black limo for you. Kiyotaka, who somehow was your age now. That boggled your mind more than Nanami. Gojo wore people out, very clearly, but even you had it easier than Kiyotaka.

“My lady.” He said sweetly, and you smiled at him, sliding in, and there Gojo was across from you, long arms spread across the backs of the seat, his head rested back so that his throat was exposed. His head snapped down, and he looked right at you, no sunglasses, only those eyes. His lips parted, and you tensed, prepared for some lewd comment or rude one.

He blinked those white spiky lashes, arms sliding down as Kiyotaka shut the door, gaze taking you in ever so slowly, as if he had all the time in the world. You felt yourself holding your breath as it lazily traveled down and back up your body, clutching your little black evening bag tightly.

“You look…” He trailed off, shaking his head a bit.

“Thank you for the dress.” You cut him off. He exhaled, nodding.

“Of course. Consider it my birthday gift. You look… really fucking hot.”

You giggled at that. Not beautiful or breathtaking. But you’d take it. “Thank you, the dress is so beautiful.”

“Your body is that banging and you hide it like that?” He was somehow right next to you now, and you shiver a bit at the nearness. “I should reprimand you.”

You roll your eyes. “I can’t dress like this at work.”

“You sure the fuck can. I’m the boss, I say so.” His fingertips trailed down your shoulder, and it sent tingles through your body. Why was he so close? “I’m buying you a new wardrobe.”

“The fuck you are. I like to be professional, unlike you.” You smack his hand off errantly, and your bare shoulder grew cold without the touch.

“You do really look good.” You took in his outfit, a black tux, which fit his slim muscles perfectly. It was some shit Bruce Wayne would wear. Maybe Gojo was some super hero or villain. It would fit.

“You do too. You always do.”

“I know.” He winked at you, leaning forward to snatch up champagne and pop it, pouring you both glasses. You took one, letting the bubbles tickle your nose, taking a sip of the sweet drink, moaning softly and shutting your eyes.

“Delicious.” You lick your lower lip and find him a breath away. You don’t move, but you’re frozen, confused as he looks at you like he never has. “Satoru?”

“Are you really thinking of quitting?” He asked softly. You have never seen Gojo like this.

“How did you know?”

“I know everything, baby girl.” He gently runs his long fingers through your hair, a rare frown on his lips.

“Baby girl? The fuck, Satoru. Yes I was thinking of it, an seducing me is not going to change my mind. Is that the point of this?” You demand, irritated, and against your better judgement, fucking horny. His eyes study your own seriously.

“If that was my intention, you’d damn sure know.” Each word was bit out, distinctive, and his hand tightened in your hair, far too strong, yanking your head back. You scowl up at him, your hands clenched into fists.

“Oh, would I?” You challenged him, notching your chin up a bit. He laughed but it was without humor.

“How many women have you heard me fuck in my office? How many have you had to send home? You think I don’t know how to fuck the shit out of you if I wanted to. You wouldn’t even be able to walk.”

Gojo’s whisper was against your lips, and you could taste whiskey on his breath, mixed with his mints he constantly sucked on. He wasn’t touching you, but he was so close you could feel him…

“I won’t fuck you though, so what’s the point of even joking about it. You don’t want me anyway. Not your type.” He snorted, and one of his big hands came to your waist, touching the bare skin of your back and wreaking havoc on every sense you’ve ever had.

“You know my type?” You nod. His thumb brushed under your breast, an action that made the peaks of your breasts tighten, aching against the sequined gown. Damn if his gaze didn’t drop down. You cursed yourself. “The women who entertain me aren’t necessarily my type.”

“Hmm.” It grew difficult to focus. You sip your champagne, leaning back a bit, but Gojo’s grip stays. “It doesn’t matter. You’re talking out of your ass. Too much cocaine tonight?”

His grip tightened, and it made you gasp, looking up at his darkened eyes in the dim light of the limo. “I haven’t had any. I’m just pretty fucking irritated my best assistant wants to leave. You’re ungrateful.”

“Ungrateful!” You snort at that, tossing back the champagne and grabbing at his hand, his wrist, trying to get him off of you. “How the fuck, Satoru? I literally do everything for you!”

“And I pay you damn good!”

“I know. I’d rather be broke somewhere than do sixteen hour days. It’s my damn birthday and here I am!”

“As if you really had plans. You have no friends and no life.”

“Bullshit.” You grit your teeth, shoving at his hard chest. “That’s because I have no damn time! You think I wouldn’t have a boyfriend or something by now?”

“Maybe that’s your problem, why you’re so bitchy and stuck up all the damn time. You need to get fucked good.”

You slapped him then. Slapped your Boss. Slapped Satoru Gojo.

His hand caught your wrist, brutally squeezing, pale cheek just hinted with pink from your mark.

“Ring a little true?”

“I can get fucked if I want.” You yank your hand back.

“I didn’t say that. Clearly you can get fucked. It’s just you don��t even want to and you blame it on my hours, as if you were the type.”

“I’d fuck Nanami Kento if I had any damn time.” Gojo’s eyes widened at that, and his grip on your waist became brutal. “Yep. Sure would. He’s built as fuck, oh and he remembered my birthday. If either of us had time I sure would. So does that answer it for you?”

Gojo bared his teeth at her, a little blue vein in his temple popping out. Your heart beats in your chest, brutally, the thudding loud in your ears. “You… would fuck… Nanami… Kento?”

Each of his words were forced through his teeth.

Ah, you made him mad.

Good.

“Who wouldn’t? He’s hot.” You try to shrug casually.

“Out of anyone in the office?”

“Mmhmm.”

“Including me.”

You open your mouth to say yes, but you know it’s not fucking true. Of course you’d have fucked Gojo, if he wasn’t a dick boss, if he was just a dude…

Look at him.

“Cat got your tongue?” His free hand caught your chin, forcing your gaze to his piercing one. You gulp, licking your lips.

“No.”

“No, what?” His voice was a wicked caress.

“No… not including you. Goddammit. Is that what you want to hear? That I’m not blind? Of course you’re attractive, and you know it, stupid!”

He scoffed. “You’re childish.”

“You!” You shoved at him again, and he let you go, grabbing your glass and refilling it, watching you like a hawk. “It changes nothing. I am planning to leave. I will find a replacement, someone even better than me.”

“There is no one better.” He sounded sincere, a rare thing for Gojo, emotion cracking in his voice as he downed his own glass.

“You think fucking me will keep me as your damn assistant?”

“It’s worth a shot. I’m the best fuck there is.” He shrugged, some of that casual demeanor coming back, and you wanted to yell at your body for its reaction.

“It won’t happen.”

“Yeah? Why?”

“You’re my boss!”

“But you’re leaving.”

“I…”

“Hmm? You seem at a loss for words.” You scowl, looking out the window as the lights flickered by.

“Are we there yet?”

“Childish.”

“Says you!”

“You need a good orgasm. Or ten. Get you to be less of a stuck up nag.”

“I do not! And I am not!”

“You do, and you are.”

“I orgasm plenty, thanks!” You felt your body on fire at that, and Gojo couldn’t look more satisfied, like the Cheshire fucking cat, the grin as wide as it could go, running his hand through his silken white locks.

“Oh, do tell.” He practically purred.

“Cut the shit, Satoru. You’ve never talked like this in the years I’ve worked with you, where the fuck do you get off?”

“I get off in women. Or on them.” He shrugged, enjoying your open mouth, once again lost for words.

“You know I did not mean that!”

“Where do you get off? On a dildo maybe.” You blinked, eyebrows low in a scowl, wanting to hit him again. “No, don’t look the type. Maybe a rose toy. Hmm… or just these little things.” Gojo lifted your hand, already small but ridiculously small in his own, swallowed by him. “They don’t hit deep enough, do they?” His whisper shook you to your core.

You burned, breathless, as he held out his own hand to yours, fingers so fucking long they rivaled the length of a dude’s dick. Likely larger than the couple of dude’s in college, which was about all of your experience. He grinned as you stared on, palm hot and hard against your own.

“I… you…” You wanted to cuss him out. Quit right then.

You also wanted his fingers in you.

“I could get you off, put you in a good mood. We don’t have to have sex for that.” His hand took your own, putting your hand by your heat, between your thighs.

“Why… are you…act- acting like this?” You managed to breathe out, but you had no energy to move away from him, or shove his hand off. Because if you were being honest with yourself, you’d love to ride your frustration out on him.

“Maybe I realize how much I need you to stay as my assistant.” Gojo’s supple lips kiss down your jaw, firm but delicate, as his hand brutally grabs yours and shoves it against yourself, moaning in your ear. “Is my assistant already hot for me? Are you that easy to get wet?”

“Fuck off.”

It’s a whisper. You want it. And you hate him. You hate that your pussy is pulsing against your joined fingers through the barrier of your panties, that the moan in your ear made you wonder what he sounded like when he came. Gojo slid his own finger against your panties, pausing, moaning again, pulling back to look at you.

He was gorgeous.

Your chest rose and fell with your breath.

“Fuck.” He whispered, and something was just different. You saw Gojo with women, always so self assured. But something seemed surprised, vulnerable, when his long finger pressed against the damp sticky fabric, just grazing your clit. You arched your hips up, and his fingertip ran up slightly, pressing more, and Gojo’s lips were just a breath away…

“We’re here, Sir, my Lady.”

Fuck.

You two shot apart, and you struggled to catch your breath, adjusting your dress, gulping down one more glass for good measure. Gojo adjusted his pants, not even looking at you, clearing his throat. You cursed as you saw his tie.

“You can’t tie a tie for shit, Satoru.” You leaned over to him, pulling it apart gently and re-tying it. You noticed his Adam's apple bob up and down. He was quiet. Satoru Gojo, quiet. “There.”

“Thanks.” He said gruffly, and your eyes met.

What the fuck just happened?

Kiyotaka opened the door, exposing them to some cool night air, and you got out, curious just how the fuck this birthday night was going to go.

Chapter 2

Completed fic on ao3, will post chaps on here as well

https://archiveofourown.org/works/55424137/chapters/140629990

#jjk smut #jjk x reader #gojo x reader #gojo satoru #gojo smut #jjk gojo #gojou satoru x reader #satoru x reader #jujutsu satoru #satoru x you #satoru x y/n #gojo x you #gojo x y/n #satoru gojo smut #jujustu kaisen #jjk fic #gojo fanfic #CEO Satoru Gojo

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sweetheartedbylust · 2 years ago

Text

" a warm cup of milk " cuphead x reader

Yes this will be a fluff cause I need it rn . So cuphead Stan's rise up :)

* this is casino cups cuphead btw ! *

Warnings / none

———————————-

It was a normal night for you and your boyfriend cuphead as you sat down for your monthly movie night , because with all the time he spends working . You and him needed one day to spend with only each other doing whatever you wanted .

"Y/N?" Cuphead yelled from the living room as you quickly came down ,

" what's up ?" You asked as cuphead quickly answered. " get on over here doll , the movies starting " he said as he patted the spot next to him on the couch.

You came over and sat next to him as he pulled you close and you layed your head on his shoulder

" this is really nice after those long days at work " he said as he looked down and you and smiled

You couldn't help but notice that flutter in your heart .. it felt too good

The movie you decided to watch was * insert name * cause it was one of y'all's favorite. Almost like a comfort movie of some sort . You and cups also grabbed some snacks like cookies, chips , ice cream you know, all the essentials.

You loved when you and cuphead could be vulnerable with each other cause in hell it can be quite crazy with people so it was quite refreshing for both of you .

" you know how much I love you right cup?" You asked as he looked at you with pure adoration,

" of course I do , you know that " he said shoving some m&ms down his throat.

. You brought yourself closer to him and slowly made your way to lay on his lap

Cuphead looked down at you with a grin , " your so cute y/n " he said with a small giggle

* what am I doing lmao *

He leaned down and kissed your lips as you brought yourself up to meet him more .

After you both parted you took some popcorn into your mouth. And sat back with cuphead to watch the movie .

Finally you both had a nice time together, watching a movie and just appreciating each other .

————

Thanks for reading :)

#cuphead x reader #cupheadoneshots #cuphead dont deal with the devil #fluff #casino cups

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aventurineswife · 1 month ago

Note

Ahem. Ahem. Attention please! My beloved has opened her requests once more, n’ I will take this opportunity to slip in.

V Now get this, right? V

Imagine a scenario where the MC reads the room incorrectly; the boys lean in close for something else entirely besides a kiss but the MC is left anticipating for one. Would they leave them embarrassed? Or take the opportunity to grant themselves what they never realized they truly wanted with our MC?

(Sunday / Aventurine )

The Price of Bliss

Tags: Sunday x Reader, Aventurine x Reader, Fluff, Slow Burn, Misunderstanding, Gentle Romance, Subtle Humor, Emotional Tension, Vulnerability, Soft Kisses.

Warnings: Light Embarrassment, Misleading Anticipation, Internal Conflict, Minor Emotional Discomfort, Slow Development of Feelings.

The soft hum of the Astral Express filled the space as Sunday stood beside you, eyes tracing the stars that zipped by in the endless expanse of space. His scarf swayed gently with the motion of the train, its golden underside catching the faint light. The air between you carried an unspoken tension, born not of conflict but of something deeper, something unspoken.

"Could you hold still for a moment?" Sunday asked, his voice calm and airy as always, though there was an undertone of something you couldn't quite place. His hair shimmered in the light, the halo behind his head casting faint shadows on the wall.

You froze, nodding quickly. "O-of course," you stammered, wondering if you were imagining the sudden proximity between you two. He stepped closer, his feathered wings fluttering slightly—something you had come to recognize as a sign of his focus or unease.

Sunday leaned in, his gaze locked onto yours. His gloved hand reached out, and your breath caught. Was this... happening? Your heart raced, and you felt the heat rush to your cheeks. Surely, this closeness, this tension meant—

"Hold still," he repeated gently, his lips now dangerously close to your ear.

You squeezed your eyes shut, anticipation building, only to feel his fingers brush your cheek—not to cup your face, but to pluck a stray piece of fluff from your hair. He stepped back, holding the offending fluff between his fingers like a triumphant victor. "There," he murmured, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "That was bothering me."

Your embarrassment was immediate, and you avoided his gaze, mentally kicking yourself for jumping to conclusions. But before you could recover, Sunday tilted his head, his wings fluttering once more. "You look flustered," he observed, his tone tinged with curiosity. "Did you think I was going to...?"

You opened your mouth to deny it, but the words caught in your throat. The smile on his face deepened, not mocking but intrigued. "Hmm," he murmured, stepping closer once more. This time, there was no mistaking the shift in the air. "I hadn’t thought about it before, but..."

His hand moved to your chin, tilting your face up as his own leaned down. The moment stretched, the stars outside forgotten as he closed the distance—deliberately this time. The kiss was soft, tentative, and when he pulled away, his gaze held a warmth that hadn’t been there before.

"Interesting," he said, a faint trace of his characteristic melancholy lingering in his tone. "I think I’d like to explore this more." He stepped back, his expression returning to its usual serenity, but the faint blush on his cheeks betrayed him. "Shall we discuss it over tea?"

The lights of the casino shimmered, casting iridescent reflections across Aventurine's tailored coat. You stood with him at the edge of a high-stakes table, watching as he manipulated the crowd with his usual charm. His earring swung slightly as he turned to you, a sly grin playing on his lips.

"You’re a terrible liar," he said suddenly, stepping closer. His eyes sparkled with mischief, and the slight tilt of his hat gave him an even more devil-may-care look. "And even worse at hiding your tells."

You blinked, taken aback. "I didn’t—what are you talking about?"

He chuckled, a sound that sent a shiver down your spine. "Oh, come now," he murmured, leaning down so his face was mere inches from yours. "You’re blushing. You’ve been blushing all evening. Is it the thrill of the game, or..." His eyes flicked to yours, and your breath hitched.

This was it. This was the moment. The playful banter, the closeness—it all pointed to something more. You tilted your face up slightly, your lips parting in anticipation.

And then Aventurine reached behind you, his hand darting past your shoulder. He straightened with a triumphant smirk, holding up a chip that had somehow gotten caught on your collar. "Got it," he said, tossing it up and catching it with ease.

You stared at him, heat rushing to your cheeks. "I—I thought—"

"Oh, you thought I was going to kiss you, didn’t you?" Aventurine cut in, his grin widening. He stepped back, placing the chip on the table before turning back to you with a smirk that bordered on teasing. "Not everything’s a gamble, darling."

Your embarrassment was palpable, but before you could stammer out a response, Aventurine’s expression shifted. The playfulness gave way to something softer, something genuine. "But then again," he said, stepping back into your space, "I’ve always enjoyed a risky bet."

Before you could fully process his words, his lips brushed against yours—confident, deliberate, and leaving no room for misinterpretation. When he pulled back, the grin returned, but his voice was quieter this time, almost reverent.

"Looks like I just hit the jackpot."

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holylulusworld · 3 months ago

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Roll the dice (Prologue)

Summary: You’re in trouble, and it’s all your fault.

Pairing: Mobster!Steve Rogers x fem!Reader

Warnings: mafia au, angst, mentions of criminal activities, mentions of sickness, mentions of stealing, scared reader, bruises

You’re in trouble, and it’s all your fault.

Stealing from your boss wasn’t the smartest move. Even though you had no other choice.

If you hadn’t taken the money from him, your grandmother would’ve died.

She doesn’t have insurance and needed a life-saving surgery. You worked your ass off, juggling three jobs a day, only to not make ends meet.

When the doctor told you they were going to release your grandmother from the hospital to die, you had to do something—anything.

For only a moment, you lost your mind and did something you’d never have done if not for your grandmother. The woman raising you.

“Ah, there she is,” your boss chuckles when his right-hand man, the one everyone calls executioner, drags you inside his office. The man leans back in his expensive chair, legs spread wide as he runs his hands up and down his thighs. “Where did you hide, little runaway?”

You whimper, feeling another bruise form on your arm, joining the ones the executioner painted your body with. His hands are still covered in the blood of the poor motel owner who dared to try to stop him.

“Got her, Steve,” the man chasing you like feral dogs says as he pushes you toward your boss. Steven Grant Rogers. Stone-cold businessman in public, and merciless mafia boss in the shadows. “Tell me if you want me to get rid of the remnants.”

Sniffling, you surrender to faith. They don’t know about the reasons for your betrayal, and your grandmother is safe. An old friend agreed to take her in and care for her. She was always more than a good friend to your granny, and you know, she’ll keep her word.

Rogers rises from his seat to tower over you. He lifts your chin with his index finger to force you to look into your executioner’s eyes. “So, tell me, was it worth it stealing from me? Did you buy shiny things, a car maybe?”

“She didn’t have anything of value with her. Her car is a wreck, and she got kicked out of her apartment. The rat was hiding at the shadiest motel you can imagine.”

“Buck,” your boss nods. “Thank you for the input. Please bring me the box over there.” Steve says, still holding your gaze. He searches your face, enjoying the fear in your eyes and how your lips tremble.

“Got it,” Bucky gets a little black box. Instead of handing it to your boss, he places it in front of you. “I hope you enjoy the last moments of your life, little rat.” He chuckles before leaving the room.

“You know, I’m a player.” Steve flashes you a smile, but it doesn’t reach his cold blue eyes. “Rats like you have two options. You can accept your fate, and I’ll kill you fast, or you can open the box and take whatever punishment you’ll find inside.”

“What?” You furrow your brows. Steve Rogers will kill you either way. There is not a chance he’ll show mercy and let you go.

“I like to play,” he repeats. “I only play with people who didn’t steal from me for themselves or selfish reasons,” Steve smirks when you whimper again. “I know about your grandmother and where I can find her.”

You suck in a breath. “Please, I’ll do anything. Torture me, kill me. I don’t care.” You cry. “She didn’t know. I swear, Granny believes I got a promotion. Please…” You beg and plead.

“Well then, choose the box, and I’ll shelter your grandmother’s life,” he snarls. “If not, she’ll die with you tonight.”

Steve hides that he doesn’t kill grannies. He has standards and rules.

With trembling fingers, you open the box. All that you find is a red dice. It doesn’t look different from the ones you handled at the casino, though.

“Oh, the dice?” He smirks darkly and crouches down to cup your face. “You got lucky, doll. If you get a six, you are free to go.”

“What about the other numbers?” You whisper, afraid to speak louder. “Sir?”

“Every other number means fun for me,” he laughs as you make a face. “Go ahead, doll. Roll the dice.”

You grab the dice and roll it without thinking twice. Holding your breath, you watch it land on…

If you want to read more, we see us in 2025…

Read more here: Part 1

Tags in reblog.

#steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x y/n #x reader #mafia au #Roll the dice #mobster!steve rogers

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nxlx96 · 3 months ago

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The Boy Saviour - Oscar Piastri x Reader (she/her)

Hi, this is my first time writing x reader, and the idea came to me at 3am a few nights ago while i was trying to sleep and hasn't left me live ever since. This is also my first time posting on tumblr so bear the simple format.

Trigger Warning: Non-consensual drug use, as in, reader gets roofied in a bar (Not by any named character nor any of the drivers, so rest assured on that sense). There is also recreational alcohol consumption and a bit of off-camera violence.

WC: 8381

Also, this is more of a pre-slash story rather than a romantic one. That's all I have to say, I'll shut up and let you read.

Please let me know what you think!

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · · 𖥸 · · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Post race driver parties are not an uncommon thing, although it is much more frequent in the European leg of the season; when everyone is in the same country or near enough they don’t care for a few hours of commute -Today's crowd was composed of Charles, Oscar, Max, Lando, Alex, George, Pierre, Carlos and as a star guest, Daniel-. These parties were often the perfect way to try and unwind from the pressure of the season and to smooth out whatever incidents happened on track. A few passive aggressive interchanges, three shots and everyone’s usually back to laughing and buzzing along.

Tonight they had followed Charles’ recommendation and gone to a club in the more residential area of Monaco, away from the yacht club and the casino. It was still tightly packed with people dancing on the dancefloor and the bar was busy as the drinks kept on coming, but the people there didn't care much for them and they were able to enjoy themselves without worrying about having too many eyes on them.

They had a booth in the second floor alcove, allowing them an almost full view of the dance floor if anyone cared to look down, but they were too busy roughhousing and laughing. She’d gotten used to it, of course, having grown as a girl in motorsports it’s simply part of the package. But sometimes she still needed a break when they were behaving like that, because while they recognise her as a proper rival, a true competitor despite gender bias, being drunk they sometimes forget they have size and strength to their favour while having their fun, and their brawling and heavy shoulder slaps felt a tiny bit too annoying while tipsy. Overwhelming.

So she excuses herself to the bar, shaking the glass that now only tinkers with half melted ice cubes. She gets a few nods and a stray thumbs up but the chatter continues like before.

The layout of the club had the bar as the centerpiece gemstone, the first thing you see when you come though the main entrance across from the massive dance floor. The dance floor’s design is full of different height platforms, similar to those at Jimmy Z. Their booth on the second floor has a perfect view of all the first floor, except for the public entrance, which is right underneath it.

Coming down the stairs, she followed the platforms' paths that led her to the bar once again, choosing a stool to sit and wait for the bartenders to take her order.

On the wall to her left, the DJ booth rises itself over all the platforms in its own little block, colored lights sprouting from the base towards the right of it, in the corner between the bar and the DJ there is the smaller door they were escorted through, directly from the parking lot behind the establishment. On the opposite wall there's a hallway that leads to what she assumes are the bathrooms, judging by the long queue of women she can see standing in the hallway.

A tap on the countertop brings her attention back. The bartender asks for her order in French, and her basic understanding of the language allows her to order a raspberry mojito without spluttering too much. A sweet enough concoction to help smooth out the straight Vodka shots they downed back at the table.

In no time, a new clear plastic cup was placed in front of her. A tall cup full to the brim with rum and sparkly water. A mix of raspberry puree, lemon and mint sitting at the bottom. She grabs the straw and starts mixing the cocktail, but the ice floating on top, and the decorative mint leaves that float at the top threaten to overflow the cup when she does, so she has to take another bitter sip of almost pure liquor before actually enjoying the sweetness.

She rested her elbow on the bartop and her chin in her hand, alternating between swaying to the music, looking at the bartenders preparing fancy and complicated cocktails and looking around the crowd dancing on the floor. It wasn’t exactly a quiet place, but it did provide respite from the boys’ rowdiness. Occasionally there would be people who sat in the barstools next to her. Some of them made some sort of small talk while waiting for their drinks to be ready, but no one lingered in her space for too long, allowing her to unwind on her own.

♩ ♪ ♫ ♬ ♭ ♩ ♪ ♫ ♬ ♭ ♩ ♪ ♫ ♬ ♭

As a woman in life, you learn to know when to follow your instincts. Call it bad omen, gut feeling or sixth sense. Sometimes you subconsciously register danger before you see or hear something. In this case, she felt a tight coil in her stomach -looking back it might have been more of a natural reaction than not a bad omen-, her adrenaline spiked like she’d been in the car after miraculously avoiding a collision. Her hands trembled a bit as she sneakily tried to look around. There was a couple at the bar two seats to her right, too engrossed in each other to be the source of panic. As she swiped to the other side, her hand caught the straw of her cup, pulling it from inside. She tried to catch it but it rolled over the edge of the bartop, falling to the ground.

Fucking breathe!

Straw forgotten, she grabbed the cup and twisted around in her stool, swiping the room with her gaze. To her other side there was a group of friends rowdily chatting, no different from the drivers’ table upstairs. He made eye contact with one of them, a guy not participating in the conversation. He seemed embarrassed to have been caught staring as he turned red and avoided eye contact. Too shy, too far away, probably not that either. She started scanning the crowd on the dancefloor with her heart almost at her throat.

Without a straw, she was left to swirl the whole cup to stir its contents. No one in the vicinity was particularly close to her bubble, or paying special attention to her, but the sensation didn’t go away. Some movement from the group at her side made her tense up, but it was a small part of them that walked towards the dancefloor. Shy boy included. The ones left at the bar were immersed in conversation, crowding together to hear themselves over the music. So she relaxed again.

She’d been tilting the drink to her lips when she finally realised that her nearly melted ice cubes had sunk to the bottom of the cup, and the whole thing looked cloudy. Her heart stopped in her throat, closing her airways.

I’ve been drugged.

The realisation sinks in, but it feels unreal.

Is this really happening to me?

The glass is on her lips, and she tilts it back, but keeps her mouth sealed; knowing that whoever did it must be keeping an eye on her. Her jaw is clenched so hard it’s almost difficult to breathe. Her first instinct is to throw the whole thing on the ground, but it’s less than half full now. Whatever they put in it has been in her system for long enough. Her next thought is to notify the bartenders, but she hesitates before turning around. There had been no one near enough on her side of the bar to get close to her drink, and she’d kept her hand over it at all moments; but of course the rim was wide and there were gaps between her fingers where someone could have dumped something in. For now the bartenders are also suspicious. Twisting her arm, she sets the drink on the table behind her; uncaring now to leave it unsupervised.

The damage has already been done anyway. She figures.

Her heart rate does nothing to slow down, and her thoughts do not help at all. She is in imminent danger with no way out. She’d left her purse at the booth upstairs, and doesn’t have her phone at hand. She looks up in the direction of their table. Under the strobing lights she can see the crowd of drivers has dwindled down. She can distinguish Alex, George, Carlos, Max and Lando sitting up there; the rest of them might be somewhere in the dancefloor. The idea of trying to get the attention of the guys up there was also discarded, since it will alert her assailant too, and she has no guarantee it’ll get the guys’ attention. Trying to find the others in the crowd sounds just as impossible a task as to find a needle in a haystack.

Her hands shake. The safest alternative that comes to her mind is to run to the women’s bathroom. The crowd queuing in the halfway has reduced, and the hallway looks dark; but it’s her best shot.

Over the corner of her eye something catches her attention. A white button up shit that looks almost fluorescent under the black lights. The figure skirts around the dancefloor, following almost the same path she took to get to the bar, but it’s clear his destination is not the same, since he doesn’t slow down and seems to be aiming for the bathrooms instead.

“Oscar!” She yells before she realises. It might have sounded a bit too strangled, a bit too panicked, but it catches his attention. She’s reaching a hand out to him, and he extends his arm for her to grab as he gets close to her stool.

“Oh hey,” He looks sort of confused, and she doesn’t blame him. They do gravitate to the same groups, But they’re not particularly close friends, so her calling out feels awkward for both of them. “Didn’t realise you came here.” He gestures awkwardly to the bar, but she’s too relieved to have found a safe person she doesn’t even hear what he’s saying.

She jumps from the stool, holding onto his wrist. “Come dance with me!”

He hesitates “... You know I’m not-” She’s still not listening, she hesitates between abandoning her cup at the bar, but grabs it at the last second and turns back to him.

“Just one song, come on!”

“I was going to-” He tries again, but this time she digs her nails into his skin, and desperately tugs him with a trembling hand. He doesn’t put any more resistance, simply trailing behind her as she tries to find a pocket of space for them among the moving bodies. As she walks she feels her blood rushing to her head. She’s feeling too tipsy and woozy for the amount of alcohol she’s consumed; and whatever hopes the whole thing had been in her head crumble like sandcastles at the sensation of her bambi legs. But she has her way out caught in a deathgrip by the wrist, she can still get out unscathed.

As soon as she finds space for them, she stops and turns around to face him, getting close in his space to be heard over the loud music. She wraps Oscar’s arm she’d been tugging on, around her waist, in hopes he can hold her up in case her legs give out and wraps hers around his body too.

She can feel Oscar’s hand in her back, blindly trying to find a patch of fabric to settle on top of. His avoidance of the naked skin of her back settles a minute worry in her mind. Yes, he is a man. Yes, she would probably feel more comfortable coming to her own teammate for help. But Oscar is still safe, he won’t take advantage of her. He is safety.

“Are you sober?” Is the first thing that comes out of her mouth once they’ve settled their positions and start to loosely sway to the beat of whatever song is playing.

Oscar is looking more and more confused at the sudden serious tone of her voice and the way it contradicts the easy smile on her face. She’s still acting up like nothing’s wrong. “Uhh yeah, I came in my car.”

Oscar you blessed man.

“Great! I need you to take me to the hospital right now.” Oscar freezes completely and she tries to keep the easy smile on her face. “Someone put something in my drink and I think I’m going to pass out soon.” His face does something complicated, and one of his hands tries to go for the cup on her hand, but she moves it out of his path, tripping over her own heel in the process. He catches her before she can stumble.

“Why are you still-?” He looks tense in a way she hasn’t seen him many times, he instantly understood the seriousness the situation entails. She’s so glad he believed her, a worry she hadn’t even processed having.

Her confidence starts waving, there is not much time to explain and her voice shakes as she tries to fill him in. “You have to take it- I- I don’t know what they put in- The doctor can… I don’t know-” She feels like she's twelve again, trying to explain to her mother that she accidentally broke her favourite mirror and cut her hand. “They can analyse it or whatever,” she finishes lamely.

She can see it more clearly now, he’s not just tense, he’s angry. At her or on her behalf? She doesn’t know him well enough to be able to tell the difference.

“You’re so…” Careless. Irresponsible. Stupid. Her eyes fill with tears and he feels like a scolded child. “... smart.” He says instead, not following the script in her mind.

“I kno- Wait what?” He shakes his head, moving past the topic. His voice holds urgency now.

“Do you know who did it?” He’s looking past her, scanning the crowd behind her.

“No I- There was no one near except the bartenders… I-I didn’t know if they- A-and I didn’t know who to ask for help!” She sniffs, and clears her throat, swallowing around the tightness in her throat.

He notices her trying to maintain her composure, and smoothes out his expression. “It’s alright. You found me, and I will help you, okay?” In a very unlike-himself moment he wraps his arms closer to her, holding her in a loose hug. Maybe it’s the relief that comes from Oscar’s reassurance that makes her body relax, loosen up. She takes the moment to really get a deep breath, trying to regulate her heart rate, knowing an accelerated heartbeat will only speed the effect of the drug. The music is already hard to hear even with how the deep base thrums in her bones. She lets her head fall forward onto his shoulder and Oscar’s arms tighten around her like a vice, but when she stays standing up he relaxes. “Let’s get you out of here, yeah?” She’s pretty sure she just gave him a small heart attack, but she can’t really find the strength to apologize, so she simply takes another deep breath, this time taking in the smell of his cologne, and nods her head.

She steps back, trying to maintain balance on the small heels of her shoes, and allows Oscar to grab her arm to guide them through the crowd. It’s a bit scary, how fast she seems to be falling under the effects. What would she have done had Oscar not been there?

Oscar is aggressively polite as he makes a path for them towards the exit, loudly excusing them as he pushes through. She walks behind him, gaze set on his broad shoulders. They’re almost out of the crowd when she feels a hand closing in on her arm. She flinches and removes her arm before they can grasp her, and steps even closer to Oscar, almost stepping on his heels. “Oscar-” She manages in a squeaky voice, but he must hear her because he holds together and broathens his stride. The hands do not follow, only shoulder bumps as they make their way though.

They get out the doors in no time. The space outside is deserted, late enough that everyone is either at home asleep or inside the club. Oscar turns to her, scans her and points toward the side street that she assumes would lead them around the building towards the private parking lot. “My car’s this way.” She briefly looks back to the doors, but they stay closed so she nods. Maybe the hand was her imagination, or a simple accidental brush of a hand.

Her steps are still mostly steady but Oscar still keeps a hand on her left forearm, the warmth from his hand is a stark contrast to the cold air of the Monegasque night. The sweat that had layered over her body is cooling off rapidly as they round the building and by the time they’ve walked the length of the side street and caught sight of the actual parking lot, shivers have started to rack her up.

Oscar briefly lets go of her arm to fish the keys from his pocket and she instantly misses the warmth. Now untethered she slows her walking, paying a bit more attention to where she’s placing her feet. He clicks off the alarm and the navy blue McLaren Artura at the other end blinks its lights at them. “There’s our ride.” Oscar is smiling as he looks back, extending his arm for her again, but his eyes stray over her shoulder and the expression freezes in his face.

A hand wraps on the arm that Oscar hadn’t been holding and it feels nothing like the Australian's careful and grounding hold. It burns as it takes a bruising hold of her and tugs her to the side. She stumbles with the force of it, body already feeling too close to a ragdoll to comfort. Her voice is strong but not steady as she demands, “Let me go.” She tries to back away from the foreign body, but her ankle gives up and twists painfully. She stumbles but holds her stance and tries to push away from the nasal french voice speaking at her in a sultry voice. The arm that had been trying to push away from the tall man gets caught from the wrist. The drink sloshes and some of it spills over her fingers and onto her dress.

Just as he’s starting to use his weight against her, a body steps in between them. She collides with Oscar’s shoulder a bit, but her right arm is freed, and she pulls it back towards her. “Get your fucking hands off.” She has never heard him sound so angry. His accent has deepened like she’s never heard before. But he is still gentle as he wraps a hand firmly on her left arm. She can feel him pulling the guy’s hand and prying his fingers open to release her. She uses his back to support herself as she helps pull her arm free from those thick fingers.

Once freed she stumbles back again, but the Aussie has a firm hold on her and keeps her upright. The guy tries to go around Oscar to get her again, and over the driver’s shoulder she looks at his face for the first time as Oscar pushes firmly with his forearm to keep him away. Tan complexion, prince-y dark hair and a well groomed beard.

In any other circumstance she would have said he was attractive, but now she can only feel nauseous at the fake nonchalant smile the guy is sporting. With her muddled brain she half understands he’s trying to excuse this as a misunderstanding. He catches the words ‘friend’, ‘together’, ‘mine’ and ‘drunk’. She has no idea if Oscar even understands what the guy is saying, but he seems set on getting him away from her.

After a more forceful shove that makes the assailant stumble back, Oscar looks over his shoulder and lets go of her, pushing her towards the parking lot. “Get in the car.”

She nods dumbly as she turns in the direction where the lights flashed earlier. The parking lot is only mildly illuminated, but it’s enough for her to be able to locate the Artura among the other luxury cars parked there. There are more confrontation sounds coming from behind, and what sounds very much like a hit, but she doesn’t look back. All her attention and remaining brain power is going to try to reach the car at the end of the parking lot. Her right ankle throbs painfully with each step, and the uneven terrain makes it three times harder, because when the fuck did the pavement turn to gravel?

She leans on a pink Porshe 911 as her legs buckle, the McLaren is right there. There’s the sound of another car starting up, more yelling but she’s already rounding it from behind towards the passenger door. The sound of angry screeching tyres spinning out without traction in the gravel grinds her head and the pain in her ankle is too much; her right leg gives out completely, the other one follows shortly and she’s going down. She tries to drag her hand on the car to find a purchase on something but there’s nothing other than the squeak of her sweaty hand on the polished paint. Her knees take the brunt of the impact, and it stings.

The angry car has sped off, and she’s pretty sure she hears it clip the wall of the sidestreet. She takes a deep breath and lets herself fall seated against the car, knees to her chest, back to the door. Dumly, she notes that the cup still has some liquid on it, its red is just as dark in the low light as the small pinpricks of blood on her knees.

She registers footsteps getting closer to her, and for a second her heart rate speeds up again until she hears her name called by a worried Australian. She bangs her head against the door, willing herself to keep her eyes open as she answers back. Oscar’s footsteps speed up and in no time he’s kneeling in front of her, warm hands on her biceps as he looks over her body. He brings a hand to remove stray pieces of hair from her face and she can see a hint of blood on his knuckles.

“Are you okay?” The words are out of her mouth before she can stop them.

🏎🏎🏎🏎🏎🏎🏎🏎🏎🏎🏎🏎🏎

Oscar cannot believe his ears. “How am- Are you forreal?” An incredulous chuckle escapes him because this girl, shivering on the floor with scraped knees and blown out pupils, who almost got kidnapped by a stranger in a foreign country, is more worried about him than about herself. He shakes his head and wipes his knuckles, showing her the unbroken skin. “I’m alright, see?” Her eyes scan his hand for a second too long before nodding. Her head bobs in a sleepy manner, and he knows he has to hurry. “How are you feeling?”

“Tired,” She’s breathing heavily, but Oscar can’t be sure if it’s an after effect of whatever drug the asshole put in her drink or the exertion of the situation. “My ankle hurts,” He looks down at her feet, still clad in heeled slippers with a complicated ribbon. Neither of her feet looks particularly swollen or bruised for now. “I’m scared…” Her voice is much softer, almost a whisper, but in the emptiness of the parking lot at night, it almost seems to echo.

He grabs her arms again, rubbing up and down “It’s okay, it’s over now.” She keeps shivering under his arms and Oscar doesn’t know if it’s the cold or shock starting to settle in, “Can you walk?”

Her eyebrows furrow and she tilts her head in a terribly adorable gesture, “Walk where?”

“We need to get you into the car”

“But-” She slaps the back of her hand against the car, “I’m here”

Oscar can’t suppress the smile, “Yeah, but unless you’re planning on driving, we need to get you around the passenger side.”

“... Fuck.”

“Force of habit, yeah.” He grabs onto her forearms. Her skin feels cold and sticky with dried sweat. “Come on, let’s get you up.” She pulls alongside him, but as soon as her right foot is firm on the ground, she makes a face and he takes more of her weight as she falters, her other leg not cooperating much.

“Oscar” The slugginess in her voice makes the R in his name sound much breathier. “I don’t think I can walk.”

“Alright, well-” He bends down and swipes her legs off the floor, holding her in a princess's carry. She makes a strangled sound and her arms come to grab at his shoulders. The cup tilts dangerously but she rights it just in time. “Much easier this way.” He makes his way over to the passenger seat and bends his knees to open up the door, depositing her in the seat. “Ah look!” Wedged right in between the seat and the door, is a hoodie he’d abandoned maybe a few days ago. He pulls it and sets it on her lap, taking the cup from her hand. “Think you can get it on by yourself?”

“Mm-hm”

“‘kay, you do that while I figure out where to keep this.” He closes the door and rounds the car again to his seat, looking around the small space to find a safe place to place it without spilling what little liquid remains on it. As his companion wrestles with the fabric, she kicks an abandoned water bottle. “Bingo.” He leans down to grab it. A small shake reveals to still have stale water he poured out of the window before pouring in the remaining cocktail into it. He screws the lid back on and keeps the cup too, just in case. He drops both items in the footrest of the passenger before looking at the occupant. She’s relaxed into the seat, and her eyes are closed. Fear creeps in for a second, “Ready to go?”

thumbs-upHe gets a thumbs up in response. Still conscious it seems. He reaches over and pulls her seatbelt on, knowing he will ignore all speed limits to the hospital. After a second of consideration, he shakes her arm until she’s blinking up at him. “Try to stay awake, yeah?” He grabs his phone, to call Lando. It hasn’t been longer than 10 minutes since he left their table, but he needs someone to call the police on the guy, and let Lando know he needs to get a new ride. He looks at his companion, she’s looking at his phone as it rings in his lap. “If you feel like throwing up let me know, yeah?” He says as he pulls out of the parking lot.

“m’not throwing up.” Her angry eyebrows are back.

“Okay, then you can help me explain to Lando-” Just then, the Brit’s voice comes through the car speakers.

“Heeellooo? Mate did you get lost on your way back or what?” He’s half yelling to hear himself over the music. It’s a miracle he even heard his phone ring.

“No, I’m taking the Alpine princess to the hospital.” He sneaks a look at her as he accelerates down the narrow monaco streets. She’s still awake, biting her lip as Lando processes the words.

“You what! What happened!? The fuck Oscah?”

He’s about to start explaining, but she speaks up “Some guy spiked my drink, I found Oscar and he got me out.” He has to keep his eyes on the road, but he can see out of the corner of his eye how she cuddles up into the seat. “I’m alright… Pinky promise.”

“Lando, listen, I need you to get Charles to call the police.” The traffic light up ahead has turned yellow, but Oscar doesn’t slow down. It’s the middle of the night and there are no other cars around, so he floors it right as it turns red. “I’ll give you a description, and his license plate. I need you to report him to authorities.”

“Fuck.” He says, eloquently. “Yeah I-” There’s a bit of silence from him, but the music is still humming loudly in the background. “I think I see Charles upstairs, I’ll go get him now.” Oscar can hear him speaking to someone, but it’s muffled like he lowered the phone. Almost a full two minutes later he speaks up again. “Kay, got Charles and Pierre here. They want to know if you’re really okay, sprout?”

Oscar is slowing down for a curve. Because as much as he would love to go as fast as during the actual race, he doesn’t know these streets as well, so he has to be careful. The silence stretches for too long, and as he turns to look at her again, he finds her completely asleep.

“Shit, she passed out.” He presses harder on the gas pedal, Lando curses too. “He tried to grab her when we were getting to the parking lot. She twisted her ankle and scraped her knees, but other than that, she’s physically alright.” Streets and buildings blur as he speeds by. “Asshole was as tall as George or Alex. Lanky and tan. Dark hair, beard. I broke his nose, and probably his cheekbone before he ran away.” As he approaches a speed bump, he throws his hand over her chest to prevent her from flying around.

This time it’s a new voice, Charles “He took off running?”

“No, in a car. Porsche 911 Turbo S, Dark green.”

“Did you get the license plate?”

Of course I did, who do you think I am?

“M3T9. He busted a backlight as he drove off, if that helps.”

“I will get on it, do not worry he will not get away.” Despite the noise, Oscar can hear how dark Charles’ voice becomes, and he remembers that Charles is a very prominent figure here; the prince of Monaco who is friends with the actual prince of Monaco.

“I’ll leave you to take care of him, then.”

“Yes yes, I will get him. You just get the petite poupée to the doctors, yes?” He has no idea what that means but it sounds like an affectionate nickname.

Oscar nods to himself in the car, “We’re already here, she’ll be alright” He can see the URGENCES sign of the Centre Hospitalier Princesse Grace. He eases his foot off the pedal, as he turns into the mostly empty parking lot.

“Keep us updated!”

“Will do.”

The call disconnects and he’s left to pick a parking space that isn’t reserved for ambulances. Once he’s turned everything off, he turns to her and shakes her arm, calling her name to try and wake her up, but it’s futile. She’s breathing deeply, sound asleep. He rounds the car and opens her door. He leans over her legs to grab the bottle and scoop under her knees and in the process he discovers she did not manage to get both her arms though the sleeves of his hoodie, and that her right is still tangled inside. He almost huffs a laugh at that. Almost.

Picking her up again feels different than when he did it 10 minutes ago, because her body is too lax, too malleable. This time she makes no sound when he hoists her up, and her head lulls back, stretching her neck over the arm he has under her shoulders. She looks and feels like a ragdoll in his arms as he stands up and uses his elbow to drag the door down and closed; he quietly seethes at the thought of her being like this in the hands of such a vermin.

How anyone could find such an unresponsive body attractive is a question he doesn’t even want to think of. Instead he stops to adjust her neck, letting her head rest on his collarbone instead of the previous uncomfortable position and fixes the hood over her head to cover up her face. It is the middle of the night, but he has learnt that every wall has eyes and that everything can and will be posted online. He has nothing to hide his face with, but protecting her identity in a moment of such vulnerability is his only priority in his mind after getting her help.

He’s careful of pushing the doors with his shoulder. The reception is empty except for the receptionist behind the desk. He sighs inwardly at that. The woman looks up and stands up immediately upon his arrival at the desk, his French skills are nonexistent, so he wholeheartedly hopes she understands English. “We were at a club and someone put drugs in her drink.” The woman nods once, so Oscar takes that as a sign that she does and continues. “She passed out in the car while driving here, like five minutes ago.” He’s not as oblivious as to think he looks innocent holding a dead looking girl, and the face of the woman, carefully stoic, sets his nerves on fire.

“Did she say what was put in it or who did it?”

“No, but she asked me to bring what was left of the drink, because she said you could analyse it to treat her,” He sets the bottle on the counter and hikes her up in his arms. “She’d thought it was one of the bartenders, but as we were getting to the car the guy came and tried to take her by force.” He omits the part where he punched him and instead lets his trump card subtly show. “My friend Charles has already called the police to report the assault.” Despite how common it is, the name must register in her mind, because she makes a double take, between Oscar’s face and the face half hidden in his chest. “Please help her,”

“Of course we will help.” She shakes her head like the thought of them refusing attention was a personal offence. She presses a button behind the counter and rounds the desk to take a better look at the girl in his arms. She produces a penlight from a pocket and gestures towards her. Oscar twists to allow her to get closer. “How long ago did she consume the drink?”

“Uh…” The nurse opens one of her eyelids and flashes her light, studying pupil reaction. “I have no idea, she found me around 15 or 20 minutes ago, she’d already realised by then and didn’t drink the rest of it, but I don’t know how long it was.” He can hear footsteps from behind, another nurse is coming from the personal hallway. “She started shivering too, but I don't know if it was cold or shock. I gave her my hoodie and it has stopped now, at least.”

The woman nods, and as the new nurse comes closer, she starts -hopefully- translating what he’s said in rapid French. It’s like watching Charles, Pierre and Lance gossip during drivers’ parade. The bottle is handed too, and when the exchange ends, the new nurse takes a cursory look, stops at Oscar’s face and mumbles something back before continuing their path towards the next hallway.

“We will get a room set up for her, do you want me to bring a wheelchair in the meantime?”

“No, I’m alright.” She’s deadweight, but not as heavy as Oscar would have imagined, he’s also trained enough during his life, he can hold a few more minutes. The receptionist goes back around the desk and starts asking questions about her for what Oscar assumes is a registry sheet. A new concern sparks in his mind, and he accidentally interrupts one of her questions with his own request. “I don’t know if I’ll be allowed to stay with her, but could you at least make sure she doesn’t get a male doctor?”

Her serious and stoic facade falls at that, and for a second she reminds Oscar of his own mum. “I’ll make sure of that, and I do think you might be able to stay with her. It’ll help her to see a familiar face waking up.” She gives him a reluctant smile and resumes asking if he knows her blood type.

The other nurse comes back just as they’re finishing, and leads him to a room where they’ll be treating her. As he lowers her from his arm, he remembers to mention a detail he’d forgotten. “Hey, uh- Her ankle… She said it hurt, and might have twisted it.”

The nurse nods, and answers in a much more prominent accent. “We will take x-ray of it. Your hand is okay?”

Oscar looks back to his hand. There’s redness on his knuckles and a bruise is starting to form around the bones, but he flexes his fingers a couple of times and it only stings a bit. “No, I’m okay, thanks.”

“Okay, now you wait outside, I call when ready, yes?”

“Yeah, thank you.”

He closes the door behind him and walks to a nearby bench, using the time to update Lando via text. In return he gets told that Charles stormed off the bar, Pierre, Carlos and Daniel in tow. The rest of them are deciding how to carpool home; and that everyone will keep the situation under wraps, including whoever Charles has contacted. He says that Alex will be stopping by the hospital soon, to drop off her forgotten bag and phone and whatever else she’s left at their table.

The receptionist nurse passes by Oscar in the way to her room and lets him know they’ll take her for an x-ray; and that after that, he might wait inside her room if he wishes, in turn he lets her know he will jump out for a second because another friend will bring her stuff from the bar. The woman nods and gives him the number of the room they will take her after the x-ray for him to come back.

His phone rings just as they’re rolling her bed out. He only catches a glimpse of an IV line connected to her arm before they wheel her down the corridor, he too turns away.

Alex is waiting with his emergency lights on. When he sees him come out of the doors, he gives him a tired smile. Oscar leans against the door and they stay in silence for a while. It’s colder out now, or at least it feels like that now that adrenaline is no longer coursing through him. The light sweat he’d worked up earlier is drying cold against his back. He raps his knuckles against the blue paint of Alex’s car, bringing the Thai’s attention to his bruised hand.

“I heard you broke his nose?” Alex’s tone is teasing, if maybe a bit impressed.

“Got a couple hits, yeah.” Oscar closes his fist, the skin tightens over his bones. The memory of a bone cracking under them probably shouldn’t feel as satisfactory as it did. “Should’ve done more.”

It comes much more bitterly than he’d expected, and Alex places a hand over his wrist, patting him “You did more than any of us, don’t beat yourself up.” He reaches to the passenger seat and pulls a small handbag and Oscar spots a jacket hung behind the seat. “You cold?” Alex must have seen his eyes stray, and as he pulls it from its perch Oscar notices the Williams logo on it.

“Nah mate, I’d rather be cold.”

“Ah, come on I can’t let the boy saviour freeze tonight.”

“No, no, never in a million years you’ll catch me wearing Williams merch,” He grabs the handbag and steps away when Alex tries to push the jacket into his arms too. They’re both laughing as the jacket falls to the ground and Alex is left half hanging off his window to grab it. Oscar watches him struggle for a second or five before deciding to have mercy; so he grabs the jacket and stuffs it in Alex’s face, turns on his back and starts walking back to the doors so he can’t attempt to hand it to him again.

“Oscar!” Alex calls between fabric and laughter, and Oscar turns just in time to catch a juice bottle headed straight to his face. A second one follows right after, he fumbles with it since both his hands are occupied, but he manages not to drop it, Alex snaps his fingers in faux frustration at that. “Take care of her!” He says as he starts his car again.

“Will do, mate.” He watches as Alex drives away until his tailgate lights disappear behind a wall, just then he turns back into the hospital. As he makes his way back, he rearranges the stuff in his hands; he holds the purse under his arm since it doesn’t have any straps, and studies the bottles. Alex had gotten orange and apple.

Which one would she prefer?

He has no idea, really. He always sees her drinking either water, isotonic drinks, or energy drinks. Apples or oranges? There is a new receptionist at the desk, and when Oscar rattles the new room number, he is directed to the elevators with instructions to the second floor where lower grade emergencies are treated.

He only has to wait around 10 more minutes before she’s wheeled back in. The initial receptionist seems to be the one assigned to her, as she is the one that stays and explains to Oscar that there isn’t any fracture in the ankle. It seems like just her soft tissue was affected and she’ll get by with wearing a brace and sports tape for a few days. The lower half of her body is covered by the sheets while his hoodie covers the rest. One of the sleeves has been pushed up to make space for the IV, and Oscar can see that her foot is resting on a couple of pillows to keep it raised. Her shoes are in a little cubby under the bed, cubby to which he adds her purse.

He gets told there isn’t much they can do about the drug except keep her hydrated and let her body work it though, because it has already been absorbed by her bloodstream, along with the alcohol she’d consumed. But that the sample analysis revealed it to be non-threatening, it’ll just leave her with a nasty hangover. Despite the slight pessimistic tone, the information leaves him relieved, and he relaxes into the chair he’d sat to wait. He thanks the nurse and watches as a new person in different colored scrubs, carefully and efficiently wraps her ankle in neon blue sports tape.

Before long, he’s left alone with her, with instructions of pressing the call button if anything happens, but to try and rest because it could be hours before she wakes.

He tries to keep himself busy whilst keeping an eye on her. He messages Charles with the name of the drug that was put onto the drink, and the only answer he gets is a demon emoji, a fist emoji, hands clapping and another fist. Confused, he simply reacts with a thumbs up. He updates those who have messaged him to ask about her condition, but doesn’t go further than that. He settles on drinking the orange juice, and leaves the apple one in the bedside table next to her bed, scrolls through social media for a while and checks up on her again, but it has been a long and eventful day, and when his eyelids become too heavy, he doesn't fight them very hard.

🏎🏎🏎🏎🏎🏎🏎🏎🏎🏎🏎🏎🏎

Waking up feels like a heavy G crash. There's a pounding in her head that goes at the same tempo as her heart, and it takes conscious effort to take a deep breath. There's a slight throbbing on her bicep, on the wrist of the opposite arm and a sharper throb on her right foot.

She's laying sideways in a soft enough bed and there is little light from what she can see through her eyelids.

But it doesn't smell like her bed at all.

Instead there's the smell of a different laundry detergent, artificial minty eucalyptus shampoo and a herbal mix. It smells distinctly like men, and the unfamiliarity of it makes her heart race, worsening the pounding of her head.

There's a blank in her memory when she tries to remember the previous night. She knows she was going out with some of the Monaco based drivers, and that she'd abandoned the table at some point. That's where everything starts to get fuzzy.

There are flashes.

A body close to hers in the dancefloor. The cold air outside the club. Falling into the gravel. Hands roughly grabbing at her, and a french accent. Falling asleep in a car.

Panic really does settle in at this point, and tears blurry her vision when she opens her eyes; but the room is nothing like she expects it to be. She's in a single bed, and there is a heart monitor that is displaying her rabbiting heartbeat. A saline drip that is halfway empty connected to the back of her hand.

A hospital?

The light is warm and dimmed, seemingly coming from a lamp behind her. She looks down at herself and finds a hoodie that is not hers, and totally is the source of the smells; but looking under it’s collar reveals the same dress she wore last night.

She slowly turns her head, still wary of the raging headache. The overhead lights are off, and her foot is propped on a pillow under the blankets. She wiggles her toes and twists her ankle. A sharp pain sparks, but it's not unbearable.

The other side of the room is half hidden by the glare of the lamp that makes her blink before her eyes adjust to the light.

A figure is sitting in a chair, sound asleep and covered with a blanket identical to hers. Oscar’s arms are crossed across his chest and his neck looks like it will hurt when he wakes up.

More memories rush to her mind as she turns fully to that side; Lando's voice over the speakers of the car, Oscar's worried face in the dancefloor, his broad back as he pushed another man from her. The light is low, but she can see a bruise forming on the hand where Oscar is holding a half full bottle of juice.

Slowly, she registers the smell of stale car and something so uniquely Oscar that brings tears back to her eyes.

“Oscar?” Her voice is low, croaky and shaky, full of tears when she speaks. But the reaction is immediate, he's awake in a second. His head snaps back into the right orientation and he clutches the bottle in his hand. Maybe she should feel guilty for waking him up, but that is a too complicated emotion to think of right now, instead there is a pool of relief as he meets her eyes, and an immense amount of trust as he whispers her name and detangles himself from the blanket to get close.

“You're okay, you're okay.” It's obvious he doesn't know what to do about tears, his hands move around uselessly and he looks so constipated it's almost funny. “Are you hurt anywhere? I can- I can call a nurse?” His hand finally decides to hover over a call button at the side of her bed, but she claps hers over his instead, and attempts to dry her face with the other.

“No, it's okay. I'm- I'm okay,” She hiccups again, and his other hand comes to rub up and down her arm; an action that also feels familiar and warm. “Thank you, Oscar.” Her voice is still choked up, but very earnest. She squeezes his hand and he squeezes right back.

“You don't have to thank me,” She wipes her eyes again and looks back up at him, he's giving her a half smile that pushes a dimple into existence. It's such an adorable new discovery that she can't help the rush of emotions that comes. She lets go of his hand and sits up to pull him into a hug.

“The fuck you mean i don't have to thank you!?” It sounds half muffled against the fabric of his white shirt. “You saved my fucking life, Oscar” His hands come to wrap around her back and tears spring up again at the thought of what could have been. “He could've-”

“Shhh, let's not think about that, yeah? You're alright and that's what matters.” His hands rub circles between her shoulders, “Charles took care of everything else.”

“What’s that mean?” She sniffs, trying to keep the tears from soaking up his shirt.

“I have absolutely no idea, but he knows people who can hide his crimes, I'm not worried about him.” I'm worried about you, “How are you feeling?”

She takes another deep breath. The smell of eucalyptus and laundry detergent is stronger when it comes from the source. She lets go and wipes her face again with the sleeve of her -his- hoodie. “My head hurts and my ankle stings, but I'm alright,” Thanks to you. “I just feel very hungover.”

“Here,” She hears the shake of liquid, and upon removing her hands, Oscar's is offering an unopened bottle of apple juice. “Alex got us these.”

She grabs it and pouts at him, “It's my favourite. Thank you.” The last line comes out more charged than intended, but that's alright because she doesn't think she'll be able to stop thanking him anytime soon.

Oscar simply smiles like he knows, he lightly shakes his head and starts filling her in on what happened after she “fell asleep” as he says. She has no idea what time it is, but there is no rush right now, she's safe and in good hands, and when sleep starts lapping at her feet, she lets herself be swiped by the tide because she trusts Oscar to be there when she wakes up again.

The end.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · · 𖥸 · · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

well, if you got here, i want to thank you for reading this the whole way through. as i said earlier, this came to me at 3 am and did not leave my head again, so i had to bring it to life. i hope you enjoyed despite the slightly dark topic.

from my research, i learned that not some drugs are undetectable to the naked eye, so always be aware of your drinks and who is close to you. i hope this story stays as a fictional thing and that none of you ever have to deal with something like that.

taka care and thank you again for reading!

Love,

Nini.

#oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri #formula 1 #f1 #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic

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satellite-evans · 2 months ago

Text

champagne problems

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x reader

Summary: Charles and you endure champagne problems.

Word count: 3.7k+

Warnings: angst, based on the Taylor Swift song.

A/N:

I’m here yet again with another fic for the folkmore series, this time with Charles and one of my favorite songs champagne problems!! Hope you will like it xxx

English is not my first language, so I apologize if I made any (grammar) mistakes. Feedback, requests, talks, vents, recommendations or just simple questions are always welcome.

Happy reading xxx

I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site.

Monaco, December 24th, 2024.

The air was bitter, the kind that cut through your layers and sank deep into your bones, leaving a sting in its wake. Snowflakes drifted from the sky, delicate and fleeting, landing softly on the stone streets of the city. The Mediterranean breeze twisted around the towering buildings like a whisper, and the scent of saltwater clung to the crisp air, mingling with the rich, earthy fragrance of pine from the nearby trees. It should have been a postcard-perfect scene, like something you’d seen in the movies. Streets lined with glittering lights, windows glowing with warmth, the soft hum of Christmas songs drifting from hidden speakers in the corners of the square.

It should have felt magical.

But you stood still, numb, feeling the cold deep in your chest—not from the temperature, but from something much more hollow, something far deeper. It felt as though the weight of the world had settled onto your shoulders. The joyous atmosphere around you, the laughter, the chatter—it all felt so distant, so alien, like a dream that was slowly slipping through your fingers. You should have been swept up in it, should have been laughing, should have been smiling as you stood here, in the heart of Monaco, your heart bursting with excitement for what was to come. But you couldn’t. The warmth of the season only made the emptiness inside you more evident, more painful.

You were standing in Place du Casino, the world seemingly alive around you—tourists and locals alike, clutching steaming cups, their eyes bright with holiday cheer. Some of them were caught up in the magic, others were just passing through. But you? You felt like you were watching them from a distance, like you didn’t belong. The sound of laughter, the clinking of cups, the festive music that had once made your heart flutter—now it only stirred a painful knot in your throat. It was beautiful, almost too beautiful, but there was no joy to be found in it. It felt suffocating. Stifling. A stark reminder of everything you were losing.

Because you knew.

You had been here before, in this very place, years ago. With him. With Charles.

The man who had once been your everything.

The man you had once believed you’d spend forever with.

But forever had never come.

Charles had swept you off your feet back in college—he had been the one who saw you, the quiet girl who preferred the corners of the room, who shied away from crowds. He had found a way to love you that was both overwhelming and gentle. He was your safe place, your anchor, the person you thought you could always turn to. He had been there for every up, every down, standing beside you through the lowest points of your life, offering a love so pure you sometimes wondered if it was real. You had built a life together, sharing quiet mornings, spontaneous trips, and whispered dreams. He was the constant you never thought would change.

But something had shifted, over time. Something you couldn’t pinpoint at first, but that had slowly grown until it felt like an insurmountable chasm between you. The smiles had become more forced, the touches more distant. The moments of laughter had been replaced with silence, the kind of silence that felt so loud you could hear the echoes of every unsaid word.

And now, standing in this winter wonderland, surrounded by the lights and laughter, you could feel it more acutely than ever. You had been expecting tonight to be the night—the night he would ask the question you had been waiting for. He had planned it all: the perfect dinner, the perfect view, the perfect moment. You had imagined it a thousand times. A proposal beneath the stars, a promise to be together forever. This was it, wasn’t it? This was supposed to be the culmination of everything you had built.

But it wasn’t.

Because when he had looked at you tonight, his eyes full of hope, full of expectation, you had felt nothing but dread.

The ring was heavy in his pocket, and you had seen it when his hand brushed against yours earlier. The moment you’d been waiting for, for years, had arrived—but it had been swallowed by a suffocating truth: you didn’t want it anymore. You couldn’t take that next step, not with him. Not when the love that had once burned so brightly had dimmed into something cold and distant.

You wanted it to be different. You wanted to feel the joy everyone else seemed to be basking in, the excitement of a life-changing moment. But instead, you felt like you were drowning in the heaviness of it all. The weight of a future that no longer felt right, of a love that had become a shadow of what it once was.

And that was the hardest part.

The hardest part was knowing that, in the deepest part of your heart, you still loved him. But the love that had once been a fire was now little more than a flicker in the dark, and you were terrified to admit that it was fading, slipping through your fingers like the snowflakes falling around you.

Tonight was supposed to be the beginning of forever. But you both knew, deep down, it wasn’t

Earlier that day.

The morning had arrived with a heavy, unsettling stillness in the air, a quiet pressure that you couldn’t shake, no matter how hard you tried. The feeling settled in your chest, like an invisible weight pressing against your ribs. You had woken up with a knot in your stomach, one that didn’t make sense. Everything around you had seemed perfect—Charles had been so full of life, so full of hope the night before. His excitement had been infectious, a bright spark in the cold, and you had desperately tried to match his energy, to slip into the joy of the occasion, to feel the same way he did. But beneath the surface, something was wrong, something that you couldn’t explain or put into words.

You had tried to ignore it. You had tried to push it aside, to pretend it wasn’t there. But it lingered, the storm cloud in your chest that refused to dissipate.

You spent the day preparing, as expected—how could you not? The evening was going to be everything, a night you both had imagined for so long. A night so carefully curated, with every detail planned down to the smallest moment. The gown was beautiful—simple, elegant, the kind of thing you knew would look perfect in Monaco's polished streets. You’d stood in front of the mirror, watching the fabric settle around your body, knowing it made you look beautiful. Charles had even helped pick it out, and that should have felt meaningful, special, but instead, it only served as a reminder that you were caught between two worlds—one of polished perfection and one of unspeakable doubt.

Your makeup was soft, the way he liked it—light and understated—but as the brush touched your skin, you couldn’t help but feel like you were hiding behind it, like the layers you were putting on were also covering up the truth inside. The scent of your mother’s perfume lingered in the air, sweet and familiar, but it only brought memories of a time when everything had seemed simpler. Now, it felt like you were drowning in those memories, suffocating under the weight of them, as though they were the only thing left holding you to a life you weren’t sure you wanted anymore.

Still, you smiled. You smiled because you had to. You smiled because he needed you to, because the man who had been so eager, so in love with you the night before, was waiting downstairs, his heart full of hope and expectation.

And yet, even as you stood there in the mirror, your reflection staring back at you, you felt like a stranger.

Something was slipping through your fingers, and you could no longer ignore it. The distance between you and Charles had stretched, ever so quietly, like a crack running through the foundation of something you once thought was unbreakable. His presence had always been a comfort, a constant you could rely on, but now, lately, it felt more like an absence. It wasn’t that he had changed, or that he had done anything wrong. It was you—you were the one who had changed, who had become distant, unsure. You felt like you were slipping away from him, becoming someone he no longer understood, and no matter how hard you tried to reach out, no matter how much you tried to hold onto the version of you both once knew, it felt like the distance between you was growing wider by the day.

It was too much.

Too much to bear. The pretending, the hiding.

You could have told him. You could have stopped the charade right then and there. You could have said the words, finally admitted what had been building in your chest for so long—that you weren’t sure you could keep pretending anymore. That the weight of carrying this fragile illusion, this love that no longer fit, was becoming unbearable. But instead, you held it in, swallowed the truth like you had so many times before.

So you smiled. You forced the smile that didn’t reach your eyes, that didn’t touch your soul, and you walked down the grand staircase of your apartment, your steps heavy, each one pulling you further from the person you used to be. Ready to meet him. Ready to pretend.

Because, at least for tonight, that’s what you had to do. Pretend.

Back in the square.

The world around you felt like a blur, a dream you couldn’t wake up from, as though you were hovering above it all, disconnected from reality. The laughter, the chatter, the clinking of glasses—all of it seemed so distant, as if muffled by an invisible wall. It was as though you were watching life unfold from behind a thick pane of glass, unable to touch or reach it. And then, in the midst of that hazy, detached feeling, you saw him.

Charles.

He was walking toward you through the crowd, his face a mixture of excitement and nerves, so familiar and yet so far away. His tousled hair was perfect tonight, a slight wave that somehow made him look even more effortlessly charming. His eyes sparkled with that same brightness, the same gleam that had first caught your attention all those years ago, that had drawn you in and made you believe in the possibility of forever.

But now, as your gazes met, it was as though time slowed down. Everything you had been holding back, everything he had hoped for, collided in that single moment. It was supposed to be beautiful—his love, your love, everything you had built—but instead, it felt like an illusion. A moment where the past and future tangled together, but neither seemed real. Nothing felt like it belonged anymore.

He reached you, and his smile was warm, so full of love and anticipation—but beneath it, you could see the uncertainty, the fear. He took your hand in his gently, like he was afraid you might slip through his fingers if he didn’t hold on tight enough.

"You look amazing," he whispered, brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear. His touch sent a shock through you, but it wasn’t the warmth you had once felt—it wasn’t the feeling that had once made your heart race. It was a reminder, sharp and painful, of everything you had lost, of the person you used to be when you looked at him with the certainty of love, of belonging. But now? Now, his touch felt like an anchor, pulling you down into a place you couldn’t bear to be.

He led you into the center of the square, where a small group of friends and family waited, their faces glowing in the soft light of Christmas decorations. They were all smiling, their voices light as they chatted over glasses of champagne. The air smelled of pine and cinnamon, the soft hum of carolers in the background filling the air with warmth. The entire scene was beautiful, almost unbearably so. It was the perfect setting, the culmination of everything Charles had been planning, everything he had dreamed of.

This was it.

Your heart thundered in your chest, a loud, rhythmic pounding that drowned out the music and the conversation around you. You could feel the weight of every pair of eyes on you, the quiet expectation in the air. You had been with Charles for years—long enough that it should have been easy, natural. But now? Now, you couldn’t even look at him without feeling like you were drowning, suffocating under the weight of what he was about to ask. You had already known, for so long, that you weren’t ready for this. That you weren’t sure you could keep pretending, keep lying to both him and yourself. But you had smiled. You had nodded. You had let him carry you to this moment, all while knowing you couldn’t escape it.

The thought of saying yes made you want to crawl out of your own skin. It felt like suffocation. And the thought of walking away, of breaking his heart, felt like something far worse—a sharp, twisting pain that cut deep into your soul.

And then, as if in a dream that you couldn’t control, he dropped to one knee.

"Mon amour," he began, his voice thick with emotion, "You’ve been my best friend, my partner, my love, for so long. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I want to build our future together. Will you marry me?"

The world seemed to stop. The bustling square fell into an eerie silence. The champagne glasses stilled in the air. You could hear nothing but the rapid, uneven beat of your own heart, your breath shallow, trapped somewhere between your chest and throat. You stared at him—at the ring he was holding, gleaming under the soft glow of the Christmas lights. It was beautiful. It was everything he had dreamed of.

But when you looked into his eyes, all you saw was a future you couldn’t be a part of. You saw the man who had once been your whole world, who had held you close in moments of joy and despair alike. And yet now, you couldn’t reconcile the woman you were with the woman he thought you were. You were so tired—so incredibly tired—of carrying this weight, this expectation, this illusion of a future that no longer fit. You were someone he couldn’t reach, and you weren’t sure you could keep pretending you were.

"I’m sorry," you whispered, your voice barely audible against the silence that had descended. "I can’t."

It was a punch to the gut. A brutal, hollow punch. You watched the light drain from his face, the warmth in his features evaporating as confusion and disbelief took its place. His eyes searched yours, as though hoping to find something that would make this make sense, some explanation he could cling to, something that would reassure him that you were still there, still the person he thought you were. But you weren’t. And you couldn’t be.

"I love you," you choked out, your voice cracking, "but I need to be alone right now. I need to fix myself. I need to find myself. I can’t… I can’t marry you."

The silence that followed was deafening. The crowd, once vibrant with excitement, was now frozen in shock. You could feel the weight of their gazes, the disbelief and the hushed whispers. But it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered but the hollow echo of your own voice, the steady ache in your chest that refused to go away.

With a final glance at Charles—at the man who had once been your everything—you turned away, walking away from him, from the life you had once thought you would share, from the future he had dreamed of. And as you walked, the world felt colder, emptier, as if you had left behind everything that had once been so full of promise.

The aftermath.

The following days in Monaco were a blur, each one blending into the next like the pages of a book you couldn’t bring yourself to finish. Christmas came and went with all the cheer that the season should bring, but somehow, everything seemed muted, distant. The festive lights that had once felt like tiny sparks of magic now seemed to flicker weakly, the warmth of their glow faded. The streets, so vibrant and alive just days before, now felt hollow, as if the life had been drained from them along with your own.

The whispering started immediately. It wasn’t surprising, not really. Monaco was a small place, where everyone knew everyone, and stories traveled faster than the sea breeze. But knowing it was coming didn’t make it any easier. It wasn’t just the subtle, sidelong glances in the cafés or the knowing looks passed between strangers in the markets. It was the words. The cold, sharp words, laced with judgment and pity.

You heard them everywhere. "Poor Charles," they would murmur behind their hands, their voices filled with exaggerated sympathy, as though he were the victim in all of this. "How could she do that to him?" they’d ask, as if you were some kind of monster, as if you had ripped his heart out for no reason. It was painful, but it didn’t hurt as much as you thought it would. Maybe you had steeled yourself, prepared for the backlash in a way that left you numb to it all. You couldn’t deny it—there were times when the weight of their words crushed you, when the sting of their judgment felt almost unbearable. But they didn’t know. They couldn’t possibly know.

“She was never good enough for him anyway,” one woman had said, shaking her head as she passed you on the street, the words cutting like a knife. "She was always a little unstable, wasn’t she?" someone else added, louder than necessary, almost as if they wanted you to hear. "She would've made such a lovely bride, what a shame she's fucked in the head," they said as if they were speaking about the truth.

It wasn’t your mental health that made you walk away, but their words never let you forget the hurt they tried to lay at your feet. It wasn’t about being unstable. It wasn’t about failing in any way they could quantify. No, it was about a truth you hadn’t been able to face until that moment in the square, when everything came crashing down in an instant. It was about realizing that you were no longer the person you had been when you and Charles first met, that you had lost something inside yourself long before that night.

And Charles? He disappeared. Completely. You tried reaching out, at first—texts, calls, the occasional message left unanswered. But you never heard back. And after a while, you stopped trying. What was there to say? How could you explain to him that the love you’d shared was no longer enough to keep you from suffocating under the weight of expectations, both his and your own? How could you explain that the person he thought he knew, the person who had loved him with all her heart, was gone? You couldn’t.

You didn’t blame him for the silence. How could you? What could you possibly say that would make sense of the mess you had left behind? The pain, the heartbreak—you could feel it in every empty space where his presence used to be. But it wasn’t just the silence from him that hurt. It was the loneliness that began to settle in, a deep, gnawing kind of loneliness that made you question whether you would ever be able to fill the hole he had left behind.

But there was something else, too. Every night, as you walked through the quiet streets of Monaco, the city’s glittering lights reflecting off the water and the chill of winter biting at your skin, your heart would feel heavier, sinking lower with each step you took. You missed him. God, you missed him. The sound of his laugh, the way he looked at you with so much love, the feeling of his hand in yours, steady and sure. But no matter how much you missed him, you knew, deep down, that you couldn’t go back to him. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

Not while you were still a stranger to yourself.

The thought of being with him again, of putting on that smile and pretending like everything was okay, like everything could go back to the way it was, was unbearable. You couldn’t offer him the love he deserved, not when you were still tangled up in the wreckage of your own heart. You needed to find the girl you once were—the girl who had been whole before all of this, before the doubts, the fear, the slow unraveling of something that should have been forever. You needed to find yourself again before you could even think about being with him.

And so you walked. Every night, through the empty streets of Monaco, you walked. You walked because it was the only thing you could do. The only thing that made sense in the chaos of your mind. You tried to find pieces of yourself, moments of clarity, in the quiet of the night, under the cold winter stars. You tried to remind yourself of who you were before him, before the love you had shared became a heavy chain, pulling you deeper into the murky waters of doubt and uncertainty.

But it wasn’t easy.

Some nights, the emptiness felt suffocating, like the weight of the world was on your shoulders, and you were carrying it all alone. You had loved him so fiercely, so completely, and letting him go had been the hardest thing you had ever done. But you knew, even in your darkest moments, that it had been the right thing. It had to be. Because as much as you loved him, you knew that you couldn’t be the person he needed while you were still lost. And maybe, just maybe, there was a chance that when you found yourself again, you could be the woman he deserved.

But for now, that was all you could do. Find yourself. Learn to breathe without the weight of his absence pressing down on you. And hope, with every step you took, that someday, somewhere, you would learn how to love again.

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