#choices music inspo | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

bisexualiteaa · 24 days 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.

481 notes · View notes

gh0stsp1d3r · 6 months ago

Text

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

704 notes · View notes

moodmusicmonday · 2 years ago

Text

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

24 notes · View notes

leclsrc · 2 years ago

Text

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 :)

#f1 #charles leclerc #charles leclerc smut #charles leclerc fluff #charles leclerc imagines #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc drabble #charles leclerc x reader #f1 x reader

5K notes · View notes

txemrn · 2 years ago

Text

@moodmusicmonday 🖤

Ricochet, Part IV: "... This Isn't What I Wanted (or Is It Everything?)..."

Open Heart

Ethan Ramsey x f!OC (Tatum Erikson)

"Shapeshifting" by Taylor Acorn

#moodmusicmonday #mood music monday #choices mmm #music inspo #Spotify

5 notes · View notes

takamimami · 4 months ago

Text

Heaven in Hiding

Pairing: Keigo Takami x fem!reader (use of Y/N)

This one-shot was inspired by a fan art drawing I saw on TikTok by x.4haru and also some KadeArt pics - The NightHawks brainrot is so real. (Kadeart inspo: here, here, & here :3)

CW: SMUT; praise kink, orgasm delay/denial, cum play, choking, 'Sir' kink, dacryphilia, degradation kink, slight consensual non-consent, brat taming 0_o, yakuza/gang affiliations, references to drugs --- word count: 10.9k

🔞NSFW; MINORS/AGELESS BLOGS KEEP IT MOVING🔞

Summary: Enigma (e•nig•ma) A person or thing that is mysterious, puzzling, or difficult to understand. Your night out goes just as you wanted it to, but not with the person you’d expected.

The wind had a bitter bite to it as it blew your jacket open, sending a brisk chill through your whole body. The rain had picked up a bit, causing you to pick up your walking pace as well. Easier said than done, however, given that the black stilettos you chose to wear tonight were nearly six inches high and the matching bodycon dress was threatening to ride up your thigh and expose your ass. You cursed yourself for your attire choice at this moment, knowing that it was your tipsy and single brain that told you to dress this way. It didn't help that the only free parking was nearly a block away from your destination.

"Let's go to Camelot," they said.

"It will be fun," they said.

"We can meet some 'lookers'," they said.

Well, you were still hoping that the last part would be true. It had been a hot minute since you had seen any sort of action, and being that you just got off your period, you were hoping to be humping something other than your pillow tonight.

You shook your head at your impure thoughts keeping your head down to not ruin the makeup that adorned your face. You noticed a few black feathers strewn on the ground in front of an alleyway, most likely from crows that frequented the busy alleys. As you neared your destination you felt eyes on you, and you nervously scanned the area to make sure you were in the right place. You were relieved to see the entrance to the club just up ahead, indicated to you by the big lit-up pillars with "CAMELOT" written on each one. There was a line of people stretched down the sidewalk, but luckily your friend had connections with the owner and got you on the VIP list, claiming it was your "birthday". You walked past the waiting crowd, a few catcalls and whistles faintly heard over the sound of the city accompanied by the bass you assumed was coming from inside the club. You ignored them and rolled your eyes as you made your way up to the bouncers, one of which was holding a clipboard and a flashlight.

"You on the list?"

You nodded your head and gave him your name, as well as fetched your ID out of your wallet and handed that over to him.

"Ah, the 'birthday girl'," he said, waving his air quotations so you could see them. You blushed slightly before he continued, "Don't worry, your secret is safe with me."

You thanked him as he lifted the barrier so you could enter the club, the upbeat music blaring in your ears as soon as you opened the door.

The inside of the club was dimly lit, with colored lights leading your way down the dark hallway towards the much brighter bar. Once you got down the end of the hallway you scanned the bar area for your friends, praying you weren't the first person there. The entire area was furnished in brown leather, with comfortable-looking booths and lavishly cushioned seats replacing the typical bar stools you'd expect to see at a club. All of the walls were lined with mirrors, causing the flashing lights from the dance floor to bounce vibrantly throughout the entire venue. The dance floor was as crowded as ever, which made sense given it was a Saturday night. You recognized the song blaring over the speakers as one from the K-Pop group BTS. Dynamite, was it?

Your thoughts were abruptly interrupted by an average height man bumping into you, causing you to stumble a bit. He quickly turned around to look your way, nearly spilling the whiskey in his cup as he did so. You could smell the liquor on his breath, indicating he was probably a couple of glasses in so far.

"Hey there, sexy thang! My apologies!" His voice was somehow louder than the blaring music in the background. You could hardly recognize him at first, but you couldn't mistake the long blonde hair. It was relaxed and back in a loose hanging bun, as opposed to his usual spiked updo. Hizashi Yamada, a well-known DJ in the area, was most likely here for a gig.

He brought his orange glasses down to the brim of his nose as he looked you up and down, "So what brings a hot chick like you out alone on a night like this?"

You nearly giggled at how corny he sounded hitting on you, "I- I'm here with some friends to celebrate my uh, birthday."

He noticed your increased awkwardness and scanned the room before leaning in to speak in a bit of a hushed tone, "Don't worry sweet cheeks, I'm not hitting on you. My partner over there would beat my ass if I was," he motioned over to a tall black-haired man standing at the bar, ordering a drink. His hair was pulled back in a half-up, half down 'do. The bartender handed him a couple of drinks and he turned in our direction, giving Hizashi a glare as he saw us looking in his direction.

"Well, that's my queue to go, don't wanna keep the hubby waiting," he nudged you in the side, a laugh escaping his lips. "Oh, and happy birthday!"

Just as quickly as he appeared, he disappeared in the crowd in the direction of his partner. You smiled to yourself as you turned in the opposite direction of him, scanning the crowd for any familiar faces. Giving up, you made your way over to the bar, pulling your phone out as you made your way there. To your surprise, you had two unread messages from your best friend.

Hey, I’m running a little late! Traffic is absolute shit. You there yet?

Should be there in 10. Order me a shot of Patrón, kay?

As you were reading the second message, a third one came through.

Parking now! See you soon, hot stuff!

You smiled and replied with a simple 'Yay!' and several dancing emojis before sliding your phone back into your jacket pocket. You made it to the bar and quickly ordered a shot of your favorite liquor, needing something to ease the slight headache forming at the base of your neck. As you waited for your drink you turned around, surveying the venue a little more. There was a group of women in the booth nearest you, all of which looked to be in their early 20's. A few were posing for pictures together, and others were making goo-goo eyes at some men across the bar from them, making you chuckle to yourself a little bit. The booth directly next to them was full of men in dark suits, all sipping dark liquor and looking around, almost suspiciously. You quickly averted your eyes over to a man in his late 20's/early 30's using his water manipulation quirk to impress some girls by pouring their drinks without using his hands.

Your people-watching was abruptly cut short by a pair of golden eyes staring at you from the entrance of the club. You watched as he emerged from the darkness of the hallway, his gaze never leaving you. It took you a moment to realize that a pair of prominent black wings adorned his back, almost as majestic looking as they were sinister. He ruffled them out slightly as he shimmied his jacket off his shoulders, the bouncer to his rear grabbing it for him and removing it, and carefully maneuvering around his wings. The red button-up shirt he wore was a good contrast to the black vest and dress pants he wore, everything fitted perfectly to his toned build. He bit the index finger of his glove and slid it off, then grabbed it and did the same with the other hand, the slightly seductive action intrigued you. Something about him had your body frozen in place. You let a seductive smirk curl up on your lips, and almost immediately he did the same.

You finally broke the intense staring game as you heard the bartender return with your shot glass. You turned around quickly and thanked them, grabbing the glass and swirling it around, staring at the liquid inside. Giving yourself a slight pep talk, you started a silent count down before tipping your head back and taking down the liquid, savoring the burn in the back of your throat.

As you sat the drink back down on the counter a masculine scent filled your nose and a smooth voice rang in your ears.

"Always nice to see a girl who can handle her liquor."

The chuckle that rang through the air made the hairs on your arms stand up, and you pivoted on your heels only to come face to face with your long distant admirer.

"Oh c'mon, I meant that as a compliment," he joked, the cockiness in his tone about as obvious as the wings on his back. You could tell why, however, the man standing next to you was nothing short of attractive. His golden locks were all but organized, but the messiness of it seemed deliberate and added to his edge. His chiseled face matched his physique, and the tattoos painted on his forearms added to his edgy demeanor. His face was riddled in piercings, a black stud nose ring and a hooped eyebrow piercing added a harsh contrast to his smooth skin.

"Take a photo, princess. It will last you longer."

Your cheeks went flush as you quickly averted your eyes back to the bartender, reaching out to order another shot.

Just as you opened your mouth to order, the man beside you grabbed your hand, and that's when you noticed the knuckle tattoos reading "NIGHT" peeking out from under the gunmetal rings on his fingers. You gazed down at the other hand to see the same font on those knuckles, this one reading “HAWKS”.

"We'll take two shots of Yamazaki, neat."

You rolled your eyes, laughing at the audacity of the man now holding your hand. He looked at you inquisitively, before raising your hand to his mouth and running your knuckles over his lips lightly a few times before placing a chaste kiss on them. Something about his aura intrigued you, although all the signs pointed to that being a bad thing. You swallowed that feeling into your gut to ignore it, pulling your hand away and placing it on the bar.

"So, tell me, princess, what brings you to my neck of the woods on this wonderful night?"

You raised an eyebrow to him teasingly, " Your neck of the woods?"

The menacing smirk that curled up onto his lips indicated your unintentional teasing was working, much to your surprise. Just as he leaned forward to offer a rebuttal, a shrill squeal came from behind him, startling you both.

“Y/N!!!! Happy Birthday!”

You recognized the high-pitched voice immediately, seeing as it belonged to none other than your best friend. You rolled your eyes while simultaneously flashing her a smile.

“You’re so full of shit,” you giggled, pulling them in for a warm hug. As you did, you noticed your new acquaintance had taken a few steps back, still eyeing you as a predator does its prey.

As you pulled away from the embrace you turned to the bartender, realizing you had forgotten to order a shot of Patrón as requested. When you did, you were as shocked as ever to hear your best friend strike up a conversation with your admirer like they were old friends.

“You just couldn’t wait to introduce yourself, could ya?”

The comment caused you to snap your head back in their direction, both of their eyes turning to you as you did.

“You know how I get around beautiful women,” he mumbled, earning him a slap on the arm in return.

She playfully shoved him before moving closer to you, “Even though you’ve clearly met, I’ll introduce you anyway. (Y/N), this is my cousin Kei-”

The conversation was abruptly interrupted by your hand being grabbed and you being pulled away quickly.

“My name is Enigma, princess. You’ll wanna remember that for later tonight.”

The sly smirk on his face was almost too much for you to handle as a chuckle escaped your lips. You weren’t sure what was more comical, the nickname, or his comment. Before you could offer a witty comeback, your best friend grabbed your arm and pulled you back over to them.

“Yeah, yeah, Enigma. We got some dancing to do,” they giggled as they threw back their awaiting shot and pulled you to the dance floor. You followed their lead and took down your awaiting whiskey shot and rushed to the dance floor, leaving Enigma alone at the bar, the menacing look returning to his eyes as you walked away.

“So what’s the deal with your cousin?”

After making your way to the middle of the dance floor, your best friend turned around and smiled at you.

“Why, you think he’s hot?”

You weren’t sure if your face was hot from embarrassment or the drinks, but before you could reply they nudged your shoulder playfully.

“I’m just messing with you. His dad is my mom’s brother. He’s a cocky little shit, but he’s good people. He’s always been there for me since we were kids. He’s also always been our grandfather’s favorite, so I rarely get to see him since he joined the family business.”

You nodded, a little more interested, “How come you’ve never talked about him before?”

“He and my grandfather are very private people. They don’t come around too often, especially now that my grandfather’s health has declined a bit.”

You nodded, and just as you were about to reply, your favorite Megan Thee Stallion song began blaring over the speakers, so you opted to start dancing instead.

The next hour or so was a blur for you, feeling the two shots you took back to back working their way through your system. You couldn’t shake the feeling of having eyes on you at all times, but every time you scanned the room for Enigma, you couldn’t find him.

You shook off the feeling once again and continued dancing, not sure who your best friend had gone off with. You felt a body come up behind you and introduce themselves, the music blaring so loud you couldn’t even make it out. You smiled and tried introducing yourself as well before turning around and swaying your hips to the rhythm of the song playing.

Everything was fine for a moment, but then the gentle hand on your hip turned into two hands gripping your ass, and you began to feel uncomfortable. You tried to pull away from the stranger, but instead, they pulled you back into them aggressively, grinding their groin roughly on you. You were ready to throw an elbow in their direction and curse them out before a flash of black clouded your vision and you felt yourself finally get the separation you desired.

“Hey man, I don’t think the lady wants you dry-humping her on the dance floor.”

You recognized the voice from earlier. Enigma stood before you, his hand firmly gripping your forearm, keeping you separated from the man who was groping you moments ago.

The man looked between the two of you a few times before leaning into Enigma, a challenging expression written all over his face.

“And just who are you to decide that?”

Instead of retaliating, you saw Enigma fluff out his left-wing and motion down at his waistband. You saw the man's eyes move from Enigma’s face to the waistband, his eyes widening slightly before meeting Enigma’s eyes again.

Someone who must’ve been a friend of his came up behind him and patted him on the shoulder, clearly witnessing what had transpired so far. You thought you heard him tell the groper it wasn’t worth the trouble, but before you had the chance to process it you saw an unknown dark-colored drink come flying in your direction. You weren’t sure if you saw everything clearly, but he seemed to also be reaching for what you assumed was the gun on Enigma’s hip.

A commotion ensued as Enigma pulled you into him, wrapping his left wing around you to shield you. You peeked out from behind it to see two bodyguards grab the man you had been dancing with and drag him off the dance floor and out a door that was in the opposite direction of the exit.

Turning to face you, Enigma scanned you up and down, inspecting you for any injury.

“Are you alright, princess?”

You don’t know how or why, but a wave of calm washed over you as he held you close, the pet name he sang sending the butterflies in your stomach into a frenzy.

“Yeah, it’s just a drink, I’m not that fragile,” you retorted, almost feeling half bad for your involuntary sarcasm.

He only reacted with a warm smile as he ushered you off the dance floor, “Come with me, let’s get you cleaned up.”

You followed him back behind the DJ booth and into a doorway, you could barely tell was there, the only indication of it being there was the door handle and the ‘Authorized Personnel’ sign. He held the door open for you before leading you down a hallway and up some stairs, his gentle hand never leaving yours. You were grateful for his help, as the mixture of the alcohol and these heels did not make it an easy staircase to scale.

“Watch your foot on the top step, it’s a little higher than the others,” he instructed as he stood at the top of the staircase, watching you intently to assure you made it up alright. He then opened another door for you, this time leading into a dim-lit lounge.

“Thank you,” your voice almost came out in a whisper, taking in your surroundings as you entered the new room. Cigar smoke and marijuana immediately filled your nose, the smell actually more pleasant than you’d expected.

You felt Enigma’s hand fall from yours only to rest on your hip as he led you further into the room. You passed a few gentlemen dressed similarly to Enigma, only most of them wore black from head to toe. None of them even so much as offered you a glance as the two of you made your way over to a booth near the corner of the room. As you sat down you noticed the entire wall to your left was a one-way mirror, making it so that you could see the entire dance floor from just above the DJ booth.

Enigma whistled to one of the men behind the small bar, asking him for a towel.

“Sure thing, Boss.”

He quickly dipped behind the bar and popped up with a towel, tossing it to Enigma, who then turned around to face you. Much to your surprise, he went down onto his knee and grabbed your foot, cleaning off your shoes and the drink that had splashed down your leg. He then handed the towel to you as he stood up so you could finish drying yourself off.

“Good thing I wore black tonight,” you joked, laughing off the events that just unfolded. You tilted your head to look up at Enigma, a semi-concerned look still plastered on his face.

You stood up, the liquid courage still running its course through your body. You leaned in slightly, placing a subtle peck in his cheek, catching him off guard.

You didn’t say anything, just watched his expression as a smirk curled upon his lips. When he didn’t reply, you offered up your explanation.

“Your reward for saving me back there,” you admitted shyly. You weren’t normally this forward with a complete stranger, however, something about him made you feel at ease.

“Well, I hope there’s more where that came from,” his voice came out just above a whisper, the octave of his voice lower than it was previously.

You smirked at him before looking away, gazing out at the crowd down below. “People watching must be really easy from up here,” you muttered, turning your head back to glare at Enigma. In response he let out a low chuckle, raising his hands and shaking his head.

“It does have its perks, I’ll admit.”

You shake your head in response, not caring enough to take that conversation any further.

“So, what did my cousin tell you about me?”

Your cheeks immediately flared up, but you maintained your eye contact with him.

“They told me you’re good people, and that you’ve always been there for them when they needed you.”

He nodded and moved his gaze to the floor, “Yeah, they’re right about the last part.”

You tilted your head, “Are you saying you’re not good people?”

He kept his gaze on the floor a moment as if he was pondering his reply. Then he lifted his head enough to make eye contact with you, changing the tone in his voice to a more serious one.

“Depends who you ask.”

The two of you kept your eye contact for a brief moment before a voice interrupted it, calling Enigma over to the other side of the room. He shifted his weight a bit as if he was going to walk away, but he turned his head back around to you before he did so.

“I’ll be right back, princess. Duty calls,” he sang the ending of his statement, adding that you should order the two of you some drinks for when he returned.

You nodded and made your way over to the little bar, the bartender busy cleaning glasses with his back turned to you. You cleared your throat and ordered two shots of Yamazaki, just as Enigma had for you downstairs. You figured that was the safest bet, given you had no clue what liquor he preferred.

“The Boss’ favorite, smart girl,” the bartender joked with you, “So how’d you end up as the Boss’ date?”

You laughed to yourself, wondering the same thing. “Your guess is as good as mine.”

The slender, blonde man behind the counter looked up at you, his eyes scanning you up and down a few times before snickering.

“Heard you’re friends with the Boss’ cousin, Kami’s granddaughter. It’d be nice to see you around here more.”

The smile on his face was genuine, making you show off one of your own.

“Who’s Kami,” you inquired, “If you don’t mind me asking.”

He looked up and scanned the room before looking back at you, leaning in slightly before answering.

“The big Boss, Enigma’s grandfather. He’s the owner of this club, Enigma just started taking over for him ever since his health’s gone downhill,” he answered, setting the drinks down on the counter in front of you.

You recalled the conversation you had with your best friend regarding that. You were about to inquire further on how he knew about you when a door on the opposite side of the room shutting grabbed your attention.

Enigma, along with three hefty-looking men, walked back into the room, grimacing looks on all of their faces. He removed his gloves in the same fashion he did the first time you laid eyes on him, but this time he wasn’t looking in your direction. He scanned the room before his eyes landed on you, his face immediately softening.

Something about the vibe in the room had shifted, and you could tell there was something you weren’t in the loop on, but you didn’t have the gut to ask about it. Not yet, anyway.

Enigma made his way over to you, discarding his gloves on a nearby table as he walked. As he got to the bar, he grabbed your hand tenderly and brought your knuckles to his lips for another chaste kiss.

“What did I miss?”

You smirked and grabbed the drink from the countertop, sipping it lightly as he cocked an eyebrow in response.

“We were talking about you,” you replied slyly, bringing the glass back up to your lips.

Enigma’s eyebrow cocked even further, “That so? Well, I guess if I’m gonna have a wingman, I’d prefer it be you, Yagi.”

You saw a proud smile curl up on the bartender’s face as he extended his hand in Enigma’s direction, offering him a joint. Enigma grabbed the joint and stuck it between his lips as you watched, the swift motions he made mesmerizing you. Once he lit the spliff he took a hard drag before handing it back to Yagi behind the bar. He let the smoke escape his lips and sucked it up into his nostrils before turning his head away from you and exhaling. After taking a hit himself Yagi extended his hand to you, though you respectfully declined, not wanting to mix your vices.

Enigma looped his arm back around your waist and pulled you back in the direction of the booth. The two of you sat across from each other, as if in a business meeting. You talked for what felt like hours about anything and everything, your childhood, parents, favorite restaurants, and everything in between. The occasional interruption occurred, but it never lasted for more than a few moments.

You learned he was an only child, his mother was abusive and his father was often in trouble with the law, so he was mostly raised by his grandfather. You also learned he had dreamt of being a hero, but that learning the truth about one of his idols changed his entire outlook on life. You also found out that he was born with red wings, but an encounter with an old friend left him with burns on 75% of his body and nearly burnt them off, causing them to grow back black in color.

“Honestly, I kinda like it more,” he admitted, the two of you now onto your third drink since coming up to the lounge. You were cursing yourself for doing so, knowing if you tried to stand on your own right now you surely wouldn’t be able to walk straight.

“It's getting late, I should probably get back to your cousin,” you started, noticing the time.

Enigma placed a hand over yours, attempting to reassure you.

“She left about an hour ago, found some guy to take home with her,” he chuckled, noticing a worried expression on your face. “Don’t worry, we checked him out before they left.”

You weren’t sure what that meant, but the liquor in your system allowed you to shake it off easier than you usually would. You could tell you were getting tired, and it must have been obvious because Enigma offered to have you driven home so you made it home safely.

You agreed, handing over your keys and letting him know where you were parked. He handed them over to a tall man in a dark grey suit, who quickly disappeared down the hall towards the exit.

“Do you mind if I show you something first?”

The question, as innocent as it was, ignited a fire deep in your core, sending the butterflies in your stomach into a frenzy. You nodded and gladly took his hand, your knees a bit wobbly as you stood.

He led you down a hallway to an elevator, one that requires a passcode for entry. He entered it quickly and the doors opened, the lights inside illuminating the entire hallway. Enigma wrapped an arm around your waist and helped you into the elevator, noticing that you were a little less steady than you had been at the beginning of the night.

The two of you rode the elevator all the way up past the 29th floor, the penthouse button lighting up as you reached your destination. You stepped out of the elevator into a lavish suite, the sight before you was overwhelming. Dark hardwood floors and structures contrasted beautifully with the white amenities and furniture. Before you had time to fully admire everything, you were whisked away towards the back wall of the suite, which was actually floor-to-ceiling windows. With the flick of a switch, the curtains covering the windows swung open, revealing a walk-out patio with an infinity pool and a gorgeous recreational space. You were speechless as Enigma opened the door to the patio and led you out into the chilly night. You clutched at his forearm as the two of you made your way out to the ledge, looking over the city.

“Are you scared of heights?” He looked down at you smiling, noticing you clutching his arm tighter the closer you got to the ledge.

“Only when I’m drunk,” you replied, snorting slightly as you let out a laugh at your own poor joke.

The city below you was as busy as ever, even though it was getting close to the early morning hours at this point. All the lights made it seem just as bright as if the sun was out, but the dark Shibuya skyline added a layer of beauty to it all.

“Sometimes when life gets crazy I like to just sit out here and gather my thoughts. It’s my little escape,” he started, your eyes still fixated on the busy city below. The wind picked up slightly, a gust blowing open your jacket slightly. You felt Enigma wrap his wing around you as it did, blocking you from the cool breeze.

You found your gaze slowly shifting to the man holding you, admiring his features even closer than you had earlier. You noticed what looked like a few faded scars on his cheek, and you also noticed that he had a plethora of ear piercings on both ears.

Enigma turned his head to meet your gaze, the two of your staring at each other for what felt like an eternity. After a few moments of waiting for him to make a move, you let out a gentle laugh before whispering a request.

“If you’re gonna kiss me, you should probably do it before my ride gets here.”

Within a split second of you finishing your last word his lips were on you, a warm and somehow familiar feeling washing over you. The kiss was simple at first, a gentle lip-lock with a slight tilt of the head on your part to deepen it. Things quickly picked up, however, and it wasn’t long before his tongue and teeth were nipping at your bottom lip, begging for entrance. You parted your lips ever so slightly, granting it to him gladly. The taste of liquor on his tongue accompanied by the masculine scent coming from his clothes was driving all of your senses wild and you knew it was obvious. Your tongues continued to battle over dominance as he leaned down slightly to grab at the back of your things and lift you off the ground. You wrapped your legs around his waist tightly, feeling your stiletto heels fall to the floor. You took advantage of the fact that you were now looking down on him slightly to take control of the kiss, sucking and biting at his bottom lip before continuing to dance your tongue around his.

It only took a moment for the two of you to be back inside the loft, causing you to cast away your jacket as you felt your body temperature increasing by the second. You felt Enigma stop moving momentarily when suddenly he let go of you completely, dropping you down onto the couch. Between the sensation causing your stomach to drop and the heated makeout session taking place, you were completely out of breath. You relaxed down into the cushions to catch your breath momentarily as you watched Enigma unbuttoning his vest and shirt, exposing his toned torso. You admired the tattoos scattered across his chest, some leading to his back and neck, none of which you cared to make out at this point. The only ones you could distinguish were the wings on his forearms, which were reminiscent of his own.

You were pulled from your daydream by a hand grabbing hold of your chin, lifting your lips back to his. You wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him down onto you, his arms coming down on either side of you to not crush you underneath him. Once he got his balance back he lifted his hands to explore your body, tracing every curve lightly with them.

You weren’t ready for it, but he abruptly pulled away from you, causing you to whimper from the loss of contact. He looked you deep in the eyes, his eyelids hanging lower than they had previously.

“Now, i-I think it’s quite obvious here that I want to fuck t-the absolute shit out of you,” he stuttered, still trying to steady his breathing. “But, as any true gentlemen would, I must make sure that you want the same, princess.”

His bluntness caught you only slightly off guard, mostly because you thought it was obvious that you were both in the same mindset. Again, however, the liquid courage in your system egged you on a bit more than you were used to, so instead of a simple nod you propped yourself up on your knees and pushed him down onto his back. The look of curiosity mixed with arousal on his face only egged you on even more.

“Well, you see, I had actually planned on fucking your brains out instead,” you whispered in his ear seductively, trying your best not to slur your words. You leaned back to gauge his reaction, to which he raised his hands and placed them behind his head, granting you full access to do as you pleased.

“Be my guest, your highness.”

You wasted no time in undoing his pants, requiring a little help with his belt as it proved to be much more of a challenge than you expected. The briefs were the next battle. As you pulled the waistband of them down you couldn’t help but shiver with anticipation as his erection sprung out of them enthusiastically, slapping up against his lower abdomen. You shifted your gaze up to meet his, his eyelids heavy and his proud smirk driving you absolutely wild.

Determined not to make a fool of yourself, you quickly took him in your mouth, forcing a hiss out of his lips. You focused on the area just behind the head of his cock where the head meets the base, running your tongue over it several times before bobbing your head down, taking most of him in your mouth. You pumped the base of his cock with your hand, rotating your wrist in rhythm with your head bobs. You peeked up at your lover every couple of moments to gauge his enjoyment, the furrow of his brow and his lip sucked in between his teeth giving you the assurance you needed. Every couple of bobs you would take as much of him in your mouth as you could before slowly moving your way back up to the tip, increasing your suction the closer to his head you got. The slight ‘pop’ of the suction breaking echoed through the room, and the second time you did this it elicited a throaty moan from the man before you. The third and final time you performed this act you made sure to maintain eye contact the entire way through, and by the time you reached the head of his cock his eyes had rolled back and he covered his face with his hand, mumbling profanities into his palm.

His cock fell from your mouth, and as you reached out to grab it again Enigma grabbed your chin roughly, pulling you up for a quick sloppy kiss before spinning you around, your ass now in his face and your face back in his crotch.

“I can’t let you have all the fun,” he mumbled, lifting your dress and nipping lightly at your right ass cheek. You shivered with anticipation as he hooked his finger around the waistband of your lace thong, pulling it down just enough to give him access to your core.

You felt him hesitate momentarily, causing your anxiety to spike. You felt a sudden pressure on the top of your head, which you realized was his hand, urging you to finish what you had started. You reached out and took him in your mouth again, bobbing your head slowly. After a few moans escaped his lips you felt him place a gentle kiss on your labia, catching you off guard. After doing so a few more times you felt him run his tongue along your slit before using it to part your folds. Simultaneous moans escaped both of your lips, vibrating through each other’s respective cores and amplifying the pleasure you felt. Reaching around he hooked his arms tightly around your waist, pulling you closer to him as to allow himself deeper access. He skillfully maneuvered his way to your clit and circled it a few times, eliciting a throaty moan from you. You found it harder and harder to focus on your task at hand as he took your sensitive bud in between his teeth, rolling it around gently before continuing to dance his tongue over it. You relied heavily on your hands to compensate for your lack of concentration, pumping the base of his cock as he continued his assault on your core. You rolled your hips back into his face slightly, losing yourself to the feeling of his tongue. You felt Enigma’s moan vibrate through you as you run your tongue down the base of his cock, causing it to twitch in your hand. You took the head of his cock in your mouth, teasing it with your tongue before feeling pressure at the back of your head. You realized it was Enigma’s hand once again, his eagerness showing as he pressed your head down while slowly lifting his hips, forcing you to take all of him in your mouth.

Between his skillful tongue dancing circles around your clit and his moans sending vibrations through your whole core, you felt a tingling sense of euphoria creeping up in the pit of your stomach. Your moans were muffled by his dick at the back of your throat, which only earned you more moans in return. You threw your head back in ecstasy as your orgasm reared its head, slowly creeping up until you couldn’t contain it anymore.

“E-Enigma I-... fuck. I’m-” you were a moaning mess as you felt your hips begin to shake, your orgasm ripping through your body as your cries of profanities polluted the air in the room. You tried to continue pumping his cock, however as you did his moans only intensified your arousal. Enigma only seemed to be focused on heightening your pleasure as he locked your hips in place, keeping you steady as you rode out the final waves of your orgasm.

Your heartbeat had never felt so harsh as you rested your head on his abdomen, closing your eyes and focusing on leveling out your breathing. You felt Enigma place a gentle kiss on your labia before shimmying out from underneath you, leaving you breathless on the couch.

Your stomach dropped as you were suddenly lifted into the air, coming face to face with your lover for the night. The proud smirk on his face set your cheeks on fire, a quiet giggle all that you could manage as a reply. You felt him pull you up further and grab ahold of your ass firmly before turning and slowly walking towards the back of the suite.

“I think that’s a point for me,” he hummed into your ear. He grabbed the lobe of your ear between his teeth and nibbled down on it playfully, a proud chuckle escaping his lips.

You remembered your declaration you recited moments ago, accepting the challenge yet again. You wiggled away from his grasp and hopped down from his arms, pushing him aggressively back down onto the couch. The look on his face was an arousing combination of shock and excitement, and it only made you want him even more.

You made quick work of straddling him, leaning forward, and kissing him aggressively. He moaned into your mouth as you gripped his cock again, feeling the precum oozing from the tip in your palm. You smirked as you looked into his eyes seductively, lining him up with your entrance. You felt his cold hands reach around and grip your ass again, and as he did you let go of his cock and grabbed both of his hands. You held both of them together at the wrist with one hand before realigning his cock with the other and ever so slowly sliding down onto it.

Your simultaneous moans filled the air as you took him a little over halfway before stopping, bringing your hips back up to allow yourself time to adjust to him. The second time you took him all the way down, a throaty moan erupting from him below you. Your smirk only grew larger as you repeated the action, clamping down on him tightly and grinding your crotch on his as he hissed a few curses under his breath.

“Fuck, (Y/N), he groaned, “You’re so tight, princess.”

Adjusting your position slightly you switched so that your feet were firmly on the ground before increasing your pace, gripping his wrists tighter as the pleasure washed over you.

Enigma’s head was thrown back and he was watching you with lust-filled eyes, his eyelids hanging low. You leaned down and connected your lips softly and then ever so lightly stuck out your tongue and licked his upper lip, following a trail up to the tip of his nose. You increased your speed, even more, the sound of your skin slapping filling the air.

Enigma’s moans slowly started to become a little whiny, his enjoyment evident on his face. You ignored the growing heat in the pit of your stomach as you watched him intently, determined to even the score. You released your vice grip on his wrists and gripped the back of the couch, grinding your hips onto him harder.

“Fuuuuuucking shit,” he hissed. A few more profanities left his lips as he reached down aggressively before slapping your left ass cheek harshly, earning a whimper from you. He traced his fingers up to your hips before gripping them tightly, leaning back a bit and rocking his hips up into you.

“That’s it, princess, ride that dick for me,” he moaned, teetering on the edge of his climax. You heard the strain in his voice and leaned forward slightly so you were closer to his face, looking into his lust-filled eyes as you muttered your response.

“Cum for me,” you commanded, not once breaking eye contact. You dipped your head down and sucked down on his jaw, leaving little love bites down his neck as he came undone below you.

“(Y/N),” he groaned, accompanied by a thick moan. You felt his hips buck up into you as he gripped your hips even harder, pulling you down onto him with force. You felt his warmth fill you up as you continued to bounce on his cock, the angle of his hips brushing it against your g-spot effortlessly. You bottled the desire to get off for the time being as you watched Enigma’s orgasm wash over him, the look of euphoria on his face giving you a sense of accomplishment. You slowed your movements, listening to the string of curses and profanities that left his lips until you came to a complete stop. His cheeks were flush and his eyes remained closed, his head tilted back in exhaustion. You cursed your own depleted stamina as you watched his chest rise and fall while simultaneously trying to steady your own breath. You tried to stand, but your legs were too shaky to support yourself, so you stayed put.

He peeked out from under his disheveled hair, meeting your eyes and laughing to himself before averting his eyes to the ceiling.

“Well, princess… I guess that makes us even,” he said exasperated, his breathing still unsteady.

You nodded and leaned forward, placing a sweet kiss on his lips as he tucked his hands under your bottom, lifting you up once again. He shakily stood still for a moment as he regained his balance, before turning and walking in the direction he had tried to go earlier.

You nuzzled your face into his neck as you reached the small spiral staircase, which led to the lower level of the suite, which was actually just a large bedroom. You noticed there was an entirely separate living space on the other side of the large glass partition dividing the room, but you couldn’t see much more since the room was dark aside from the light peaking in the window. As you reached the bed you felt Enigma’s grip loosen, letting you slide down from his grasp but leaving his arms around you until he was sure you had your footing.

“You’re tired,” his voice came out just above a whisper. Your exhaustion was clearly evident as you pouted, slightly disappointed that your antics were being halted for the evening.

“Don’t worry princess, there’s always tomorrow,” he said as both of you reacted to a sound that could be heard coming from the upper level. What sounded like a buzzer could be heard faintly, causing Enigma to grab a pair of boxers from the nearby closet and throwing them on along with a button-up shirt.

“Stay here, I’ll be back,” he commanded. Your brows furrowed up in confusion, to which Enigma placed a reassuring peck on your forehead.

“It’s probably your ride,” he joked, making you giggle in response. You watched as he scaled the staircase quickly, skipping a step with each stride. Once he was gone you dipped into the massive walk-in closet, searching for something more comfortable to slip into. After only being able to find dress shirts and button-ups, you stumbled upon a sweatshirt tucked away in a drawer and threw it on, discarding your dress and bra on the ground. You also tossed on a pair of his boxers and pranced back towards the bed, crawling under the soft duvet and sinking into the mattress.

It wasn’t long before you heard his footsteps coming back down the staircase, only this time he was fully clothed. You gave him a puzzled look, to which he replied with a sheepish grin.

“I’ve got some business to attend to downstairs, princess. I’ll only be gone a little while,” he said quickly, not giving you time to protest. You realized he had your phone in his hand, which he must have grabbed from your jacket pocket. He faced it towards you, signaling for you to enter your passcode.

You hesitated for a moment, before giving in and entering it in. He quickly turned the phone back to himself, entering a phone number and saving it before handing the phone back to you.

“You’ll be more than safe up here, it's the most protected place in the whole building,” he said jokingly, though you knew he was being honest. “I’ll be back before you even realize I’m gone. If you need anything, just call that number.”

You nodded your head, albeit him feeling the need to tell you that made you slightly more uneasy. Not wanting to be nosey you swallowed the curiosity, setting your phone on the end table before settling back into the bed. You heard his footsteps getting further and further away, leaving you alone with your thoughts as you slowly drifted to sleep.

~~~

You awoke suddenly to disgruntled voices coming from the level above you. You rolled over and grabbed at your head, a sudden ache pulsating through your skull. You laid still momentarily until the pain resided, trying your best to listen in to the conversation being held in the room above. Unable to hear anything, you crawled out of bed and slowly scaled the staircase to the upper level. As you approached the doorway, the voices grew quieter before completely stopping as you entered the room.

Your confusion only grew stronger as you stood there awkwardly, not sure what to do or say. You first locked eyes with an older man, clearly in his 60’s at least, who was standing on the opposite side of the kitchen island as Enigma. He quickly averted his eyes after not recognizing you, not seeming to have a care as to who you are or why you were there. You then met Enigma’s gaze, his eyes soft as they looked over you. You noticed he had a cut on his cheekbone, which was being held shut with a thin strip of tape, and underneath it, you could see a bruise starting to form. His hair and clothes were all awry as if he had been a part of an altercation of some sort. He also had a spliff between his teeth, the marijuana smoke still lingering in the air.

So many questions came flooding in as you watched Enigma make his way over to you but you couldn’t get any out, choking on your own words. He placed another chaste kiss on your forehead as he reached you, wrapping his arm around your waist gently. You looked to him to offer some sort of explanation, but it was the old man who was the first to speak.

“I just wanted to be sure you were alright, and now that I see that you are I will be on my way,” he stated. Enigma turned to him, still holding you by his side.

“Thanks, old man, but you really shouldn’t have come all the way down here just for this.”

The old man smirked, mockingly waving his hand, “Oh, please. You know me better than that. Now, it would appear that you have company to attend to,” he said, motioning in your direction as he headed towards the door. Once he was gone you turned your attention back to Enigma, who was staring down at you with adoring eyes.

“Well, this is one hell of a way to end a first date, huh?”

You laughed at his question, shaking your head as you walked back towards the staircase. You remained silent, not sure what question to ask first. Before you could make up your mind, Enigma beat you to the punch, offering a few answers to questions you were too shy to ask.

“That guy that was feeling upon you earlier wasn’t the biggest fan of mine,” he started, pausing to see your initial reaction before continuing. “He was giving my boys a hard time after he left and insisted on talking to me face to face.” This time he took another long drag off his joint, this time inhaling hard before releasing the smoke into the air.

You kept your gaze on the floor, not sure of how to respond. You felt like he wasn’t telling you the whole truth, and that pissed you off slightly. The non-satisfactory look you gave him must have spoken for itself, because he quickly moved closer to you, grabbing the side of your face in his hand. His eyes had lost the initial glow they had when you first looked into them from across the bar and were now clouded over with a dark haze.

“Listen, the less you actually know about me, the better off you’ll be, princess.”

You laughed at how cliche he sounded, rolling your eyes obnoxiously so he was aware of your disapproval of his statement. His next action caught you off guard as he grabbed your chin roughly, holding it in place to assure you could only look him in the eyes.

“I mean it, now stop acting like a little brat, would ya?”

His eyes seemed a shade darker as he made his request. Little did he know being a brat was your most dominant personality trait.

“Or what?”

Your challenge was met with a wicked grin stretched across Enigma’s face, his hand still holding your chin firmly. He paused momentarily to take a final drag of his spliff, blowing the smoke in your face slowly before ashing it on the nearby end table. He then led you back over to the edge of the bed and instructed you to strip before yanking you down aggressively, forcing you to drop to your knees. He sat down on the edge of the bed as you fell, undoing his pants and pulling his already semi-hard cock out. Not bothering to take off his pants he pulled your head to his crotch, slapping your cheek roughly with his cock a few times before forcing it into your mouth.

The initial hiss that left his mouth was venomous as he placed his hand on the back of your head firmly, forcing his cock to the back of your throat. Unfortunately for you, the sudden change of pace caught you a bit off guard and your gag reflexes failed you, a violent gagging sound filling the room. Enigma seemed to have found the sensation enjoyable, keeping your head down for a moment before letting you come up for air.

You gasped desperately for air as he grabbed your chin in his hand again, pulling your face up to look at him again.

“Oh c’mon princess, I know you can do better than that.”

Before you had time to react he forced his cock down your throat again, this time the gag was slightly less violent. You lasted much longer this time, breathing in through your nose as you deepthroated his cock. When you pressed your hand to his thigh to signaling you needed air yet again, he gladly obliged and pulled your head back slightly, allowing you to breathe, but not fully removing his cock from your mouth. Not a moment later he was pressing your head back down, this time his free hand coming up to pinch your nose shut as if to test how long you could truly take him.

“That’s my good girl ,” he cooed.

As you started to hear your brain begging for oxygen you felt Enigma release his grip on your head, pushing you backward as he stood up. He allowed you to choke out a few harsh breaths before spinning you around, pressing your back up against the bed. He then grabbed your face once more and brought his cock back to your mouth, this time standing with a leg on either side of your seated body. You reached up to pump his cock and he pushed your hands away, instead of rolling his hips forward and pushing his cock into your mouth, not quite as far this time. He bucked his hips towards you at a vigorous pace, fucking your face to his heart's content. You tried choking out moans in between thrusts, but every time you did he made it a point to hit the back of your throat, causing you to gag.

Abruptly your mouth felt empty as Enigma bent over and wrapped his calloused hand just tight enough around your throat to make it hard to breathe. The wild look in his eyes excited you more than scared you, and you knew you were in for an interesting rest of your night.

“Now,” he said, his breath staggered and harsh, “You’re gonna be a good little slut for me and take all his cum in your mouth.” His words came out as a command, not a question. “But, you will not swallow until he says so, got it?”

You nodded your head, but the Enigma's brows furrow and he grabs your chin, shaking his head."

"Use your words," he barks, the command making your legs tremble.

"Yes," you breath out shakily.

"Yes, what?"

You quirk a brow before realizing the dynamic he was looking for, and deciding not to press your luck any further, you comply.

"Yes, sir."

Almost immediately following the words leaving your mouth his cock was back in it, hitting the back of your throat repeatedly as he began to fuck your face again. It wasn’t long before his thrusts became sloppy, indicating he was nearing his end. He pulled away from you slightly, grunting lightly as he began pumping his cock in your face.

“Please cum for me, sir,” you cooed, sticking your tongue back out and holding your mouth open for him.

That encouragement was just enough to push him over the edge, his cock finding its way back into your mouth as you tasted his warm cum fill your mouth. When he finally removed his cock you collected all of his juices on your tongue, opening your mouth proudly to show you had followed instructions.

“Mhmm, such a filthy little whore,” he snickered, pulling you up to your feet and turning you to face the bed. He pulled your arms behind your back, holding them in place with one of his. You felt his breath creep up your neck as he brought his lips to your ear.

“Now, you’re gonna keep that cum in your mouth, until I allow you to swallow it, got it? I want you to savor the taste,” his command came out as a low rasp as he motioned for you to kneel on the edge of the bed. He slowly began to bend you over, spreading your legs and forcing you to arch your back slightly to allow himself easy access to your throbbing pussy.

You felt him run a finger over your slit lightly, teasing your entrance before pulling his hand away.

“Now, I already made you cum with my tongue… The question is,” he started, “Do I make you cum with my fingers or my cock next?”

His words only excited you, sending a chill up your spine as he began stroking your soaking wet pussy again with his digits. He made his way to your clit slowly, skillfully drawing circles around the sensitive bud when he found it. You then felt his fingers dip inside you, curling up just enough to graze your sensitive wall as he pumped them in and out of you. At the same time, he pressed his thumb to your aching clot, circling it in sync with his fingers that were buried in your pussy. He worked you relentlessly, your muffled moans only egging him on more. Your orgasm quickly came to the forefront as you leaned your hips back onto his hand, begging for the impending release. Your moans were quickly cut off as he removed his hand completely, your core quivering from the loss of stimulation.

“Huh uh uh,” he hummed, slapping your ass harshly, “I know you weren’t about to cum without permission, princess.”

The pet name added insult to injury as he brought his digits to his mouth, leaving you a blubbering mess attempting as best you could to beg him to touch you again.

“P-please,” you managed to squeak out, doing your best to preserve the salty liquid in your mouth.

“Please? Please, what?”

You cursed everything about your predicament, frustrated at not being able to properly beg.

“P-please fu-” you stuttered, “Fuck me!”

As you cried out your request your breath hitched in your throat as you felt his cock enter you suddenly, bottoming out inside of your throbbing pussy. The sudden sensation caused your mouth to fly open, an unholy moan escaping your lips as you tightened around his cock.

“Aw, princess, look at you,” he hummed from behind you, clearly pleased at the state he had you in. “Look at all that cum dripping from your mouth, looks like I won this round.”

He pulled his cock out of you quickly before snapping his hips forward again, almost knocking you on your face. You did your best to suppress the burning sensation in your core as he pumped into you mercilessly, nothing but your animalistic moans able to be heard over the sound of skin on skin.

“You better ask permission before you cum on my cock,” he grunted, continuing the relentless speed of his thrusts. His thrusts hitting just the right angle, allowing his cock to brush against your g-spot with precision.

“Please, sir,” you whimpered, tears welling in your eyes as you tried your best to suppress your climax, “please can I cum all over yo-, ah! Please let me cum on your cock!”

Your shriek rang through the room as a single tear fell from your eye, the intensity of the moment overwhelming you completely.

You were suddenly yanked back towards Enigma’s chest, his hand wrapping around your throat tightly, but still allowing air to pass. He leaned his head against yours, his lips brushing against your ear as he continued to pump in and out of you.

“Cum for me, princess.”

Relief washed over you as you felt a hard hand come down on your left ass cheek before gripping your hip tightly, holding you in place. Your head immediately fell as you felt your core tense up with pleasure, however, your head was pulled back up by Enigma’s hand tightening around your throat. You opened your eyes to meet your reflection, realizing the entire headboard was a large mirror.

“Don’t you go closing those eyes on me,” he groaned in your ear, lowering his hand from your hip down to the sensitive bud just above your entrance. “I want you to watch yourself cum all over this cock.”

His words sent you over the edge as you took in the scene now laid out before you. His possessive grip over you was menacing as he focused solely on pleasuring you. His wings were puffed out and disheveled, a few stray feathers threatening to fall from where they laid. Another tear fell from your eye and you weren’t sure if it was from the overstimulation or from the wave of sheer euphoria that was washing over your body.

The air was filled with your moans and profanities as you watched Enigma fuck you through your orgasm, his grip slowly slipping from your neck and his thrusts growing sloppy, signaling his own end. The intensity of this orgasm was none like you’d ever felt before, causing your vision to go blurry as it ripped through your body.

“Oh, fuck , (Y/N),” he cursed, struggling to suppress his own release. You tilted your head back towards him, and when you did you felt him crash his lips into yours for a sloppy kiss.

After he pulled away, his cock still ramming into you from behind, you returned your gaze to the mirror to meet his eyes.

“Please cum inside me, sir. I want you to fill me up-”

You could hardly get the last sentence out because of Enigma’s tightened grip on your throat, his thrusts quickening suddenly. Your name fell from his lips repeatedly as he emptied his load into you, some of the liquid running down your leg as it combined with your own. His thrusts slowly came to a halt, and it wasn’t until they did that you realized your legs were shaking.

You also hadn’t realized just how much Enigma was supporting your body weight until he released you from his grip, causing you to collapse on the bed before him. He followed suit rather quickly, pulling the duvet over both of your now naked bodies.

The silence in the air was a nice contrast to the noises that filled the air just moments ago. You laid in the same position for a moment, only moving because Enigma pulled you to his chest. You listened to his heartbeat level out as his chest rose and fell with each breath, helping you to level out your own breathing. The final wave of bliss washed over you as you came back down from your high, finally able to process all of the events of the night.

Your body was still on fire, still processing the intense rush of emotions you were feeling for the man whose arms you laid in. You weren’t a believer in love at first sight, but the way you opened up to him was something you never in a million years would have done with just anyone. There was something different about him, and though you couldn’t put a finger on it yet, you were determined to get to the bottom of it. Especially if it meant you got to have more nights like this. You tilted your head up to meet his gaze, finally breaking the silence in the room.

“You never told me your real name,” you started, opting to ignore the many questions still lingering in your mind over what happened to him hours prior. You wanted this moment to last forever, but knowing it couldn’t you decided to savor it.

He remained quiet for a moment before parting his lips as if he was pondering whether or not to tell you. After another moment of deafening silence, you heard his low voice ring through the air.

“It’s Keigo,” he nearly whispered, as if afraid someone may overhear.

You looked up and met his eyes, now back to the beautiful golden color you first saw. You leaned in and placed a chaste kiss on his lips, running your finger over the bruise on the other side, reminding him you hadn’t forgotten about it.

“Thank you for tonight, Keigo,” you cooed before nuzzling yourself back into his chest. His only response was holding you tightly, placing a kiss on your forehead as you drifted off to sleep, finally succumbing to your exhaustion.

If you made it to the end of this I am not sure whether to be impressed or embarrassed (at myself) bc why tf was this so long 0_o I wrote this 3 years ago and wanted to bring it to tumblr so it wasn't so lonely on AO3 lol :3

as always, lemme know what you think, and if you liked it, I would love it if you liked and reblogged to spread the love <3 ✨come say hai :3✨

Do not copy, repost or translate.

#kt smut #keigo takami #mha hawks #bnha hawks #hawks x reader #hawks x you #hawks x y/n #keigo x reader #keigo x you #keigo x y/n #keigo smut #hawks smut #keigo takami smutm #mha smut #bnha smut

133 notes · View notes