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smileysuh · 1 month ago

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hotel california

🌙 starring. Choi Seungcheol x afab!Reader

🔮 preview. “Time is a funny thing in this place. I know it’s been days, weeks, years even- that I’ve been here, but I don’t know for how long. I eat, I sleep, I drink- I repeat. I don’t grow old, I don’t get sick. I just am. It’s fucking boring if I’m behind honest with you, or at least it was. It’s been a while since we had someone new show up at the hotel, and even longer since that someone was as gorgeous as you.”

tw/cw. Unprotected sex, fingering, pussy eating, blow job, roughhousing, dirty talk, praise, finger sucking, multiple sex positions, spanking, mentions of pain kink, mentions of masturbation, breast worship, watching yourself in the mirror while you fuck, etc… I pet names: (hers) gorgeous.

👹 rating.18+ explicit I wc. 9.9k

🍭 aus. Non idol au, strangers to lovers, song as inspo, etc..

☀️ mlist + an. I’ve wanted to tackle ‘The Hotel California’ song by Eagles for ages, and after months of thinking about how to do it best, I think I finally did it justice. I wanted to also draw some inspiration from the tv show ‘The White Lotus,’ with the first season (and the first season’s Hotel Manager) being particularly interesting to me. I’m really excited about this fic, and I hope you guys enjoy it!

One:

Driving across the Californian desert after a twelve-hour shoot had not been your plan, but being double booked by your agent had left you with little choice in the matter. You’re still a blooming model, and you can’t yet afford the luxury of easy flights- no, you have to do it yourself, and it’s determination that’s driving you as you speed down the highway with the sun beginning to set.

You’re exhausted, and you can feel your body beginning to tire from your long hours, but you push on. In an effort to keep yourself awake, you put on some music, doing your best to focus on the long winding roads as you take the liminal path between one civilization to the other.

It’s a pretty drive if nothing else, at least as the sun sets, but once the purple and pink sky has faded to black, the whole thing feels monotonous.

You yawn loudly, pushing harder on your gas pedal. There are no cops out here this deep in the desert, and if it saves you even ten minutes to speed, it will be well worth it.

It’s hard to concentrate, and you can feel yourself getting drowsier and drowsier, your eyelids getting heavier with each passing breath, but you’re in too deep to pull off on the side of the road.

Your body is relaxing, succumbing to the exhaustion. Your eyes begin to close- and just as you’re on the precipice of falling asleep at the wheel, your car makes a rough sound.

Body lurching with anxiety, your heart thumps wildly in your chest, and once again, your car makes a noise it shouldn’t be making.

With a loud groan, you slowly pull off to the side of the road, and that’s when the engine begins to billow smoke out from under your hood.

You reach for your phone, only to find it’s dead, and with a loud, “Fuck!” you get out of your car.

It takes you a second to remember how to pop the hood, after all, you’re a model, not a mechanic. As the hood lifts, a gust of hot smokey steam flairs up at you, and without your phone to use as a light, you can only rely on the rays of the moon to guide you as you fiddle with your car on the side of the road in the middle of the desert.

After five minutes of panic, you decide to give up. As you look around, you realize there’s a light in the distance. It’s a faint light, but a light nonetheless.

You return to your car, sitting there for a while as you decide what to do.

Leaving your vehicle on the side of the road isn’t exactly the best-case scenario, but neither is staying with it overnight- you’ve heard that the desert can get cold when the sun goes down, and you’re already feeling chilly.

You weigh your options. After a while, you collect your things from the trunk and begin to make the trek down the long desert road toward the lights that symbolize civilization of some sort.

Two:

“Welcome to The Hotel California,” a peppy man smiles when you approach the front desk.

It turns out the lights you’d seen from your car had belonged to a cute one-story terracotta hotel. You didn’t realize there were hotels along this stretch of road, but relief floods through you as you approach the man whose badge says ‘Jeonghan. hotel manager.’

“Hello,” you smile, releasing a sigh. “My car broke down a little ways up the road.”

“Well that’s not very good,” he frowns, empathizing with you.

“I need a room for the night, and I’d appreciate it if I could use a phone to call for someone to come and look at my car in the morning,” you explain.

“I can get that settled for you,” he assures you, writing something down in the notebook in front of him. “A room for one?”

“Yes, it’s just me,” you confirm.

“Name?”

You give him your information, reaching into your bag for your credit card.

“We won’t need any form of payment until check out,” Jeonghan assures you. “Anything you eat or drink or do will be added to your tab, and you can deal with it another time.”

“Thank God, you have no idea how exhausted I am.”

“I’ll have our bellhop escort you to your room and help with your bags,” the hotel manager smiles. He waves over a man, whose nametag reads ‘Seungkwan,’ and with another nod and a grin to you, the manager watches you walk off.

You take a moment to look around. While the exterior of the hotel had been very rustic, the interior is Art Deco. There are many mirrors, and the lobby has a few red velvet couches strewn about. It’s actually kind of cute for a hotel in the middle of nowhere, and you’re thankful you’d come across it.

If your car had broken down even five minutes before, you doubt you would have seen the lights of The Hotel California, and then where would you be?

Three:

You wake as light peaks through the blinds of your room. With a yawn, you sit up in bed, immediately reaching for your phone on the bedside table.

Although you’d plugged it in to charge the night before, the screen is still dead.

Your heart sinks in your chest, and with a groan of exasperation, you stand up.

After putting on clothes and making yourself feel presentable, you head out in search of the lobby, where you find Jeonghan behind the front desk as he had been last night.

“Hi,” you greet him. “I was wondering if you have any news about my car?”

“We called a towing company, they had to come out from the nearest town. No word yet on what’s wrong with your car or how long it will take to fix.”

It’s hard to hide your disappointment as you release a deep breath. “So… I’m stuck here.”

“It would appear that way,” Jeonghan smiles politely.

As you’re about to leave, you remember the other point of contention on your mind, and you turn to look at the hotel manager again. “I tried to charge my phone last night, and I’m not sure if it’s a problem with my charger or your outlet, but it didn’t charge.”

“I can take your phone for you for now, and I’ll see if one of the chargers or outlets we have here will work,” he suggests.

You stare at him. The idea of giving up your phone doesn’t sit right with you, but at this point, you’re too tired to care. Although you’d gotten sleep, your body still feels exhausted- how many hours had you even gotten in bed?

“What time is it?” you ask.

“I think it’s time for you to get a watch,” the hotel manager teases.

“Right…” you trail off, pulling your phone out of your pocket to hand to him. “Please get this back to me once it’s charged, I’ve gotta call my agent and maybe rearrange a mode of transportation or something.”

“Go relax and I’ll deal with all of this,” Jeonghan assures you. “We’ve got a morning buffet in the dining room just down the hall, I suggest you go and get your strength up.”

“Thank you.”

You follow his direction down a few corridors to a dining room. It’s a lovely space, with one line of glass walls that look out at the desert. The style choice is as art deco as the lobby, and while you’d found it charming at first, you’re already getting sick of the mirrors everywhere.

A large table lines the far wall, and there are many silver trays with food on them. Heading over there, you find a plate and begin to choose what you want to eat.

As you make a dish for yourself, you look around, noting that there aren’t very many guests in the hotel. You suppose that it’s a very odd location for a hotel, and its remote nature is probably the reason you only see a handful of people around.

Once your plate is full, you approach one of the many empty tables, taking a seat and looking around once more.

There are two men dressed in suits, and you immediately assume they’re in business of some sort. You wonder what they’re doing here of all places, but you don’t dwell on it for long, not when you notice that their table is covered with plates.

They’re both rather lean men, so you wonder how they plan to eat all the food in front of them, but you decide not to be a person who pries. After all, you’re only going to be here a short time, you don’t have to care about what others are doing around you.

Your gaze shifts to a man seated near the windows. His hair is dark and curly, and he has a pair of glasses on. His gaze is focused on a book in his hands, and you notice the only thing on his table is a lemon water.

For some reason, he gives you monk vibes, and you wonder how a man so young and attractive can be so peaceful in his way of living.

The hair on the back of your neck prickles, and you realize someone is watching you. There’s a man in the corner of the room, and on second glance, you realize he’s next to a record player. He stares at you for a few seconds, then lifts an entire bottle of whiskey to his lips.

He makes you uncomfortable, and after that, you just focus on your own plate, repeating to yourself that this will all be over soon.

Four:

After breakfast, you head back to your room, and when you get there, you’re surprised to find both your laptop and all your charging cords are missing.

You scramble through your bags, hoping you just misplaced them- but no, your electronics are gone, and it makes your heart race with anxiety.

You all but run back to the lobby, but when you arrive, Jeonghan is not there.

Looking around, you realize there’s a bar set up in the corner, and you quickly make your way over, stopping in front of the bartender. “Hi, I checked in last night, my car was having issues, and then so was my phone- I gave my phone to your hotel manager to charge, and when I got back up to my room my laptop and charging cords were gone-”

He stares at you blankly, and you read the name on his shirt.

“Look, Joshua, I just need help. I need something. I have to call my agent, I have to do something-”

“Have a drink,” he suggests, lifting a bottle of tequila from behind the bar.

“I don’t need a drink,” you groan. “I need my phone, I need my laptop, I need my car- I need you to help me sort this out!”

“Calm down, gorgeous, Joshua just works here, you’re not going to get a lot of help out of him unless you want a mean cocktail.” A deep voice makes you turn, and you find yourself staring at the man who you’d seen by the record player at the buffet earlier.

He’s still carrying his bottle of whiskey, but it’s only about half full now.

“He works here, so he should know what to do or who to call-”

“Like I said, the most you’re going to get out of him is a wine and steak pairing recommendation,” the man in front of you laughs. “I’m Seungcheol, by the way.”

You tell him your name with a sigh, and you don’t miss the way his gaze rakes up and down your body.

“So what’s your story?” he asks.

“My car broke down, I walked here, my phone is dead, my laptop is stolen, I’m having a really shit day.”

“Sounds like it.” He brings the bottle of whiskey to his lips, taking a large gulp. “Maybe you should take Joshie’s advice and have a drink.”

“What I need is a nap,” you state. “I’m going back to my fucking room, to have a fucking siesta, and when I’m done, that fucking hotel manager better have my phone charged and my car fixed.”

Five:

You have no clue what time it is when you wake up from your nap, all you know is the sun is beginning to set and your whole body hurts. You groan to even sit up, and you realize you feel as exhausted as you had this morning before your nap.

Are you getting sick?

Deciding you don’t have time to dwell on the state of your body, you head to the lobby, where once again, Jeonghan is nowhere to be seen. So instead, you head to the bar, where the ‘Seungcheol’ man is sitting and chatting with Joshua.

You take the seat next to him and he turns to look at you with a grin.

“Hi, gorgeous, how was your nap?”

“Uneventful,” you state. “Look, I need a ride to town.”

“Which town?”

“Any town, I don’t care, I just need to get out of here.”

“Well, I don’t have a car.”

“You don’t have a car?” you stare at him in shock.

“Nope, just a motorcycle, and I doubt all your shit would fit on it.”

“I will literally leave ‘my shit’ here and come back for it once my car is fixed.”

“Well…” Seungcheol taps his fingers on the bottle of whiskey in his hand. “My motorcycle broke down on the way here.”

You blink as you look at this man. He’s stunning, with a strong jaw, broad shoulders, curly hair- but fuck, he’s a bit dense. “Well?” you ask. “Was it towed? How long have you been waiting for it to get fixed?”

Seungcheol only grins, taking a sip of his whiskey. “A while.”

For some reason, the way he says it is ominous. You don’t know if he’s playing with you, or what- but you’re done with all of this bullshit.

“I’m going to bed again,” you announce.

“Didn’t you just wake up?”

“I am going to bed!”

Six:

When you wake up the next morning, the first thing you do is go to the lobby. You can’t help the relief that floods through you when you see Jeonghan standing behind the front desk.

“Thank God,” you almost laugh with triumph. “Do you have news about my car? Or my phone? Also, someone stole my laptop yesterday!”

“Unfortunately I have no news about your car, and it seems none of the chargers are working with your phone,” Jeonghan frowns.

It feels like the breath has been knocked from your lungs. “What?”

“Also, I don’t know anything about your laptop, but I’ll look into it.”

You’re tired of this hotel manager taking charge- tired of being at this Art Deco hotel in the middle of butt fuck nowhere.

“You know what, I’d like to check out,” you tell him. “I’d like to grab my things, call a taxi, and just go to the next town and wait for my car to be fixed.”

“I’d love to help you with that,” Jeonghan says, “but unfortunately there are no available cars to take you to the next town.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, no taxis come out this far, you couldn’t bribe them with a hundred bucks to come grab you.” Jeonghan laughs as if what he’s just said is a joke. “And unfortunately all the actual cars on the property belong to people who work at the hotel, all of whom are on shift and can’t drive you.”

“Can’t I wait till someone’s off shift?”

“Everyone on shift lives here in the staff quarters and I can assure you that no one wants to drive to the next town, which is over two hours away, after a twelve-hour shift.”

“So…” Your heart is racing. “What are my options?”

“Well, you can check out if you’d like,” Jeonghan says, “but unfortunately, I don’t think you’ll be able to actually leave the premises unless you walk, which would be very dangerous.”

“Fuck. Give me my phone back.”

You watch Jeonghan reach down and pull your cell out of a drawer, and then you snatch it from his hands.

“Have a lovely evening!” he calls as you turn and storm to the bar.

“What was that about?” Seungcheol asks as you come to stand next to him, releasing a breath of exasperation as you set your hands on the bar top.

“Joshua, give me a bottle of something.”

“What do you like to drink?” the bartender asks.

“Anything.”

“Looks like you’ve changed your tune, gorgeous,” Seungcheol grins next to you.

“I’m going to get drunk, and then I’m going to walk back to civilization if it’s the last thing I do.”

You note the way Seungcheol’s expression falters. “For real?”

“Yes, for real.”

Joshua places a bottle of tequila on the bar and you snatch it up, flicking off the lid and taking a large chug.

“I don’t think this is a good idea,” Seungcheol muses. “He doesn’t either, do you, Joshie?”

“I just work here,” Joshua shrugs.

“Unless one of you wants to drive me back to town, I’m walking!”

You can feel Seungcheol studying you, and then he sighs. “Fine. I’ll go with you.”

“I never asked you to come.”

“But I’m coming anyways, it wouldn’t be responsible to let a cute girl like you go out into the desert alone. There are aliens and shit.”

“Sure there are,” you roll your eyes.

You have a few more sips of your drink, getting yourself jazzed up for this- and then, you turn to look at the door that leads out of The Hotel California. “Okay, let’s get out of this fucking hellhole.”

Seungcheol releases a chuckle, shaking his head, and then he stands, following you out into the desert beyond.

The first half hour or so is you walking with determination, but as time ticks on, you begin to falter.

“Finally ready to turn back?” Seungcheol asks.

“Why did you even come with me?” you snap.

“I told you, it wouldn’t be safe to send you out here alone.”

“Because men who ride motorcycles really care about safety,” you roll your eyes.

Seungcheol only laughs, and he says nothing else, allowing a silent trek for another hour or so.

Is it an hour? Fuck, you can’t really tell. There are no clocks, no phones to check the time- you have no clue how long you’ve been out here, and anxiety is beginning to bubble up in the pit of your stomach.

Then- just as you’re feeling close to your breaking point, you see lights in the distance.

“Oh my God! We made it!” you practically scream, turning to look at Seungcheol, who doesn’t seem nearly as excited as he should be.

Your pace picks up, in fact, you begin to run toward the light, toward salvation-

You’re out of breath, your muscles screaming at you, but you push on… and that’s when you realize, these lights are familiar.

The excitement begins to die down, and when you’re close enough to see the source of the lights with clarity, you sink to the ground next to the highway in shock.

Gravel and sand crunches as Seungcheol comes to join you, standing a foot away.

“But- that’s- that’s the hotel!” you say.

“It is.”

“But- we went straight! We followed the highway! How are we back here again?”

You’ve never felt defeat like this, and you’ve been rejected by modeling agencies a number of times in your career. This is something different, it’s not just a momentary lapse- this feels more permanent, it feels more otherworldly, and you can’t wrap your head around any of it.

“I think…” Seungcheol releases a sigh. “I think it’s time I told you a few things.”

Seven:

Seungcheol had insisted on going back to the bar to get a bottle of whiskey before divulging into a conversation with you. As you’d entered the lobby, Jeonghan had called out a bright ‘welcome back!’ and you were too defeated to acknowledge him.

You feel like a shell of a person as you lead Seungcheol back to your room, collapsing on your bed. “What the fuck is going on?” you ask.

“This is all going to sound a bit weird,” he admits.

“Weirder than us walking in a straight line for two hours only to find ourselves right back where we started? I doubt it.”

Seungcheol smiles, shaking his head a little as if this whole situation is somehow humorous.

“I think… everyone is stuck here.”

“Stuck here?” you question.

“You and I, we have similar stories. I remember driving my motorcycle, something happened, I pulled over, and then I saw this place,” Seungcheol explains. “I’ve talked to a few people who live here, and they all have the same story.”

“I don’t understand- Seungcheol,” you swallow thickly, “how long have you been here?”

“You see,” Seungchol chuckles, but there’s a sad note to it, “Time is a funny thing in this place. I know it’s been days, weeks, years even- that I’ve been here, but I don’t know for how long. I eat, I sleep, I drink- I repeat. I don’t grow old, I don’t get sick. I just am. It’s fucking boring if I’m behind honest with you, or at least it was. It’s been a while since we had someone new show up at the hotel, and even longer since that someone was as gorgeous as you.”

You can’t believe he’s taking this opportunity to flirt with you, so you pull yourself back on track. “Someone has to know how long we’ve been here,” you insist.

“No one I’ve talked to knows.”

“Well,” you take a breath. “I want to talk to those two men, the ones in suits who are in the buffet.”

“Why?”

“They strike me as the kind of men who would know things,” you tell him. “I can feel it.”

Eight:

You find the two men where they always are in the buffet. Tonight, they’re playing chess, using up a large table so the space not covered with the game board can be full of food and drinks. You still wonder at their glutenous ways, but that’s not why you’re here right now.

“Hi,” you say, trying to be friendly despite the day you’re having.

The two men look up at you, then at their chessboard.

“I’m Y/N, and this is Seungcheol,” you introduce yourself only to be met with silence. “What are your names?”

“Jun. That’s Minghao,” one of the men says dismissively.

“Do you guys happen to have the time?” you ask next.

They’re both quiet, and it’s making you angrier by the second, but you force yourself to keep your cool.

“Would you guys be able to tell me how long you’ve been here?

Still silence.

You look around for that man you’d seen, the one with glasses and a lemon water, but he’s nowhere to be found.

“Look,” you kneel down so you’re about level with the seated men, lowering your voice. “I just got here, something weird is going on, and I need answers.”

The two men exchange a glance, and it’s Jun who finally turns to you. “We won’t discuss this in the open.”

“Come to our room,” Minghao sighs. “But don’t make it obvious you’re following us.”

You wonder why the theatrics are necessary, but with a nod, you and Seungcheol move away. You take a seat at a table across the space, and after a few minutes where the two men converse in whispers, both stand up.

You wait for them to leave, and after a few seconds, you and Seungcheol slowly follow.

Jeonghan watches you cross the space, and that’s when you realize why these men are being so weird. This hotel manager has an odd hold on everyone in this place.

When you make it to Jun and Minghao’s room, they open the door for you, saying nothing. As you enter the space, you’re ready to bombard them with questions, but when Jun moves to the coat closet, pushing fabrics aside, all your words die in your throat.

The entire wall, which had just been hidden, is covered in small tally marks.

“We were keeping a tab with a pen and paper, but the cleaner kept taking it away,” Jun explains. “I don’t think they want us to keep track of time.”

“And these tallies-” you begin.

“They mark the days the two of you have been here,” Seungcheol finishes.

“But,” you swallow thickly, “that’s thousands of days- that’s years!”

“Over sixty years,” Minghao says quietly.

“How can this be real?!” you ask. “You both don’t look a day over thirty.”

“When we’d arrived here, we weren’t,” Jun says sadly, “but that was in 1963.”

“Nobody grows old here,” Minghao tells you, “because we’re in Hell.”

“So you both think that pansy hotel manager is the Devil?” Seungcheol scoffs.

You can see Minghao’s eyes immediately narrow in annoyance. “We just mind our own business, and we suggest you do the same.”

“Have you ever confronted Jeonghan?” you ask.

“Nobody confronts him,” Jun says sheepishly. “I guess, even though we’re all in Hell, lots of us are… scared of the consequences.”

“Well, he already took away my phone and my laptop,” you sigh, “I guess I have to be the man in the room and go deal with this.”

Nine:

After spending the night thinking about it, you decide as the sun comes up that you’re going to rip the bandaid off.

Everyone in this fucking hotel is so evasive, but you’ll take this head-on. You’re a twenty-first-century woman, and you’ll be damned if some hotel manager ruins your entire life.

There’s a power in the way you walk as you head straight for the front desk, and you try to look intimidating despite your rapidly beating heart.

“Good morning,” Jeonghan greets you with a smile.

“What’s the deal?” you ask.

“Hmm?”

“The deal with this place, what’s going on?”

He flashes you a knowing smile, and the words that come out of his mouth next are an obvious load of shit: “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

You size him up, and you realize that, at this precise moment, you’re not going to get any information out of this man, so you decide to switch to plan two.

Turning on your heel, you head deeper into the hotel, and in the back of the dining room, you see Seungkwan slipping into a corridor.

Catching him is easy since he’s not exactly running from you, and the man stops to politely nod at you. “Good morning.”

“What’s going on with this place?” you ask.

“Excuse me?”

“This stupid hotel, what’s the deal? All my electronics are missing, there are no clocks, and I left yesterday, I left! I walked down the highway for two hours only to end up right back where I started!” You can’t help the way your voice is rising in annoyance, and you partly hope that you can actually successfully intimidate this man-

As you look at him, you realize intimidation is off the table, because he releases a laugh.

“Look at you, little miss demanding.”

“Please,” you sigh, your heart practically wilting in your chest. “I just need to know.”

“Talk to the hotel manager, he can answer all your questions.”

“Except he can’t, or maybe the word is won’t-” You struggle for a moment. “Look, don’t you want to gossip with me?”

You can all but see his ears perk up at the word gossip.

“You’re a bellhop, you like secrets, right? You enjoy tea?”

His eyes narrow at you. “I’m more of a coffee drinker.”

“Tea, as in gossip, gossip is tea-” God, you wonder how many of these people are from the last century and have no idea what you mean when you use current lingo.

“I’m listening.”

“I’ll tell you some tea,” you insist. “Gossip for gossip, deal?”

“I want something else,” Seungkwan tells you, and that’s when you notice his eyes lingering on your throat, your necklace. “I want that.”

You sigh, reaching behind yourself to unclasp the silver chain. “Take it and tell me what’s going on in this stupid hotel.”

As soon as the jewelry is in the bellhop’s hand, his entire demeanor changes. It’s as if he’s gone from a young man, and turned into an old woman telling you about her neighbors and how she snoops at her window to collect information all day. There’s an air to his essence that tells you you’re about to find out exactly what’s happening in this so-called ‘Hotel California.’

“What have you heard so far?” he asks. “What do you think this place is?”

“I don’t know? Someone said it might be Hell, but I doubt Hell is an Art Deco and terracotta hotel in the middle of the desert.”

Seungkwan’s expression shifts with an all-knowing sort of twist of his lips. “This isn’t Hell. It’s purgatory.”

“What?” You feel your breath leave your lungs in shock.

“And Jeonghan, well, he’s not a hotel manager, he’s a grim reaper. His domain is this desert, and every guest at this hotel, they died in his desert, so their souls were his to pass judgment on.”

“Wait a minute, what do you mean we all died here?”

“Keep up!” Seungkwan snaps. “This is purgatory! Of course you’re dead!”

Your entire body deflates now. “But… how?”

“Fell asleep at the wheel, didn’t you, little miss model? Seungcheol’s motorcycle hit a pothole. Minghao and Jun were high on coke and drove off a cliff by the ravine not far from here, thinking they were invincible. Every guest has a similar story, it’s a dangerous stretch of road after all.”

“So… who are you? And how do you know all the people I’ve talked to since I got here?”

“I’m a nobody, a highwayman. But trust me when I tell you, the staff here keep tabs on everyone.”

“Are all the staff... Highwaymen?” you ask.

“In one sense or another.”

“And… and Jeonghan chose to put us in purgatory?” you question. “Why didn’t he take us to a final place?”

“Because your unfinished sins were too great to gain you entry above, but not dark enough to gain you entry below.” Seungkwan pauses for a moment. “It’s best if you try to overcome your original sins, you might just make it out of here.”

“Overcome my sins?” you repeat, on the verge of laughing in an odd sort of complete hopeless hysteria that you’ve never felt before. “Has anyone ever made it out of here?!”

“One man,” Seungkwan says thoughtfully. “In fact, you saw him. The man in glasses, Jeon Wonwoo. He was a powerful man back when he was alive, lustful and glutenous. But in his time here, he’s overcome, and you were his final test.”

Anger bubbles inside of you. “I was a final test? You mean I was brought here to test some horny guy!?”

“Not many women die on this stretch of highway, not many who are so grey and muted as yourself. Jeonghan found you to be particularly… puzzling.”

“Puzzling?” you scoff.

“You’re a model,” Seungkwan shrugs. “Lust, envy, pride, greed- you belong here like everyone else. Those businessmen, overwhelmed by pride, greed, envy, gluttony, sloth, and even wrath. They’ve only conquered lust in their eternity here, but that was to be expected with no women to enchant them. They treasure their own company now, far more than they’d ever treasure yours.”

“And Seungcheol?” you ask.

“Seungcheol?” Seungkwan actually laughs. “A rockstar from the seventies? Lust, pride, greed, wrath- in his day he had an enjoyment of starting mosh pits at his own concerts, of fighting people, of drinking and sleeping with many, many women. No, Jeonghan chooses the right people. You’re all here, and you’ll likely all stay here.”

Ten:

You’re sitting with Seungcheol in a secluded part of the buffet room, and you’ve just given him a rundown on all things Seungkwan. For a moment, he just sits there, and then, his brows furrow. “That little fuck says I’m here because I used to start moshpits at my own shows?”

“And sleeping with lots of women I’d assume.”

“I’m gonna beat that fucking bellhop’s ass-”

“This is what he’s talking about!” you insist. “Wrath!”

Seungcheol steadies himself, and then he sighs. “Who would have thought the seven deadly sins were a real fucking thing.”

“People who believe in the bible and stuff?”

Seungcheol shoots you an unamused expression and you have to stop yourself from smiling.

You look down at your hands, fiddling with your fingers. “So… are we going to try to overcome our sins or whatever?”

The man next to you exhales deeply. “I’ve been here a long time,” he admits. “I don’t think I’m going to magically change because some bellhop said I’m a horny fuck with anger issues.”

“True.”

“Besides, Jeonghan brought you here to test the whole lust thing, and I think we both know I’m failing in that one.”

Your skin tingles. Is this seventies rockstar admitting he’s into you?

I mean… you’d suspected as much, but to hear it confirmed like this…

Do you want to be good? Do you want to work on yourself?

Or do you want to give in to these lusty feelings? Do you want to go wild and make the most of this place since you’re probably going to be here forever?

You feel completely torn, and you clear your throat. “I think… I think I need to go clear my head.”

Eleven:

You find your way to the pool after some deep soul-searching. You’re in need of somewhat of a cleanse, and you think water could be a good way to do that.

It’s the evening, but the air is quite warm as you make your way through the open spaces of the hotel. The sky is dark above you, but stars twinkle, as does the moon. It’s oddly peaceful, if you forget the fact that you’re in some fucked of purgatory liminal space.

When you get to the pool area, you realize there’s a man you’ve never seen before, and he’s sitting by the hot tub. His feet are submerged in the bubbling water, and his head is tipped back, eyes closed. There’s a bong next to his right hand, and you can smell weed.

You stand and watch him for a moment, then decide to approach.

“Hello?” you say, drawing his attention. “Are you new here?”

“No, but you are,” the man muses.

“I am… but I’ve never seen you before.”

“You wouldn’t, I’m nocturnal. Might as well be, since there’s nowhere to go but here.”

Obviously this man has his own opinions of The Hotel California, and you take a seat next to him, crossing your legs. “What do you think of this place?”

“It’s whatever.”

You risk another look at him, and you realize he’s closed his eyes again, looking as relaxed as ever. That’s when you realize this man’s main sin is glaringly obvious; he’s sloth.

“How did you find weed here?” you ask.

“Brought some when I arrived, started growing it when I realized I wouldn’t be leaving.”

So… this man is growing weed, sleeping all day, and smoking all night in purgatory. Sounds about right.

“Do you want to leave?” you question.

“It’s whatever.”

“Some man named Wonwoo left,” you point out. “Seems like there’s a possibility.”

The man laughs. “That fucking monk finally got out? He’s been trying to be a good boy for years.”

You swallow thickly at the reminder that even if you try to be good, you’re doomed to be here for years. It’s not an ‘okay I’ve been good for a day, let me out now’ sort of situation. The whole thing leaves a bad taste in your mouth, and you clear your throat.

“I’m y/n by the way.”

“Vernon.” There’s a stagnant pause, and then he stretches. “You know, it’s nice here. You don’t have to cook or clean. There are no responsibilities. You just get to relax.”

“Kind of like an indefinite vacation.”

“Exactly.”

He seems nice enough, and if it wasn’t clear he was such a sloth with a thing for marijuana, you might expect him to be next on the list of viable options for getting out of this place.

“Just, enjoy yourself,” Vernon sighs. “You might as well.”

Twelve:

After a night of thinking, you’ve finally made your decision on what to do in this God-forsaken hotel, and you head down to the lobby. One look at Jeonghan makes you rethink asking him for information, but you spot Seungkwan heading toward the buffet, and you quickly follow him out of sight from the manager.

“Hey,” you greet the bellhop, “have you seen Seungcheol today?”

“I believe he runs at this time,” Seungkwan explains. There’s a small rocky hillside out behind the pool, Seungcheol made a trail there for exercise, but between us, sometimes I think he’s hoping to get bit by a rattlesnake and die for a second time.”

From the small chuckle that leaves his lips, you can tell he’s trying to joke around, but you’re just not at the stage in your acceptance of this place to find dead jokes comedic.

“Thank you,” you nod, heading off in the direction he’s pointed you in.

The trailhead behind the pool isn’t very difficult to find, and you start up the path.

You have no clue what time it is, but you know it’s early morning. It’s just starting to get warm, but despite this, you have a fire inside of you driving to find the seventies rockstar.

This urge - call it lust maybe - it drives you forward, and finally, you find the man you’re looking for.

He’s in running shorts, and he’s shirtless. A sheen of sweat covers his muscular form, and God, he’s never looked this beautiful. His hair is curled from precipitation, and he’s panting, his hands on his hips as he stands at the top of the small hilly cliff that looks down at The Hotel California.

“Seungcheol!” you call, drawing his attention immediately.

“y/n?”

You can tell he’s confused to see you here, and his brows furrow. Walking closer, you take a deep breath. “I’ve been thinking,” you tell him.

“Yeah?”

“I was thinking… if we’re going to be here forever, we might as well make it fun.”

Your words hang in the air, and on this tiny hill, you accept your fate. You accept that you’re dead, that you’re in some odd form of purgatory. And you accept the fact that you’ve found a partner to share this whole delusion with, for better, or for worse.

“So you’re saying…” Seungcheol swallows thickly, stepping closer to you.

“Just kiss me,” you laugh, shaking your head at him.

A massive smile appears on his face, and then he’s grabbing your hips and tugging you tight to his chest. His lips are on yours a moment later, and while you’d expected him to be an eager, lust-fueled maniac, he’s oddly slow with how he approaches this first interaction.

However, the kiss deepens when you wrap your arms around the back of his neck, your tongue swiping his bottom lip desperately.

Seungchoel lets out a deep groan, matching your rising energy with an enthusiasm of his own.

It feels so good to be doing this with him, and for the first real-time since you got to the hotel, you feel your anxiety slipping away. Your entire body is focused on this man, and this man alone- and then his hand slips down to your ass, grabbing it roughly.

“Hey,” you laugh, pulling away from the kiss. “We’re not fucking out here on some rock.”

“We’re not?” Seungcheol chuckles.

“Not in a million years, which it sort of sounds like we have.”

“Back to the hotel then,” Seungcheol tells you, and just like that, the two of you head back down the trail to the hotel.

It seems there are different routes to take, and you find yourself in the lobby as opposed to the pool, which is where Jeonghan stops you with a wave. “y/n,” he calls. “I’d like a word.”

Seungcheol groans, and you release a sigh, turning to look at him. “I’ll meet you later?” you suggest.”

“I’ll go shower, find my room after, I’m in number seventeen,” Seungcheol nods.

You watch him disappear, taking a moment to appreciate the muscles of his broad shoulders as he walks away, and then, you turn to face the hotel manager.

“Looks like you’ve made a decision,” Jeonghan muses.

You wonder what exactly he’s talking about. Is it a decision to pursue Cheol? To sin?

You’re not quite sure, but at this point, you don’t care.

“I’ve made my choice,” you tell him, trying to sound confident about it.

“So you’ve chosen to be a part of The Hotel California.”

“I don’t think you left me with much choice,” you point out.

A large smile appears on Jeonghan’s face. “I guess I have to agree with you there,” he admits. “Go. Enjoy Seungcheol. You might be able to help with his… less desirable traits if not his sexual habits.”

So everything here really is a set of scales. Cheques and balances. A lesser evil of cleansing Seungcheol of minor sins while fanning the fire of his lust. You suppose you can’t win them all.

Thirteen:

You wander the hotel until you find room seventeen, and when you get there, you don’t even bother to knock. You simply push the door open, entering the space.

Seungcheol’s hotel room is different from your own. It’s significantly larger, with a den and a door that you assume leads to the bedroom. You make your way through the space, looking in at where he sleeps, which is where you find the man himself standing.

He has a towel wrapped around his hips, his hair is damp and curly, and God, he looks even sexier than he had on the hill. He’s so well muscled- part of you wants to lick his entire body and moan while you do.

Seungcheol turns to look at you, and when he smiles, you swear your knees feel weak.

“What did dickhead want?” he asks.

“Jeonghan?” Your mind goes blank. “He uh, I guess he wanted to see if I’m set on staying here or not.”

“And?”

“Well, we’re about to sin, aren’t we? So… guess I’m a permanent resident now.”

Seungcheol laughs. “Who wants to go to heaven if you can’t fuck there?”

“A lot of people I think,” you giggle.

“Well, not us.” He steps towards you, hands settling on your hips. “You have no idea how long I’ve waited for you to show up.”

His words are nice, but you have some doubts lingering inside of you. “Would you fuck any girl who came here though?” you question. “Or am I special?”

“You’re special,” Seungcheol confirms. “You’ve got fire in you, I could tell from the moment we met.”

“Some people have called me a bitch before.”

“Well they can go fuck themselves,” he retorts quickly.

You laugh, looking around. “This is a nice room.”

“It wasn’t my original room, but once I realized I was staying here, I scouted out all the empty places to find my favourite.”

Your gaze shift up, and you notice that the ceiling is covered in mirrors. “I can’t escape these fucking mirrors.”

“These ones are fun though,” Seungcheol insists.

“Yeah? How’s that?” You wrap your arms around the back of Seungcheol’s neck, pulling him closer with a grin.

“Because… I can watch you when you’re riding me. You can see my sexy back when I’m fucking you. It’s just a good set up.”

“And I guess you haven’t really had a chance to test it out before,” you muse.

“Not with another person.”

It takes you a second to realize what he’s saying, and then you laugh. “Cheol, are you telling me you watch yourself jack off with these mirrors?”

“It’s not like I have access to porno mags or anything!” he defends himself.

God, he’s from the seventies- did they even have easily accessible porn then?

You push the thought out of your brain as you move closer to him, until your lips are just milimeters apart. “Now you have me.”

“I do, don’t I,” he grins, tightening his grip on your hips.

“Uh huh,” you nod. “And I haven’t been properly fucked in a while.”

“I bet I have you beat on that one.”

“Better make up for your lost time, big guy.”

“Better make this sin worth it,” he counters, and with that, he presses his lips to your own.

You smirk into the kiss, pressing your chest against his own as you wrap your arms around the back of his neck. It’s a mad flurry of tongue and teeth, no being cautious as he had been on the hill earlier.

No, this time, you know exactly what you want from each other, and there’s a freeing feeling in that.

He’s quick to guide you toward the bed, and when he gets you there, he pushes you down onto it. His hands quickly tear at your shirt and you raise your arms to allow him to easily take it off of your body.

Seungcheol sinks to his knees on the ground, his lips attacking your throat and descending down to your breasts. Two large hands grab at your tits, massaging them through your bra. He’s practically motorboating his face against you now, groaning into your cleavage.

“Take off my bra,” you tell him. “Suck on my tits.”

Seungcheol chuckles, but one swipe of his hand behind your back has your bra coming undone, and you realize that despite his forced celibacy, he hasn’t lost his touch.

Your bra slips off, and Seungcheol immediately picks up where he left off, but this time, he has access to your bare skin,

He grabs your breasts, pulling one nipple into his mouth while you throw your head back and moan.

It takes you a second, but you have the idea to open your eyes, and when you do, the mirrored ceiling gives you the perfect view of this man kneeling on the ground and sucking your breasts.

There’s something sexy about the view, and when you thread your fingers through his curls, it makes things even hotter.

Seungcheol groans, roughly tugging your nipple between his teeth and making you cry out.

“Shorts next,” he instructs, pulling away so you can both work on getting you fully naked for him.

It’s a little shocking how fast this is all going, but you don’t mind. Lust is fueling every cell of your body, and before you know it, Seungcheol is pushing you so you’re flat on your back. He places your thighs on his shoulders, and then he dives into your core with his mouth.

You whimper at the sensation of him sucking on your clit lewdly, and again, when you look up, you can see the view.

Fuck, with him now bending half over the bed like this, you can see his shoulders even better.

He’s so broad and strong and sexy, and it makes your core pulse with pleasure as he eats you out like he’s been starved for fifty years, which he has.

“Just like that,” you tell him, bringing your hands up to play with your nipples, loving the view of it all.

Seungcheol shifts, and then you feel a finger push into your entrance. He doesn’t go slow with it, he immediately starts pumping, fucking you while he licks and sucks on your clit roughly.

There’s no tact in his motions, no precision, he’s a wild man, and you suppose that fits his rockstar soul.

There’s something so sexy about this animalistic way he’s treating you, and when he groans against your clit, your entire body lights up with pleasure.

He has you closer to the edge than you’d ever imagined possible in such a short time, but you wonder if perhaps your body has been in need of some stress relief like this after such a crazy few days.

Another finger slips inside of you and you moan, reaching one hand to tangle in his hair again.

As much as you want to close your eyes and enjoy this, you can’t bear to look away from the view.

God, it’s absolutely glorious.

This gorgeous, beefy man, is practically ravaging you on a bed with silk sheets, worshipping your pussy with his tongue and fingers while you watch, enthralled with it all.

You can hear your core getting wetter, and with each thrust of his fingers you can feel your juices. His tongue circles your clit in the perfect way and your stomach muscles begin to clench, signaling your impending high.

“I’m gonna cum,” you tell him, swallowing thickly even as you pinch your own nipple, writhing against the bed.

Seungcheol only growls in response, and the sound turns you on even more.

Within a few seconds, you’re coming undone, releasing a cry of pleasure as your body is flooded with euphoria.

Your hips push up against Seungcheol’s face, but his free hand pins you down, his tongue unrelenting on your clit.

Now, you have to force your eyes shut. It’s all you can do to contain the ecstasy he’s providing you, an electric feeling that’s surging through your entire body unlike anything else.

“Fuck, fuck- Cheol!” you gasp, wriggling in his grasp.

He pulls off your clit with a pop, and you can feel him looking up at you as he removes his fingers.

Then he stands, and you open your eyes to look at him.

“Here,” Seungcheol leans over you, and then he pushes his fingers into your mouth, “want you to taste yourself.”

All you can do is stare up at him in shock, lust overtaking you as you suck his digits off diligently. You even grab his hand to steady him, not wanting him to pull away until you’ve licked him clean.

“That’s a good girl,” Seungcheol groans.

When you’re done with him, you release his hand, and Seungcheol pulls away with a deep breath.

“Can you suck cock like that?” he asks, undoing his towel so it can fall to the floor.

His hard length immediately slaps up against his abdomen, and you can see beads of precum dripping down his shaft. God, he’s super turned on, and your pussy pulses at the mere sight of him.

“Gonna give you the best head you’ve had in fifty years,” you promise.

“Ha ha,” Seungcheol says, but there’s little humour in it.

You sit up, and then, you stand. He gives you a confused look, but when you push him down onto the bed, things seem to click for him.

You take your spot on your knees, where he’d just been, and this time, it’s your turn to push his legs slightly open, giving yourself space as you grab the base of his cock.

“Don’t cum in my mouth,” you warn.

“No?”

“Want you to cum inside me, don’t wanna waste a drop.”

“Fuck,” Seungcheol groans as you put your mouth onto his tip, sucking and licking with all the enthusiasm he’d just given you.

His hands immediately grab at you, pushing your hair out of your face. He holds you gently as you sink more and more of him into your mouth, swirling your tongue to tease every inch of skin that you can.

“Shit, feels good,” he tells you, collecting your hair into a ponytail to make things easier.

You hum against him and his hips twitch at the stimulus.

“Fuck-” he says again, and you’d bet your life - or maybe your afterlife - that he’ll be swearing a lot.

He’s a man who hasn’t felt the touch of a woman in fifty years, you would blame him if he’s quick to bust?

“Keep going, fuck,” Seungcheol groans, applying some pressure to your head.

You don’t mind that he’s beginning to get rough with you, and you diligently sink further onto his cock, taking him all the way to the back of your throat. You gag a little around him, and Seungcheol releases his loudest moan yet, tightening his grip in your hair.

“Keep doing that, fuck, keep doing that!” he encourages you.

You do your best to relax your throat, wanting to please him, to give him the best blowjob he’s ever had. You have always found satisfaction when pleasing others, call it a trauma thing or whatever you want to call it, but his pleasure is your pleasure, and you can feel yourself getting wetter by the second as you listen to his moans.

“Shit, I’m close,” Seungcheol tells you.

With those words, you immediately pull off of him, and he looks down at you in shock.

“You’re not cumming in my mouth, remember?”

“Please?”

“No.”

You stand up, staring down at this man, who suddenly looks very needy. Then, you push at his chest, prompting him to lay flat against the bed while his knees are still bent, feet on the ground.

One of your own knees makes contact with the bed, and then the other, so you’re straddling him now.

“You said you wanted to watch me ride you,” you remind him. “So watch me ride.”

You grab the base of his cock, lining it up with your core, then you sink down onto him fully.

He’s big, and you feel the stretch, but you’re so wet from this that your lubrication makes the actual taking of his cock much easier than you’d imagined. God, when you pause for a moment, fully seated on him, you both groan from the pleasure… then you begin to bounce.

“Jesus Christ,” Seungcheol whispers, one hand grabbing your hip while the other latches onto your breast. He pinches your nipple between two fingers and you whimper, throwing your head back.

You look up at the ceiling, watching yourself ride this beautiful man.

The view makes your core throb, and you can feel your pussy clamping down around him, which earns another groan from the man you’re riding.

“You look so fucking good like this,” Seungcheol tells you, sitting up and using his hand as a brace against the bed so he can wrap his mouth around your nipple.

You grab him, threading your fingers through his hair and using him as an anchor as you move on his cock, bouncing to the best of your ability even in this position.

Again, you find yourself looking at the view, and you realize maybe this is a completely new kink of yours that you’d never discovered before.

“Okay, okay,” Seungcheol grabs your hips, making you stop. “My turn now.”

“Your turn?” you scoff.

“My turn,” he confirms.

Then, he’s standing up, and taking you with him. His hands grab your ass, keeping you pinned to his body while you squeal with delight, latching onto his shoulders.

“Wanna fuck you doggy first,” he tells you.

“So original,” you roll your eyes.

“Gonna make you regret that, gorgeous,” Seungcheol laughs.

“Then do it.”

With a shake of his head, he throws you onto the mattress, and with one quick manhandle, he has you on your knees with your ass in the air.

He’s standing at the foot of the bed, and he grabs your hips with one hand, his cock with the other. His tip finds your entrance, and with one rough thrust, he’s buried inside of you again.

“Fuck!” you whimper, arching your back and bracing your cheek against the sheets.

“Feels good, huh?” he asks, immediately picking up a pace that has your eyes rolling into the back of your head.

“Fuck, so good!” you moan, loving how deep he’s hitting, how rough he’s being.

A harsh smack erupts through the room, and you realize as the pain blooms like heat along your skin that he’s just spanked you.

“Did you like that?” he asks.

“Maybe?” You’re not sure how you feel about the sensation, but when a second smack comes, you jolt, your pussy clamping tight around Seungcheol’s cock.

“You liked it, didn’t you?” he teases.

“No!” you insist, but you can’t help the fact that you had enjoyed it, and you can tell from the gush of wetness you feel in your core that it will be clear to Seungcheol that you liked it as well.

“Keep lying to yourself,” he laughs, his hand returning to your hip so he can fuck you even harder.

You enjoy the feeling of this for a while, but soon, you’re practically itching for another hit of pain.

“Spank me again,” you tell him.

“Hmm? Didn’t quite hear you.”

“Spank me!” you say, louder this time. “Please!”

Another chuckle escapes the smug bastard behind you. “Only because you asked so nicely.”

One more spank becomes three, and you’re a whimpering mess at the end of it, clawing at the blankets like a whore.

“Guess we’re going to have to explore this pain kink of yours,” Seungcheol teases. “But first, I think I’m gonna cum in this perfect pussy and mark it as mine.”

You’re so overwhelmed by how good this has felt that you can’t even find the words to respond, but you don’t have to.

Seungcheol pulls out of your pussy, and then he adjusts you on the bed, pushing you closer to the pillows so when he joins between your legs, he has space to plank over you in missionary.

His cock enters you, his lips finding your throat, and as you stroke his powerful shoulders, you find yourself blinking up at your reflection.

You’re watching yourself sin, but you’re entirely okay with it.

You’re listening to him pant in your ear as he gets closer and closer to the edge, but you kind of love it.

This hotel might be a place to overcome sins, but you’re not sure how anything this perfect - this natural - could ever be considered wrong.

“I’m close,” Seungcheol whispers, sucking on your earlobe.

“Then cum inside of me, give me all of it,” you tell him, tightening your grip on his shoulders.

“Fuck,” Seungcheol groans, pressing his lips to your own. He kisses you desperately as his hips falter, his pace becoming erratic.

You can feel the moment he explodes, can feel his cock throbbing hard as he shoots his cum deep inside of you. He fills you up with warmth, and it feels like completion as he groans, half collapsing on top of you from the effort.

The kiss breaks, and you stroke his hair as he pants against your throat. Your eyes never leave your own in your reflection of the mirror over the bed.

Jeonghan might have put you in this place, but you’re the master of your own fate, and this is the direction you’ve chosen.

☀️ mlist + an. thank you for reading! I'm going to miss this au.

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🔮 preview. When Seungcheol thrusts, it pushes you onto Mingyu, and when he pulls back, he pulls you with him, effectively controlling the pace of absolutely everything. Seungcheol might be working on his envy streak, but he’s as controlling as ever… although, you kind of love that about him. Sure, he’s a flawed man, but he’s your flawed man, and as he begins to fuck you rougher and harder, you know that you’d never give this up, not even for Heaven itself.

cw/ tw. Unprotected sex, threesome, pussy eating, blow job, fingering, multiple reader orgasms, use of mirrors, masturbation, controling/dom Seungcheol, dirty talk, praise, slight degradation, spanking, deep throating, eiffle tower/spit roasting, etc… I petnames. (hers) gorgeous.

👹 rating. 18+ explicit I wc. 3.1k I teaser wc. 150

🌙 starring. Seungcheol & Mingyu x afab!Reader

bonus

You’re sitting at The Hotel California bar with Seungcheol. The two of you enjoy having a few drinks before a night of raunchy sexual escapades, and at first, this is a night like any other… until, you hear a new voice and turn to see a stranger talking to Jeonghan by the front desk.

You can’t help the look you immediately exchange with Seungcheol.

The two of you have spent months- years even, enjoying each other, and one thing you’ve always discussed bringing into the bedroom to spice it up, is another person. However, no one currently at the hotel has ever caught your eye, so you’d agreed that if anyone new showed up… you two might give them a try.

Now, with a tall, dark and handsome stranger standing just meters away, you think you may have found your new third, and excitement bubbles up inside of you.

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#seungcheol #choi seungcheol #thediamondlifenetwork #seungcheol smut #choi seungcheol smut #svt #svt smut #seventeen #seventeen smut #seungcheol svt #svt seungcheol #s.coups #s.coups smut #svt s.coups #seungcheol x reader

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whowrotethenote · 2 months ago

Text

𝐁𝐢𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐅𝐚𝐧

Rating: 18+ minors DNI

Summary: What starts off as a regular Spring Break attending Wrestlemania for Alana, takes an unexpected turn, landing her in a fantasy come to life. The Tribal Chief is in need of unwinding after his victory and he chose her.

Pairing: Roman Reigns x Black Fem OC

Warnings: NSFW // Smut // Age gap // Profanity // Adultery

Word count: 8.9k (sorry lol)

Inspo: Biggest Fan by Chris Brown

A/N: This took way longer than it should've, but I'm actually proud of myself for finishing. Y'all don't know how many times I've started writing something in the past and never finish. There's drafts of unfinished everything on my laptop.

This is my first time posting my writing on any platform. I hope y'all like it. I tried to proofread as much as I can, but I'm honestly tired of reading it lol. I feel like I'm going to realize its shit and delete it all.

Disclaimer // Part Two // Biggest Fan Masterlist // Roman Reigns Masterlist // Join My Taglist

“I wonder if the Usos will come out.”

“Yeah, probably,” I respond to my roommate Demi, only half as concerned as she is. The Usos are the last thing on my mind. They’re her choice of poison. I’m here for one man and one man only.

I survey the crowd of strangers surrounding us. All in Bloodline gear waiting for the same thing. The Main Event. They all probably spent a fortune months ago just to be in the very same spot she and I stole tickets for.

It wasn’t on purpose. We originally had nosebleeds. We were lucky to even have those, seeing as we snagged them just days ago. The frail older man outside the doors waving a chunk of tickets in his hand, was an angel in disguise. He waved and waved until two tickets went flying into the thick crowd of people all pushing to just get into the main doors of the building.

Demi and I searched on hands and feet for those tickets that no one else seemed to be looking for. Imagine our disbelief seeing them all dirtied and stepped on by the door and they read floor seats. Not just any floor seats. The ones located directly next to the entrance ramp with a clear shot of the ring. Fucking jackpot.

don’t be acting all fanned out when he walks by either

I smirk reading the text my brother sent. Yeah, right. Maybe three years ago, a young Alana would’ve woke up tomorrow morning with no voice from losing my shit, watching the Roman Reigns walk by me. But it's not five years ago. I’m not a teenager in my room waiting at the TV with my golden glove on, throwing my one’s up and giving an acknowledgment he couldn’t even see.

Who am I fooling? That teenage girl, although buried deep, still lives within me. Otherwise I wouldn’t even be here. I wouldn’t have spent the two thousand my dad gave me to enjoy my spring break on a plane ticket to LA, a hotel and tickets to Wrestle-mania 39. I’d be like the rest of the Juniors at my university. Bar hopping in Mexico or in Miami half naked strutting down Collins Ave.

I go back and forth between scrolling on my phone, daydreaming, and loosely watching the matches that come. Before I know it, the moment I’ve been waiting for all night and damn near all my life rises to the forefront.

The lights dim and the first beats of the drums ring loud throughout the stadium, matching the acceleration of my heartbeat. This is really happening. He’s about to come out and walk right past me. Everyone around me pulls their phones out on the ready, accompanied by a roar of screams just as loud as the orchestra performing his music.

Too concentred on the entry way anticipating his figure, I forget I even have a phone. No, I need to feel this thoroughly. No middle man between me and this unforgettable experience.

We all wait in collaborative angst until his tall figure emerges and my breath gets caught in my throat. The aura and the energy he carries is all consuming, demanding the attention of every person present, even his haters. Solo and Paul flank behind him following his slow and steady pace until he comes to a hard stop.

The cameraman is dangerously close as he kneels to catch him from an angle down below. This is so surreal. On cue his pyro lights fire, upping the excitement from the crowd if even possible. Everyone is already losing their minds. Even Demi’s screams threatened to take out my right eardrum despite her main infatuation resting with the Usos.

His mesmerizing eyes scan the crowd with a slight nod of approval and then they land on…me? Time stills and I can’t hear the noise around me. Was he staring at me?

As much as I want to look around for confirmation that his eyes are indeed locked on me, I’m hypnotized. The slight scrunch of his brows and his dark pupils paralyze me in place. Jesus, Lana. Move. Smile. Wave. Shit, do something.

He’s fucking beautiful. Carved from stone. Kissed by the sun. Hair wet and hanging. Ula Fala draping perfectly around his neck. Full beard with a hint of greying. And his chest. God, his chest. His abs rippled perfectly. I’m scared to even blink, at the risk that I’ll miss something.

A thick pink tongue slithers out over his lips and I heat up from the inside out. My god.

In a flash he looks onward to the ring on the move again and the world returns to its original state.

I turn to face Demi whose eyes are wide like a saucer. “Biiiitch,” she drags out and we break into a fit of laughter.

“Okay, so I’m not bugging?” My brows dent.

“No. No, I saw it too,” she assures me. “That man was definitely eye fucking you.” My face heats replaying the scene back in my head. “That was so surreal. He’s so much bigger in person…” Her voice trails off once I get lost in my thoughts watching him hold his titles up in the center of the ring. He moves like a king. Like everywhere he goes he expects everyone to bow gracefully and fall at his feet. It makes him even more attractive than just what the eyes can reach. Fuck me. This is going to be a long night.

Demi got her wish. The Usos came out but their stunt didn’t last too long due to an appearance from Sami and Kevin. Somehow, Roman still took home the win. Still the champion. Still on top. Still the man.

The whole match, I could only half way focus on him and his god-like figure moving about in the ring. The other half of me was still stuck in the moment we shared during his entrance. Was he really staring at me?

Call me delusional, but I swear he looked at me two more times. Once during the match, when he kicked out at the last second of Cody’s pin. He struggled to his knees and rested back on his heels to scan the crowd. He stumbled to his feet, but not before those eyes bore a hole into mine for a quick second. Then again, when he won. He held up his titles, chest heaving up and down, then he looked my way with a squint.

“I can’t believe he still won,” Demi practically has to yell as we ease our way through the crowd to leave. “I was sure it was game over when Sami gave him the boot.”

Simultaneously we push through the back entrance doors and let them slam behind us. The slightly chilly night air of April hitting. No more screams. No more crowds. But the rush and aura of the night still lingers on us.

“My man doesn’t take L’s,” I tell her matter-of-factly with my chin up.

“I see,” she laughs.

We were smart. We took an Uber and told him to let us out from almost three blocks away. We follow that same pattern now to avoid the rush and traffic of everybody trying to leave at once. Towards the opposite way of the parking lot, away from the crowds, we start our journey to a quiet block to call the Uber.

“Wanna hit it?” Demi extends her hand that holds a lit blunt in between her fingers. I shake my head.

“How the hell did you even get that thing in?”

“Tampon,” she informs before pulling from it. Of course. She’s been sneaking weed into parties that way since we were freshmen.

“Excuse me! Ladies!” An authoritative calls from behind causing us both to stop in our tracks. I know that voice. “Excuse me!”

Demi and I lock eyes and at once we do a complete one-eighty to find him practically chasing us down.

“What the fuck?” I hear Demi murmur before he stops in front of us winded.

“Ladies,” he offers one firm nod. “My name is—’’

“Paul Heyman,” we finish for him in unison.

A smug smile adorns his chubby face. “That’s right.” He holds a hand out and we both just stare at it for a while. After several seconds of an awkward and shocking silence, Demi abruptly shakes his hand and I follow her lead, still trying to make sense of this moment.

“I’ve been sent to relay a message. The Tribal Chief has requested your services for tonight.”

“Services?” The line between Demi’s thoughts and what comes out of her mouth has always been very blurred.

“Yes,” he confirms. In unison we turn just our heads to each other with equal expressions of confusion and disbelief. “You see, The Tribal Chief likes the comfort of company while he’s on the road from time to time.”

“Company, huh?” I catch Demi’s smirk.

“Especially on nights like tonight. You know?” I raise a brow. “All the adrenaline, excitement, and energy from tonight’s match. It's good for him to uh… blow off some steam and unwind.”

I lose count of how many times Demi and I have to exchange looks tonight. Since I’ve met her we’ve always spoke a nonverbal language only we understand. A subtle head nod in the direction of a cute boy in the room, an eye roll when somebody says something problematic, or wide eyes when someone spills tea that we know we’ll have to debrief about later. Tonight, our eyes dance in a mutual agreement that can’t be any clearer. “Hell yeah,” I speak for the first time.

Demi tosses the lit blunt and we both advance to follow him. “Oh no, I’m sorry. Just you.”

“Me?” I ask with a finger to my chest. He grins slyly nodding.

“I— I don't know.”

“You don’t know?” Demi slaps my arm.

“I’ll need an answer now. Gotta get you to his bus before the real crowd emerges. There’s a few things you need to sign.” Sign? Oh god. This is getting serious.

“M—maybe this is a mix up. Are you sure he asked for me—”

“Bitch.” I’m interrupted by a firm push from Demi toward Paul. My eyes meet her wide ones that scream, “go.”

I look between the both of them. “You’ll be fine getting to the hotel?” I’m not all the way certain how tonight will go, but I have a feeling I won’t be seeing her until tomorrow.

“Girl, don’t worry about me. I’ll always get where I’m going. I should be the last thing on your mind.”

“We can wait until her Uber comes?” I eye Paul who eyes his watch briefly.

“Sure.”

So we wait in silence. The whole time, I bounce the idea of just saying never mind and pussying out, back and forth like tennis. Reading my mind, Demi would eye me and mouth “don’t you dare.” So many things can go wrong. I’m not even entirely sure I know what the hell Paul is talking about. Company? Services? It could mean so many things. Does he want to talk? A massage? Am I going to just sit there on his lap while he watches TV? What if he’s one of those foot guys? Is he going to touch himself while I sit there barefoot? Oh god, please don’t have a foot fetish.

With the exception of tonight, I’ve only ever seen him through a screen. Playing a character. I don’t know him. That’s the reality of it. Am I really about to follow a stranger, Paul Heyman, to accompany another strange man?

After checking that she has the right Uber and sensing she will be safe alone with him, I let her hand go. She gives me one final look before I let her shut the car door. “Make him remember you, bitch.”

Like a farmer leading its cattle to slaughter, I follow him as he leads me up the steep steps of the bus. A pit of something stirs in my stomach the deeper we walk. Equal parts angst and doom. Like the end of something and the beginning at the same time. We pass the driver’s seat. The floors are a shiny mahogany wood, matching the cabinets of the kitchen area we end up in. Although small, it feels grand. Definitely doesn’t seem like a space this chic belongs in a bus trailer. I guess only the best for the best.

In the midst of admiring the space, I look over to see Paul shuffling some papers around.

“Alright! So I’ll need you to sign this.” He separates one stack from the main one and slides a pen out for me. “Just something that says we’re not responsible for any items lost, damaged, or anything like that.” Everything in me screams to read the thick stack thoroughly before I dare sign my name on the dotted line. I do it anyway, because who even has time for that? Paul is already moving about like he has somewhere to be.

“And this here,” he pushes the signed paper out the way and slides another stack in its place. This one much thicker than the former. I raise a brow. “Don’t worry. It's just a non-disclosure. Nothing discussed, seen, or heard after you sign can be shared with any other persons.”

I look for the expiration date of the legal document and don’t find one. I search and my eyes land on the word indefinitely.

“Indefinitely, huh?” I think deeply about what I am about to agree to. I would only even want to tell Demi and a few other girls from our bookclub maybe that watch WWE. My eyes land on the seven figure lawsuit terms if the NDA is breached. I weigh my options. Spill tea and get fined or secretly get intimate with the man of my dreams…

The pen is smooth as it glides along the dotted line and I cap it before handing it back over to Paul. “Perfect.” He takes it and reorganizes the papers. I blow out a breath looking around again. There’s a grey curtain blocking off the rest of the bus, which I assume holds a bedroom of some sort and a bathroom.

“Is he already here?” I lean to try and get a peak of whats beyond the curtain.

“Nope. He’s doing a bit of press and wrapping some things up backstage. You’ll wait for him here. The driver is inside the building. Probably won’t be back until late tonight. Roman should be back soon.”

“I’m expected to stay here overnight?”

“Totally up to you. I’m sure you and him will figure it out. It’s not like him to spend the night alone though.”

In that moment it becomes clear what I am here to do. My heart lurches at the thought of just sharing a bed and possibly cuddling with him. His big muscular arms wrapped around me. The heat of his breath on the back of my neck and the hardness of his di—

“This wasn’t on the NDA you just signed, but,” he held his hand out between us. “I’m gonna need that phone before I leave.” Of course. I almost change my mind. “Don’t worry. You’ll get it back as soon as it's all over. Definitely before you leave.”

Fuck it. I retrieve my phone from the back pocket of my jeans and he gladly takes it. I don’t need it anyhow. I can’t imagine being in the presence of him anyway and my phone stealing the show. I would forget I even had one.

It's not long before he’s packing everything up, preparing to leave me. A small part doesn’t want him to go. He served as sort of a comfort. Truth be told, my heart is in my ass.

He pulls the curtain back to reveal a chic bedroom set up. If I didn't know any better, I would think we are in a five star hotel and not a bus trailer.

Everything is a sleek grey with undertones of black. Glossy black wood dresser chest and a matching nightstand. Black wood bed frame and headboard. I run my hand along the dark grey duvet thats just as soft as it looks.

“I’ll be on my way. You’ll probably see me tomorrow or later tonight. If not someone else will give the phone back.” He waves my phone and turns, but not before pulling the curtain back to close.

I’m all alone now. Theres a flat screen mounted opposite the bed, but the noise won’t do anything but make me more anxious. I want to be able to hear everything going on.

I have the weird urge to go through his suitcase I see sitting upright by the wall. I shake the thought away knowing it's an invasion of privacy. I opt to go through the dresser chest instead. Its empty. I guess he didn’t get a chance to unpack.

I turn and rest my butt on it, crossing my arms. Minutes go by, and what seems like an hour passes before I hear movement outside the bus. Deep voices talking and then I hear heavy steps heading my way. I straighten up. No, too formal. I sit on the bed legs crossed. No, what am I? An escort?

I stand again and take my original place leaning on the edge of the dresser, just in time for the curtain to pull back. The sight of his large stature so much closer to me than he was in the arena takes my breath away.

He doesn’t say a word. Just looks at me and walks right by me to his suitcase. Then he’s in the bathroom. The sound of him peeing is loud followed by water running.

Big, tan and burly, he emerges again. He moves with power just oozing off of him, with an authority that just screamed, “I’m in charge.” It's not just a ring persona. Thats just him.

My eyes never leave his tall frame maneuvering around the small space as if I’m not even standing here. He kicks the Jordans off his feet to slip into his slides. His Nike hoodie comes off next and he tosses it on the small loveseat in the corner. His big and cut arms now in full view.

He relieves himself of the contents in his pants pockets. Wallet, keys, some loose change, and a small folded paper all fall on the dresser. He stops for a moment holding out his left hand. He twists the black band off his ring finger and places it in the drawer instead of on top of the dresser with the rest of his things.

Our eyes snag and I immediately shift my attention to my fingers. Twisting and untwisting. Picking at the acrylic on my nails. Anything but looking him in the eye after witnessing that. It's not too late to change my mind. I can stop this. I should, but do I really want to?

The sound of his slides lets me know he’s on the move again. I find him by a minibar area I hadn’t noticed earlier.

“Is it cold in here?” His deep voice cuts through the silence. It's then I notice I was holding and rubbing my arms as if I was cold. So, he is paying me some kind of attention. Truth is, I’m just trying to keep the goosebumps from a slight panic attack at bay.

“No, it's fine.”

“You feeling alright?” He twists slightly with a raised brow. Probably trying to figure out why I haven’t moved an inch since he walked in here. He’s so calm and cool. I don’t know what I was expecting, but the calmer he is, the more anxious I grow.

“Yeah. Y—yeah, no I’m fine.”

“You spoke to Paul already?”

“Yeah—yes,” I correct myself and clear my throat. I don’t know when it became so damn dry.

I was speaking to his back. The muscles still making themselves known even through the fabric of his black tee. Hair sleeked back into his signature bun. My eyes trail down to his ass. For a man, he has a nice one. I image how he’d look with nothing. The intimacy of him walking around with absolutely nothing on. The afterglow of sex on him. Rock hard abs and tribal tattoo as his only decoration. His manhood swinging freely, semi-hard even after just laying serious wood—

“Then I assume you know why you’re here,” his deep voice cuts my nasty daydream short.

I can hear him maneuvering glass, but I couldn’t see exactly what he was doing over his big frame. I was too shell shocked to move too much, afraid I might wake up from this fever dream.

“I do,” I answer him.

If my father knew when he gave his only daughter, his princess, money to enjoy her spring break, that she’d end up alone in the bus of a man who was over ten years her senior, the money would’ve never made it into my hand in the first place. I’m sure this isn’t what he had in mind, but truly this was the best way a young girl could enjoy spring break. An unexpected encounter with an older and wealthier man. My idol. I watched him on TV for years. Gawked at the screen. Liked thousands of edits on Tiktok and Instagram. Dreams of this very moment knowing it couldn’t possibly ever come true. And now here he was. Big in stature and energy right here in front of me. Talking to me.

Hell yeah, I know what I’m here to do. Even if he didn’t utter a single word and just stripped and nodded to the bed, I’d still get the job done with no shame. What girl in her right mind wouldn’t?

I can hear them now. But he’s married. He has a family. He’s old enough to be your father. They just won’t understand. Demi would. Demi would get it. She always gets it and she always gets me. Having lost her father and sister in a car crash just weeks before moving into the dorms for college, taught her that life was indeed too short. Live freely and take risk, because you don’t know when you won’t be able to. Shit, we’re all gonna die anyway. That’s the mantra she lives by. She’s different and that’s why I attached myself to her. She’s not like everybody else who lives like they’ve already walked the steps to heaven.

This was a more than seldom, once in a lifetime opportunity. I’d think about this night when I’m grey and depleting on my deathbed. I won’t let my head play tricks on me with the opinions of anyone who would do the same thing put in my position.

It's silent again. I hear liquid being poured for a second. I wonder if Demi made it back to the hotel okay. She’s probably blowing up my phone with a thousand texts trying to figure out whats going on.

So deep in my thoughts I don’t realize he’s making his way to me until he’s right here already. I have to look up to meet his gaze as he stares down at me over the bridge of his nose. He’s so big. He smells divine. It's a masculine type of musk with a cleanliness to it. My breath gets caught in my throat, realizing exactly how close we are. Our shoes were just shy of an inch from touching. My chest rises and falls in anticipation of his next move.

Without any words, he holds a glass filled with brown liquid out closer to me. I look down at it with just my eyes. I’ve only been twenty-one for two weeks. Didn’t even get the opportunity to sit at a bar so a man could offer me a drink before trying to sleep with me. Who would’ve thought the first offering would come from him. Roman Reigns. Just at that thought, something in me ignited.

I took it, with the intention meaning more than just accepting the drink. I’m accepting the situation. Drawing a line in the sand and disposing of any doubt if there even was any left. I’m doing this. All complications pushed to the back. Tonight he’s not Joe Anoa’i, the married man with five kids. He’s Roman Reigns, undisputed WWE Universal Champion, The Tribal Chief, Main Eventer, Head of the Table…And I’m his biggest fan.

I throw the contents of the glass back, trying my hardest not to make a face from the burning sensation. He gets it down in one big gulp, putting me to shame, as I can’t help watching his Adam’s apple bob up and then down. He’s still just inches from me. I can see every hair on his beard. The slight greying ones are my favorite.

It's so weird seeing him in this state. So lax in his own space. No ring gear. No mean scowl. No Ula Fala around his neck. No championship belt around his waist. Just him. Black tee and sweats to match.

He takes the glass back and places them both behind me on the dresser top. Without warning, he’s on me. His tongue shoves past my lips saying to hell with formalities. No warm up. Straight to business.

“Mm,” I groan from shock. My natural instinct from being so caught off guard is to create some space, but a firm hand gripping the base of my neck keeps me in place.

He immediately asserts dominance, caressing every part of my body his hands can reach like he owns it. My neck, my shoulders, my back, and all the way down to my ass with a firm squeeze that separates my pussy lips. All the while still assaulting my mouth with his warm tongue. The tang of the alcohol still lingering. I fight for some control in the kiss but it's no use. He’s too much for me.

Everywhere his strong hands make contact, it leaves a spark until my whole body feels like it's on fire. Damn, that drink was strong. He pulls away from the kiss completely after one last soft, open mouthed peck. Like a magnet, my eyes find the thick bulge in his black sweats and I grow even more excited.

He drops to his knees in front of me and my breath hitches when his cold fingertips find their way up my shirt. A trail of kisses with a slight tickle from his beard follow up and up until I raise my arms for him to take the shirt off completely.

He’s back on his feet, turning me so my back is facing him. My breathing grows erratic. This is really happening.

“Lights,” his voice rumbles behind me. The bright lights turn off but there's little lamps set up in the small space allowing a cast bright enough to see still.

The black lace bra I wear is unhooked in a matter of seconds. Who knew when I put it on this morning, that Roman Reigns himself would be taking it off come night. With a firm grip on my hips he turns me back to face him.

Being well endowed up top from such a young age, my natural instinct is to cover myself. I always thought they were a bit big for my body. Standing at five foot seven, I was only one hundred and fifty pounds. A lot of my weight being carried up top from these double D’s. When all the girls in middle school were just filling in, I was a full D cup. I noticed how boys would stare. Older men too. It would make me uncomfortable. Always thinking of ways to cover them or make them appear smaller.

Avoiding eye contact is useless. His eyes are like magnets. Like the sun. Just beaming down on me, making them impossible to evade. So I stare back at him. We stay like this for a while. Just watching one another in silence. The air is smoky with lust and pure ecstasy.

His hands cover mine and slowly drag them down to reveal my breast. Round, surprisingly perky, with fully erect chocolate nipples, creating a contrast to my caramel complexion. They steal the show as his eyes shoot to them immediately while he breathes deep from his nose.

I can feel his energy shift from passionate to pure animalistic. When his entire mouth covers one nipple, I lose all my sense. My head rolls back and instinctively I bring a hand to the back of his head. A rough hand cups and caresses my breast while he’s still latched on. I watch in awe as his thick tongue sticks out to flick and play with it before sucking again.

He’s expertly unbuttoning my jeans with his other hand as I feel the snag of him trying to pull them down. I step out of my shoes to help him and reveal the black thong I am not even accustomed to wearing. I’m more of a a boy shorts or Walmart pack panties kind of girl. I just so happen to have forgotten to pack them and had to borrow a pair from Demi.

Bending down must be uncomfortable, since he grips the back of my knees to hike me up like I weigh absolutely nothing. He gives more attention to my chest, sucking until my nipples are sore, before his tongue is in my mouth exploring again. We’re moving now, I assume towards the bed. With every step, his erection rubs against me leaving me clenching and needy.

My back meets the unbelievably soft bed. I practically sink into it, watching him rear back to remove his shirt and show off that god-like body. Mountains and valleys of muscle in his abdomen placed perfectly like someone sculpted him with their bare hands. His bun hangs a little looser now.

His long fingers loop the waistband of my panties and we lock eyes. His stare is intense saying what his lips didn’t. I nod once. I’m doing this.

Almost in slow motion he pulls them down my legs, his eyes not leaving mine until the very last second. His attention is stolen by the sight of me down there.

“You’re soaking.” He uses the butt of his thumb to circle my clit. I jump slightly at the sudden contact. “That’s all for me?” He locks eyes with me again, expecting an answer and all I can do is nod frantically while biting down hard on my bottom lip. I can’t keep still. My body is on fire under his touch and his gaze. Eyes dark with passion, he squints watching me squirm every time he speeds the rhythm of his thumb up or down.

“Fuck,” I move my hips to the rhythm of his hand and grab one of my breast.

His thick tongue snakes out to lick his pink lips like he did earlier in the arena and I almost cum on sight. I look on in shock watching how he licks his thumb clean like he just ate Doritos and he’s discarding the remnants of them. A small groan of pleasure leaves his throat. I must be dreaming.

Climbing off the bed hastily, he tugs his pants and red briefs down at once and his dick pops up on recoil. My pussy clenches around nothing in anticipation for her next guest. Long, thick and tanned just like the rest of him. Mouthwatering. I never had the urge to taste something so bad in my life.

I can tell there’s no time for that though. He’s anxious now. I can feel the heat and need radiating off his body as if his stiff, vein-filled dick didn’t already tell on him.

With a tight grip on my ankle, he flips me over abruptly. Of course. Missionary would’ve been way too intimate for the circumstances.

On instinct I get up on all fours, deepening the arch to an almost painful degree so the view is nice for him. A smack so hard I jerk forward a bit, lets me know he’s satisfied with what he sees.

“All this ass,” he mumbles rubbing my behind in circles and even giving it a little shake.

He runs his long fingers up and down the slickness with ease. A groan leaves my throat as I grow impatient. I know I should want this to last as long as humanly possible, but I can’t fight this storm inside of me. I’ve wondered too long about it, daydreamed about it, and even touched myself in imagination before at the thought of this man I only knew through a TV screen.

I sway back and forth slightly waiting and listening to the sound of a wrapper and a slight pop. I have no time to prepare. The bed dips with the weight of him back on it. His thick head is at my opening, rubbing from my clit to almost my asshole. He only does this three good times before I’m practically ripped apart.

“Ouu!” A mix of a moan and something I’ve never heard from myself fills the room. He roughly takes the hand I thought I would use to push him and pins it behind me.

My throat goes dry. God damn. He’s fucking huge and unforgiving. Even with the slow pace he’s pushing into me combined with my wetness, it still feels like he’s breaking me apart from the inside out.

“Breathe,” he coaches. If possible a gush of wetness rushes out from the sound of his voice, bringing me back to the situation at hand. I have to make it work for him.

I bite down on the expensive grey covers as he pulls completely out and then back in. “Mm!”

He finds his rhythm, as he’s able to glide in and out. I try to match him once the pain subsides. I glance back to catch his full bottom lip caught between his teeth. The muscles in his chest working as a sheen of sweat starts to form.

I work harder now. The sight of him turning me on more than ever, opening me up like a wildflower.

“Let me hear you. I wanna hear you,” he grunts out almost desperately. The vulnerability in his rough voice drawing more heat and wetness from my core. I moan louder than I intended and shock myself. I’m not usually verbal in bed. Maybe a little cry or whimper here and there. This shit feels too good to be demure and delicate about.

I obey his order and release the moan that I didn’t even know I’m suppressing. It's not forced or fabricated. I genuinely feel so good in this moment I can only moan in response.

His strokes are primal. Animalistic like a lion in the wild taking whats his. And he’s so fucking big. In aura and size. The ways his body envelopes mine makes me feel smaller than I really am. His thickness stretching me in a way I didn’t think was possible.

“Oh, fuck!” I yell out. His hand tangles in my hair and stretches my gaze up, giving him full view of my desperate face.

“Tell me how good it feels,” he demands.

“Oh my god,” I pant. “It's so fucking good,” I struggle to get out. Every thrust steals my breath. He aims for the perfect spot every time and doesn’t miss. The smack of our bodies colliding ring loud in the silent space.

“Louder, baby,” he grunts diving deeper.

“I can feel you everywhere. You feel so good! Unh!”

“Atta girl.” The rumble of his voice sends a vibration straight to my core. My pussy clenches down from his words. To add insult to injury, a large and slightly calloused hand finds its way up my stomach to cup my breast. He pinches, twists and rolls my nipple around like he’s playing with a toy. As if my pussy isn’t becoming dangerously wetter already.

He removes the hold in my hair, trailing to my hip. His thumb presses down hard while guiding me back and forth on him. He gives me his all and I return the favor, using the unstable grip I have on the duvet to leverage me as I throw my ass back on him to catch.

The friction of his balls slapping sloppily against my clit built up enough pressure for a pending orgasm. With one strong hand still on my hip, he uses his free one to shove my face down to the bed making me lose any power I had in this fight.

His front collides with my ass, causing a consistent slapping. Anyone walking on the bus could easily tell whats going on now. His grunts, my pants, the consistent slapping. These were sounds of fucking.

“Fuck me! Yesss!” I don’t recognize myself. He’s awakening something in me. A familiar tinging stirs in the pit of my stomach. If he keeps on, it won’t be long until I explode all over his thick dick.

“Yeah?” He whispers.

“Yeah,” I whimper in response.

He goes harder than ever before, his strokes less uniform and more wild. My mouth falls wide open at the intensity and perfect mix of pain and pleasure.

His hips continue to snap against me and if possible I feel him grow harder inside me. His fingertips dig into me so hard I know there’ll be bruises tomorrow.

“Urghh!” A guttural moan erupts from him, urging me to fuck him through his release even as his movements slow. I study his facial expressions and record them in my brain to take home with me as a souvenir. He stretches his neck with eyes shut tightly. That fucking tongue. Whisking out to flatten over his top lip before he bites down on his bottom one. Chest heaving up and down with the muscles in his abdomen flexing with every breath.

“So fucking good,” he says more to himself. He delivers another hard spank to my ass before I feel him ease out of me, hissing slightly at the sudden disconnect and absence of him. The pit of my stomach heavy still with the lingering orgasm that was cut short.

I’ve had sex with guys before and never got to finish. I’d leave unsatisfied and almost regretting the encounter completely. This is different. I’m here for him. I’d fulfill his needs and drain him even if it meant I left with nothing but a wet ass.

The bed creaks a little, letting me know he got up completely. Just when I think the night is over, my mouth falls open at the sensation of his hot mouth covering my entire pussy. His tongue slithers out to graze my distended clit.

“Mm, shit,” I cry out, shaking. I’m so sensitive. Any little sensation sends my body into overdrive. Every lick draws a mini release. When I finally get to the edge I know I’ll fall completely apart. The hair from his beard tickles me, only heightening the sensations. I feel nothing but pure pleasure.

A strong hand comes down on my left ass cheek and I whimper on impact. He squeezes it in a firm gip to move me up and down in a steady rhythm on his flattened tongue.

“Oh, fuck yeah,” I cry. I let my head hang down unable to keep it up any longer. All I can do, feel, and think about in this moments is how good he feels to me. Guys my age always need a crash course on how to eat pussy. Always too much spit, they couldn’t find my clit, or the torturous shaking of the head like a rabid dog.

Roman is eating me like I’m his last meal. Touching spots I didn’t even know a tongue could reach. With the way he’s grabbing me and rocking me on his stiff tongue, he’s damn near fucking me with it. We’re two complete strangers. The power dynamic is completely off. He’s the billionaire WWE superstar and I’m the underpaid and overworked fan in college. Somehow he’s still taking the time to worship my body and give me his all as if he’s the one who has something to prove.

The dick was mind-blowing. Oh, but the head will be the death of me. That same tongue he wags and flicks on live television, exploring me. Tonight is an absolute fairytale. If I didn’t know any better, I would think he could read my mind. He knows exactly what I want and how I want it.

In only a matter of seconds a tornado of heat swirls in my core. I rock back and forth on his mouth before he sucks relentlessly on my sensitive bud nonstop.

“Unnhh!” An uncontrollable shake erupts from me as I see stars. The world goes completely blank for a while as I relish in the ecstasy of my orgasm granted by the Tribal Chief himself. Tonight, I acknowledge him and his mouth.

“Oh my god,” I whisper in between pants coming to my senses. A small laugh leaves my throat at the way I just lost myself in front of him.

I turn to find him in the middle of snatching the cream covered condom off. His big dick bobs up and down from the snatch, fully erect again.

We got one night only.

Like a lioness on the prowl in the jungle, I eye him, crawling to the edge of the king bed where he stands. I stop just in front where my mouth aligns to his thickness, still eyeing him, making sure it's okay. He nods giving me the green light and even holds the base in his strong hand to bring it closer to my lips.

I let a glob of spit form and fall freely on his thick mushroom tip. Before it can drip, I catch it on the underside and lick from tip to base, to the tip again. His hips push forward impatiently.

“Open.” It's not a question so I don’t test him. His face is hard, but his eyes are desperate. As soon as my lips part he shoves himself all the way in like he owns my entire mouth. He draws out and I hallow my cheeks to keep it in as long as possible until I release him with a pop.

“Stick your tongue out for me.” I oblige and he slides his heavy dick across it gathering spit before pushing back down my mouth. A pulse grows in my clit again. A revival from seeing the remains of the mess I made in his thick beard.

“It's so good,” I tell him while slapping it on my tongue for him, earning a groan. The skin of him is soft as he stretches my mouth. I can taste the salty precum and I cant wait for the rest of it. I never trusted a man to release his bodily fluids in me in any way. It kind of grossed me out. Oh, but not tonight. He can release wherever he chooses.

Using one hand to twist in tandem with sucking him, I study every change in his expression, every pattern of his breath to record what feels the best to him.

“Go ‘head,” he urges in a low guttural tone. “Just like that. Take it all the way down. Don’t stop, babygirl.” That’s all I need to hear.

The eye contact is so deep it puts me in a trance. In a constant and fluid motion I take him in and out, making sure he reaches the back of my throat every time. In and out. In and out. In and out. The sounds of spit and his heavy breathing take charge of the room.

His body stiffens a bit and I can feel him get harder on my tongue. Deliberately I take him as far as possible and stay there until I make myself choke. The contracting of my throat around his thick head sends him completely off the rails. He breaks our bubble, throwing his head back to the ceiling.

“Mmm. Aw fuck!” A strong hand grabs a fistful of my hair, making it impossible for me to move. Thick ropes of his warm cum shoot down my throat and all around my mouth. “Ahh,” he groans out with a hiss jerking his hips forward a few good times. “Oh my god,” he blows out a heavy breath and lets his hands rest on his hips.

I’ve made dean’s list, honor roll all throughout high school, medals of all kind from track decorate the walls of my bedroom in my parents’ house. None of those accomplishments compare to the sight I just witnessed. The Roman Reign’s spent and sexually exhausted because of little ole me.

“Let me see,” he whispers while watching me suck the last of it out. I open wide and stick my tongue out so he can see his cum on it. His massive dick jumps at the sight. I feel the warmth of some of it seeping out and running down my chin.

“Don’t move,” he instructs. Like his obedient soldier I stay put, only looking around with one good eye. The other shut tight so none of his cum could invade it.

When he emerges again, he has a wet cloth in hand. Gently but still firm he wipes my face clean of him and my tears that slipped from the intensity of choking. Who knew the Tribal Chief is into aftercare?

A squeal escapes me from being lifted into the air and over his broad shoulder. I’m hanging as he moves us about. There’s no way that any of this is happening.

The shower starts to run. Even upside down I can see the marble walls and waterfall shower head raining down.

“You care about your hair getting wet?”

“No,” I strain to get out with his shoulder digging into my stomach. He chuckles so softly, I would’ve missed it if I couldn’t feel it from being on him.

He fucks me for hours in the shower. My back against the wall. In the air. Face against the tiles. On all fours again. I guess older men carry more stamina. The water cascaded from up top on us both while we locked tongues passionately, breathing in each other’s air.

He was in control the whole time. He flipped me every way he wanted me to go. Told me what to do, never asking. I’m left a wet, quivering mess at the end of it all.

I don’t realize how exhausted I am until he asks if I want to stay the night. I think about getting dressed and leaving, but the bed is impossibly plush and the sight of him naked still is impossibly sexy. Even better than I imagined.

I threw cuddling out the window once I seen his stoic nature and how he moved about earlier like this was just a business deal. He lays in the bed, still naked on his back with muscular arms slightly stretched. I lay on my stomach beside him trying to get comfortable. My heart thumps out my chest knowing he’s still here with me and so accessible. We literally just violated each other in the nastiest way possible and now we lay in bed not even touching.

His heavy breaths and light snore fill the room in no time creating a sort of white noise for me to descend to.

Some time in the middle of the night, I don know how, but those light snores ended up right in my ear. His breath hot on top of my head, accompanied by a very heavy arm over my hip.

My heart smiled and my face caught fire. It was so intimate. Undeniably my favorite part of the night. I shifted as quietly as I possibly could, inch by inch, until I was facing him. His bun fell completely apart, leaving his dried and fluffy curls cascading over his shoulders and the plush pillows. I make out what I can in the dark of his sharp features. I never seen him so relaxed. In the ring he’s always tense, always painted with tyranny and stress, but not right now. He almost looked like an angel.

I make a mental image of him. This is exactly how I want to remember him— how I want to remember this unpredictable night. This is the part that even if I could tell it, I don’t think anyone would even believe me. Burying my face into his chest, I breathe deep, trying to imprint his smell into my brain like ink on the skin.

The loud voices of men I don’t recognize, serve as my alarm clock. Eyes still shut, flashes of the night before and the soreness of my body, warp me back to reality. Oh, shit.

I shoot up from the pillow to scan the room, keeping the covers close to my naked chest. His suitcase still stood in the corner, but there’s no trace of him. No water running. His slides are gone. The thick curtain shields me from the rest of the bus.

6:07 AM flashes on the digital clock of the now cleared nightstand.

It's not like I was expecting this grand goodbye. The man didn’t even say hello to begin with. I thought I could at least see him one last good time before I leave LA for good.

I attempt to rise up, but something crinkling under my palm stops me. I grab the sheet of notepad paper and rub my eyes before reading the contents of it.

Thanks for last night. Joe.

Short and simple. In the corner, two cursive R’s as a signature. I neatly fold the paper and drop it into the pocket of my jeans I find folded on the chest dresser. I want that paper with me everywhere I go. A small piece of the whole experience. A subtle reminder of the best night of my life.

Every part of me wants to feel bad. How could I let him just use me for his needs for a night and then discard me like it was nothing? I should feel low. Cheap. But thats not even the kind of girl I am. The glass is always half full to me. Last night was arguably the best night of my young life. I’ve never known such adventure. I never felt more free—more like a woman.

I flop down in my bed still in a daze from the events of last weekend. Demi had a million and one questions. The NDA kept me from spilling. Even if I could’ve given her a play by play of how the night went, I don’t think I would’ve. Demi and I have the kind of bond thats void of any secrets. But that night with him was so special to me, I want to keep it for myself. Something for just me and him. It makes it more magical when only we know what happened. I just want to soak and bathe in it all.

Light as a feather I stare at my ceiling, letting the flashbacks corrupt me. The feel of his soft skin. The smell of him. His grunts and pants. His hands caressing and gripping my ass. The warmth of his tongue filling my mouth. I blow out a breath getting worked up again. I’ve touched myself countless times since that night to the memory of his voice and his energy. He was just so damn good. So much man and dominance, but still gentle and cautious.

After we touched back down in New York, it was back to reality. But that didn’t stop me from walking on a cloud. You can’t tell me shit. I fucked the Roman Reigns. Drained him and swallowed the aftermath. How’s that for a spring break?

It's currently Thursday. Almost a week has passed since the greatest night of my young life. I just got back from the gym with Demi. She’s pressed me every single day since that night, but I won’t budge. The confines of the NDA keeping me stronger than I normally would be.

Tomorrow is Smackdown at the Garden, but it's unclear if Roman will even be in attendance. He takes so many hiatuses it's really a hit or miss with him. Demi asked if we should go, but I declined not wanting to spend the money I didn’t have just for him not to even show.

A sudden dread came over me knowing that he couldn’t possibly be thinking of me even half as much as I’ve thought of him. He’s overridden my mind. I’ve obsessed over every little detail and played it back a thousand times, while he doesn’t even know my name.

Paul said it himself. He likes the comfort of company while he’s on the road. All the times he has to travel for work, cameras in his face nonstop, and body aching from all the physical exhaustion, I’m sure he always has to release the tension somehow. I’m just one of many.

I knew that going into it. I know I’m not special, but I tried my hardest to be. I did what I could to make him remember me. Constant eye contact, carrying out his every command, throwing this ass back as hard as I could and sucking the soul out of him.

A violent buzz of my phone snaps me out of my daze. I feel for it on the covers. My eyebrows dent at the message notification from a number I don’t recognize, causing me to unlock it.

Your Tribal Chief has requested your services again.

Sorry for that long ass disclaimer lol. It’s a shame I even have to include that, but I literally watched a girl argue with an author on here about promoting adultery and cheating simply because a character was cheating. Like, it’s a story?? It’s a fictional character?? Don't read it??

If you read it or even just parts of it, I really am appreciative. Pls like or reblog. Feedback is greatly appreciated. Please remember I am an artist…and I’m sensitive about my shit lol 💋

banner credit: @animatedglittergraphics-n-more

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bisexualiteaa · 3 months ago

Text

Give me this dance

Alternate Silco x fem reader (fluff and smut!)

MDNI!!

Synopsis: In every timeline, you were a part of his life. Right there by his side to bring him outside of his comfort zone and show him some fun. Soon, what started as a mere dance turned into a night neither of you would forget.

Songs for inspo/to listen to while reading:

CW: slight season 2 spoilers! Established friendship, mutual pining, mutual feelings, unrequited feelings, reader is AFAB, reader is a bartender at the last drop, reader has hair, alternate Silco, softer/happier Silco, brief mentions of alcohol, fluff w/ smut, cursing, fïngering, 0ral (fem recieving), nïpple pläy, unprotected seggs, p0rn w/ feelings, rïding, cream 🥧, fluffy ending, proofread, potential spelling/grammar errors, slight OOC Silco, no use of y/n

AN: The way he looked so happy in this timeline, he looks so happy and even more handsome somehow it’s CRAZY!! 😭 Had this one in the works for a while now but it’s finally done! I hope you all enjoy! 🥹♥️

You smiled happily as you were finally able to find your way out from behind the bar, a momentary reprieve from the hustle and bustle, the demand of drink orders that had been steadily building all night. “Come dance with me! I love this song” you remarked to Silco, making his eyes widen with something akin to a look of fear. He was a horrible dancer, and the last thing he wanted to do was embarrass himself in front of you of all people. He looked to Vander for any bit of advice or help he could give, only earning a grin from the man in response, telling him he was on his own for this one. “I-I’m not very good at dancing I…” Silco tried to explain, stuttering terribly as your hand grabbed his upper arm, causing a blush to trickle across his face and his heart to race in his chest out of nervousness. He didn’t want to turn you down, but he didn’t want to embarrass himself in a bar full of people either. Or embarrass you, for that matter, with being such a terrible dance partner. “Me either, it’s okay! Promise I won’t judge” you reassured with a smile, the faint smell of liquor and mixers entangling with your perfume, creating a smell that was so comforting, so familiar. It was so you and so incredibly intoxicating. “C’mon, let’s have some fun! Dance with me” you tried to persuade him sweetly, gorgeous eyes looking up at him so excitedly, almost twinkling in the warm glow of the lanterns that hung around the bar. How could he possibly say no when you looked at him like that? “What’s the harm? Doubt anyone will even be lookin’” Vander jutted in, cleaning a glass as he spoke and took your side on this, hoping that maybe if Silco danced with you, he would finally tell you how he feels, possibly ending the constant back and forth cycle of mutual pining between you two for good. He was two to one now, leaving him no other choice but to relent. “I suppose I’ll step out of my comfort zone, just this once” he remarked cheekily, making you nearly jump for joy at his response, an elated smile stretching across your lips as you eagerly led him out on the floor to dance. Vander could only laugh as he watched you both act as if you were teenagers all over again, pushing the boundaries of friendship and testing the waters of romance.

You looked up at the taller man in front of you, hazel and green eyes gazing upon you with such light of a man so deeply in love. Your bright, contagious laughter filled the air as you danced to the music, caring not for anything but this moment. Who cared if anyone else was watching? Who what anyone else was thinking? If they were judging. The only person you cared about looking at you was the man you were dancing with. Seeing his eyes glued to you, smiling as he attempting to follow your pace and rhythm was all you needed. This had to be heaven, surely. “I’ve never seen you dance like this before” Silco commented with a cheeky grin, happy to see you so comfortable and carefree while in his presence. “I normally don’t, but for such a special occasion I decided to make an exception” you replied, making him laugh as you both continued to let the beat carry you, finding your feet moving nearly in sync all on their own.

Before you knew it, one dance had turned into quite a few, then quite a few turned into spending nearly all night out there getting caught up in song. Silco found himself enjoying the moment and the chance to be with you far more than he could have ever anticipated. Who knew stepping out of your bubble a little could be so much fun? Suddenly the music had taken on a much slower turn from the rest of the music that had been playing, even the lights had dropped a little to add to the almost romantic atmosphere. You’d never slow danced before, and you figured that you’d likely pulled Silco out of his element for long enough, so you took it as your sign to hop back behind the bar. However before you could, his voice stopped you. “Where are you going?” He asked softly, looking confused and almost hurt that you were going to leave. “Oh, I figured you were probably done dancing for the night so I…I thought I’d head back behind the bar. I didn’t want to force you to stay here dancing all night if it isn’t what you want” you explained, feeling a pang of guilt hit you in the chest as he looked upon you so sadly. Any chance he had to spend with you he would do in a heartbeat, so long as it was with you, he’d do just about anything. “I don’t feel forced. You’ve brought me out of my element yes, but I’ve enjoyed dancing with you. I’d be even happier to continue” he admitted wholeheartedly, making you perk up a little to hear he was enjoying himself, finding yourself a little surprised at the prospect. “Really?” You asked, voice hopeful as you looked to him, watching him shake his head yes, easing your every worry. “Would you give me this dance?” He asked bravely, hand extended out for you to take. You looked to it before looking back up at him with a blushy smile, heart feeling as if it would beat out of your chest from both excitement and anxiousness. “I’d be delighted to” you responded sweetly, grabbing his hand and allowing him to lead you both to a spot that allowed you enough room while also granting you a little bit of privacy compared to before. “Full disclosure, I’ve never slow danced before” you finally confessed, a little embarrassed but it only made him chuckle. “Me either, it’s okay. I won’t judge” he repeated back to you the exact same thing you’d told him when you asked him to dance, making you laugh at the witty comeback. It was only fair, you supposed. You’d brought him out of his comfort zone and showed him a great time in doing so, it was only fair to allow him to do the same for you. Besides, when would you be able to get this chance to share with him again? Better to take the opportunity, make the best of it and be able to look back on it as a memory someday than not and mourn what could have been. “Clever play, using my own words against me” you replied, making him only grin wider. “Just follow my lead” he spoke confidently, bringing your arm to loop around his neck as one of his hands rested at your hip, the other holding yours as you both stepped and swayed to the beat, keeping it simple. You couldn’t help the rouge that ran across your cheeks however that this was even happening right now. From the close proximity of your chests being pressed together, to your hands being intertwined as he looked down at you with a soft, love struck smile, all of it was so romantic. So intimate. It left you nervous, not wanting to mess up and ruin the beautiful tension that had begun to set in between you now. Yet you felt so alive, so free. It felt like one of those romantic moments you’d only ever heard of in the books you’d read. You could hardly believe it was actually real. That this was real.

You smiled up at him as you stared into his gorgeous eyes, finding your hand moving from its original place to instead come and rest along the scarred side of his cheek almost instinctively, your thumb rubbing soothing circles against the textured skin there. He was always so self conscious about his scars, especially around you. He didn’t want you to think less of him because of them, or find him less attractive because of them, often covering them with makeup to at least cover the color of the scar tissue and make it blend in with his natural skin tone better. Yet you thought that they were what made him so stunning. Paired with his piercing eyes and the confidence he carried about himself so effortlessly, even the way he dressed, everything about him was just so incredibly special. He stood out amongst the rest of the crowd. Gods he was so handsome. He was so handsome it was almost intimidating, yet you’d known him long enough to know there was no reason to be.

Your sweet gesture made his heart skip in his chest, beating harder and faster than it already had as he smiled down at you. He wondered to himself if it was loud enough for you to hear as it slammed against his sternum. You couldn’t help the way your eyes seemed to curiously flit between his and his lips occasionally, silently wondering how they would feel if they were pressed against your own. Would they be soft? They looked soft. Would they fit well against your own? You hoped to find out. It made you start to think that perhaps the slower song was chosen on purpose, strategically placed so you would dance with him to it. A plan to get you to get him out of his comfort zone, show him some fun, all while setting you both up with the perfect opportunity to speak on feelings that rested unspoken between you for far too long now. Or maybe you were just lucky enough to have fate hand you such a beautiful opportunity. Who were you to turn it down if so? “You’re quite good at this” you complimented, making him give a breathy chuckle. “You’re better than you give yourself credit for” he replied, making you hum with a sweet smile as you looped both of your arms around his neck, taking the bold step and resting your head against his chest as you continued to sway. He froze for a moment as you did, his hands finding your hips before wrapping his arms around you as it set in that you were leaned against him like this. That you felt safe enough with him to do so. It made him nearly dizzy at the thought of having you like this, to have you so close, for you to want this with him. It left him to silently thank every deity above for the opportunity as he shut his eyes and rested his chin on top of your head for a moment, allowing the both of you to sway to the rhythm and just enjoy each other’s warmth.

When the song had finally come to an end, you lifted your head up to look at him, eyes once again flickering between his gaze and his lips with that same curiosity. Only this time it was much stronger than it was before. “Thank you, for dancing with me. For…for choosing to share this moment with me” you said meekly, making him look to you as one of his hands cupped your cheek, thumb rubbing soothing circles into your skin just as you’d done to him. For a moment the world was completely lost on you, it felt as if it was just the two of you here. “No matter the options, no matter the occasion I’d choose you, always” he confessed, tone so genuine, words so heartfelt that the butterflies in your stomach had returned tenfold, leaving you to bite your lip as you bit back a school-girlish giggle. If your mind wasn’t screaming at you to kiss him before, it most certainly was now. “Sil?” You inquired softly, watching as his eyes now trailed to your plush lips before returning your gaze, doing the same to you that you’d been doing to him this whole time. It nearly drove you wild, seeing the want in his eyes, the admiration. All for you. “Yes?” He asked in reply, watching a smile stretch to your lips before you spoke, looking at you expectantly. “Do us both a favor and just kiss me already, would you?” You responded in a cheeky but confident tone, making him hum in amusement at your boldness. He loved it about you, so unafraid to go for the things you wanted or that made you happy. He was honored to be that for you. “I thought you’d never ask” he answered, not wasting even a moment before his lips were on yours, finally answering all curiosities and all thoughts as he held you close. Vander gave an excited whistle and clap that left you smiling into it as you pulled him down against you a little more, showing him just how much you’d wanted this. He chuckled into it, responding by squeezing your hip as your lips melded together for a little while longer, a good handful of people cheering you both on before finally pulling apart. You smiled up at him excitedly as his hand grabbed yours, squeezing it lovingly.

“Well, as delightful as this has been, it’s about time for my shift to be over. Do you…maybe wanna get out of here?” You asked, hoping he would say yes, praying that when you went to put your apron back behind the bar and walk out, you’d be walking out with him. He tried so hard to hide his surprise and excitement at your question, but the way his brows raised a little and eyes opened a little wider didn’t go unnoticed by you, making you giggle softly as you saw it. “Are you asking me to come home with you?” He asked curiously, wanting to make sure he understood exactly what you were implying, not wishing to misread you and do something that would make you upset or assume something incorrectly. “Yes, yes I am” you replied as you looked up at him, awaiting his answer. He was dreaming, he must have been. Had you really just asked him to come home with you? “After you” he said, making you smile and giggle. “G-Great! Yeah, uhh just…let me put this behind the bar for tomorrow then we’ll head out” you replied, skittering behind the bar to quickly take off and fold your apron before tucking it away, informing Vander that you were headed home for the night. He shot you a grin and Silco a knowing glance as you walked back over to him, collecting your things before heading out the door together.

You smiled and giggled with excitement into your shared kiss as your back hit one of the walls in your home that you’d only just stepped foot in but a moment ago. You’d barely even made it in the door that was haphazardly shut with his foot, your hands running up from his chest to tangle in his neatly slicked back hair as your lips melded together in a sinful dance. His one hand rested against the wall, propping himself up with his arm and caging you in a little as the other sat at the back of your thigh, allowing your leg to rest against his hip so he could slot himself even closer to you. He’d spent long enough without you, long enough chasing circles around you, any space between you now was eliminated the moment it was noticed. You felt him slide closer to you between your legs, his other hand coming down from the wall to do the same to your other thigh, tapping it so you would hop up and wrap your legs around his hips. As you did so, he had you effectively pinned against the wall, your hips pressed against his with a moan as your tongues fought in a battle for dominance over the other. One he was delighted to let you win, allowing your tongue to explore his, the taste of whiskey, smoke and tobacco still hanging heavily from his lips. It was an addicting taste. You gasped into the kiss as he rolled his hips against yours, leaving you to pull away to rest your head against the wall as his lips trailed your neck, kissing and nipping at all your sensitive spots. He simply couldn’t get enough of you, your warmth, the feel of your soft skin against his own, the sounds of your melodic moans filling his ears, it was all such bliss. And Janna almighty was he a lucky man to be the one who gets to see you like this. His nimble fingers danced curiously beneath the bottom of your shirt, calloused hands caressing your waist. He aided you in removing your shirt, leaving you there before him in your bra and the sight alone made him throb against you, earning a quiet gasp with delight as you looked to him excitedly. Lust filled your gaze, pupils nearly encompassing the entirety of your irises as a smile still rested on your lips, waiting for his next move. His hands found their way behind you, undoing the clasps to your bra and watching as you tossed it aside without a care. “Beautiful” was all he could say as he gazed upon you, leaving you to blush and give a hum in response.

Once you’d finally made it to your bedroom, you aided in the removal of his shirt, undoing the buttons, unraveling all the stylish layers teasingly yet carefully slow while looking up at him. You notified his fingers twitched with anticipation, patiently waiting for you to finish so he could feel your skin against his once more. Once they’d finally been undone, they trailed along your floor towards the foot of your bed, allowing you to gaze upon his slender form. You smiled with all the kindness in the world as you gazed upon him, looking at him as if he were a god standing before you, offering himself to you. It all felt so unreal. Your hands rested on his chest once he’d leaned in closer, begging for the taste of your lips against his once more, helping you to lay on your back as he kissed you much softer this time. Your arms looped around his neck to hold him close, inviting him to continue. He eagerly straddled your frame, one of his hands coming down to caress the curve of your waist before reaching upwards to your chest. He paused for a moment, unsure of whether it was okay for him to touch, so you took the chance to grab his hand, placing it there for him with a playful grin into your shared kiss before looping your arms back around him, hands splayed against his lithe figure. You moaned sweetly in response as he massaged your breast in his hand, allowing his tongue to enter your mouth and tangle with your own, deepening the kiss.

Before you knew it his hand was trailing down your frame once again, fingers slipping past your naval and down towards the waistband of your pants. He broke the kiss to work at the button of your pants, leaving you panting for air as a flush set against your cheeks. You giggled as you watched him fumble with the button and zipper for a little bit, the eager shake of his hands making it prove to be a bit more difficult before he was finally able to get it undone. He looked to you for permission as his fingers hooked in the waistband, waiting for you to tell him it was okay. When your hands pushed down against his own to help them inch down your hips, he took that as his answer, pulling them, along with your panties, down and off of your legs before tossing them behind him unceremoniously, making you laugh. “Eager, are we?” You teased with a grin, making him chuckle. “I don’t think you understand just how long I’ve wanted you” he replied, sending a pleasant shudder down your spine and stoked the fire burning in your core at the thought that he’s craved you like this. That he’s fantasized about this. “Then what are you waiting for?” You asked, making him shoot you a crooked grin before sinking down and settling between your legs, laying gentle yet hot kisses to your inner thighs. “For you to scream my name for all of Zaun to hear as I please you like no one else can” he responded confidently with a much deeper tone, hands resting on your thighs and keeping them spread as he brought his lips to your throbbing clit.

Your reaction was immediate, back arching slightly from the mattress as your hands flew down to tangle in his hair. “Fuck…” you cursed quietly before moaning as his tongue licked flatly up your slit then fluttered against your aching bud. He moaned into you at your taste, opening his eye to look up at you as he sat between your legs lavishing you with attention, and gods above was he graced with a beautiful sight. Your eyes screwed shut, mouth open as moans billowed from your throat unrestrained, your chest heaving up and down with each labored breath. His every fantasy was ruined in this moment, because nothing, absolutely nothing would ever look better than you do right now. Nothing will ever hold a candle to your beauty as he pleased you. You looked fucking ethereal. Nothing could have possibly prepared him for it, for how perfect you looked, how delicious you tasted, how sexy you sounded moaning his name like a mantra for a lost god. He’d give anything to stay here, like this. All you’d ever have to do is ask.

You felt as one of his nimble fingers prodded at your entrance, easing its way in thanks to the mix between your slick and his saliva before searching for any of your sensitive spots. You gasped as he curled his finger within you, feeling him rubbing against your gummy walls as his lips wrapped around your clit, sucking it. It left you dizzy, weak even, with just how good it felt. “Gods, yes! Just like that” you encouraged, one hand smoothing through his hair as you looked down at him while he worked you with his mouth, your fingers of your other hand coming up to toy with one of your sensitive nipples, adding to your pleasure. He groaned into you as he took notice of this, enjoying the sight of you playing with yourself as he brought you pleasure, listening to you moan his name like a prayer. None of Zaun would be able to mistake who had you feeling this good once he was through with you. His free hand came up to mirror your ministrations, showing your other breast some much needed attention. You gave a louder moan in surprise as he pinched it playfully between his thumb and index finger before rolling it beneath the pad of his thumb to soothe. The pain sent a bolt of pleasure straight to your clit, making him grin against you as he worked a second finger inside of you whilst skillfully tweaking your nipple.

You started to feel that all too familiar feeling of tension beginning to fester and rise in your lower belly, so close to snapping any moment now. Your hips rutted against his tongue and fingers, making him moan into your cunt as you used him for your pleasure, trying desperately to gain any bit of friction you could to propel you over the edge, and allow you to tumble into euphoria. “So close, please…” you begged through breathless pants, absolutely desperate to cum. It was when his fingers curled and rubbed against your walls once more that he found that spongy spot within you that lit your every nerve ending on fire. “Right there! Oh gods, Silco please” you let out, making him continue exactly what he was doing, hearing as your voice raised a bit higher in pitch, feeling your walls begin to tighten around his fingers. Before you could even think to warn him, your orgasm was rushing over you, consuming you whole as you screamed his name without a care for any consequence. Your back arched from the bed, eyes rolling back and your legs attempting to shut tightly as you twitched and writhed with every movement of his tongue and fingers that worked to help you down from cloud nine and draw out your pleasure for as long as possible, careful not to overstimulate you. Perhaps that could be saved for another day, should he be lucky enough.

He wiped his lips of your slick with the back of his hand before trailing them back up your body, stopping to suck gently on one of your nipples purely to see you writhe against him with need. He chuckled at your pathetic whine as your fingers came to the waistband of his pants, giving them an impatient tug. “Need me that bad, do you?” He asked with a cheeky grin down at you, the sight of you beneath him like this better than any dream he’s ever had. Seeing your hair settle around you against the sheets, the sight of you naked before him, glowing from the after effects of your orgasm that *he’d* given you. Seeing you wanting him just as much as he’d wanted you. It was unreal. “I don’t think you understand just how long I’ve wanted you” you replied cleverly, using his own words against him like he had done to you earlier, making him chuckle once more. Could you be any more perfect? “Then what are you waiting for?” He asked, making you grin deviously as you flipped him over on his back this time, straddling his hips now as your hand pressed against his chest, keeping him pressed against the mattress beneath you. His eyes looked to you with surprise at your quick and dexterous movements before waiting to hear what you had to say in response. “For you to take your pants off so all of Zaun can listen as you please me like no one else ever will” you replied with a confident grin, watching as he did exactly as you asked.

You both moaned pleasantly as he bottomed out, fully seated inside of you now, the angle allowing him to sit deeper within you as you straddled his hips. You gave yourself a moment to adjust, leaning down to kiss him once more to distract yourself from the momentary pain of the stretch. You could feel him throb inside of you with excitement, each pulse of his cock sending a pleasant tingle to your core. It was as he shifted his hips a little to get more comfortable that both of you moaned, the movement accidentally causing him to thrust into you a bit. So you started to move up and down on him at a slow pace to start, testing the waters to see if you were ready. And fuck, were you ready. He was in so deep like this that his tip nestled against your cervix each time you would sink back down onto him. It was heavenly. “Fuck…” you sighed as you started to pick up the pace a little, the sounds of his thighs meeting your ass, your shared panting and the slight creak of the bed becoming louder with your efforts, filling your room with the sinful symphony of sex. His hands slipped down your body to rest at your hips, gripping them tightly as he watched you skillfully bounce up and down on his cock, enjoying the sight of his length disappearing inside of you then peeking back out. “Janna almighty…” he let out, absolutely enraptured with the way your cunt wrapped around him so well, welcoming him so perfectly, he couldn’t help it. You were so warm, so wet, so tight around him that it left him breathless, fighting to not cum so soon. You couldn’t help but to giggle at his remark. “Feel good?” You asked between breathless pants, watching as he looked up at you, bewildered that you could possibly ask such a question. “Better than good, you feel incredible” he replied, a groan leaving him upon a particularly harsh thrust of your hips, watching you get lost in your pleasure as you rode him. You were quite the sight to behold while in the throws of your pleasure, watching your beautiful tits bounce as you moved, your head tilted back and eyes close as you’d find that perfect rhythm that drove you both wild. Every bit of you was so perfect in his eyes, he just simply couldn’t get enough. He watched as you bit your soft, kissable lips, teeth working at them and it made him crave the taste of them again, the feel of them against his own.

He sat up for a moment, bringing himself now eye level with you as you continued to ride him but now at a different angle. One that was even better. You hadn’t even thought that possible. He chased your lips, capturing them with his own as he started to thrust his hips up into you, matching your pace with precision. With each roll of his hips, not only was he hitting deeply inside, but your clit was getting new found attention, leaving you to moan into the kiss as you met his thrusts eagerly. “You’re perfect” he complimented, his lips trailing kisses down your neck to your shoulder as you felt that ever familiar coil begin to wind tight in your core again. It was as you were about to reach your peak that the words left you before you could even register that you’d said them. “I love you” you confessed, panting as you looked upon him with a blush tinting your cheeks and a hopeful, yet vulnerable look in your eyes that told him your sentiment was completely sincere. That this meant something far more to you than just a heated moment to be forgotten about or never spoken of once morning came. You loved him. He smiled so purely, so joyfully as the words graced his ears. “For so long I’ve dreamt of hearing those words from you” he replied, making you smile back as you finally realized that the feeling was mutual, no longer scared of the potential of rejection. “I love you” he reciprocated, making your heart race as you kissed him, your hands cupping his face as he held you, rutting his hips up into you with newfound fervor. “So close…” you panted once you both broke apart for air, feeling yourself sit dizzily at the edge of bliss as his lips trailed along your neck. “Cum for me, darling. Give it to me” he said, angling his hips perfectly to stroke that spot deep inside of you that had you keening. That was all it took. The tension within your core blossomed to warmth as your every nerve ending surged with fiery pleasure, your walls clenching around him as you moaned his name loudly, clinging to him for dear life whilst your orgasm consumed you. The sight of you twitching and nearly convulsing in ecstasy, mixed with the way your cunt squeezed him even tighter sent him toppling over the edge soon after, spilling himself inside of you with a deep, almost guttural groan. You gave a pleased hum at the sensation, feeling him throb within you and fill you so incredibly full as you both sat there, fighting to catch your breath and looking upon one another in awe. Enjoying the buzzing sensation of your shared afterglow, you leaned in to the press a gentle, loving kiss to his lips, further solidifying that your words genuine and that this moment had indeed meant something. When you pulled back, your hand resting gently on the scarred side of his cheek, you were graced with the most love struck look, making you smile and giggle. “What?” You asked, a cheeky grin stretched to your lips. “Nothing, just taking in the view” he said, making you hum. “Is that so?” You asked. “You’re incredible” he said, turning to kiss your palm as he held his hand against the back of yours, leaning into your soft touch, simply wishing to stay there and enjoy the intimacy of the moment together.

It was as you were both lying there in your bed peacefully, having come back from getting cleaned up, you’d even gone another round whilst in the shower, as an entertaining thought came to you. “You wanna know something funny?” You asked, propping your head up on your hand, leaning your weight on your elbow as you laid on your side, facing him. “What’s that?” He asked, eyes trailing over your frame with wonder, in awe of the fact that you truly were here before him, and that you both shared such an intimate moment together not only once, but twice. Your top half was peaking out from beneath the blanket, allowing him the view of your chest and all the marks he’d left upon your delicate skin as he waited with much anticipation for what you had to say. “If you think about it; it took us dancing with one another to stop dancing around each other. Kinda funny how that worked out, don’t you think?” you spoke with a grin, making you both laugh. “I suppose it is” he replied, making you smile and hum as you looked to him lovingly, happy to see him here with you, happy to have shared what you did with him. “I love you, Sil. Thanks again for tonight” you said sweetly, making him smile as you said it. “I love you too, and thank you” he replied as you cuddled up to him beneath the covers, his arm slung around your frame protectively as you began to drift peacefully to sleep in his arms.

Perhaps heaven wasn’t a moment in time, or an action to be taken, but rather a person, and as you sat there in his arms, he could confidently say that you were that person.

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minlcna · 2 months ago

Text

mcgonagall's ball lessons | george. f. weasley

george weasley x muggle!fem!reader

note: i know it's been a while since i posted..tbh i lost my momentum in writing and posting and lost my inspo as well. i can't say that i love this but it's been in the drafts long enough. im thinking of starting to take requests but im not sure if yall want that lmk in the comments! otherwise enjoy this

synopsis: you dance with george once and all the of the sudden rumors zoom around faster than a snitch

warnings: one swear word, punching pansy and draco, mentions of having kids/contraceptives (?)

word count: 2.7k

୨୧‿‿‿ 𝜗𝜚 ‿‿‿୨୧

The Yule Ball was its utmost effort for arriving, and today was the day Professor McGonagall, in all her glory, was to teach all eligible Gryfidors how to dance.

"The Yule ball has been a tradition of..." she started, raiding her voice, warning Flich of his tampering with the gramophone.

"...the Triwizard tournament since its inception. On Christmas Eve night, our guests and we gather in the great hall for a night of well-mannered frivolity."

"As representation of the host school, I expect each and every one of you to put your best foot forward. And I mean this literally because the Yule is, first and foremost, a dance.

Chatter and grumbling broke out instantly. You exchanged knowing glances with Alicia next to you. This could go either two ways: really bad or just bad enough.

"Silence," she called with strictness.

"The house of Godric Gryffindor has commanded the respect of the Wizard World for nearly 10 centuries. I will not have you in the course of a

behaving like a babbling bumbling band of baboons," she continued.

You saw George lean over to Fred, and you saw the lips mimicking the shapes of McGonagall, treating her words like tongue twisters. You pursued your lips to hold in your smile.

"Now, to dance is to let the body breathe. Inside every girl is a secret sworn Slumbers longing to burst off and take flight, and inside every boy is a lordly lion prepared to prance," she trailed off as she noticed George and Fred mumbling.

"Mr. Weasley, it was so kind of you to volunteer. Now, from the ladies, who will it be?" she questioned as her eyes trailed face to face down the row.

You pretended to reach into your nonexistent pocket, trying to appear busy and unsuitable choice.

"Miss L/N, please make your way to the center." she smiled.

You inwardly grimaced, which also showed outwardly, as evidenced by your friends' giggles and teasing eyes. You slowly stood up and made your way to the center before George.

You weren't sure whether it had been the pressure of everyone watching and quite possibly waiting to make fun of any little thing or the fact that George Weasley looked exceptionally pretty up close. Like really pretty, really close.

"Now, Mr. Weasley, grab L/N's waist with your right hand. No—that's your left hand—your right hand, yes." She directed patiently as the two of you awkwardly followed the directions.

Your right hand had met with his left, and you had to slightly get on your tip toes for your left arm to grasp his shoulder comfortably. Giggles and whispers erupted as soon as your heels lifted on the ground. Your face flushed red in embarrassment. You knew your friends and the entire house of Godric wouldn't let you forget this. You were not short by any means; the Weasley twin was just too tall.

As if the giggles and uncomfortable position of standing on your toes weren't enough to infuriate you, George smirked at your attempts to match his height and pace. You had been caught off guard when the music suddenly started playing, and rather than swaying, you had been being pulled and jerked from your position.

Unfortunately, Godric's heavy pride coursed through you, and your determination flooded to prove yourself to the already full-on snickers and cackles, the loudest recognizably being Alicia's.

"Relax a bit, will ya, love? My hands fall off," he whispered discreetly in your ears, and your face flushed darker than George's hair.

Thankfully, Professor Mcgonallal ceased your embarrassment by stopping you halfway and pairing everyone to learn. Each second felt excruciating, as it was the very first time you held hands with a guy—a handsome guy.

You swore you heard Professor Mcgognall join in the giggles when you walked beside your friends, noting her eyes follow George with Fred right behind. You wondered if she knew.

୨୧‿‿‿ 𝜗𝜚 ‿‿‿୨୧

By the time the period had ended, the entire castle had heard how the Gryffindor dance lessons proceeded. Probably record time, probably faster than anyone could ever say Merlin's saggy left bollock.

You were already tired of Alicia and Angelina trying to match you with George despite your neverending denials of being passionately in love with him until death from just dancing with him. Now, the entire school had joined in on it. You could only grumble and protest under your breath as you became the castle's favorite gossip pastime.

Of course, the Slytherins took a rumor and ran with it. They had found a new way to taunt the Weasleys and a new toy to torment them. Any other nemesis of the twins also took part.

One instance was when you had been rushing off to grab breakfast leftovers when you heard, "Running to meet Weasley, eh? Should've gotten up earlier to snog him in time for breakfast!"

Your first strategy was to ignore and flip people off. That hadn't been enough because the sneers got worse. You avoided any signs of ginger hear throughout the castle. The scarce accounts of you locking eyes with Geroge, and he had just given a curt nod with his permanent smirk.

You couldn't help but scoff. Fred had helped defend you once or twice, but that was it. It's all his fault, and all he does is laugh.

You couldn't help but direct your anger towards George. You knew it was heavily misplaced, but you couldn't do anything. No amount of insults, swearing, or mummy/daddy abuses ceased the talks. If only they made it worse.

You wanted to confront the redhead, but the words refused to form in your mind. Just the thought of speaking to him made your tongue feel heavy, and your cheeks flush with heat. Your fingers itched to intertwine with his warm ones, and your whole body yearned to be close to him. But as soon as those urges surfaced, you shook your head vigorously, side to side, until the world spun around you. Being dizzy was easier to endure than the whirlwind of those forbidden thoughts.

୨୧‿‿‿ 𝜗𝜚 ‿‿‿୨୧

You were standing in the courtyard during one of the breaks, waiting for lunch, when a sharp pain exploded at the side of your forehead. A heavy glass vial had struck you, clattering to the ground after impact.

"Hey, L/N," a taunting voice drawled. "Might wanna grab some contraceptive potions before you sleep with Weasley, or you'll end up breeding more than gnomes."

You bent to pick up the vial, your fingers curling around the cool glass as your brows furrowed in confusion. Then the realization hit, and your expression hardened into a sharp glare. The vial contained an actual contraception potion from an apothecary. Spinning on your heel, you locked eyes with the culprit: a blonde smirking devilishly, flanked by his entourage, their snickers biting at your ears.

"I'd shut your mouth if I were you," you said through gritted teeth, voice low and deadly. "Unless you want that ugly goblin shit you call a nose smashed into your skull." Your grip on the vial tightened, your knuckles blanching.

Goyle erupted in a guttural laugh but quickly silenced himself when Malfoy shot him a glare. Around you, the crowd stirred—murmurs of excitement spreading like wildfire. More students trickled into the courtyard, drawn by the rising tension, their curiosity adding weight to the charged atmosphere.

"Oh yeah?" Malfoy sneered, his lips curling in mockery. "What are you going to do? Call your filthy blood traitor lapdog to defend you?"

Pansy Parkinson's shrill giggle cut through the air. "Draco's just trying to help, you stupid Mudblood. But it looks like you'll happily pop out another Quidditch team full of losers."

The words hit like a slap to the face, and before you realized it, the vial slipped from your fingers, and your fists were flying.

The first punch landed solidly against Malfoy's jaw, snapping his head to the side. The collective gasp of the crowd barely registered in your ears as rage overtook you, a red-hot wave that blurred the edges of your vision. He stumbled back, but you weren't finished. You swung again, this time catching, hitting Pansy's nose, and then again, letting every ounce of frustration and fury you'd bottled up over the past few weeks pour into each strike.

The courtyard erupted into chaos. Malfoy's lackeys tried to pull you off, but you shoved them away. His smug smirk was gone, replaced with a wide-eyed expression of fear and pain as he weakly raised an arm to shield himself.

The crowd surged, students yelling and cheering, their voices blending into a cacophony. You didn't care. All you could see was green—your vision clouded with pure, unrelenting anger. You kept swinging, your fists aching, but it didn'tmatter. The satisfaction of each hit was the only thing grounding you.

Finally, strong hands grabbed your arms, hauling you backward. You kicked and struggled, breath coming in ragged gasps as the adrenaline coursing through you demanded you keep fighting.

"As much as I'd love for you to beat him to a pulp, love, I don't want to see you expelled." the captor of your arms whispered. Your body froze instantly, and you tried to catch a glimpse of the speaker. You noticed red hair peeking through the corners of your eyes.

"What in Godric's name is going on here?" the demanding voice asked, her sharp gaze cutting through the chaos. The crowd instantly silenced, students shrinking back under her scrutiny. Even Malfoy's friends, who had been so vocal moments ago, averted their eyes.

You froze, chest heaving, trying to catch your breath. The adrenaline still buzzed under your skin, but McGonagall's presence was like a cold bucket of water poured over you. Slowly, your fists unclenched, and you realized your knuckles were bruised and raw, faint smears of blood marking your fingers.

Professor McGonagall's lips thinned into a hard line. "Enough. Everyone—back to your business! This is not a spectator sport!" She turned her gaze back to you and Malfoy, her expression unrelenting. "The rest of you, to the Headmaster's office. Now."

Malfoy groaned as he struggled to his feet, favoring his side. "She attacked me!" he protested, his voice nasally and strained, no doubt from the blow you'd landed on his nose.

"And I have no doubt there's more to the story," McGonagall snapped, her tone brooking no argument. "But we'll deal with that where it's appropriate. Move along, Mr. Malfoy."

୨୧‿‿‿ 𝜗𝜚 ‿‿‿୨୧

The altercation between Malfoy and his gang and you had been carefully investigated and justly judged. Professor McGonagall, despite her strict nature, was surprisingly in your favor. George had also vouched for you, following you into the rotating staircase despite your attempts to elbow him off. He called the harassment ruthless bullying.

Parents were summoned, but despite them coming so, your highly modest and conservative mother refused to let the Parkinsons and Malfoys get a word out. To her, a lady's womanly issues were not to be discussed in the open nor ridiculed.

With two strong defenders, your mother and your professor, you got away with just detention and could still participate in the ball.

୨୧‿‿‿ 𝜗𝜚 ‿‿‿୨୧

It was the first snow of the year, and you were trapped in the Hogwarts kitchen. You had detention every Saturday morning, wehre your task was to scrub cauldrons. You needed to buy the last bits of accessories for the ball but had asked Alicia to pick them up since you were busy scrubbing.

Your fingers were numb from the rigor. As you brought the sponge towards you before pushing it forward, it shifted away from your hand. A frown accompanied by a tilted brow; you expected it to fall into the pot. Yet it continued to scrub and shell the cauldron—just like magic.

The second the thought crossed your mind, your head swung in all directions. Your eyes met the fellow leaning on the door frame with crossed arms and wand out—the ever so familiar missions glint in eyes and smug smirk.

"Hello, m'lady," he said as he went right before you. You tilted your head slightly to the side with a questioning look.

"What?" he asked incredulously.

"Why are you helping me? This is detention, you know," you replied, trying to gauge his purpose in visiting.

"Yes, this is. As a man, I must, however, take responsibility for my lady's actions. You are, in fact, here because of me; is that not correct?" he replied more boisterously.

Your cheeks burned, a combination of frustration and embarrassment.

“First of all, I’m not ‘your lady,’ and second, no one asked you to play knight in shining armor. I can scrub cauldrons perfectly fine on my own.”

George's grin widened, unfazed by your tone. “Oh, I can see that, love. You’re scrubbing so well, you’ve almost got that cauldron to sparkle like new.” He gestured to the pot that was now gleaming under the enchanted sponge’s tireless efforts.

“But wouldn’t you rather spend your Saturday doing something less…” He paused, twirling his wand lazily, “…soul-crushing?”

You crossed your arms, glaring up at him. “And why would you care how I spend my Saturday?”

He shrugged, still smirking. “Call it a guilty conscience. Or maybe I just missed your company. You’ve been avoiding me ever since our little dance lesson, haven’t you?”

Your jaw tightened, the memory of that mortifying class flashing in your mind. “I haven’t been avoiding you,” you said stiffly.

“Oh no?” He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a low murmur that sent an unwelcome shiver down your spine.

“So it’s purely coincidence that every time I walk into a room, you suddenly remember an urgent errand in the opposite direction?”

You scowled, willing your heart to stop fluttering like a caged snidget. “Maybe I just don’t enjoy being the subject of every stupid joke in the castle, thanks to you.”

George’s expression softened, his smirk fading into something more genuine. “That wasn’t my intention, you know,” he said quietly.

“I mean, I like a good laugh as much as the next bloke, but not at your expense.”

Your resolve faltered slightly, but you kept your arms crossed. “You didn’t exactly stop it, though, did you? All those rumors, all those stupid comments…”

“I didn’t stop it because I thought you could handle yourself,” George admitted, his gaze locking with yours. “You’re clever, tough, and brilliant. But maybe I underestimated how far people would take it.”

For a moment, you didn’t know what to say. The sincerity in his voice caught you off guard, and the warmth spreading through your chest was both comforting and infuriating.

“Well,” you said finally, your tone softer than you intended, “maybe next time, don’t underestimate how annoying people can be.”

George chuckled, his usual mischief returning. “Duly noted. So, what do you say? Truce?” He extended his hand, his lopsided grin making your stomach flip.

You hesitated, eyeing his outstretched hand suspiciously. “What’s the catch?”

“No catch,” he said, his grin widening. “Just a chance to make it up to you. Starting with getting you out of this dungeon and into the Three Broomsticks for a butterbeer. My treat.”

You raised an eyebrow. “I’m still in detention, Weasley.”

“Details,” he said with a dismissive wave of his wand. “I’m a master of mischief, remember? If anyone asks, I’ll say I kidnapped you.”

Despite yourself, a small smile tugged at your lips. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Ridiculously charming,” he quipped, holding his hand out again.

This time, you took it—his hand warm and steady in yours. It was the second time you’d ever held a boy’s hand, and somehow, it felt like the first time it truly mattered.

Professor McGonagall watched from a shadowed corner of the kitchen, arms crossed, her lips twitching upward in an uncharacteristic smile.

"Ridiculously charming, indeed," she muttered softly to herself, adjusting her spectacles. "I always knew those two would find their way to each other."

With a final glance at the pair sneaking out of the dungeon, hand in hand, she turned briskly on her heel. Her work was done—for now. After all, guiding her Gryffindors, even in matters of the heart, was just another part of the job.

#george weasley #george weasley x reader #george weasley drabble #george weasley imagine #george weasley blurb #george weasley x y/n #george weasley x you #george weasley x fem!reader #george weasley x female reader #george weasley fanfic #george weasley fic #george weasley fanfiction #gryffindor boys

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realprissygirl · 5 months ago

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a few things i’ve been obsessed with lately

1. body glitter. literally i can’t leave the house lately without making sure my chest, legs and hands shimmer. my fav choice will be my in the stars and into the night glowtions along with my diamond shimmer mists from b&bw. also love that new shimmer pure seduction shimmer body mist from vs.

2. mixed metals. stacking my sterling silver and gold charm bracelets and layering different colored necklaces feels so luxurious to me.

3. champagne gold. refer back to #2. i have a skin tone that looks good with gold and sterling silver. so when recently shopping and trying on tops i fell in love with the shade “gilver”.

4. black satin. buying new sheets and i bought some new black satin pillow cases to compliment my bedroom scheme and it’s such a classy and minimal touch.

5. hyper feminine music videos by black artists. been loving watching mariah carey and toni braxton videos. not to mention lyssithadoll’s check on it by beyonce costume #devoured

6. girly youtube. been binging youtube lately. not just for fun but for inspo. i have a list posted of my fav youtube girlies. been loving maintenance day vlogs and can’t wait to record some.

7. scripting. affirming and listening to subs while writing out my manifestations has been so fun and i’m an actual master manifestor sooo

8. my natural curly hair. sometimes i don’t feel like doing my hair to run out and check off errands. my hair has been in such a beautiful healthy state i literally don’t need any styling products, conditioner, nothing. just edge control and water and i’m out the door.

9. stylist videos. been watching a lot of hair stylists do hair on youtube (about to get a vixen sew in) the art of cosmetology is so prissy and will always be a worthwhile career choice.

10. gratitude and thought reframing. in the past i spent a lot of time complaining and being sad about everything that wasn’t going right for me when i’m literally so fucking blessed. like i have so much to be happy for. also affirming negative thoughts does nothing but make them more valid. i’m glad ive stopped

#❤︎ ྀི˖𓍢ִ໋#certified princess! ❤︎ ྀི #luvs it

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moodmusicmonday · 2 years ago

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Monday Funday

Ready for some music? Us too!

Here's what we need:

Title and Artist of the song

Title of your WIP; if it’s part of a series, include things like series title, part/chapter number and/or title

Choices Book/Universe (TRR, OPH, PM, TNA, etc)

Pairings (if there is one)

A link to your published fic (if you've already posted)

And this is how you get it to us:

Comment on this post (reblog or comment)

If you want to make your own MMM post with your own header (similar to SSS or WW), that is totally fine! Just make sure you tag this blog (@moodmusicmonday )

Songs must be submitted by 8:00 AM (CST) on the following Tuesday. Spotify playlist will be posted on Tuesday afternoon! I will also post a link to the playlist so you can take the songs with you.

Tags in the Comments: if you would like to be added/removed please let us know; if you have been overlooked, please be gracious and just let us know! We love you guys! Thank you for your support!

Also, thank you so much for the signal boosts! 💜

Now let's hear what you've got! 🎵🎶

#mood music monday #moodmusicmonday #choices mmm #spotify #choices mood music monday #choices music inspo #choices fanfiction #fanfic music inspo #choices fanfic #music inspo

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gh0stsp1d3r · 8 months ago

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𝒥𝓊𝓈𝓉…𝓈𝒽ℴ𝒸𝓀ℯ𝒹

req: Rafe X r. She has only had one boyfriend and that’s the only person she has been intimate with. Because of her more sweet introverted shy nature, he assumes that she has never done anal so Rafes jokes about “at least getting to claim her first somewhere else” but then gets so shocked when she confesses.

a/n: i thought of season one Rafe for this for some reason. Also im trying new formats lol my older ones sucked and im trying to figure out better ones. send some inspo maybe??

warnings: smut, fem!reader, possessive rafe, anal, a lil titty sucking (I’m not sorry) porn w plot, praise kink hehehe, names (baby, my girl)

MASTERLIST

divider below by @/plutism

“Hey,” Rafe rasped out from behind you, you jumping and turning to him. His hands went to your shoulders, eyes looking you up and down in your dress.

You thought that he was still in his room, you were clearly wrong. You had stayed the night at Tannyhill for Midsummers, and Ward insisted on you staying in the guest bedroom.

This was your first time seeing Rafe in this suit, and God, it was hot on him.

“Jesus, don’t scare me.” You pouted and gently shoved his chest, a playful smirk on his face. “But, hi.”

“You look good.” He told you, a smile also forming on your face at his compliment.

“You do too.” You replied shyly, cheeks burning at his compliment. You knew that look in his eyes all too well. That look of lust, of need, his eyes glossed over and turned a darker shade. He leaned in to kiss you, his hands traveling down your back, and to the curve of your ass.

You let out a little moan when he squeezed the flesh through your dress. When he pulled away, you shook your head. He pouted at you.

“C’mon. Just like… one round.” He tried, already trying to get you on the guest bed that you slept in for the night

“After.” You murmured against his lips, Rafe pulled away when he heard a knock on the door.

“Y/n, Rafe, c’mon! You’re gonna make us all late.” Ward spoke, you sighing. Rafe opened the door for you.

“Oh, you two look adorable.” Rose told you, a crooked smile on her face when you both walked out together.

You gave her a shy smile, Rafe turned to you, whispering something in your ear.

“Hey, we’re gonna spend the night at Top’s.” He told his dad. Ward just nodded and said goodbye, not thinking anything of it.

You giggled as he pulled you away from the crowd, and you both walked hand in hand down the street.

“Why are we staying at a hotel again?” You asked him, turning to look at the boy.

“Well, there’s only one reason, right?” He said with a smile on his face, turning to look at you.

“What’s that reason?”

“You don’t know the reason?” He teased. You shook your head.

“Just tell me!”

“Well, I’m gonna fuck the shit out of you. And then we are gonna go get drunk. As drunk as we possibly can.” He said shamelessly with a shrug, your cheeks burned up and you shook your head at his word choice, just glad that the buzzing cars and the sound of loud music blared through so no passerby’s could hear.

You both got the best room that money could buy, Rafe opening the door for you and leading you inside, smirk on his face.

He pushed you down on the bed, hovering on top of you, his lips traveled down your body.

“God, all fuckin’ mine, huh?” He murmured, more to himself. His hands went to your back, you arched your back and helped him shove the dress off of your body.

“At least I can claim you first somewhere else, right?” He murmured, smirk on his face as his eyes raked down your body, his hands working at his belt and pants.

“What does that mean?” You asked him with a quirked eyebrow.

“You lost your virginity to that other douche, right?”

“Yeah…” you trailed off, still very confused.

“He hasn’t fucked that ass, though.”

Your eyes widened, looking around the room. His hands were now tugging off his boxers before you started stuttering, holding a hand out.

“What? You don’t wanna?” He asked you, stopping and looking down at you, slightly afraid he scared you and did something wrong.

Usually you were up for everything, and you both had brought up the topic before and you said you wouldn’t mind it.

“No- no, I do, but- I…” you shut your eyes as you mumbled the words out, confessing to him. “He did.”

“What?” His eyes widened, movements stopping for a moment.

“He has before.”

“Shit.” He laughed out, running a hand through his hair. That was not what he expected.

“Are you mad?” You asked him quietly, opening your eyes now, looking up at him.

“Course not, baby.” He scoffed. “Just… shocked.“

“I’m sorry.” You murmured.

“Nah. That’s alright. Because it’s all fucking mine now, ain’t it?” He asked, lips back on your skin, leaning down to kiss your cheeks and your neck, you letting out a moan and nodding against him.

“Fuck. All mine.” He muttered against your collarbone, his lips moving against your boobs, he looked up at you as he swirled his tongue around your nipple, taking one in your mouth, making you let out a cry of his name and look back down at him.

He released it with a ‘pop’, going back down to your holes. He spit on his hand, before bringing it down to his cock, jerking it a few times with grunts and groans before lining it up with your tight hole.

Your hands went to his shoulders, letting out a gasp and a sob as he stretched your hole out.

“Shhh, shhh, shh..” he told you, groans escaping his mouth as he felt your walls clench onto him. “You’re a’ight.” He murmured, going to kiss you again, licking away your salty tears.

He sighed when he bottomed out, waiting for you to get adjusted to his size. After a while, you nodded against him. “You can move.” You whispered out, causing him to slowly start moving, a hand going to your clit, rubbing circles on the button, you letting out soft and quiet moans that were like music to his ears.

“God, you feel so good.” He told you, feeling you clench down harder on his length at his praise, a small smirk on his face. “My girl. Fuck,”

“Rafe!” You cried out, nails clawing at his bare back, sure to leave marks. “I’m gonna-“

“I know, I know.” He grunted out, feeling himself also come close, his fingers working faster on your clit, pressing down on it. That was all you needed to come undone, crying out his name and holding him closer, as he came in your ass with groans and grunts.

You both panted, foreheads put together as he started to laugh. You furrowed your eyebrow and looked at him, confused.

“We need to do that more often.”

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron blurb #obx fic #obx #obx smut #obx rafe cameron #rafe x you #rafe fanfiction #rafe smut #rafe x reader #rafe cameron imagines

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leclsrc · 2 years ago

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it’s never over ✴︎ cl16

genre: childhood friends to friends with benefits to lovers (a mouthful), smut, humor, Fluffff!!!!, several references to 70’s music,

word count: 12.9k

You must have lost the plot along the way, because pretending to date your childhood best friend was not on your 2023 bingo card. (Neither was the fact that things are looking a lot more real as time passes.)

nsfw warnings under the cut!

18+ because... handjob (f receiving), penetrative sex, semi public sex, praise central, size kink

auds here… hi hi hi!!! you’ve no idea how much i missed writing posting and interacting w u guys. thank u for all the love & follows i’ve gotten in my periods of mia. more things soon i promise ty for ur patience love love love u allll 🌟🤎🤠💋 this is my love letter to fic tropes. i feared if it was too long i’d lose the plot somehow so i had to condense it. i truly hope u all like it :) will try & reopen reqs sometime soon to get inspo kicking

It’s later than late. The lights are strobing purple and blue, the “let’s get you even drunker than you are” headache inducing kind. The floor is crowded, swelling with teenagers who are probably too young to get in, drunk off cheap aperol and watered-down tequila shots. You’re balancing yourself on a barstool, one hand busy wrapped around a slim glass, the other clawing your miniskirt lower because the air bites at your legs.

“Another voddy Red Bull!” You’re slurring, mind spinning almost as fast as your vision. You almost drop your empty glass in your rush to look for another one—but right as it slips clumsily out of your fingers, it’s caught.

Charles, your cocktail’s knight in armor and yours just as well, is eighteen. His hair is light brown and long, but not draping over his eyes like before. You know before because you’ve never not known before—Charles has been your best friend since you were five.

Snoopy, he says, voice steady and calm in your ear. His frame is still lanky but he’s tall and his grip on your shoulders is enough to quell the yelling. You pout. Get me another voddy red, you plead. Charlie, it’s my birthday. He smiles to himself, knowing your vision’s too cloudy to see him and your mind’s too bogged to remember any of this. You’d already slipped up and told two bouncers you were seventeen and not eighteen, like your poorly-Photoshopped ID suggested; Charles had to keep you in check, lest you or your friends end up kicked out of the club.

A song booms in through the speakers and your eyes widen with recognition. Charles doesn’t anticipate your reaction fast enough, affording only a stumble backwards when you attempt to leave the barstool to dance. He swears under his breath, mind recounting the five previous dance sessions that left you exhausted and out of breath earlier.

I’ll get you a vodka Red Bull if you sit down, he tells you. He enunciates because, twelve years later, you still can’t wrap your mind around his thick European accent. Sit down.

Alriiiight! You hoot, throwing two fists up in the air. Customary for many bartenders on nights as busy as this one, a free shot is thrust into your vacant hand and you cheer loudly, much to Charles’ chagrin. With whatever malice the eighteen-year-old can muster, he casts the bartender a dirty look before turning to face you again, worried. He places a hand on your shoulder and watches, half-anxious and half-endeared, you take the shot and visibly grimace at the raw taste. Fuck. It’s gin I think, you sputter. Charles presses: You okay?

More than, you holler, smiling. I am officially seventeeee—

The bartender’s eyebrows furrow, the thirty-something businessman in the adjacent stool turns to look—so Charles has no choice but to shut you up, leaning in and pressing his lips to yours before you can seal your fate.

Your eyes widen briefly, and when Charles feels the passed seconds are sufficient, he pulls away. You stare, eyes hazy, at the pretty boy you’ve had feelings for since you turned fourteen, and lean in to kiss him again.

—

Pascale is hosting her weekly Sunday brunch at the Leclerc residence, all French windows and wide kitchens and bowls of fruit. As always, your place is at the kitchen island picking at plates to taste test them. Bonjour, Arthur drawls when he walks in. He turns to Pascale. Mum. Then you. Snoopy.

You halt biting into your forkful of arugula and turn toward the younger Leclerc, eyebrows raised. “What’d you just call me?”

“Snoopy,” he says simply. He’s beside Pascale, one arm wrapped around her affectionately. “Or, Snoops, if you like that. Yes?”

“Who told you about that nickname?”

“Lorenzo.”

“Hasn’t been in use since your voice was cracking every sentence.”

“Tête de noeud.” Pascale swats his arm and he yelps, so you resume your arugula with satisfaction.

Charles is late for reasons he did not disclose, but everyone is used to it. The open kitchen door stretches into the front yard, where the table is set up and Lorenzo is setting the places. You know that although you usually expect a few more relatives, today’s just for the family—and you, but you’re basically family.

“How is Paris?” Arthur asks, licking hummus off a spoon opposite you. Your position is reminiscent of how you spent afternoons after school with Charles before, and the memory strikes a chord in you. Strange nostalgia, fondness.

“It’s fine.”

“Oh really?” He laughs in-between nibbles of carrot.

“I got an offer for a higher position,” you relent. Pascale calls you both, and you get up and walk toward the yard to sit down. “If you must know.”

“Oh? Let me know how that goes.” He follows you, carrot slice in hand, chewing. The conversation is cut short by the smooth noise of Charles’ decidedly un-smooth parking outside.

You’re seated at your usual spot—in-between Charles and Lorenzo, across Arthur—when the former finally walks into the yard. He looks tired, moreso than usual, bags under his eyes deep and hair a bit more disheveled.

He sits beside you. “I need to talk to you.” Then, quieter, “Private.”

You hum confusedly, eyes flitting across the three other people at the table to gauge their reactions. They’re equally aloof. “Wh—now?” He nods.

You end up talking in the kitchen. He’s sighing the whole fifteen steps there, rubbing the bridge of his nose, exhaling, inhaling. Ever observant, and of someone as close to you as he is, you pick up on the tiny actions, behaviors. Charles is wringing his hands. He’s tried to pop the same knuckle twice. He isn’t frantic—he’s scared. You lean against the counter, waiting, eyes looking him up and down to identify his exact emotions.

“Tell me,” you press. “Whatever it is, I won’t judge.”

“The—my—the iCloud of my phone has been leaked. The press found out.”

When you were eight and he was nine, you and Charles summered in Villefranche with your mum and dad. The weather then was the kind you could write love letters to and about—blue skies, salty wind, soft sand. The current was calm enough that you could ride the gentle waves without fear of going under or straying far from the shore, where your parents sunbathed blissfully.

Don’t drown, he’d warned you, ever protective. You wore pink floaties over your arms, so it was already difficult to.

You dove under with great effort, fighting against the buoyancy, and poked his bare knee, surfacing to watch his reaction. He grimaced. Slowpoke, you teased, swimming away. You wondered then what it might feel to drown. Maybe not in the blue water of Villefranche, but anywhere else.

You think it hurts to drown? You blubbered, bobbing above the wave. Charles swam in front of you and wiped water off your face gently. I hope you never find out, he said, smiling.

But this is you finding out. This is it now, the drowning. Your fingers flex over the edge of the counter and you gulp, eyes fluttering with nerves. “Shit?” It comes out like a question from how nervous you are. “Um, sorry. What are we—” But your question is cut short by Pascale’s voice, cutting through the tension like it’s wet cardboard. The agreement is silent and mutual: save this discussion for later.

—

Charles can’t wake up fast enough. There are calls, texts, voicemails from every officer on his team, which isn’t that surprising given he’s up two hours late. But the amount—the sheer amount of notifications is dizzying. Overwhelmed, he finds it in himself to pull up his search engine app and let his fingers possess themselves.

All he types is his last name, and then The Sun article is splashed onto his face like a pot of scalding coffee: “F1 DRIVER ICLOUD LEAKED, PERSONAL PHOTOS ALL OVER INTERNET.” Daily Mail is next, of course, watering down the situation to seem more dirty and scandalous: “Naughty Driver? Charles Leclerc’s iCloud Hacked, Reveals Mystery Girl.” And then of course Page Six, who doesn’t miss a beat—

Wait. He blinks and presses the back arrow to return to the previous webpage. He reads over it again, slower this time. Mystery Girl? Shit—no. No way. It’s almost (it should be) silly, the way he’s reading vigorously over the reports like he’s a fan, but he’s anxious. He scrolls, because if any tabloid is daft enough to publish the leaked photos, it’s got to be the Daily Mail.

He pauses his quick swiping when his eyes harden with recognition, and staring back at him, on his phone’s full brightness, is a picture of you on his lap at Christmas. It’s the one Lance took while attempting to guess Charles’ password, one of you wine drunk with his head buried in your neck.

It’s unmistakably him, at his own house in Monaco where the drivers had a holiday get-together. It’s unmistakably you, hair draped over your face, three gold rings on your fingers. You had just given him a Strokes vinyl, he recalls. That’s why you were hugging.

There’s another one of you playing Scrabble in his bed—he’s not in the frame, but he remembers taking it. This, he could deny. He’s not in it, and he’s pretty sure the fans don’t know his house this well. Already his brain’s doing manual damage control, dread filling his veins at the thought of reading through his team’s frantic messages.

Another message stands out, pinned on top of all the others—from his mum, reminding him about brunch. He gets ready half-focused, half-lucid. Fully worried. He worries about the PR crisis this may cause, about his iCloud security, about the reactions online. Above all, though, he worries about you. About what he should tell the press. About how “actually, we’re not dating, we just fuck constantly” might hold up for the fans.

—

You’re twelve and Charles thirteen, both of you seated across Hervé and Pascale. Behind them stand your own parents, and they all look stern. What this is, Pascale says gently, is a family meeting. Okay?

Okay. It leaves your high voices in shaky unison. You both know what you’re doing here—you snuck out of school to catch a movie earlier, the teacher naturally caught wind of the misdeed, and now you’re in a meeting for it.

Snoops, Charles whispers, trying to ease your nerves with lighthearted commentary. This is the worst.

No, you want to tell preteen Charles—this is. You’re older now, yet still subjected to similar questioning, though today it’s Pascale going solo. It’s been three days since the fated day where the press leaked the pictures of you and Charles in compromising positions, and like any boomer, she’s used Facebook to her advantage and gotten ahold of the compromising pictures, too.

“How long?” Her voice is enunciated in hard syllables.

“Mum—”

“Answer the question.” She looks back and forth, moving into territory of intense questions. “Both of you.”

“Um.”

“Because… I’ve been…”

You notice it immediately, given your observant track record: her shoulders relax and her lips smile just slightly. You sit still, and wait for the next words out of her mouth. “…waiting for this all my life!”

You and Charles watch in mild horror as Pascale’s face goes from firm to absolutely elated. Her eyes soften and a smile spreads over her face, illuminating her with pure joy. Do you even know how many bets I made with your papa, Charles? She claps her hands together several times.

Charles opens his mouth to verbalize dissent, but she doesn’t take it—she’s already droning on and on about how long she’s waited for this to finally happen. Your eyes glide over to the doorway of the dining area, where Lorenzo and Arthur watch with smug looks on their faces. Little shits won’t help you. You don’t even try to protest, and at some point Charles gives up, too. You don’t know how it’ll come across, anyway.

Ninety minutes later, you’re in Arthur’s bedroom rifling through his desk and praying you don’t find anything too gross. He’s on his bed throwing a bouncy ball up in the air, conversing with Charles about your gameplan with their mum.

The sky outside is in limbo between afternoon and night. It’s cloudy, so the sunset is a pale yellow instead of angry orange. “Why not just tell her the truth?”

You’d also thought that was the easiest option, escape route, exit path. But that would involve breaking Pascale’s heart, and that was out of the question for you, let alone Charles, certified mommy’s boy.

“I can’t, Arthur.” Charles’ voice is steady and unwavering.

“You can.”

“No.”

“Fine. Next best thing then.”

You fiddle with a Rubik’s cube, then turn in the seat. “What?”

“Pretend you’re dating.”

“Arthur,” you say seriously. “Shut up.” But he doesn’t join you, and you realize neither does Charles. You stare blankly at both of them, unwilling to believe they’d actually bank on this as an actual plan.

“You guys realize this kind of thing never works? Zero percent success rate.”

“It’s just paddock appearences. You’re not pretending for millions of people,” Arthur says, shrugging. He catches the ball and throws it to you—you catch it one-handed. “You’re pretending for Mum.”

“Sure. And by extension, millions of people. Are you dense, or do you think the paddock appearances will just breeze by everyone who saw the leaks?”

“Ughhh. You’re acting like it’s impossible.” Arthur holds his breath before he utters the next sentence. “Like you two aren’t fucking every other w—”

“—oh, my God!” Shocked, you get up, and so does Charles. “Wh—I’m—language, Arthur!”

Charles balks. “How did you even—”

“I didn’t. But merci mille fois for confirming my theory,” Arthur quips faux-sweetly, smiling dopily. “I mean, I was going to find out! Your pictures are so… intimate. So just pretend to date and throw Maman off your scent.”

You protest briefly, wrestling with the option, and reconvene on the bed, you cross-legged and leaning on Charles’ shoulder and Arthur in front of the both of you. He’s always had a knack for schemes—he never got caught sneaking out, which destroyed your and Charles’ record of being caught twelve times by either of your parents. It’s a bit childish, but he gets the job done.

“Do it for… let’s say a month. Tell Mum you’ve been dating a while—Christmas isn’t that long ago, and that was the least recent picture. D’accord?”

You both nod, hyperfocused.

“During race weekends, be all over each other—shouldn’t be hard—especially in front of Mum. People might catch you doing it, but I wouldn’t worry.”

“No, wait—I mean.” You shrug. “People—tifosi—they know I’m Charles’ friend. They’re going to be all over the fact that we’re apparently dating.”

“Don’t worry. We’ll use palatable density,” Charles says, nodding.

You pause. Arthur does, too, sensing something off.

“You mean plausible deniability.” Your deadpan voice is tinged with amusement, muffled into his shoulder.

“Right, ouais, that.” He smiles, chuckling a bit; his shoulder shakes with it and your head nearly slips off. He brings a hand to cup over your jaw and hold you steady. “Sorry.”

“S’fine.” You sigh. “I’m totally okay with this. Just worried it’s going to have unintended consequences.”

Arthur quells you with rushed explanations about how it’ll be over and you two can say something like we decided we’re better off as friends to really sell the thing. At the seven-minute mark of your and Charles’ intense interrogation, he promptly kicks you out to figure out if you’re willing to do it yourselves.

You wedge yourself into Charles’ front seat, knowing you were headed to his place anyway. You massage your temples with one hand and fiddle with the hem of your shorts with the other. Nervous. Antsy. “Did Fred say anything?”

“Got the IT team to fortify my account.”

“You think this thing’s going to be okay from a professional standpoint?” You look up and toward him; he’s already gazing at you, eyes soft. “I’m worried. Plus, with my job offer thing in London and New Y—”

“Don’t be.” He starts the car and maneuvers out of the driveway, into the dips of Monaco streets and the familiar route back to his place. “Bitter with the sweet. The only thing you need to worry about”—he takes your hand in the centre console, laces your fingers together loosely—“is your acting skills.”

“God, you’re right.” You sigh, looking out the window. “How am I going to pretend I can stand you?” Then, for good measure, you squeeze his hand wrapped in yours.

—

You visit Monaco from uni in London over spring, and for the first time in months, your schedule aligns with Charles’—though you learn this indirectly when you visit the Leclerc home. Pascale, of course, is the one who tells you his new flat’s address before she presses a kiss to your cheek and then leaves to run errands in the city. Alone, and in a burst of excitement, you make the drive there, take the elevator upstairs and shove the door open without knocking. He’s there. Your Charles. You can tell because the music he plays is loud—The Kooks—like his ears are still fourteen and not twenty-one, like he’s still in middle school and not in Formula One.

“Save your eardrums,” you say, before beelining toward the couch and leaping onto him for a hug. He sits up to match your energy, arms wrapping around you, sitting up straighter to keep you from totally falling atop him.

“How’s uni?”

“Shit,” you say into his hair. It smells like his shampoo and his favorite cologne. Clean, soapy. “Obviously. How’s the Ferrari?”

“Amazing.” He smiles. “Obviously. How’d you know I was in? Mum told you?”

“Ouais. She’s running errands. Listen, can we drink tonight?” You sigh, parting from the hug and sitting across him.

Yeah, sure. His voice is concerned, thick with worry. You shake your head—it’s not that deep, you tell him. It’s just—I had a bad date before I left and it’s put me in the worst mood.

Oh? He leans back, clasping two hands behind his head as he goes.What happened? He laughs.

You tense visibly, rolling your eyes despite yourself. “He was just weird. Nothing.”

He wiggles his eyebrows. “You shy, Snoops?”

Ha-ha. You roll your eyes, but your face is flushed and your gaze avoids him. You reach up to tuck the loose strands of hair by your ears behind them, face warm. You’d never talked with Charles about boys or flings before—maybe several times, but never in full detail. It was always vague umbrella statements, like Ryan is boring or Greg is such a prick, but never anything beyond that. Come to think of it, you don’t know why, either.

“You can tell me.”

“The—when we—I had to fake,” you say cuttingly. “You know.”

He purses his lips and smiles, eyebrows furrowing. I don’t, actually. Something unnamed trills through you—through your stomach and into your fingertips. Your first time talking to your best friend in real life after months of uni and racing and this is the topic? It’s, if anything, a sign of your growing up, you guess.

Charles lets up on the teasing and you end up rejecting the club in lieu of sharing a bottle of vodka, throwing it back raw and without any type of chaser (to really prove nothing at all; you don’t even know why any sane human would do this). You do a Just Dance party on his TV, even try out drunk sim racing and FIFA, but by the end you’re well exhausted and retired to the couch again.

His voice is wavy and tipsy when he speaks. “You really had to fake it?”

“Yeah.” You pout. “Can never—um, finish, I dunno.” Your inhibition’s gone, shame loosened and untied by the vodka. You shift in your position on the couch.

“Maybe because it was too casual.” His voice hardens.

“So you’re saying I should…” You swallow dryly, eyes fluttering. “Sleep with somebody I know?” You’ve dropped the implication and it floats up, hangs above.

His eyes flick over to your legs, folded on the couch. The hem of your shorts. Your fingers playing with your empty shot glass. He didn’t mean anything by that. He’s half-sure you didn’t.

“I am just saying that a good friend would do that for you.”

“You’re a good friend,” you say, volume low.

Five minutes later you’ve properly crashed into each other, him pinning you down against the couch, licking fire up your throat. His lips trail across your jaw.

He dips a hand into your shorts, presses against your clothed core. He’s smiling. So wet for me. He’s got his mouth pressed messily up to your jaw, when he sinks one finger all the way in, slow and stretching; and you’re clenching around him—

Come on, he’s saying. Insisting. You’re trembling, yanking desperately at his hair as he pumps his finger slowly in and out of you, aching to be full of him, to take him deeper.

He slips another one in, and you feel the cold of his ring pressed against your entrance, then he’s fucking them into you and you’re leaking around them.

Yes, yeah, Charles—you’re gasping, airy breaths tapering into whimpers that sound sinful, desperate. He knows you so well already. Presses his fingers against your sweet spot, watches your eyes flutter.

So needy, and you’re chanting his name under your breath as he quickens his pace, craving the stretch of him desperately. I know you want to cum, baby. He’s calling you baby and you’re closer, so much closer. Come on, for me, yeah?

You melt, crashing and crumpling into him and shuddering as you release all over his fingers. He presses his forehead to yours and lets you take a beat. You feel giddy and dizzy and warm, which is weird because you don’t feel drunk at all anymore. This dizziness is something different. It’s Charles.

“Are we going to do that again?” You ask meekly, hand still in his hair.

“Only if you want. Whatever you want,” he says. He’d do anything for you. He’d do whatever you wanted.

“I do, I do want.” And Charles, the good friend he is, helps you out.

—

Imola is humid, warm, and the racetrack is absolutely teeming with people. But you’re not there—clad in linen shorts and a fresh tank top, you’re walking around the vicinity of the track, cup of gelato in hand, sunglasses over your eyes. The restaurant near you is playing music out loud. Beside you, singing along and drafting a list of wedding appetizers, is Lorenzo.

“Lamb chops?” You suggest, licking amaretto off the plastic spoon. The weather is pleasant enough that people are crowding the streets without it being too unbearably hot. Stevie Wonder flows from the speakers, permeates the entire block.

“I was thinking more seafood.”

“Tuna? Make ‘em little tacos.”

“Good idea. Think I’ll go for those. Hey, are you sure you’re on board with fake-dating my brother?”

You turn sharply toward him, taken aback. He hadn’t brought it up in the week and a half this plan had been in the works—he’d been privy to it the entire time, too, which makes it weirder that he’s asking so suddenly.

“I meaaan…” You slow your pace, contemplative. A shy smile plays at your lips, brows knitted together. “It’s only going to be for a month. Ish. So, yeah. Are you—do you—sorry. Is it alright with you? Sorry.”

“It is not not okay.”

“So it’s…” You pause. “Okay.”

“It’s—yes, but I worry, is all. How sure are you that this won’t hurt anyone?”

“I don’t know, it’s… bitter with the sweet. And who’s getting hurt… like the fans?” You laugh a little. “They’ll live, won’t they?”

“Like you.” He pauses. “Like Charles.”

—

Pierre is running a comb through his hair, staring at himself in the mirror; his Narcissus moment is interrupted by a banana to the back of his head. Bonjour, he says, monotone and already knowing the culprit.

“We need to talk.”

“Could this possibly be about the news of your brand new ‘girlfriend’ over last week? Where is she, by the way?”

“With Lorenzo. Listen, here’s the thing. Mum thinks we’re dating, and I don’t know how to tell her we’re not—so I won’t.”

“Lie to your mum, go ahead.” Pierre crosses his arms and hums.

“Tais-toi. It’s for her own good.”

“So you’re going to pretend to date.”

“Ouais.”

“Should be easy. You guys are hooking up and making out or whatever all the time.”

Charles pauses and lets the silence speak for itself. When Pierre makes a noise of confusion, he gives. We don’t kiss, he says finally. She thinks it is too intimate, and we ‘are not dating,’ so sex is the only thing we do. Sex, and if you still have leftover antsy energy, you pull on his shirt and sit up against the headboard to finish a crossword puzzle. Sometimes he helps you, but most of the time he’s just there to press lazy kisses to your hair and temple, cheekbone and jaw—never your lips.

“You don’t kiss?” Pierre’s genuinely shocked. “Putain, you’re a hero. How does that even work?”

“We just do not kiss. We fuck, but no kissing.” He shrugs. “It’s always been that way.”

“So how about her birthday?”

“She doesn’t…” Charlex exhales tightly. “Remember.”

“Charles,” you suddenly say, head appearing into the doorway. “Oh, hey. Fred said you might be here. What are you guys talking about?”

“Sprint racing,” Pierre says, an easy lie.

Charles, though, is never good at the lying bit. “International tariffs.”

—

Your only memories of your seventeenth birthday are applying lip gloss and mascara, wearing your shortest skirt and tightest top, and reciting your supposed date of birth in line like a mantra. Anything after that’s been sprayed off by the ultra-clutch strength of vodka. Which, you’ve been told, was your drink of choice.

“Headache’s better,” you moan over the phone, face squashed onto your pillow. “Mum gave me an Advil but I was so sick all morning.”

“Did you snog anyone?” Charles is always teasing.

“God, I wish.” You shut your eyes and try to remember if your drunken stupor had somehow managed to get you successful in lip-locked matters. Nothing comes up and you wipe a dry hand over your face, heaving a sigh. “I really wanted to kiss Matthew but I think he left before you and I did.”

A pause. Then Charles clears his throat. “You mean you and me and the police car that escorted us home?” He snorts.

“You’re such a prick!” You scream into your pillow, laughing. “I already thanked you for being my literal savior last night.”

He smiles to himself. “You’re welcome.”

“Did you have fun?” You flop onto your back and stare at the stick-on stars on your ceiling. You make a mental note to try and remove them.

“Bit boring because I vowed not to drink at all, but I got to dance. Bitter with the sweet, right?”

—

“Nervous?”

“I mean, fuck, yeah.” You fix the hem of your dress, speaking to Giada through the phone. “Pascale’s waiting for us on the paddock. And so are, like, a hundred photographers.” You wince. “Can you even imagine Charles and me? It’s just—I dunno—it’s weird.”

“It isn’t,” she says, laughing. “Not really. It makes sense. Plus, aren’t you on the whole arrangement?” You envision her air quotes.

“Yeah, but”—you slip your sandals on—“it’s on and off, and that’s not dating. It’s sex. Two different things.”

“Is it really, though? Considering how close you are outside of bed, aren’t y—”

“Okay, input no longer needed,” you laugh. “Bye, Gi. I’ll text you later.”

You reunite with Charles just by the paddock entrance. The throng of fans holding cutouts and posters notice you two before anyone else does, inciting a collective bout of yells around the both of you. He notices your blue silk dress first, eyes unmoving. “You look like the sky.”

“Thanks, man.” A beat, and you squint through your sunglasses. “That’s a compliment, right?”

“Sure.”

“Prick.” You peek over them and to the fans, who wave more aggressively when they notice you’re looking. Nervously, you raise a hand and wave back, and the noise heightens. “I think I’m going to be replacing you.”

“Dream on. On y va?”

You turn back to him, smiling, and you both enter at the same time. His hand wraps around your waist, dips a bit lower to rest at the small of your back as you walk—the fans clearly dig it, because everyone’s yelling in a frenzy as you depart. What are you doing, you ask through your smiling teeth.

“Did you forget we’re supposed to be dating?” He maintains an equally pleasant (totally duplicitous) façade, smiling.

“I didn’t think,” you say, still smiling falsely, “that you’d put your hands on me five minutes into the whole agreement.”

“Smile, honey,” he teases. “I see at least five cameras at us right now.”

“It’s seven,” you beam. “Dumbass.”

“Again with the competitive streak.” memory

“I totally deserved to win last week’s game. You’re just a sore loser.”

“No you’re just a—hi, hi, hello!”

Your walk to the motorhome is interrupted by running into a friend of Charles’—someone from McLaren, one of the executives there. While Lando has been informed of your stunt, nobody else on that team has.

They handshake and he waves at you politely. “Whole paddock’s buzzing with news of you dating,” he says, smiling. “It’s a tad crazy! I remember seeing you as Charles’ plus one back when he was in Formula Two. And now you two are dating. How did—well, if you don’t mind me asking, where’d it all happen?”

“Oh,” you say, laughing. “Yeah, Monaco.”

“Texas,” Charles says at the same time.

Alarm bells go off in your head at the totally random, unwarranted statement out of Charles’ mouth. Texas? Neither of you have even ever been at the same time. “He means”—you say, coughing and nodding—“we went on this, um. Wild West themed, um, restaurant in Monaco, and that’s where he asked me out.” You make a face that you hope conveys you get it, and it seems to work.

“Definitely not what I had in mind, but if it worked, it worked, eh?” He grins. “I guess I always knew you two would end up together. Alright, ciao!”

You’re smiling and waving after him as he leaves, and then you’re (semi) alone again, or at least within your own space on the incredibly crowded paddock.

You turn to him, unable to hide your confusion. “Um? Texas?! What’s up with the backstories?”

“It slipped out! Sorry. But nice save.”

“You’re so f—” You try to scold him, but can’t, bursting into laughter and leaning forward to laugh into his chest. “Texas, really?”

“Sorry,” he says. You feel the vibration of his own laugh through his chest and it’s warm and nice. You peel yourself off lest you look too clingy, and resume your walk to the motorhome.

Ferrari is crowded, filled with people and strategists and guests. You’re given a bottle of water and then hounded with questions from the team who haven’t been informed of the situation at hand. David, one of the engineers close to Charles who you’d previously spoken to in one of the earlier races, asks to borrow him.

“Ciao, ciao.” They speak in one of the outdoor patio areas. “Is everything okay?”

“The car is fine. I just wanted to ask about the girl.” David punches his arm, playful. “You finally got her!”

“Oh.”

“It’s just… I remember all the times she would show up and you’d tell me about how much you liked her… I don’t know, it’s perfect for things to end up like this, no? Bravo!”

“Oh, si. I’ve just been, you know…” He looks through the glass sliding door and into the hospitality, where you’re talking to Isa and Carlos, sunglasses over your hair. Your hands are moving quickly, and you’re smiling while talking. He wonders what you’re so passionate about. When you’re caught in fits of happiness and passion, you’re extra animated. Your eyes are lively, and your lips can’t stop curling into a slight beaming smile. Now, maybe it’s France, maybe it’s crossword puzzles, slim chance it’s your job—whatever it is, he could watch you talk like this for hours. He thinks it’s beautiful, the way you transform, the way you smile, when you talk of things you absolutely love.

“… crazy about her forever.”

—

There are banners, Italian flags, and Charles’ face on every other wall. He’s done his first hat-trick of the season (of several more, you’re hoping). You’ve foregone the usual clubbing for dinner with a smaller group of people, but only because you’ve been told the nightlife is bleak and you’d rather save that energy for the next race.

Lando picked out the restaurant—he’s “on a massive Yelp high” trying to get the best restaurants in every city they get to. He’s tried two over the weekend, and is hoping this guns for first place. The restaurant’s name is long and so very Italian, to the point where your semi-fluency fails you. The food is amazing, though, and so is the wine—a whole other level of grape-flavored bliss.

You’re in-between Joris and Charles, nursing your fourth glass while Charles downs a bottle of beer. Light conversation flows through the table, but your sleepiness only allows you to hear some of it. You’re content with the white noise.

Lando is getting a new cat, Lewis bought a new pair of shoes—oh, no, shares in the company that makes the shoes—Joris bought the shoes, Lorenzo will now buy the shoes, why isn’t anyone paying attention to Lando’s cat. It’s funny, entertaining, and the perfect nightcap to your immensely exhausting day of acting.

Wine tipsy makes you loopy and snoozy. By default, your head lolls onto Charles’ body; he immediately wraps a sweater-clad arm around your frame, leans back, pulls you closer. Doesn’t miss a beat. In fact, while doing so, he’s even able to get a dig in against Lando’s affinity for cats.

“No more wine, m’kay?” He whispers quietly, angling his head to yours.

“Oh, but it was so good, though.” You mope, but nod in agreement. “I could seriously drink wine out of a keg here.”

“Sure did that a lot with beer.” You laugh, punching his bicep with what little space you’re given. “You sleepy?”

“Yeah. But I’m fine,” you respond, smiling. “Now shut up. I need to know what happened to Lando’s cat.”

Lewis leaves first, claiming he’s into this whole “sleeping at 9PM” thing, and Lorenzo follows to get ahead of an early flight tomorrow. It’s you, Joris, Charles, and Lando now, and you’re good as dead, eyes half-shut and fluttering, head slipping off his shoulder.

How was it? Lando asks, lowering his volume to keep from being too jarring. Day 1, fake dating? I actually read something like this in one of those, um, fanfiction stuff the fans do. Joris and Charles cast him a half-weirded out, half-amused pair of looks, but Lando defends himself. They’re actually pretty good, guys. I read one where I ended up with my rival or summat.

“Sorry to burst your bubble, Lando,” you croak, voice raspy with sleepiness and a day of bubbling laughter, “but Charles and I probably didn’t do your fanfiction kink justice.”

“Ignoring the emasculation.” He says, turning beet red. “What’d you do, then? Wasn’t it hard?”

“It was hard, but it’s like that.” Charles likes to substitute the phrase it is what it is to it’s like that, a result likely stemming from his trilingual childhood. “We just. Pretended. Oi, we held hands in front of the cameras.”

“Yeah, you can get a good wank in if that does it for you,” you joke. Lando hurls a cube of parmigiano at your face; it lands squarely and you flip him off, the table erupting with peals of laughter.

“In all seriousness, though—how are you two okay with this? I know I’d be second guessing my feelings every second.”

You shift, trying to hide your obvious lack of answer. It’s quiet for a few seconds, and then Charles says, “We’re both comfortable with each other, I think.”

“Yeah, comfortable enough that we can, you know, be honest.” You’re looking at Lando when you say that. You don’t know how well you could repeat the sentence if you were looking straight into Charles’ eyes.

You leave the restaurant with a generous tip, and Charles helps you pull your coat on when you’re out the door, back into the chilly night air. It’s then that all four of you catch news via text, of a club invite somewhere in the city.

“It’ll be fun, guys.” Joris and Lando stand in front of you and Charles, bumbling with excitement. “I heard Lil Tjay is going to be there.”

“It sounds very fun,” you say, smiling, “but I might pass out if I drink anything other than water, and I have zero energy. You three go ahead.”

“Wh—no, I’m not going, either.” You raise an eyebrow at Charles. “Serious! I wasn’t in the mood much, anyway. Joris, take Lando’s car and we’ll take mine.”

“Alright,” Lando whistles. “Suit yourselves, agoraphobes.”

“Joke’s on you”—Charles smiles, smug—“I don’t know what that means.”

“Not the dig you think it is, Charles,” you say, rolling your eyes. “Night, Joris, Lando. See you guys tomorrow. Use protection!”

“Should be saying that to you guys,” quips Joris with an evil grin that he closes the car door on.

The climb into the car feels like a chore in itself with how tipsy and sleepy you’ve become. Charles likes to bring his Ferrari to race weekends, but you convinced him to use a different car for this one, because you honest-to-God can’t stand the low seats anymore.

“You want dessert?” He asks when he’s rounded the car and settled into his seat. “Gelato, a cone, biscotti…”

“No, no,” you say, voice thin. A palm covers your shutting eyes; blindly, you reach for his hand. It’s easy because he sees you searching and takes your hand to cut it short. “I’m good. So sleepy. Can I sleep at your hotel room?”

“Sure.” He starts the car, waves to the wait staff idle by the entrance, and drives off. “How was the day as my fake girlfriend? Anyone ask about me?” He wiggles his eyebrows, flickering his gaze to your figure beside him. “Wasn’t too tough, I hope.”

Imola whizzes by, trees and city, and a poorly stifled yawn escapes your lips, wine stained. You laugh sleepily. “It was a bit awkward, but bitter with the sweet, right?” He smiles, nodding, and you continue. “Yeah, few strategists, some people who knew you from Prema. I was talking to Isa and Carlos, too, earlier. Even if they know it’s fake.”

He recalls seeing you talk to them through the glass. “About?”

“You.”

—

The sun is merciless on the clay courts, and so are your shoes, shuddering against the surface in your continuing attempt to beat the opposing team. Charles cowers behind you—he’s scored less than half of your points thus far—but you’re on a mission, like your competitive self always is when you’re put in a position to be able to win.

You’re two points down now, and the noontime is becoming increasingly itchy and unforgiving; across you both, Giada and Joris call a mutual time out. “That’s not allowed!” You say, petulant.

“This is a practice session,” Charles says gently, nearing you. “Mate, none of us are actual players.”

You wipe sweat off your forehead. “Right. Désolée. I’m just—I’m in the zone.”

“Ouais, I get it. Relax, m’kay? We got this.”

You shake yourself off and hop a few times, skirt bobbing by your waist as you go. Your braid bounces on your shoulder and you nod, turning your racquet over in your grip.

Charles pings the ball hard and it soars over to land just shy of the line, seemingly scoring a point for you two and securing your win. Giada and Joris chime in with protests, claiming that the ball’s out. You throw your hands up in question.

“Okay, what? That was clearly a point!”

“Snoops, I think they might be right. The ball looked out to me,” Charles says, wrapping a sweaty arm around your red shoulders.

“What are you talking about, Charlie? That ball was in! I saw it!” You elbow yourself out of his grip, aghast.

“How about…” He suggests quietly. “We let them win? You did win the last”—he pauses to count—“five sets. Come on, Snoops. They need this. Bitter with the—”

You take a deep breath, staring into his eyes. “Fucking sweet, right, okay. Fine, fine.”

Charles thinks he’s in the clear and he’s managed to extinguish your flames of frustration—that is, until you walk into the Leclerc household for lunch an hour later and, after greeting Pascale and Hervé, you point squarely to the jar on the kitchen counter. “Five euros.”

He splutters. “Five? Wh—non, non! I was trying to calm you down.”

“You were blind and gave Giada and Joris a fake win,” you say playfully.

“Saluuut,” Lorenzo greets, sitting at the stool beside yours. “Quoi de neuf?”

“Charles has five euros for the jar.” The jar, the infamous jar, sometimes dubbed the Dumbass Jar when Pascale’s out of earshot. It was Lorenzo who first made it up after three straight instances of Charles pulling a push door (three different establishments).

Arthur’s joined in at this point, but its biggest indirect donors are definitely Lorenzo and Hervé, who view it as just about the funniest thing in the world. Out of pity, you don’t call dumbass too often, but the tennis loss is bruising enough that you warrant the usage.

“You heard Snoopy. Five euros. We’ll be able to get milkshakes with this money after next week.” You high five. “At this rate, Charles, you could open a restaurant in Paris.”

“He’s going to race,” you correct. You both watch a begrudged Charles junk a bill into the nearly-full jar. “What race driver is going to open a restaurant?”

—

You meet Yuki Tsunoda on a flight to Nice. You’ve seen him several times before, not too frequently but enough that his name and face are familiar on your mind. Also a personality trait that Pierre would bring up in fond conversations with you and/or Charles: he loves food, apparently.

“Yuki’s volunteering AlphaTauri to be your hideout,” Pierre tells you and Charles, across him.

Turns out, the hardest part (insofar) of this whole schtick: the officially appointed paddock photographers are being extra sneaky with it, finding the best vantage points to snap pictures of an unwitting you and Charles.

They’re like hawks, watching for even the slightest glimpse so they can post the photos on Instagram and get clicks.

So, just a few hours earlier, Charles asked if there was a place you and him could talk if needed where photographers wouldn’t be awaiting you already, and this was the answer.

“If it’s too much trouble, feel no need to… you know.”

“Nonsense.” Pierre smiles goofily and Yuki pokes him to stop, pausing his session of eating a quesadilla (where he’d even acquired it, you’re clueless). “Yukino would be happy to.”

The flight lands and the drive to Monaco is infected with notoriously slow traffic; you pop an Advil to try and alleviate the motion sickness. Pierre and Yuki, it seems, have joined you even outside of the flight. They’re in the backseat offering bits of conversation.

“Oh, mate, we should totally play tennis while we’re here.” Pierre sighs. “Didn’t you guys play before?”

“Mmm, yeah,” you mumble with a lilt of amusement at the memories from basically a decade ago. “At the country club. Doubles always, otherwise I’d knock Charles out of the park.”

“Hey, I won a couple times!” He protests weakly. “Like… twice.”

You laugh out loud. “Anyway, Pierre, do not bring me into tennis. I get all competitive and develop anger issues.”

“I had to calm her down twice a set,” Charles says; you swat him lightly to silence him. “Still do.”

“You know, if the Dumbass Jar still existed,” you say cuttingly, “I swear I’d be able to buy off Ferrari with that money.”

—

Monaco is swelterinly hot today. You know this because you know the weather here, you know the curves and ups and downs of it—this is your home. And today is hot. Every few minutes a breeze filters through the air and you can hear journalists or PAs sigh a collective breath of relief before they’re all subjected to the inane, high-degree weather again.

It’s also, according to Arthur, a good day to kiss in front of the cameras. He says it easily over a plate of sliced kiwi, with a devious smile, because he assumes your friends-with-benefits arrangement equates to constant kissing. But the truth is you’ve never kissed Charles, and it intimidates you.

“Do we have to kiss?” You play with his bracelets, sitting beside him on the sofa. The talk of kissing entertains the thought of sex and you can’t help but mentally complain at the remembrance that you haven’t gotten laid in weeks.

“If you don’t want to—”

“I do.” You splutter, eyes going wide, face warm. “No! I mean I don’t mind. If it sells the thing.”

“D’accord, then we will.” He smiles. “That okay?”

“Sure. First kiss,” you say. Your voice feels as clammy as your hands.

“First.” He looks away.

You take your woes off the kiss by playing a friendly round of tennis with your favourite opponents, Giada and Joris. They bemoan your competitive nature (that, to be fair, allots you and Charles three straight wins), and Giada incites a protest for a girls versus boys round.

You both embarrass Charles and Joris, heckling them as you win another two straight games. Charles runs over to you when you throw up the L sign on your hand, lifting you up and making you squeal.

“Put me down, loser!”

Giada and Joris exchange a look. Amused, knowing. “Charles! You’re such a cunt.” You kick hard, and manage to snag his abdomen, so he gently places you onto the clay again. He laughs and paces back over to his side, and you play with the tail of your braid as you watch.

You play set after set, but the kiss comes anyway. When you know photographers can see you—by the entrance—and it happens faster than your mind can muster. He’s leaning in, you’re reaching up, and your mouths slot together. It’s—and it feels crazy to say it, but—

It’s perfect. It’s lovely. You smile against his lips like they belong there and like they’re familiar and yours and like maybe this is all you’ve ever wanted, and like they deserve the smile, because they do. You feel your need to pull away before you can’t help but keep him tethered to you always. It’s strange and it’s not platonic—you’re mature enough to admit that, but not enough to label exactly what it is.

You spend the day with your fingers pressed to your lips, like you’re sealing the memory. Hours later, Charles wins. There’s massive uproar and you’re in the crowd when it happens, in the sea of strategists going to congratulate him on winning Monaco, which—that’s—it’s winning Monaco. Your ears ring by the end of it and your throat’s dry from your own cheering. Carlos comes in second, and the outlook for their team is going much better than it’d been at the start of the year, so there’s a lot to celebrate.

And celebrate you do. It starts with being pinned up against the door, hungry kisses along your jaw and neck. One kiss, it seems, has broken the dam from the few years you’ve spent abstaining from the kissing. He’s just finished interviews. He’s only just changed into his polo, and now he’s tugging it off again, feverish.

This is rushed and dirty, down low and dark. Only one light’s been switched on and he’s hiking your dress up, panties down with one hand to tug his cock out with the other. He’s kissing you—kissing you stupid, almost. Like he’s waited forever to taste your lips and now he’ll starve if he’s away for just a moment. He needs you. So have me, you want to say, all of me, push me up against the wall again and cover my mouth with your palm. Or don’t, don’t—so everyone knows I’m yours.

He presses your chest against the wall so your back’s turned to him, thrusts in with a breathless, throaty grunt.

“S’ big,” you’re saying, clawing at words the pleasure bars you from finding.

“Barely even in,” he whispers. “Slow down, baby, come on, take it.”

Your toes curl. You’re high on the win, on the kissing, on Charles, on the slow delicious stretch of his cock. “I’m taking it, I’m taking it,” you say, shaky. He thrusts, slow and deep and dirty, until he’s bottomed out and you’re tiptoeing from the overwhelm.

“I feel you,” you’re whimpering, moans and gasps leaving your mouth. You blindly search for his hand, find it against your hip, drag it to your abdomen, under your dress that he hasn’t even fully removed. “I feel you there,” you say, an edge of teasing to your voice.

His cock’s bulging, almost, out of your stomach, and it’s getting you both all lightheaded. He thrusts harder, a devious smile felt against your neck.

I need it, Charles, you plead, please, please fuck me harder. You feel it coming, the familiar pleasure intensifying so quickly—you don’t usually cum so early, he’s always making you wait for it—pussy squeezing around him.

Jesus, already? He’s groaning but a laugh escapes, breathy and amused and taunting. He’s fucking you harder, faster. It’s so good, each hit getting you closer. Taking me so well, you’re bruised all over now, baby. You hate how well he knows what turns you on; memories of mornings post-sex spent inspecting the purple marks on your hips flash through your head and you’re even closer now, shaking, whimpering, begging.

You’re half-sure someone can hear, but it doesn’t even phase you. Harder, deeper— and you’re collapsing, legs spasming uncontrollably, orgasm so intense it’s on the brink of totally hurting. Tears roll down your sweaty face and he kisses them away, cumming onto your back to wipe off in a few minutes.

“I never even”—you pant, tired—“got to say congratulations.”

“That was more than enough.”

—

Charles is elated when you tell him his family has thrown a party for him the day next. He’s boyish in that way, optimistic and kiddy, the kind of person who’s up at five-thirty to announce their own birthday.

He drives you both to his childhood home, a route so familiar he could drive with his eyes closed. (“I hope you’re not driving closed-eyed,” you’d warned.)

Even if he could, anyway, he’d rather not. The scenery of Monaco is stunning, ever-changing, and he never tires of it—the buildings, the skies, the trees and shrubbery, stores lining the streets, clean entrances.

And you—in the passenger seat, humming softly to a song of his choosing. Drives are always better when you’re in the passenger seat.

The turnout is generous: extended family, and several friends from school. There’s bowls of fruit, salad, plates of salmon and racks of lamb, knobs of butter with warm bread. Pascale commands the kitchen—visible in how she leaves it cluttered with bowls, ingredients, whisks still dripping with syrup or batter, spoons licked for tasting. The good kind of clutter.

Lorenzo has also taken reign of the AUX, because it’s 70’s music playing, which is what he’s fond of for family gatherings like these. It’s My Cherie Amour now, Stevie Wonder mellowing across the lawn and into the house.

Charles knows you love the kitchen as much as his mum does, so when you get to the house, he’s not surprised to see you leave him in favor of checking out what damage has been done to your favorite marble countertops. He watches Pascale turn from the gas range, her eyes lit when she sees you, inviting you into an embrace.

You look like the song playing, pretty and lovely, breeze in the summer. He almost loses himself in thought before his great-aunt Eden places two bony hands on his arms and greets him in feeble Italian.

He flits his eyes away from you, if just briefly, and faces the woman with a smile on his face. “Ciao, zia,” he says, voice buoyant, happy. “You came here to see me, no?”

All five-foot-one of her shakes in disagreement. She wags a finger for extra measure. “No,” she says. “Sono venuto a vedere la tua ragazza.”

His eyes widen. “She’s—” He pauses. He debates telling Eden you’re not actually his girlfriend, that this was a setup to appease Pascale and, by extension, tifosi. But he backtracks.

He shouldn’t, but he gives in, lives out his dreams for a bit. “Ah, she’s over there, zia. Con mamma.” He points to the open door, and to you on the far end of the room inside, holding a spoon. “Beautiful, yes?”

“Molto,” she says proudly. “You marry her?”

Fact: his great-aunt has the worst memory. She forgot Charles’ name twenty times, let alone niche facts like this one. Another fact: she rarely shows up to family events. Maybe now, because it’s a racing thing; but baby showers and funerals, she’s at home. So he indulges a bit more.

“Si, we’re engaged. But—it’s a secret, zia.” He grins. “Non dire a nessuno. Okay?”

“Sei fidanzato?!” She claps once, excited. “Ay, Charles. I waited my whole life for this moment, si?” And she’s wobbling away, still muttering under her breath.

—

“How is my son?” Pascale’s voice is teasing. She sighs happily. “For years I wondered if this would happen. And it really is.”

“Oui, sure is,” you sing-song, laughing a bit awkwardly. “We’re—he’s okay. We’re great. In love.”

“Oh, in love,” she swoons. She leaves you, after fifteen more minutes of detailed discussion, with half a spoonful of vinaigrette to taste-test, departing to check on the guests for a few minutes. In her place arrives Lorenzo, already bearing a shit-eating grin. “Saluuut.”

“Mmm, good to see you, too.” You taste the liquid and add lemon to the bowl. “How’s wedding planning?”

“Think we’ll throw a shower. Is that pretentious?”

“No,” you say, mulling over it. “Sure, a bit. But just don’t make it a whole thing, you’re golden.”

“I see.” He sighs fondly. “You know, many a conversation we’ve had right here at this counter. About anything.”

—

You loosen your school tie, slicing an apple like you so often do, waiting for Charles’ karting practice to end. Pascale had fixed you a bowl of something, Hervé a glass of orange juice. And somebody else would always, without fail, steal your food. A hand swipes two slices form your chopping board and your head whips up.

“Lorenzo!” You stomp your foot. “Stop stealing! That is my apple.”

“You mean the Leclercs’ apple.” He laughs, pops another slice into his mouth, smiling.

You roll your eyes, shaking your head. The braid beside your head shakes with it as you continue slicing it into perfect quarters. He pipes up again: “How was school?”

“Shit, as usual.” You lower your voice and smile, leaning in. “Pascale scolded me earlier, for saying that word.”

“Did Papa?”

“Obviously not. He fist bumped me.” You share a laugh, both chewing on apple slices now. “Anyway, I aced a math test, had aubergine for lunch… got driven here by Charlotte’s mum.”

“Charlotte?” Lorenzo hums conspiratorially, making a mmmm sound. You look up from the yellow chopping board, furrowing your eyebrows. He persists: “Mmm. Cha-r-lotte.”

“What’s up with Charlotte?” Bit impolitely, you ask, in-between chews.

“I think she likes Charles, a little.” You nod slowly, trying to follow. Charlotte liking Charles. Your Charles. Wait, no. Not your—or nobody’s, really. Just Charles. Yeah.

“What? Bull!” You narrow your eyes. “Says who?”

“Why do you care?”

“Wh—I don’t!” You squeak, caught. “Just… I think I’d know, Lorenzo.” You make a tch noise, crossing your sweater-clad arms. “So—says who?”

“I saw her leering at him during his birthday party.”

“You’re wrong,” you say, but you don’t really know who you’re convincing. He reaches over for an apple slice, and you move the chopping board out of the way sharply.

“Mon dieu, you’re snappy. Fine, fine. I might be wrong,” he relents, shrugging. He gets up and slides beside you to be able to acquire more slices. “I talked to her during the party, too.”

“Weirdo,” you tease, allowing him to take a few more. “About Charles, yes?

“No, about her brand new dress.”

“You’re the funniest Leclerc brother, I assure you.”

“She told me…” He says, louder this time, shushing you effectively. “She told me she ‘finds Charles cute.’” Air quotes, shrug. “But that they ‘probably won’t’ date.”

“Huh. Did, um. Did she say why?” You play with the tail of your braid, shuffling back and forth on your flats. You don’t know why you’re so fidgety—you aren’t nervous, you don’t think.

“Because…” he says, chewing to allow for a pause. “She said every time she looks for Charles to try and ask for time alone, or on a date, or something, he’s already following you around like some puppy.”

—

You comb your hair into a bun and venture into the patio, having avoided a good chunk of the noon heat. You greet some relatives politely along the way, and receive a hand squeeze from great-aunt Eden. At one of the tables is Charles, beside Joris and another friend, and Giada and Charlotte across them, an empty seat beside the latter.

You seat yourself in it and Giada kisses your cheek. “Hey. Ça va?”

“Fine,” you say, smiling. Then you lower your voice to a whisper. “Do you remember when I told you about my crush on Charlie? For the first time?”

“Yeah,” she whispers back. “Around… 2013.”

“Ouais. And… and it disappeared after that,” you say. “Right?”

“You said it did,” she says. “A year later. When we were sixteen.”

“Right.” You think. Seventeen onwards—you’d never formed a full-fledged crush on Charles. “Okay. It’s nothing. Just a memory. I was just. Yeah, oui.”

“Oui, let’s eat.” The memory fades and so does your running mind. Charles’ eyes meet yours across the table, and suddenly you feel a little less like your thoughts have ripped you open.

—

When you and Charles were younger, you adopted the adage “bitter with the sweet.” Charles will have people believe it was made by the both of you, with philosophical minds stretched so far beyond their years. Well, revisionist history. The truth lay in the Carole King song of the same name you’d heard on the stereo.

Those are the exact words Charles tells Ted when he’s interviewing for the Spain Grand Prix. It’s a hot day and you’re especially doubled down on by the fact that he’s finished ninth.

You’d been fake-dating for the cameras all weekend. At all costs, you try and avoid interviews, but the damned Drive to Survive producers insist on a soundbite and start following the two of you around everywhere (only to find your conversations sound very weird and niche, and not scandalous or sexy).

Pascale also called—Charles first, and when he didn’t check his phone, you. You spent an hour on the phone just talking about the race. About the penalties and the nasty headlines that followed, and just everything.

“I’m glad you’re there,” she says. “God knows he needs you.”

You end up biking to try and relieve the stress, posing with fans for pictures.

“I’m such a big fan. I stalk Charles’ Insta like, all the time, and it’s crazy how you guys are dating.” A teenaged girl laughs nervously. “Where’d it happen?”

“Texas!” He, again, tries out the bit to appease the fans but you have to extinguish the flames of his blatant lies.

“He’s kidding,” you interject. “It’s just—it just happened, really.”

How does something just happen? Someone told you once, in a Paris bar, that love is like an echo. It’s always there, in the underbelly, underneath it all, and then one day it echoes, like a bass drum or a cymbal. And the echo—the echo is you feeling it. You feel the echo, the all-encompassing echo, even if the love itself’s been there all along.

With Charles, it’s out of the question. You love him. He’s your best friend. You trusted him before you even learned what trust meant, for Chrissake.

How could you not love him? That seemed impossible. The love was there. The love’s always been there and it’ll never go away.

It echoes at half-past-two in Barcelona, when he whips past you on his bike and says on your left. The breeze pulls your hair to the left, covers your face, and when you rake it away he’s stopped to check if he accidentally bumped you in his rush to look cool.

You’re creepily observant; you’ve been told this many times before. What people don’t know is with the observance comes even more questions. Ifs, whys, wheres, whens, hows, God the hows. The questions keep coming because there’s never an answer.

“Are you okay?” He asks. Green eyes glittering like a lake. Smile like the sun. Hair curly at the ends. “Did I hurt you?”

Then you realize. In the matters of love, every question—every single question. Every single one. The answer is Charles.

“Of course not,” you say. And you smile.

—

You almost drop your book in your rush to scurry past the paparazzi. They’re still busy on the two figures (Alex and Lily, you think) on another end of the paddock, which allows you only a few moments to try and evade them.

Others are stationed near the Ferrari hospitality, which means you’re going to need your hideout. Yuki had texted Pierre who had texted Charles who had told you that it was all clear to go there for a few minutes while waiting for the photographers to clear out.

Hurry, Charles is saying. Laughing. His hand’s gentle in yours. You want them there forever. You want to drag the tip of your nail over the barely-perceptible grooves of his fingerprints so he knows how much you need him.

The days post-Spain were spent biking, watching shows, listening to music, eating food. The travel to Canada—long, cold, compression socks. Pascale had called mid-flight to check on her “favorite pair”—you maneuvered yourselves into a much more cuddly position to appease her, and her giddy smile was incentive enough to stay that way for ninety minutes.

You’d been in a weird mental state trying to grapple with your rapidly returning and intensifying feelings for him, which have dawned on you all at once.

But he makes it better. You’re still laughing when you wedge yourselves in, eyes meeting.

And then you’re quiet.

The gaze you share is intense, but almost unsure, like you’re supposed to be looking away anytime now. You step backward shakily, and his hand moves from your waist to the small of your back to keep you from stumbling any further. You’re closer now. But this shouldn’t feel as strange as it does when you two have been in much more scandalous positions before—what’s different?

He’s so close, so so close, his green eyes looking right through you. You lean closer, ready to kiss him like you have before, ready to feel his mouth slot softly over yours, comforting and safe and Charles.

Funnily enough, it’s then that the illusion breaks, his grip loosening and the distance between you increasing. He coughs twice, awkwardly.

“Shit—sorry,” you say profusely, clearly having read the moment wrong. Embarrassment wells up in your system, warming your face. You laugh to diffuse the tension but it barely does anything.

“No, don’t—” He exhales, squeezes the bridge of his nose, trying to find words. “It’s not that I don’t want to kiss you. I do.”

“So kiss me,” you suggest simply, looking around for anything that might stop him. The embarrassment ebbs away, replaced quickly by confusion.

“I don’t want to kiss you in an AlphaTauri stock room,” he mopes, burying his head in his hands in clear frustration. “An AlphaTauri stock room.” He repeats it in a hushed whisper, disbelief etched all over his pretty face.

“Charles,” you begin, smiling already, the quaint way that makes his knees go weak every time. “You’re acting like you and I haven’t kissed before.”

“This is different.” He says firmly, looking away lest he lean in involuntarily. He interjects with conviction, not realizing what he’s implying until the implication’s hanging in the air. The longing kills him softly, and he feels if he looks at you a second longer he’ll kiss you anyway.

It’s a wonderfully confusing feeling. You open your mouth to respond but you can’t; your brain tacks itself onto his sentence, the division created between the kisses before now and the kiss that might happen anytime soon.

“H…” you trail off, throat drying. Blinking, you try again, “How different?”

He looks up, eyes conveying all the things his lips never will. This is different. You know it. I love you this time.

The answer is exchanged and accepted wordlessly. You slip out of the room when Pierre tells you it’s okay to, and it’s only then—only then—that Charles’ hand leaves your body. You seem to burn alive with its absence.

It’s a Ferrari 1-2. You snap a thousand pictures with Isa and Carlos holding Carlos’ trophy while Charles is doing interviews, and they invite you to join them for the break. You’re open to it—the win, the good standings, they definitely warrant a celebration for the few weeks’ break. So your original itinerary is Portugal—beaches, coasts, food—but the jet re-charts a route and the flight is cut much shorter because you’re in New York City.

—

Somewhere in Manhattan, a wedding shower is thrown on an outdoor rooftop. “This is one hell of a wedding shower,” you squeal excitedly when you spot him, bringing Lorenzo in for a hug. Your yellow dress flows in the wind. “I thought you guys were going to throw it in Monaco?”

“Yeah, well… why not here, right? It’s beautiful.” He gestures to the skyline, smiling. “Plus, Charles, Arthur, and Mum were already near the country for work, so we got ahead of it. Everyone was happy to fly out.”

“Well, for what it’s worth, I love it.” You beam. “I can’t believe it, either. When’s the final date?”

He opens his mouth to reply, but the wind is knocked out of him by Charles barreling into his arms for a hug. You roll your eyes at the latter’s childish behavior, smiling despite yourself. They part and Charles finds his place beside you, arm snaking around your shoulders. “What a wedding shower!”

“Don’t flatter me, dipshit,” Lorenzo jokes.

“It’s a lovely one.” Lorenzo thanks him. “An amazing shower. You know, it’s a total golden shower!”

You purse your lips. “Charles—”

“A golden shower, mate. Absolutely.”

That garners at least three odd looks and you calmly place a hand on his chest to whisper don’t ever fucking say that again it means something completely different please don’t embarrass me or your brother.

For all your embarrassment, you make up for it in having the literal time of your life. The food is good, the city view is amazing, the weather is fair and the music—Desafinado now—is amazing. “I could see myself here,” you say offhandedly to Charles, who nods back with a faint smile. He’s half-distracted.

“You look beautiful, by the way,” he says, squinting from the sun in his eyes. “Very.”

You part ways at some point—Pascale whisks him off, no doubt for another long round of questioning about your relationship, and you meander around with a glass of champagne.

You’re halfway through swiping a mini quiche when a hand wraps around your wrist and squeezes to get your attention—Charles’ great-aunt Eden. She speaks only intermittent English, and your Italian fails to carry you through well enough, but you smile and greet her. “Ciao, Eden!”

“Ciao, bella.” She smiles. “Flight was long.”

“Oh, yeah. New York’s far. I might work here someday. I’ll hear results in around two weeks, but I’m hoping for London instead.” You slow your speech.

“When will you two wed?”

“Wed?” Your face warms and you stutter through a giggly mess of a sentence. “Oh, Eden—zia—no, no! We’re just friends.”

“My Charles told me you two are to be married.” You both crane your heads to the right, where Charles is leaning against the terrace railing talking to one of your friends, Matthew, animatedly. He meets your eyes, sees Eden beside you, and seems to connect the dots.

Jokingly, perhaps, he raises his hand and wiggles his empty ring finger. You can’t help but smile as you turn back to the old woman. “Oh, did he, zia?”

“Si, he did.”

“Well, we’re just going to let it happen, then. You’re invited. Front row.” You kiss her cheek and she smiles, wobbling off to drink more wine before any of the adults can stop her.

It’s announced then that the dance floor is open, and many of Pascale’s friends filter through to show off their moves to the 70’s music. You watch, amused, at the display of dexterity to Frankie Valli and Aretha Franklin. You cheer them on, content to watch them against the backdrop of the New York sunset.

When Ain’t No Mountain High Enough plays, the dance floor grows, because nobody can resist the song—not even Charles, apparently, who takes your hand without preamble and takes you, squealing, to the centre.

You sing each of the parts, like you always do when the song comes on. It’s semi-tradition at this point: you take Marvin Gaye’s, Charles takes Tammi Terrell’s. You both exaggerate your dance moves and pretend you’re performing.

His hand’s in yours, winding you around and pulling you close. At some point he starts robot dancing to entertain you. It works—you laugh out loud, your eyes half-shut and faced to the stars above. He could write a poem about this. Or a song.

The song ends and you lean onto his shoulder to take a breather—then the photographer swoops in and takes a picture. “That’s going into the RSVPs!” He says, accent unmistakably American.

“Does he know we’re not the couple here?” You ask.

Do we know we’re not the couple? Charles asks himself.

The night escalates as the “oldies” leave, and Matthew, Joris, and Giada join you both for one last round of drinks again. You’re all standing at the exit making conversation; Lorenzo attends to his friends at the other end of the terrace.

“I feel young again,” Matthew says, liberated by Tito’s vodka. He takes another swig and pulls his coat on.

“You’re twenty-five, calm down,” you joke. “Dodged that bullet.” You’re poking fun at the semi-massive crush you had on Matthew in secondary school, and a laugh passes through the four of you. “Anyway, you three be careful. No driving.”

“Jesus, but really—I haven’t been this drunk since you”—he points at you, laughing—“turned seventeen at that club, Amber? No?”

“Oh, God. Y’know, same.” You fail to notice Charles and Giada share a look. “I remember nothing from that night! Or, like, the first two hours at least.”

“I remember drinking my body weight because of heartbreak,” he jeers.

“Heartbreak? Were you—were you with anyone?” You ask, confused.

It happens before anyone can stop it. “No, when Charles kissed you. And you kissed him after. Alright, night mates! Lorenzo—merci!”

Oh, fuck, you hear in the back of your now-muddled brain. Giada’s voice.

You open and close your mouth. “Ch—wait, he—what?”

“I—let’s talk here,” Charles flounders, dragging you to a more secluded spot and facing you. The three of your friends exit; Giada waves, apologetic. “When… we were at Amber… and you were absolutely hammered, we kissed. It was twice—just twice. And you didn’t, um. Remember a thing.”

You’re unsure. “In Amber?” You blink, confused. “What do you mean?”

“We… I don’t—I mean, I understand why you don’t remember. We kissed that night.”

“So that’s… Charles… You didn’t tell me.” Your voice quivers, like a wire flicked. “Why didn’t you say it at the time?”

He doesn’t give you an answer. He just looks at the counter, imagines the way your eyebrows furrow, your lips move, eyes glitter. He can’t give you one. He doesn’t want to hurt, disappoint, sadden you. He wants to get on his knees and root you here, so he’ll have all the time in the world to come up with an answer.

“Charles.” But he loves you, and he can at the very least be honest for you. “Look at me.”

“I was scared.” His eyes gravitate to yours.

“Of?”

“It felt stupid, is all. That you didn’t remember, and maybe you did but you were pretending you weren’t. I didn’t—it didn’t—sorry.” He laughs, stutters. “I convinced myself it didn’t mean anything because we didn’t have feelings for each other.” He pauses. “Then.”

“Well,” you say, slow. Eyes stuck to his. “How about now?”

“Now?”

“I love you, now. I mean, isn’t that all this is? Loving? Even if? De—despite of?”

And this—God. This is how it feels. He’s looking at you and you’re telling him you love him because you do, and finally he’s been over with reassurance.

You love him, too. That way. He trembles with it. His hands are shaky when they lace into yours, like you’re a shrine, a prayer, and he feels like maybe these are the emotions that swirl through the human body when one wins the lottery and gets struck by angry lightning at the same time.

This is it, he thinks. Profound and lovely and an echo of sweet memories. He’s yours. Here in a city unfamiliar to both of you, yet to be conquered, your fingers lace lightly and you smile, smile, smile at each other, as if you’re the last two people on Earth. He’s yours, so foolishly in love with you.

Even far from home, you’re both filled with warmth, with longing. Extended stares, pits of your stomachs welling up with something lovely in between homesickness and nostalgia. Here again, you again, us again—it’ll always be us again, your heart seems to say, surrounded by the same love the same hurt the same sad the same everything, you and me, all the love in the world, all the confusion, we’re here. It’s never over.

Across the terrace, Lorenzo watches. Two figures, laughing, emanating happiness, gentle unkowing love. You two have finally made it here, after what felt like a thousand trials and dreams and stories.

So even if you’re taller, in high heels and a yellow dress—and Charles is broader, in a suit and tie—Lorenzo thinks he can blink and see the two little kids who hosted a tea party in the backyard. He can blink again and see you hugging, eyes shut, his lips pressed to your forehead to convey the intimacy nothing else will do as well.

“So what now?” You ask. Again with the questions. In your defense—it begs so many follow-up questions. A love so many years in the making—layer after layer after layer—of course it begs all the questions, almost to the point of overwhelming capacity. What’ll we tell Pascale? The fans? The family? Everyone?!

But one look and he makes it better. His green eyes, bright against the deep black of the skyline. You’ve grown. You’ve done it. You’re here. “We’ll figure it out.” He smiles. “We deserve this kind of ending, don’t you think?”

—

“He has my name.” A tubby finger points to the boy on the greeting card. “That one.”

“And who’s the dog?” Asks the girl beside him, hair wound into a plait. She likes this boy. He’s cute. She plays with the end of her braid and stares, eyes flickering in-between him and the card they’re staring at.

“The name’s right there. They’re best friends.”

“Okay, that’ll be me.”

“So that’s us.”

“Oui.” She smiles. “Charlie and Snoopy.”

–

read an omitted scene here :)

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