#here u go chloe

[fridgefeet]

the msa trio go to a halloween party! 🎃

[chasingfictions]

i know we all already did trying to cut down ttpd to a listenable playlist but . alternate universe where ttpd was called prophecy

[flovverworks]

good morning thinking about the start of pt2 and the wizards looking like girlies with the sheer intention to annoy vincent. and akira only having non-comittal answers cuz theyre very aware they cant ensure it'll go great next time. thats not for them to decide. cue next time and its akira and twenty-one kids and akira standing there like ummmmmmmm sorry. like great guys! the one thing yall managed to agree on! (thinks its kind of funny) <-i imagine its similar to 2nd anni in how they end up stressed about the lack of progress in the meetings but arthur reassures them etc

[maxlarens]

Hi, I have a smau request for Charles (based on c.ai bot lol, and the fact that I love painting), so the reader is invited by her friends to a house for vacation, her friends are all with their s/o and they also always try to set up reader with someone, that's when her and Charles meet, and reader finally gives it a chance because she knows her friends won't stop to set her up. They talk for a whole evening about what they do in life (reader is an artist/painter) and they get along really well. Eventually they get together and reader is very liked by the public, even if there will always be haters, but most fans thinks she's just very adorable (especially because of her insta/twitter posts)

CL: slip up and i call you baby

pairing(s): charles leclerc x artist!reader

summary: you love your friends, you really do. you just wish they’d stop trying so hard to set you up with random guys. [smau + written fic] (read on: ao3) (part 2)

fc: faceless

word count: 5.1k

warnings: mild sexual references

a/n: this is such a cute idea! thank u so much for sending it in!! u will not believe how much this idea gripped me like i never write one shots like this its just unheard of for me if im honest. anyway i know u asked for a smau so i will be doing a second part/continuation to this that is solely an smau to make up for that. (ALSO sorry for disappearing i was super sick for the whole week and have been getting my shit back together in the aftermath😭)

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ynusername italy we are in u!!!

Amalfi Coast, Italy

You’ve never been particularly boy crazy. At least not the same way your friends are.

There have been a few not-quite boyfriend’s over the years, but those relationships never last long. They never really get you, or they never really get the art thing. Which means, of course, that they don’t get you and never will— and that’s fine, you’re content with that. If living for your art means you’ll never be in love then so be it and frankly, good riddance to them.

For the most part, you’ve given up trying. You go on a few dates here and there, but you never let them stick around. Even the ones that seem interested in your paintings you don’t bother with— none of them really seem to be able to grasp what art truly is to you. It isn’t just paint on a canvas, it’s living, it’s breathing. You are only yourself with a way to make art.

It’s difficult to put into words.

So you don’t. Instead, you send texts that say ‘thanks for your time but this isn’t working out’ and you keep the men your friends try to set you up with at arm's length. You placate Chloe and her partner Rowan– who collects friends like they’re Pokémon– with, “he wasn’t my type” and “I’m not looking for a relationship right now”, which you suppose is true, but also isn’t the entirety of it. Yet, every time without fail, there’s a new boy at the scene of the crime.

Chloe doesn’t get it, none of your friends get it. You don’t try to explain it to them. So, y’know, here you are again.

Anyway, here’s the thing: they’re getting closer. Inexplicably, without knowing how you really feel about it all, Chloe and Rowan are getting better and better at picking the boys who are able to tempt you. Which is a pain really, because sometimes you’re trying to have a perfectly nice vacation in Italy without the lure of a boy you can’t let yourself have. But alas, these things generally don’t go your way.

You should know that by now.

Charles Leclerc is bang on the money, he really is. He is unbearably cute, like so cute that you have to leave the room when he walks in, because you don’t trust yourself to be in close proximity to him right now. You have a hard time looking at his face when you are forced to be around him. The dimples when he smiles, the squint of his eyes even when he isn’t. If you look too long you’re liable to stare and that wouldn’t lead to anything good at all.

He’s nice as well. So nice, just like Chloe told you. You try to pretend he doesn’t exist and he still asks you questions about your job and the area of Monaco you live in— like he’s even interested, like he’ll remember you two weeks from now. You try your best to be pleasant, to answer without it being like pulling teeth, and to ask questions of him as well. You’ll probably see him again after this, so best to not to go too far and act like you hate him. It’s difficult though, toeing the line between friendly and encouraging of more. Or it feels difficult for you. Charles doesn’t make even the slightest suggestion of the two of you being set up by your nosy friends. That’s unbearable too. Part of you wishes he’d just make a clumsy pass at you so you can rebuff it and make your intentions abundantly clear. But, obviously, he doesn’t, because he’s perfect or something.

It sucks. You hate him, you think.

Or you want to.

On the second day of the trip, you’re on the villa’s private beach, laying in the hot sun. Chloe, Anaïs and Bea are there; everyone else is either still sleeping off the wine from last night or swimming in the glittering ocean. You’ve got a secondhand book, a 2B pencil and a pair of sunglasses over your eyes. You’re trying to read but you just end up doodling, drawing your friends bikini-clad bodies over the text and shading grapes into the margins. Trying desperately not to accidentally put Charles Leclerc’s dimples, messy hair, or sloped nose to paper.

“So,” Chloe says conspiratorially, as you abort an attempt at drawing a slightly squinted eye with thick lashes, “What do you think of Charles?”

You raise an eyebrow carefully at her over your sunglasses, betraying nothing of your inner turmoil, “I think nothing.”

Anaïs laughs, rolling onto her back, “That’s such shit. You practically sprint away from him everytime he comes near.”

“I do not,” you answer too quickly.

Anaïs laughs again, louder. Chloe joins in and Bea raises her eyebrows at you like you’re a fucking liar. You frown, glaring a little before stubbornly turning your head back to your book. The conversation about Charles ends there, but unfortunately your actions have spoken for themselves. A chill of something like panic chitters up your spine and into your shoulders. You have to roll them to make the feeling go away.

As the sun climbs higher in the sky you lose some people to the heat and gain others. It’s just you and Chloe sweating onto your towels when Rowan and Charles finally give up on whatever game they were playing in the ocean. Rowan collapses unceremoniously into the space between you and Chloe, kicking up sand and getting water droplets all over you like he’s a wet dog. You let out a noise somewhere between a laugh and an exasperated groan as you roll away from him, landing in the sand.

“Watch it,” you cry, “You’re getting my book all wet.”

Rowan laughs, “You’re drawing in it!”

“So.”

He pulls a face at you that makes you roll your eyes; then he turns into Chloe, shoving his face into her collarbone and flinging limbs over her. You snort, leaning over to snag the book off your towel before it gets dragged into the mess that Rowan is causing. You’re about to get up and go inside until you realise Charles is still standing there. Has, in fact, been standing there since Rowan ran over. Your breath catches, heart skipping a beat as you look up to find him standing there.

“Hey,” you smile briefly at him, quickly looking away from his damp hair and bare chest (–which is difficult to do because, holy shit–) so you can gather up your towel.

“Hi,” he replies.

He might smile back. You don’t look. You’re trying to get the image of his washboard abs out of your head. This proves difficult when you clamber to your feet and find yourself face to face with him.

“Are you heading back?” he asks.

“Yeah.”

God, you want to kick yourself. You’re being so awkward, and right in front of Chloe too, who may not be watching but is absolutely listening to you make a fool of yourself in front of a guy you have very firmly said that you are not interested in. It must be clear to him too, that you’re trying very deliberately to not be interested in him. You cant tell what would be worse; if that means he’ll think you’re a weirdo or if it means he’ll take it as a sign that he should make some kind of move.

Ugh.

“I’ll come with you?”

“Hmm,” you blink yourself back into existence, seeing the questioning look on Charles’ face, “Yes, yeah. Sorry.”

You say goodbye to Chloe and Rowan who barely look away from one another, still rolling around in the sand like teenagers.

“Gross,” you say to Charles, as the two of you trudge through hot sand toward the sandstone steps that lead up to the villa.

He laughs, a breathy thing that tapers off with a sigh, “A bit, yes.”

You don’t say anything else, but you find yourself staring at his back and the way his muscles shift and move underneath his tanned skin. At the top of the stairs you part ways, he smiles at you and you offer something awkward in return, trying to pretend you hadn’t been looking at him. You don’t think he notices, but your cheeks red burn anyway.

You don’t see him watching you leave.

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Amalfi Coast, Italy

Dinner is a huge affair, as it always is on these trips.

You, Anaïs and Chloe spend three hours in the kitchen that afternoon making chicken fricassée and about a hundred different side dishes to go with it. Everyone crowds around the dinner table to eat and drink even more wine than the night before. Piero Piccioni plays on the old record player, crackling away as you laugh and talk and tell stories with your friends well into the night. You watch the sun set through floor-to-ceiling glass windows and you wish wish wish that you had your paints right now.

You brought along a set of oil pastels and one of your art notebooks, but it doesn’t compare at all to painting. If you could get your hands on cadmium yellow in all it’s hues, maybe vermillion and a powder blue, your lack of paintbrush or canvas wouldn’t even matter. You’d use your fingers if you needed to. It bothers you so much that you get up in the middle of clearing away the meal and go to your room for the pastels and notebook. You need to get it on a page at least.

You push a few plates to the side, folding out your notebook and immediately marking the page up with a creamy white pastel. Bea teases you when she comes over to take the rest of the dirty dishes, but you just mumble something unintelligible, too engrossed with smudging the sunset into something that looks like what you’d seen out the window. When the oranges and yellows blend to your satisfaction you take the black and brown and draw in the top of your friends’ heads, not thinking about how much attention to detail you’re paying to the shape of Charles’ side profile.

When you’re finished, you’re surprised to see that the table is cleared save for a few half-full wine glasses and a fresh bottle. Only Chloe, Rowan and Charles are still sitting by you. You’re listening to another Piero Piccioni album now, or maybe just the other side of the record. You remember saying goodnight to the others and saying yes to a glass of wine, so you’ve not been totally dead to the world, but it’s all in a bit of a haze.

You think this might be part of the reason why you can’t hold down a boyfriend. The disappearing into your art like you cant breathe until it’s finished. That may as well be the case if you’re honest.

You sigh, wiping your stained fingers on the next blank page, then you take a long sip from your glass of merlot, pretending you dont notice the others’ eyes on you.

“All done?” Chloe quips, somewhere on the border of teasing and being annoyed at you.

You look at her, your eyes just narrowing enough for her to notice. She does and purses her lips. You raise an eyebrow to ask okay, what’s your fucking problem? And you see her eyes flash to Charles. You follow her gaze to see him and Rowan pretending to look disinterested in your answer. Charles is tracing the base of his wine glass and absently biting the inside of his mouth. You have to tear your eyes away.

“All done,” you answer, tone clipped, before gathering your things (including the wine glass) and leaving the room in a move you hope doesn’t come off as too rude.

At your back you hear Rowan ask Chloe, “What was that?”

Chloe means well, you think as you wind through the villa, making your way to the balcony overlooking the private beach. She wants you to be happy and she thinks you need a boyfriend to be happy. But she’d found the love of her life in Rowan after only a few years of dating around and she doesn’t quite understand that it’s never going to work like that for you. There aren’t enough people out there that understand the kind of passion you have for your art and certainly not many that would also be compatible with you. You’re fine with that, but Chloe doesn’t know what to do with it. Especially not now she’s cottoned onto the fact that you have some kind of interest in Charles. It’s killing her.

It’s irrelevant though, whatever interest you have in Charles doesn’t factor into anything. He’s cute, he’s nice, but so were the dozen boys that you’ve already dated and not continued dating. So really, Chloe needs to stop pushing it because it’s pissing you off. You’re here for a holiday, not to be forced into conversations with a guy you don’t know. If she needs to have an argument to finally understand that, then so be it. You’ve been friends for years, it’ll blow over eventually.

You flick a switch and blinking lights illuminate the balcony. Fairy lights are wound up the posts and draped on the awning, intertwining with the lush green vines that have grown up through the wood slats. The air is balmy and the breeze light as you settle into one of two cushioned chairs situated by a coffee table. It’s perfect. You spread the oil pastels out next to your glass of wine and set your open notebook on your crossed legs, listening to the sound of waves lapping against the shore.

You’re alone for what feels like a long time but is probably only an hour or two.

When the sliding door clunks open you expect it to be Chloe coming over to have it out, but it’s not. Instead, Charles slips through the gap with the rest of the wine gripped in one hand.

“Hi,” he greets, smiling at you in a way that makes dimples carve in his cheeks, and dashing any hopes you have that he’d walk right past you.

“Hey,” you forget yourself for a moment and bite your lip on a broad smile.

He holds the bottle out toward you, offering more. You lean over your notebook and hold your empy wine glass up in acceptance.

“Merci,” you say, and in a moment of weakness (and probable wine drunk-ness) you gesture at the plush chair across from you.

Charles, somewhat caught off guard, looks between your outstretched hand, the chair, and your face, before shaking his head almost imperceptibly and finally taking a seat. Despite his apparent shock, you find it hard to believe he’d come out here simply to offer you some of the last of the wine. Surely, this is Chloe and Rowan’s doing. Though, strangely, you cant quite bring yourself to care.

He sets the bottle on the coffee table, next to your oil pastels. You lean forward to place a few back in their rightful spots, snagging your wine glass as you go.

Charles eyes’ scan your face for a moment, searching for something you suppose, then he points at your notebook, “Have you been drawing?”

You nod, “Mmm.”

You think perhaps the answer is a bit obvious. He seems to realise this, you watch a blush spread onto the top of his cheeks and he flutters his eyelids slightly, almost like rolling his eyes at himself. You don’t think about his eyelashes, thick and dark as they brush against his cheekbone, and you don’t think about his eyes, the lights reflecting off them, making them sparkle.

“What are you drawing then?” he asks after a moment of collecting himself, an edge of embarrassment to his voice.

You give in easily to the strange urge you have to show him, grabbing the notebook off your lap and holding it out for him to see what you’d been scribbling in the book for the past two hours. You let him take it off your hands, ignoring the spike of anxiety. He holds it gingerly, like it's a precious artefact (of course, to you, it is), which makes something warm bloom in your chest. You take a sip of wine and gesture for him to flip through a few pages, which he seems hesitant to do without permission. The book is angled in such a way that you can see most of the page, so you’re content to let him. Or at least you are until he flips to the page you’d started when you’d first come out here.

Panic drops like a stone in your gut because he’s looking right at a fully rendered drawing of his eyes. It’s in amongst some pillars strung with lights and covered in climbing vines; your best attempt at capturing the way the beach looked earlier in the day; and, perhaps your saving grace, Chloe half asleep on her towel. But the drawing of her is haphazard, it’s half-scribbled and half-finished, whereas the one of Charles eyes’ is as detailed as the sunset scene you’d done the page before. It had been something you just needed to get out, drawn in one of those hazes of yours. You’d felt better after it was done, your hands had stopped feeling like they were itchy.

Now, you itch to snatch the notebook off him, but you fear that would be even more incriminating. So you watch him look at the page and try to sit with the panicked feeling spreading in your chest.

Eventually, he points at the page, “Is this me?”

You bite your lip, breathing slowly through your nose to try and abate the blush spreading up your neck. You don’t say anything exactly, just shrug and rock your head back and forth in a kind of confirmation that doesn’t really admit anything. Though, there’s no denying the drawing is him.

“It’s good,” he says, seemingly stumbling over the words, “It’s very good.”

You frown into your drink, “Thank you.”

“I mean it.”

You know he means it. It’s not that.

“Yes,” you put down the wine glass, looking at him but avoiding eye contact, “I know. I know it’s good. I’m just… I’m embarrassed,” you admit.

He furrows his eyebrows– or it’s more that he squints and his eyebrows fold in with it. You watch his tongue dart out to run across the top of his bottom lip and you stamp down the less than innocent thoughts that come bubbling up at that. He waves the hand that’s not still holding carefully onto your notebook about for a moment, trying to conjure up words that he doesn’t have yet.

Slowly, he says, “You shouldn’t be embarrassed. I– It’s–”

He’s about to say flattering, so you cut him off, not wanting to hear the tone of it, whether it be pity or something else entirely.

You try to explain yourself, “Things get stuck in my head sometimes. Like after dinner,” you reach forward and flip the page back one, to the sunset, “I have to get it onto paper. Or… or… it just runs laps in my head for the rest of eternity, I guess. I don’t stop thinking about it.”

You cringe internally. You’ve just told him that you were so consumed by thoughts of his eyes that you had to draw them immediately. That is perhaps worse than just wanting to draw him because you thought he was cute. Charles raises his eyebrows, clearly surprised by your admission, but there’s perhaps also something sincere in there? You can’t pinpoint it, but it makes you feel a fraction better you think.

You sigh forlornly, “That’s weirder, huh?”

He laughs, properly laughs, and it sends some strange feeling skittering down your spine, “No. No, I get it. I don’t have any way to get it down as quickly as I’d like, but I definitely understand the feeling.”

You bite the inside of your lip, hesitant but still curious, “You understand the feeling? Really?”

“Yes,” he smiles easily now, relaxing more in the chair after he places your notebook onto the counter with a cautiousness you still don’t expect, “For me, with racing, it’s like I get an idea and I can’t sleep until I try it on track or talk about it with someone. Some of them don’t work, or aren’t possible, which is fine, but if it sounds right to me and it checks out with the people that it needs to, then, well, then it literally does run laps in my head.”

You laugh, mostly to yourself. You’re not sure yet if he understands what you’re saying, but he’s trying. That’s more than you can say for a lot of people. You try not to let that thought linger for too long.

“You think it’s similar?” you ask in a way you desperately hope comes across as curious and not accusatory.

He hums, waving his hand around again for words, “Perhaps. I think the urgency is the same. The passion is the same. Do you ever feel like something terrible will happen if you can’t–”

“Yes,” you’re a bit breathless in your haste to agree, to talk about this feeling with someone who understands, “Yes. I do. It’s like I need to put it somewhere before I lose it. Otherwise, it won’t be perfect, or it’ll be too late.”

“Exactly,” his eyes seem to light up, for a long second you watch the flickering lights reflect in them, “Exactly.”

“It’s never as good as I want it to be,” you admit, finding it easier to look him in the eye now that some strange barrier between you has been broken, “It’s never quite how I imagine it in my head.”

Charles points at your notebook, “These are very good, really. I don’t see how they could be better. But,” he shrugs, “Eh, I will win a race and still think of everything I did wrong.”

You nod eagerly in understanding as you lean back into the chair, finally relaxing into the cushions. It’s strange to have this conversation, knowing you’re talking about two entirely different careers, but feeling like they’re so similar. Maybe it’s just you and Charles that are similar, maybe your jobs have nothing to do with it? You don’t know, you just know it’s nice to feel like someone gets what you’re talking about.

Charles continues, speaking like he’ll explode if he doesn’t get this off his chest, “It’s there all the time, do you know what I mean? Maybe I’m not thinking about it every second, but it’s always there waiting for something to draw attention to it. And people ask what else is going on in my life, and of course I do other things, and I enjoy other things, but I want to be on the track. I want to be driving whenever I can.”

You nod again, more subdued now, “Mmm, right. I want to be making art all the time, and when I can’t it’s like missing a limb. To me art is– it– it’s like–”

“–breathing,” he finishes, almost the lilt of a question to it, but not really, it’s like he knows exactly what you mean… how you feel.

You exhale, long and slow, “Yeah. Like breathing.”

Both of you are quiet for a little after that. You’re trying not to stare at him, but it’s not easy. He’s looking at you almost blatantly and you can feel blood rushing to your cheeks the longer he stares. The air feels thick with some feeling you can’t place. All you know is there are butterflies in your stomach and a smile keeps pulling at the edge of your pursed lips.

The smile takes over as you catch him starry-eyed in your peripheral vision, you mutter, “Stop that. Stop looking at me.”

“Why?”

You tip your head back so you can’t see him looking at you, “Because.”

“Because?” he laughs breathily, shaking his head at you, “Okay, well, tell me if I’m misreading anything, but I’m pretty sure that drawing of me in your notebook says something, at least.”

You run a hand down your face, sighing loudly, “Yes, okay. I suppose it does. But– I–” for a moment you struggle for the right words to explain yourself, “I guess I’m not really looking to date anyone.”

He tilts his head to the side, furrowing his eyebrows and looking for all intents and purposes, like a confused puppy, “You guess?”

You nod, resisting the urge to just launch over the table and grab his face. He is very cute and he is making this so hard for you.

He sucks his teeth briefly, shrugging, “I’m not really either.”

“Alright,” you say, “Good.”

As over as that should make the issue, strangely enough it doesn’t feel like you’re done with Charles Leclerc and it certainly doesn’t feel like he’s done with you either.

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Amalfi Coast, Italy

You try to avoid Charles after that, you really do, but he doesn’t quite let you.

For a few days of the holiday you give him pointed looks and purse your lips a lot when he’s around. Chloe catches on straight away and that makes it all infinitely worse until she finally realises she might need to leave you alone (yeah, shocker). When Chloe finally forces everyone to get off your back about Charles, it becomes much easier to be around him. You’re not glaring at your friends while they make eyes at you, or worrying if you’re acting weird; you’re just allowed to be.

It’s nice. He’s nice.

But you knew that already.

Neither of you are looking for a relationship so there’s no pressure for it to be anything at all. But you have this sneaking suspicion that perhaps both of you are looking for a relationship with eachother regardless. You try to ignore the thought.

On day five, you’re sitting together on an outcropping of rock that overlooks the ocean and you’re letting Charles doodle in your notebook with a ballpoint pen. The bare skin of both your arms are pressed together, they stick with sweat from the hot midday sun but neither of you seem to care. As you watch him doodle inexpertly you can smell him— salt and sweat and whatever cologne he uses masking the very faint scent of burning rubber. Your hair, still damp, brushes his forearm, you wonder if you smell of acrylic paint and mildew from all the water cups you accidentally leave out for your paintbrushes.

You reach out to trace a line he’d made, “Here, it should be more like…” you taper off, taking the pen from his hand and quickly fixing the curve of the beach before handing the utensil back.

“Hmm,” he hums, giggling a little, “I guess that looks better.”

“You guess?”

He nods, “What if I had a very specific vision?”

You raise an eyebrow in disbelief, leaning back to look him in the eye you tease, “A vision. Did you?”

He tilts his head down to look at you. You’re very close now, you can feel his breath fanning over your face. In the reflection of his sunglasses you watch your lips part slightly and your eyelids flutter. Your chest grows tight with anticipation and maybe a little bit of panic. Still, you reach out and slide his sunglasses up to settle in his hair. You’re a little careless, but you like the way his hair pokes out from them at odd angles. As he breathes out you hear it catch for a split second.

“Did you?” you repeat, knowing he won’t remember what you were talking about.

He blinks twice, still staring at you, “Hmm?”

“You said you had a vision,” you breathe.

“Oh,” as he says it, his eyes flicker down to your mouth, only for a second, but it’s long enough to you know you’re done for.

You both lean in at the same time, your noses sliding off each other in your eagerness. You breathe a kind of laugh into his mouth and you feel him try to suppress a smile against your lips. It’s slow for the first few seconds, just you and Charles figuring out how your mouths fit together. His mouth is warm and wet and so soft, and it’s easy to lose yourself in it. You move the hand that had adjusted his sunglasses, sliding it up his shoulder to the back of his muscled neck. Your fingers weave into the short hair at the base of it, your nails scratching absently there. He groans, ever so slightly into your mouth and it sends heat skittering down your spine, into the low of your gut.

The hand of his that isn’t clutching onto your notebook slips forward and winds around to press at your bare back. He pulls you closer to him as you slide your hand up to cup the back of his head, tilting his head to deepen the kiss. Soon it’s a mess of tongue and teeth and Charles blindly shoving your notebook somewhere it wont slip into the water so he can grab you with both hands. He tastes like red wine and coffee and you love the way his fingers dig into your skin and the way his teeth have been grazing at your bottom lip, like he wants to sink into it.

You’re almost in his lap when you’re forced to pull away for air.

Foreheads pressed together, you breathe heavily into the space between you. Your hand is still stuck in his hair and one of his on the small of your back, the other holding your knee. The sides of your noses touch, you nudge yours against his affectionately, tempted by the proximity of his mouth.

He laughs and you feel it against your lips, intermingling with your own breath, “Alright. That was–”

“Yeah,” you finish, dipping forward to kiss him again.

You’re lost for another few minutes. Tongue and teeth and the sound of the waves crashing against the rock behind you. And his hand on your jaw and in your hair and pulling you closer closer to him.

He pulls away this time, turning his head to press your cheeks together, mouth at your ear, “So,” he drags the word out with a laugh, “are you looking for a relationship now?”

You snort unceremoniously, and tease, “Hmm. I guess I would be amenable to that.”

“You guess?” he asks— but not really needing to at all because you can feel his dimples pressing into your cheek as he smiles knowingly.

You nod, smiling too, “I guess.”

🎨 yes of course i made a playlist>> https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6cAJaZjvK0V7SrmxoMosBX?si=ADlJGHxxQYKnlZ1jWFJxfw&pi=a-AI0MKbo3RTqE

taglist: (pls message if you'd like to be added to the taglist for charles. my yuck! one is full so need to start a new one😭)

[redwinelew]

saw you’re taking requests! would love to get a lewis teammates/rivals smau where they’re both in love with each other but idiots in realizing it

repressed, compressed | lewis hamilton [1/2]

social media au. east-asian + female + driver!reader

summary as requested!

face claim chloe bennet

song compress / repress by trent reznor & atticus ross from the challengers (2024) original score

warnings suggestive (when have i not write a fic that is not), a lot of banters, lewis being an asshole a bit, a little misogynistic tone (not from lewis ofc), probably inaccurate timeline

author's note timeline is a mess so fuck it we ball. george is merc reserve driver bcs i love him so we're keeping him around here.

english is not my first language. all pictures taken from instagram, pinterest and twitter. credit to owners.

[part one] [part two]

masterlist | request info | requests are CLOSED!

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user thank god she's alive

user caption omg not the shade 😭😭

user user and yet the person she's shading has the nerves to like her post — liked by ynln!

user user the fact that he doesn't even follow her 🤭🤭 but let me keep my mouth shut for now

user can't wait for the break to end i miss watching the races

ynln user u and me both except i'm driving

lewishamilton demon is exactly what you are

ynln lewishamilton omg why are u so obsessed with me 😰😰😰😰😰😰

lewishamilton ynln i'm really not

ynln lewishamilton then stop terrorizing my comment section nobody wants u here

ynln lewishamilton also that was a mean girls reference but ofc your old ass wouldn't get it

user ynln OOOOHHHHHHHHH

user ynln MIC DROP

user ynln lewishamilton i like how u guys are fighting on track but roast each other on social media

ynln user lol i would actually fight him rn if given the chance

lewishamilton ynln i'd like to see you try

ynln lewishamilton i'm literally taller than u but ok

mercedesamgf1 ynln lewishamilton okay that's enough.

ynln mercedesamgf1 oh ffs

user mercedesamgf1 i could practically hear toto's voice rn scolding his children

user GOOSE CAMEO LET'S GOOOO

user user goose?

user user her dog's name!! y/n named her dog after goose from top gun bcs she once said that she was obsessed with the film as a child and even had a top gun themed birthday party with tom cruise's face on her cake and everything lol you can find the picture on google . she wanted to become an air force pilot bcs of the film but her family didn't let her so she tried out karting and the rest is history!!

user user oh that's kind of adorable 🥹🥹 i wonder how she felt when lewis said that he was almost in top gun maverick

ynln user absolutely grateful that the greatest legacy sequel of all time wasn't ruined by his presence. the only time i'm happy for our packed schedule

user ynln 😭😭😭😭

lewishamilton ynln you are just bitter that you didn't get tom's autograph when he was at silverstone

ynln lewishamilton yk what fuck you

lewishamilton ynln i bet you'd like that wouldn't you

user lewishamilton WOAH@!_:3;3!#?

user lewishamilton WHAT DID HE SAYYYYYYY

mercedesamgf1 lewishamilton ynln i'm not getting paid enough for this shit

user mercedesamgf1 poor admin 😭😭

lewishamilton just made a post!

liked by ynln, annaxsitar and 1,729,113 others

lewishamilton ready and energized 👊🏾

view all 15,859 comments

user BARK BARK GRRRR

user raw and passionate.

user until the neighbours know his name

user as someone who bickers with lewis a lot, y/n sure does like his posts

user user especially the shirtless ones 😭😭

user user i have his notifs on and yet when i open his posts y/n is always here first 😭😭

user 100plus ahh caption 💀💀

ynln god help whichever f1 staff that is going to be fired for this

lewishamilton ynln you literally posted your whole ass the other day

ynln lewishamilton oh so you were looking?

lewishamilton ynln in your dreams, l/n

ynln lewishamilton i bet u do dream about this ass, hamilton

mercedesamgf1 ynln lewishamilton what did we talk about arguing on social media

user mercedesamgf1 omg admin is here

lewishamilton mercedesamgf1 she started it first

ynln lewishamilton u mean fulfilling your life long dream of seeing my ass? no need to thank me babe

georgerussell63 ynln i'm next to him he's blushing right now

lewishamilton georgerussell63 get out of here this doesn't concern you

ynln georgerussell63 oh? 😏😏😏😏 do tell me more

lewishamilton georgerussell63 please don't

ynln lewishamilton boo hoo too late he just dmed me 😝😝

user lewis saw y/n post and was like yk what i'll do you one better 😭😭

user user no complaints here though 🫦

user i just KNOW that mercedes and f1 publicists are tired of y/n and lewis bullshit 😭😭

user it's the way y/n and lewis practically canNOT stand each other on track but are flirting on instagram

user user y/n flirts with everybody and i don't mean that in a misogynistic tone but as in she's just nice that way

user user i don't think the hate is real, maybe it's just for pr

user user i don't think lewis has the time to do this length of pr anymore 😭😭 it's been happening since y/n joined mercedes which has been YEARS

user user also would be weird on mercedes' side. they are putting the only black and female drivers in f1 history against each other? this does not look good on their part

media day!

race day!

post race!

taglist @seonghwaexile @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy @nothaqks @serendipityf1 @jajouska @cowboylikebrie @kpop-obsessed-girly

[chocostrwberry]

A new friend…?

ChocoAU relationship info below!!

This is for @comedic-slut because of your ask and I said I WOULD make a post about it so HERE U GO!! 🥹🫶 THIS ONES FOR YOU BB /p

Adrien as we all know was raised completely isolated. He didn’t know anyone else at school except Chloe, who introduced him to her friends, and one of them wasn’t Nino ahasjhdhd. So he was kind of trapped in this social bubble, despite really wanting to branch out and make more friends, like he had initially hoped. Chloe wouldn’t let him talk to anyone else either (warning him that they were “losers”).

Nino was Alya’s childhood best friend, so they hung out all the time. It was always just, him and Alya and then Marinette. He didn’t want or feel the need to even try to talk to Adrien, since he was cousins with the girl who bullied Marinette and Kim kind of bullied him as well, so The Empire was the group to stay away from. He also was friends with Ivan and Max (they played video games sometimes), so Adrien was just. Never an option for him.

The only reason why he went to even talk to Adrien was because after Chloe and Adrien had a mysterious fight that caused Adrien to be essentially “kicked out” of their friend group, Alya wanted to know why for the drama. The class talked to Kim first, but he said only Sabrina knew, and everyone was aware she would never spill. So, they sent in Nino as the sacrifice to ask Adrien and find out.

Nino invited Adrien out to eat pizza for lunch (since Adrien always went off-campus to eat after the fight), and they got to know each other. Adrien really liked Nino’s bluntness, and he felt like Nino treated him like any other person. But since he had ulterior motives, Nino felt bad for only hanging out with Adrien for information on his personal life. So after the hangout, Nino tells Alya what she wants to know, but still decides to eat out with Adrien, even though Alya points out he can’t afford to do it.

Chloe, still hurt from their fight, finds out about Adrien potentially making a new friend. So, acting in anger and selfishness, she commands her driver to over Nino’s bike. His bike was his only ride to school and to do his job as a delivery boy. (He’s attending the school on a scholarship, so his parents aren’t as wealthy as most of his friends.) Nino immediately stopped talking to Adrien after that, and Adrien got pissed that Chloe would do something like that to scare away his first friend.

Adrien stands up for Nino, he argues/talks with Chloe about her emotions, and she ends up buying him a moped as an apology!

Afterwards, they continue to hang out and develop their friendship!! :D

[withwritersblock]

Isn't She Lovely

~Isn't She Lovely by Stevie Wonder~ Author's Note: Requested Summary: Stadium Series Family Skate with Nico, his wife, and his daughters Warnings: one swear word Word Count: 923 Nico Hischier x fm!reader

It was a special day for the team as it was the Stadium Series family skate. Nico was especially excited because he was able to bring his girls with him. He had two daughters, his eldest was five years old and his youngest was only ten months old. His eldest, Mallory, was ecstatic to be there. She loves skating and hockey. She wants to be a professional player, just like her dad.

She began skating about six months ago and already has so much confidence on the ice. She is an ice skater and plans to do both. Her mother knew that she could become an amazing hockey player from also being an ice skater. 

Y/N sat beside Mallory as she bounced her youngest daughter, Chloe, in her lap. Nico kneeled down in front of Mallory, tying her skates for her. “Hurry,” Mallory groaned out as she kicked her feet back and forth. Nico chuckled as he dodged the tiny blades. 

“Stay still, my sunshine,” Nico let out as he took a hold of her tiny calf. She giggled as she kept her legs still. Y/N tilted her head back as she smiled widely towards Mallory. Y/N held her two fingers out, letting Chloe grip her fingers as she babbled excitedly. 

After a few more seconds, the skates were tied and ready to go. “Ready, Mal?” he asked, smiling widely. She nodded, pushing off the small bench. “Okay,” he said, chuckling. He took a hold of her, lifting her in the air. 

“Mommy, look!” Mallory said excitedly as Nico carried her towards the ice. Y/N stood up, holding Chloe to her side as she walked towards the ice as well. Nico delicately placed Mallory onto the ice and with zero hesitation Mallory began skating alongside the wall. 

“Oh shit,” Nico mumbled, resting his hand onto Y/N’s hip for a second before he got on the ice and skated after Mallory. Y/N rolled her eyes playfully.

“Come on, my love,” Y/N whispered towards Chloe as she cautiously skated onto the ice. Her eyes watched Nico skate backwards in front of Mallory. He easily caught up to her. He leaned towards her, smiling widely. “You see Daddy?” Y/N pointed towards the opposite side of the ice. Chloe babbled excitedly as her eyes moved around excitedly. 

“Mallory watch out,” he let out excitedly, dodging the other families skating around. 

“Sorry!” Mallory shouted excitedly as she continued manuvering around the ice. 

“Mal Mal look at you, kid!” Jack shouted as he started skating beside Nico. Mallory smiled widely as she leaned forward, trying to skate faster. 

“Hi Jack!” Mallory let out as she furrowed her eyebrows harshly as if it would help her skate.

“She’s skating really good,” Jack let out, shocked. 

“Oh yeah, she’s starting hockey in the fall,” Nico muttered with a wide smile. Jack’s eyes widened as he slapped his hand against Nico’s arm.

“Oh yeah, future hockey star over here!” Jack shouted, pointing towards Mallory. She blushed as she slowed down as she covered her mouth with her hand. 

After lapping the ice a few times, Nico took a hold of Mallory’s hands. He pulled her towards the side beside Y/N and Chloe. “Let’s skate with Momma and Chlo for a bit,” Nico let out as he leaned down beside Mallory. She pouted slightly but took in a deep breath. Nico skated close to Y/N and met her gaze for a few seconds. 

“Crazy, right?” he asked as he poked Chloe’s cheek. Y/N nodded as Nico leaned towards her, kissing her for a few seconds. “Come here, my love,” Nico said as he reached for Chloe. Y/N smiled as she handed Chloe over to him. He kissed Chloe’s cheek, a giggle leaving her body.

“I’ll chase her around for a few laps,” Y/N mumbled as she kissed Nico’s cheek before she gave Mallory a thumbs up. She didn’t hesitate as she began skating and manuvering through the ice. 

“Hi,” Nico mumbled towards Chloe as he slowly began to skate.

“Nico, can we interview you?” the camerman, said coming up beside him. Nico nodded excitedly. He stopped and turned towards the camera. “Who’s with you today?” he asked.

Nico smiled widely as he looked towards Chloe, “I’ve got all my girls with me,” he muttered, “My wife, my daughter Mallory and this is Chloe,” he said excitedly. 

“Where’s your wife and your other daughter?” he asked.

Nico glanced around, “Not sure,” he chuckled while smiling towards the camera, “My wife is chasing after Mal.” 

“Any hockey in the future for your little ones?” he asked. Nico nodded dramatically.

“Mallory is definitely gonna be my hockey player,” he said while laughing, he watched her skate behind him, pumping her little arms hard as she skated between each of the different families. “She’s starting in the fall, she’s so excited as you can see,” He said as he pointed towards her. The cameraman switched the camera towards her. 

“What does today mean to you?” he asked.

Nico nodded excitedly, “My daughters don’t get to come to a lot of the games. So having them experience a bit of what I do every day is amazing. It’s also fun to have my teammates meet my kids and skate around with them,” he expressed. 

“Dad! Dad! Race me!” Mallory shouted as she skated behind him. Nico smiled towards the cameraman as he handed Chloe back towards his wife.

“Okay, my love,” Nico let out excitedly.

[dannyriccsupremacy]

suburban legends | CL16

| charles leclerc x fem!exgf!reader smau

| summary : charles doesn't do enough to keep his girlfriend and when the internet finds out, they are less than happy.

| faceclaim : christina nadin

| part one here ! part two here !

youruser just posted a story!

yn, her bff, chloe, julia and amelia all sat at a cafe by the water catching up. their drunken plans from the club bathroom that night had turned into a reality, and they were all so excited to see each other- and follow each other on social media.

as they were chatting, giggling with each other, your bff suddenly gasped and scoffed.

"whats that for?" yn asked, slighting laughing at her antics.

"ex-o'clock." she said sipping her drink, "yours, not mine."

"what?!" yn exclaimed, giving her bff a look, "definitely him?"

your bff nodded, rolling her eyes. the other three girls were avidly looking at everyone in the vicinity, trying to work out which man was eliciting this reaction from the duo.

"brown hair, sunglasses, white shirt, two o'clock." your bff answered their unspoken question.

the trio's eyes landed on the man at the same time, and amelia suddenly went white. soon the other four's attention was on her, concerned.

"miels, what's wrong?" julia asked, placing her hand on amelia's arm.

"oh, n-nothing." amelia shook her head.

"no, honey, what's wrong?" chloe questioned, her curiosity peaking.

"i feel awful. i didn't know, i swear." amelia apologised frantically.

"know what?" yn furrowed her brows.

"he's the one i'm talking to right now. charles is the one i'm seeing. and yn, your the ex he isn't over yet." amelia blurted, cheeks turning pink.

"amelia... i am so, so sorry." yn apologised, a sympathetic expression on her face.

"yn! do not apologise. especially not for a man!" amelia scolded, laughing slightly, "i was going to break things off with him anyway. he is well and truly still in love with you."

yn smiled sadly, taking another glance at the man, only to find him already staring at her, love still shining in his eyes.

liked by lilymhe, sacreskin + 90,367 others

youruser bros b4 hoes 😉

view all 16,324 comments

yourbff words of wisdom

user omg is this about that one tweet??

ameliahobart bros 4ever

user in her post breakup popularity era

user yn is so hot

juliaverner marry me pls!!

↳ chloedarren she said no hoes maam 🚫

user i bet charles misses her

lilymhe no hoes here 🙅‍♀️

↳ alex_albon lily???

↳ carmenmundt get over yourself albono. sucks 4 u

↳ georgerussell63 carmen???

↳ youruser please no hoes in the comment section. read the sign.

↳ francisca.cgomes yeah scram

↳ pierregasly kika???

↳ user i love the unhingedness in yns comment section

amelia sat across from yn, a slightly embarrassed look on her face.

"look, yn, i really like you and i really want to stay friends with you, so i just really need to tell you this so i don't think that our entire friendship is built on lies." amelia blurted, causing the confused look on yn's face. yn nodded for her to continue.

"basically, charles hired me. i'm an aspiring actress and i answered a call he had put out for someone that fit my description. when i sat down and met him for the first time, he explained that he wanted someone to pretend that they were his girlfriend to make his ex- you- jealous." she explained, wringing her hands together.

"when i first met you, i didn't know you were the ex, but he told me to keep up the act with everyone since monaco is such a small place and everyone talks." she took a breath, "but then when your bff pointed out him as your ex, i wanted to say something, but i really liked you so i didn't want to ruin the friendship we had already created."

yn sat in silence as she took in the girl's words. "okay."

"okay?" amelia was nervous, "just okay? is that like a bad okay, or is it a good okay?"

"a good okay," yn smiled, "i really want to keep being your friend so i'm so happy that you told me now. i definitely would of had to re-evaluate the relationship if it happened later down the line."

"oh thank god!" amelia let out a sigh of relief, at which yn laughed, "but i do want to let you know that charles still truly loves you. like he would not shut up about how amazing you are. i have only heard his side of the story, but if i were you, i would definitely get back together with him."

"he kissed me in a way that screwed me up forever, then i broke my own heart because he was too afraid to do it." yn responded, thinking back on their relationship.

"sounds like you were born to be suburban legends!" amelia giggled.

"i think i might." yn grinned.

"now i did meet his friend lando... what's his deal?"

liked by charles_leclerc, yourbff + 95,375 others

youruser our mismatched star signs surprised everyone 🤷‍♀️

view all 21,598 comments

yourbff pop off ig

↳ youruser slay

pierregasly at least he doesn't mope around anymore

↳ youruser aw honey you moped?

↳ charles_leclerc FALSE. LIES. MISINFORMATION.

user MY PARENTS!!!! ARE BACK TOGETHER!!!

↳ user NO LONGER A CHILD OF DIVORCE!!!

user i cant believe theyre back together

user honestly... i would too

ameliahobart the cutest couple!! (set me up with ykw pls!!)

↳ juliaverner dont manipulate them

↳ ameliahobart but i manipulated them together 😔

↳ chloedarren 🎶 cause [she's] a mastermind 🎶

user NATIONAL TREASURES.

authors note i literally took so long to get this part out i am so sorry!! but this will be the last part. a spin off may occur 👀

@allywthsr @sunny44 @coolio2195 @multi-fanss @babyliz43-blog @redbullgirly @smnthnclj @d3kstar @living-with-ghost @noonesgoneuntiltheyregone

[agirlwithglam]

December glow up progress

Heyyy guys! So since it’s the last month before 2025 im rly locking in and going all in. So I’ll be documenting my journey and progress for you here!

I’ll keep reblogging this post and updating daily💞

Day 1:

✅abs workout

it was hard & I was literally sweating

A bit of results but not much obvi

✅reading 2 chapters

- buy yourself the damn flowers by Tam Kaur

+ did all my other habits (not important to document here but if u wanna know lmk)

Day 2:

✅abs workout (Chloe Ting’s)

- this wasn’t as hard is the last one, I can see a bit more results now!

✅did my reading

[zodoods]

okay part two im not linking part one bc this is unserious jklhsadflk

💗 knittingfairy Follow

save me adrien agreste...save me...save me adrien agreste

📷 ladyblogger Follow

@adrienagresteofficial

🎧 djnino Follow

@adrienagresteofficial

🎸 guitarhero Follow

@adrienagresteofficial

💗 knittingfairy Follow

WHAT IS WRONG WITH ALL OF YOU

2,565 notes

🦊 vixen Follow

met ladybug today and she told me my hair looked cute omg!!!

🐞 ladybug Follow

L + ratio + your hair looks like sausages

#and i didnt see you!!! bitch!!!!

270,565 notes

🐈‍⬛ catboy Follow

stay aloof and whimsical and silly guys or youll end up like my dad

🎧 djnino Follow

what happened to your dad

🐈‍⬛ catboy Follow

hes dead

970,565 notes

🤺 fencingryuko Follow

I went to cool and aloof island and no one knew you . or whatever

2,465 notes

🎵 kittysection Follow

hiii stream our music

1,477 notes

🤺 fencingryuko Follow

If I had a dollar for everytime someone tried to help Marinette get over her crush and then starting liking her, I'd have two dollars. This isn't a lot, but it's weird it's happened twice. Additionally, this would not do anything for me monetarily, as my savings balance is above 7 figures. However I thought it was worth mentioning.

700 notes

🐈‍⬛ catboy Follow

@ladybug do you want to kiss

🐞 ladybug Follow

no sorry had a scary dream about you...seemed really real

🐈‍⬛ catboy Follow

#at least she didnt say she didn't want to kiss me bc she doesnt like me!!!

123, 477 notes

📷 ladyblogger Follow

someone NEEDS to get audrey and chloe bourgeoise OFF tiktok

#i didnt think they could be more annoying but here we are

12,345 notes

okay here u go since u all begged for part two enjoy <3 <3

[5ivers]

life is strange: zombies?!

if u saw the og sketches on my alt yahoo! but heres it new and revamped

i lowkey rlly freak with this au but the only thing i got going for me r chloe and max’s designs and max still has her powers and still saves chloe 24:7

just sumnthin silly for the gang

[nonbinary-potatoes]

Prompt: Change 19/10/24 @rosekillermicrofic

Word count: 811

(Was feeling super motivated to write today, but it's not proofread)

Barty would never understand why Evan and Regulus liked the library so much. It was too quiet most of the time, and the room temperature was always too warm for a jumper but too cold not to have one. Still, Barty sat in his seat and doodled mindlessly onto parchment because he'd rather be bored out of his mind in the company of his boyfriend and best friend than bored out of his mind by himself At least there was something to do here, and being alone was always a recipe for trouble when it came to Barty.

"Nice drawing, Bug," Evan muttered softly, looking up from his notes briefly and smiling at the sketch Barty had been half-heartedly working on. There were some basic anatomy sketches, based on the pictures in the book Regulus was working on - some bullshit about healer school prep. But it was fun to draw, and the pictures were pretty cool, especially the ones from autopsy results. Barty smiled, writing an I and a U on either side of an anatomical heart and sliding the parchment towards Evan who took it, folded it, and tucked it safely into his breast pocket on his shirt. "I heart you too," he mumbled before returning to his notes.

"Heyyyyy Junior," an annoying voice drawled out, some blonde girl strutting over the table the three were working at. She batted her eyelashes and smirked, clearly wanting something. Barty recognised her as some hookup from a while ago, Chloe, maybe? Some C name.

"Yeah?" Barty squinted at her suspiciously. She leant over the table the buttons on her blouse undone at the top, showing off far too much cleavage for a casual interaction. She pouted before running a tongue over her teeth and speaking in a disgustingly sweet voice.

"A little birdy told me that you're not seeing any girls at the moment... so I safely assume you're on the pull..." she drawled her words in a particularly annoying way, Barty was coping by imagining using her as a specimen for an autopsy. At least this conversation had given him some insight on a possible future career option.

"Me, you. Hogsmeade tomorrow, get me a drink, and we can come back to my dorm afterwards." She was straight to the point; credit where credit was due. Evan wrinkled his nose but stayed occupied on his notes. A shame, really. Barty would've liked to see him shut her down.

"Sorry, dollface got plans. Can't change em" Barty shrugged her off, encouraging her to quiet while she was ahead. Unfortunately it was rather unbelievable that Barty wasn't actively hunting down someone to sleep with, he wasn't exactly known for his celibacy in the same way he wasn't known for his ability to maintain a longterm relationship. He had since realised that he just didn't get that spark for women. There was never any romance... no desire to make it last the same way there was with Evan.

She reached foreward, walking her fingers up Barty's chest and pushing his chin up to look at her face. It was a rather disgusting plea for attention, attention Barty wasn't going to give her.

"Yeh bitch, we have fucking plans" Evan grumbled quietly, clearly not too please with the attention she was giving Barty but he wasn't often the type to cause a scene unlike Barty who didn't mind putting people in their place. She glanced at Evan and raised an eyebrow. "Who invited you to my conversation? You swot." She scrunched her nose up. She looked a lot like an ugly hare. Somehow, the way she spoke to Evan made her look even uglier.

"Don't talk to him like that," Barty snarled, swatting her hand from his face. He had no shame in punching her if the need arose. Luckily for her, she seemed to get the idea that Barty didn't want her unsolicited touching.

She frowned, suddenly looking much less friendly. Kissing her teeth, she stood up and buttoned her blouse back up properly. "Fucking enjoy your date with your bros" she muttered, gesturing to Evan and Regulus and glancing between them like they were offensive. She leaned close again to whisper "I don't get why you're cockblocking yourself Crouch" spitting the words out bitterly, she gestured widely to herself "what's not to want?"

"The clap," Regulus says before chuckling to himself and going back to his book, clearly proud of the comeback. The girl looked even more offended now, much to Barty's amusement.

"I'll enjoy my date with my boyfriend... and then after that, I'll very much enjoy-" Barty was cut off by Evans hand clasped over his mouth, giving Barty that stern look that easily made him shut up and not even consider talking. He smiled with his eyes and waggled his fingers as the girl stormed off, looking half disgusted and half disappointed.

[yogurtkags]

hii! may i please request suna rintaro w maybe some friends to lovers? u can have creative freedom w it! i just want it to be completely sfw bc i’m only 17!:)

❝ SO HIGH SCHOOL ❞ — suna rintarou

cw. gn!reader, implied friends to lovers, slight canon divergence — inarizaki beats karasuno, light swearing (like once) | wc: 600

event masterlist

the gymnasium is ablaze, drums and horns in an intense battle of psyche against each other as the teams fight it out on the orange court with rally after rally.

you’re sitting at the edge of your seat, eyes wide and hands clenched together as the last few points of this definitive match drag out. your heart rapidly races against your chest and your palms are beginning to sweat, you’ve been awfully quiet for a while now, focused on the game at hand and nervously bounding your leg up and down.

suna doesn’t know that you’re here, you told him that you couldn’t make it because you were called back to school to help with tutoring. he didn’t mind too much considering the circumstances and this wasn’t the finals or anything. nonetheless, you caught a glimpse of disappointment flash in his eyes for a split second, and you knew you’d do anything in your power to show up today, even if it meant bowing on your knees and apologising to your poor kouhai for rainchecking on her. she just politely patted your back and told you to go get your man, much to your embarrassment.

it’s down to inarizaki’s match point, and atsumu’s yelling for the cover after karasuno barely manages to bump the ball back over the net.

with a pass directly to atsumu, the twins once again attempt their minus tempo quick attack and with bated breath, the stands fall silent and the air is stifling, the crowds listening out for the decisive whistle and call that would determine who moves on to the next round of the tournament.

“what a spike from miya osamu, beautifully set by his twin brother miya atsumu, and with that, inarizaki takes the win today and clinch a spot in the top 16 for this year’s high school spring volleyball tournament!”

you shoot up from your seat hidden in the corner at the side of the court, hands over your mouth as you bask in the loud cheers of the people around you, fellow inarizaki students, teachers, and spectators alike. your eyes scan the orange court, searching for your best friend in a sea of black and orange, and when they do find his, you can’t help but let out a tearful laugh at the way they widen with disbelief, and soften as his arms open wide for you to run into.

as you throw yourself into his embrace, suna catches you with an oof, lightly spinning as he tries to regain his footing, “woah easy there, tiger.”

raising your voice so that he can hear you over the crowd, “congratulations rin!”

you wrap your arms around his neck as his hands tenderly rest against your waist to support you, forehead leaning against his as your breath fans against his cheeks, more quietly this time, “i’m so proud of you, always.”

in this moment, time stands still and all the surrounding noise fades, it’s just the two of you standing in the middle of the tokyo metropolitan gymnasium, nothing but sweat and polished hardwood floors beneath your feet.

suna whispers, “i fucking love you so much, i could kiss you right now.”

“do it, i dare you.” your face is graced with a shy smile and a cheeky glint hidden in crescent moons for eyes, and he thinks you’ve never looked more beautiful.

and who was he to ever back down from a challenge, head dipping ever so slightly to finally capture your lips in his.

they’re right, we don’t need the memories, let’s just live in the moment, you and me.

notes. hi chloe !! thank you so much for your request, this is my first time writing for sunarin and i hope i did him justice ♡ i look forward to interacting more with you, lovely !! (dividers: @/cafekitsune) reblogs & interactions are always appreciated !

© yogurtkags. please do not repost, plagiarise, or translate my work.

[flovverworks]

hewwo. imma talk a little about ch15 & pt2 in general maybe so far cuz<3 i have still not read ch16. despite saying i would. it has been a week to say the least.

anyway<3

im not gonna get into my teehee liliana & the staff theories until ive read ch16 cuz. maybe ill change them after that who knows! either way my head was working SO hard at that part. usually i take breaks while reading to a) process b) sit and think about future akira scenes i think would be cool. so u can imagine what i did when it started dawning on me that it was rustica lili wanted to isolate. have nvr felt that much dread in my LIFE. told my friend about it and she went "hehe i purposely didnt tell u about chloe&rustica"....................... im GRATEFUL cuz it HITS but mein gott!!!

vent time but im So glad rustica & chloe went back to feeling 'old dude looks after young adult hes kind of the guardian of' for me..... 'look after (chara) for me' always reminds me gbf s1 when aarons dad asks katalina to look after gran (and katalina l8r calling herself 'grans guardian of sorts' HAAAUUGHHH anyway) ;-;. i was. kind of Rly upset during the ch where murr compared those 2 to lili n greg....LOL...did not like that writing decision all. and then gbf had a richard->therese thing again and im STTOOPPP STTTOOOOOOOOOPPP truly do hate having to expereince the same feeling twice in both games i love dearly

anyway i Did talk about that on twt while i was reading that ch but i nvr talked about it here so

DID cry at shylock comforting chloe. shylocks mindset is SO fascinating to me, i rly adored his pov......gonna carry that with me for a while it was a Rly good part

in general im always kinda 'wow!' at how theyre all characterized, its very beautiful. definitely think its a huge part of why im so attached to both it and everyone introduced. will always remain my hugest love & recommendation part of the entire thing. like, again, figaros pov......cain & arthurs reactions when owen was w/ oz.....very good.

fausts. pov. ????????????????????????????????? cried. thought about his last part nonstop. the way he viewed himself when younger......figaro leaving cuz figaro has his own issues....being betrayed by his bestie............still praying for them until he hits the point of 'wtf why should i'..............man its ssooooo good......theres that line in particular of the feeling of thinking somethings wrong with him that makes ppl leave him that.....man...........wanting to care for the trust the sage is handing him...........man hes ssooooooo..............faust everything to me levania........its rly good. also something i will carry with me for a while, the last part of the ch is just so so good

[macfrog]

2003: a dbf odyssey

a @chloeangelic x @macfrog fic

greetings greetings one and all. welcome to the fucking circus. chloe cupcake and i have a gift for you. we put our heads together, took turns writing a classic dbf fic, and here is the hellscape we created. please enjoy. [this is entirely satirical and just for funsies. no harm intended. no tw discourse required. love u]

pairing: dbf!joel miller x fem!reader

summary: your dad's best friend, in your childhood bedroom, with his hard cock out. and that's all we have to say on that

warnings: unspecified age gap, tale set in 2003, female masturbation, creepy joel, praise kink, size kink, fingering, unprotected piv, degradation, angst!

word count: 4.6k

chloe's masterlist | max's masterlist

The sun shines through the window of your childhood bedroom. You’re still reeling from an argument you just had with your mom, over the degree you just spent four years and fifteen grand on. She doesn't understand your passion for fossils, she never has, and during every family function, only one person asks you how school is going. 

Joel Miller, your dad's best friend.

He’s tall. Broad. He’s built like a Dorito. Flamin’ Hot Cool Ranch. He drives a truck and he listens to dad rock. One time you saw him in a Led Zeppelin t-shirt. You asked what that was, and he said it was a band from “before your time, darlin’”. You swooned at the pet name. 

He’s quiet and unassuming. Lingers on the outskirts of every gathering your parents throw. He likes to talk about construction, and wood carving, and little else. At least, that’s what you thought, before you came back home after graduating. 

Suddenly, he started glancing in your direction every time you came into the room wearing a tight little top with significant cleavage. He would clear his throat at dinner and wipe a bead of his sweat from his forehead at BBQs. 

You always called him Mr Miller, and ever since graduation, that name made him blush. Last Thanksgiving, when his family was over for dinner at your parents’ house, you started asking him about old movies, and he grumbled, then told you about 2001: A Space Odyssey. 

He said he couldn’t believe that a girl with a paleontology degree had never seen A Space Odyssey before. Promised he’d show you it sometime. ”Smart girl like you will love it,” he said. 

You had opened your mouth to respond, to lend him the quirkiest retort you could think of, when your dad had bumbled into the room, shoving you out of the way. He brought up the latest Austin Ice Bats game, took Joel up in a conversation you couldn’t be a part of - you knew nothing about minor league ice hockey. 

Your mom called you through to the kitchen and asked you to help her with dinner. When you came into the kitchen, she started asking you if you’d gone on any dates recently, if there were any cute guys in your college classes. 

You rolled your eyes, “No, mom, none of them are my type.” 

She huffed while handing you a pot of mashed potatoes, “What’s your type then?” 

You didn’t want to tell her that your type was older men. Really old, in their fifties. Your type was Joel, but you couldn’t tell her that. Instead, you described what you thought Joel might’ve looked like when he was younger. “Brown hair, beards maybe,” you said, and turned on your heel before walking into the dining room and setting the pot on the table. 

You glanced over the place settings. Your mom had already put down everyone’s drinks. Yours and Sarah’s - a glass of water each. She says water helps with clear skin. Her own - a white Russian cocktail. And your dad and Joel’s, side by side - two beers, dripping with condensation. You paced around the table, formulating a plan. 

As your mom’s voice drew nearer down the hallway, you quickly switched Joel’s beer for Sarah’s water, sitting him next to you.

When he came into the dining room with your father, you noticed that Joel was looking at you with dark, sultry eyes. He gave you a tight lipped smile as he sat down in his chair, then turned to your mother, “Looks great.” You felt his knee knock into yours under the table, but he didn’t move away. Heat pooled in your stomach. Your chest tightened, threatening to burst from the confines of your tight t-shirt.

The same t-shirt you’re wearing right now - sat at the end of your bed. Remembering the way his denim jeans felt on your bare leg. You lie back on your sheets and stare at the ceiling, thinking of his swollen muscles under his flannel shirt. The tuft of chest hair sprouting from over the collar. The veins in his hands as he passed you the salt. 

You were holding a pair of jeans in your hands, about to slide them over your legs when you looked down to see a wet spot in your panties, and now you can’t ignore the throbbing in your core at the thought of seeing him again. 

You carefully trace your fingers over your panties, grazing the wet spot, feeling your cheeks burning from the awareness that it’s your dad’s best friend making you wet. 

You lift the skirt of your barleycorn sundress and open your legs, knees wide on your springy mattress. You hope that it doesn’t make a sound as you push the fabric aside, dragging your fingers over your most sensitive spot.”Joel,” you whimper when your fingertip brushes your wet opening, but you’re startled when you hear the doorbell ringing. 

You pull your hand out quickly and your eyes flare open, chest heaving. You sit up, throw your legs over the side and slip on your jeans, button them up and turn to look at yourself in the mirror before heading downstairs, feeling the low throb deep inside of you as you carefully walk out into the hallway and hear your father greeting Joel as he comes in the door. 

“Howdy,” he says when he spots you descending the staircase.

You hold tight onto the handrail, afraid you might topple over from the sight of him and the fluttering between your legs. “Hi.”

Joel’s eyes travel from your face down your body, ending up on your legs. You suddenly feel self-conscious, but all the same, secretly thrilled that he’s staring at you in this way. You stare back, eyeing him up and down from his scruffy beard to his dusty lace-up boots. Your eyes meet again as you reach the bottom step.

Joel sniffs once. “The hell are you wearing a dress and jeans for?” he asks.

“It’s called fashion,” you sass, and he grunts in response. “Ready to watch the movie?”

“I’m readier than a fried egg on the San Antonio Boulevard sidewalk, darlin’.” There’s that pet name again. You bite your lip and walk into the living room, trying to regulate your breathing. Your dad is already on the couch, remote control in hand, saying he has rewinded the DVD and that the two of you are being slowpokes. 

“The old man’s got jokes,” Joel grumbles, motioning for you to sit down in between him and your dad. 

The three of you put your feet up on the coffee table in front of you. You angle your feet towards Joel’s, your pinkie toe nudging against the sole of his boot. He crosses his ankles and settles back into the couch, folding his arms and prodding your side with his elbow.

“It’s a classic,” he mutters, and you giggle.

Your dad’s head whips around to face you from your peripheral like he is watching a tennis match. “What’s so funny?” he bleats.

“Nothing,” you and Joel chime, focusing hard on the screen. You smile smugly at the fact that you have an inside joke with him, something just between the two of you.

You can’t focus on the movie when your dad turns it on, and you suspect that Joel can’t either by the way he shifts around in his seat. “Got ants in your butt, buddy?”, your dad snorts, and Joel waves dismissively while you stifle your laughter. 

“Just feel like I’m sinkin’ into the couch here,” Joel says, “‘S too soft.” 

Soft, you replay the way he says it, over and over in your mind. You wonder if he’ll think you’re soft if he touches you with his rough hands.

“This movie sucks,” you announce, halfway through. “I can’t believe I had never heard of it. I thought it only came out two years ago?”

Joel snorts. “It came out in 1968 and was directed by Stanley Kubrick, dingus. 2001 is just the title of the film.”

Your face flushes fifty shades of fuchsia. Your dad guffaws on your left side, clapping his hands together like an annoying seal. His laughter is so loud that he almost doesn’t hear his cell phone ringing until you point it out to him. 

“Yellow,” he says as he answers, and chuckles at his own joke, then holds up his finger and turns to the side, mumbling something into his phone. “Be there in twenty,” he says, then hangs up, and turns to you and Joel, “Gotta go pick up your mom but I should only be about forty five minutes as long as she doesn’t drag me into a conversation with her girlfriends. Y’all gonna be okay here?” 

You both nod and sit still as your dad groans and gets up from the couch, listening as he disappears into the hallway to put on his shoes and jacket, then the door shutting. 

You go to grab the remote control to keep playing the movie, and accidentally spill some of the Coke from the can you’re holding. Joel is looking at the screen while you look at the dark stain on the couch cushion, and instead of getting up to get a paper towel to clean it with, you scoot a little closer to Joel. 

He clears his throat and puts his hand on the back of the couch, right behind your shoulders, not saying a word. You could cut the tension in the room with a knife and you glance down at his crotch to see the bulge in his jeans, then look up at him. 

He looks at you for a second, then furrows his brows, “What’s goin’ on in that head of yours?”

“Thinkin’ about bones.”

“Bones?”

“Specifically the one in your pants, Mr. Miller,” you say and bat your eyelashes, and then, “Just kidding.” You turn your head back to the TV but you can see that he’s still looking at you. “I was actually thinking about the Micropachycephalosaurus.” 

“What did you say ‘bout my pants, darlin’? Could swear you said somethin’”

“Nothing, I promise,” you giggle and look away. 

Then his hand comes to your thigh, long fingers splayed over your jeans, thumb tracing back and forth, igniting a flame inside of you. 

“W-what are you doing, Mr. Miller?”, you ask nervously, feeling the heat pooling in your panties again, and this time, it’s not because of your imagination. 

“Lookin’ real pretty tonight,” he says, and his other hand comes to your shoulder. You whimper at his touch. “Can just call me Joel, you know that,” he scolds with a wink.

“Th-thanks, Joel.” 

You feel his hand come up under your chin with a featherlight touch, turning your face up to meet his eyes. He brushes his thumb over your cheek and your face feels hot, your heart beating fast. 

He looks at you through big brown eyes. You blink softly back, trying to transmit a code to him to clue him in on the ache making your thighs clench. You wonder if he knows Morse.

Joel grips your jaw and leans in, his smoldering eyes flashing between yours and your lips. He purses his own and before you know it, his warm mouth is flush against yours, his tongue pushing inside. He licks along the rim of your teeth and you open your jaw, letting him explore your wet gums.

In an instant, you pull yourself on top of him and remove his flannel, ripping the buttons apart and scattering the cloth to the couch. Joel’s hands curve around your round tits, he rolls your pebbled nipples between his thumbs like fiddling with a console controller. You roll your hips forward with a moan.

He's so hard. You look at him with wide eyes and a pout, “You're so hard.” 

“Are you wet f’me, pretty girl?”, he asks. You know it's wrong, your dad could be home any moment, but you frantically nod. 

“Good girl,” he says, and traces his fingers along the edge of your jeans, barely making contact with your skin. 

He stands from the couch in one fluid motion, and you squeal at the sudden way in which you’re lifted in the safe grasp of his arms. It’s astounding how strong he is. How able he is to sweep you into the air, carry you out of the living room. How his biceps bulge as his boots thud up the stairs one by one.

He reaches the landing and pauses, eyes scanning the four closed doors. He steps forward and kicks open the one closest to your bodies, before realizing it is the bathroom and reversing out again.

“Pardon me,” he mumbles an apology, and you giggle again.

“It’s the one on the right,” you instruct, and he shuffles down the hall carpet before bumping your door open. He pauses for a moment when he enters the room - your childhood bedroom. 

“Haven't been in here in years,” he says, and you know he's referring to when he helped your dad take out the old closets and replace them with new ones. You still have the same closets. Maybe he's admiring his work. You look at the posters on the wall and your floral bedspread. 

Then he lays you down on the bed and sighs. “These old knees,” he grumbles, “And my fuckin’ back.” 

You giggle. 

“Mind if I take this off, darlin’?”, he asks, gently tugging at the bottom of your barleycorn sundress. You nod again, feeling your face getting hot and your panties sticking to your pussy. 

Your back arches as he slips the thin fabric from your body, your breasts spilling out of their polyester prison. Joel straightens up, admires the view and hums to himself.

“Fuckin’ gorgeous,” he muses, then bends again to press his body against yours. His fingers tussle with the waist of your jeans, the petite buttons only women's clothing seems to have, and you growl at the effort it takes for him to derobe you. 

“I know,” he says, lips close to your ear, “‘S these big ol’ hands. They get in the way of everythin’, baby.”

You whimper pathetically, wanting nothing more than those big hands to get in the way of you. You shove your fists beneath the denim when he finally undoes the zipper, and help him drag them from your legs. As soon as the heavy fabric hits your floor, Joel’s removing his own jeans. Now, only your underwear and his separate you.

There's a wet spot on his boxers already and you whimper when you place your fingertip on it, biting your lip when he growls at the sensation. “M-Mr. Miller,” you whine, “Can I see your cock? It looks really big.” 

“‘S real big, sweetie, are you sure you can handle it?” 

“Y-yes, Joel, I'm a big girl.” 

“‘F you say so,” he grumbles, then takes off his boxers, and you admire the sight of his manhood. You've never seen a big cock like that, a real thick and long one. You don't think it'll fit inside and you gasp, eyes flashing open while you start to creep backwards on the sheets. 

“Keep the panties on,” Joel orders, following between your legs. His hairy knees push deep into the plush cushion of your mattress, his fist jerks slowly up and down his dick, which seems to only grow larger the closer he gets.

You nod obediently, biting your bottom lip. Your eyes stick on the dribble of precum he swipes with his thumb. You fall back, head sinking into your pillows, and Joel hovers over you, one hand by your head. 

You peel your underwear to the side, now positively soaked. Joel’s hand leaves his member to cup you, feeling your dripping mess. “So wet f’me,” he whispers, and you moan, long and ragged. 

Then he touches the tip of his finger to your opening and watches you squirm while he starts to push it in, entering you with one thick finger. You take all of it in stride, and you frown when he retracts it. 

“So eager,” he says triumphantly, then adds another, and you feel the coil inside you start to tighten. You can't reach as deep as he does, nobody can except for him. Your dad's best friend, in your childhood bedroom, with his hard cock out. Tears start pricking your eyes as you get closer. 

You whine, “I’m gonna come, Mr. Miller.”

He clicks his tongue, “Just Joel,” and then he picks up the pace of his fingers, pushing them inside you until you gush all over your sheets and his hand, feeling the tears sliding down your temples and your fists gripping the sheets tightly. He made you come, it's like a wet dream. 

You gasp when you see the mess you made and he chuckles. “Sorry Just Joel - I mean,” you shake your head, clearing the hazy fog of sex your orgasm left behind, “Joel.” Your cheeks heat with embarrassment.

“No need to apologize, sweet girl,” he whispers, pinching your cheek with his soaked fingers. Your own cum stains your skin, somehow cooling against the stifling hot air in your room. The air filled with lust and sex.

He draws his hand back, wraps it back around his cock, rubs your gleaming slick up and down his thickness. He groans as you coat him, head tilting back to the ceiling. For a second, you wonder if he will actually fuck you, or if he’s just here to jerk off using your cum, kneeling over you.

Your query is answered when he returns his gaze to yours and leans over you again, running the tip between your folds. Your body jolts at the contact, overstimulated and spent already. But Joel doesn’t care. The man gives no fucks.

“Fuckin’ tight,” he groans as he makes space for himself inside you, pushing the head in and impaling you on his fat girth. You feel so full. 

He bottoms out and moans. You watch a drop of sweat gliding from his hairline and down his temple, then crane your neck up to kiss it. His tip kisses your cervix on every thrust and you grip his broad shoulders, hanging onto him while he pounds you. 

“Good girl, takin’ this big fat cock,” he praises, panting into the crook of your neck. 

“Oh, fuck,” you feel the band inside of you tightening, about to snap, but then he pulls out of you and wraps his fingers around his cock again, stroking himself and snarling when he tells you to turn around. 

You’re spent, limbs wrung out like a rag, but you force yourself up while you look at his cock dumbly, seeing his precum dripping out and onto your sheets. Suddenly, you hear him, “What’re you waitin’ for, sweetheart?”, and you immediately turn around and onto your hands and knees, seeing a photo of your parents on your window sill. 

You screw your eyes shut so you don’t think about them, and try to focus on Joel penetrating you from behind in one motion, going full hog, filling you to the brim with cock. “F-feels so good, Joel,” you squirm and moan while he slips his large hands onto your hips, fingers splaying out over the curve of your asscheeks, pulling you back so he can fill you relentlessly. 

His skin slaps against yours, the air in the room quickly filling with nothing but the sounds of his moans and yours, his wet and yours, his body and yours. Your eyes squeeze tight until you see stars, raining down over the darkness behind your eyelids. Your whole bed shakes vigorously with the rate Joel pounds into you, mattress knocking against your nightstand and sending the objects on it tumbling to the floor.

Joel notices as one in particular - your Satisfyer Pro 2 Gen 2 Air Pulse Stimulator, which you find good but really intense with its sucking power - rolls across the wooden floor. His grip tightens on your hips and he chuckles. “‘S a good girl like you doin’ with a thing like that in her room, huh?”

Your back curls. You moan in response. “Umm,” you mumble nervously, trying to think of a response when you see his lips curve into a smirk, “I- I was trying to come, last night.” 

“Oh yeah? Thinkin’ bout what, young lady?” 

Your cheeks burn with embarrassment. You were thinking about him. He can tell - he brushes his thumb over your cheek. “Were you thinkin’ about me, darlin’?”, he asks, and you don’t respond. You look at him with wide eyes. “‘S alright, I’ve been thinkin’ about this tight little pussy, blowin’ my load in the shower. I ain’t ashamed to admit it, you’re a real pretty girl.” 

Your pussy gets wetter when you think about him touching himself and you wonder how it looks. Your dad would kill him if he knew, and you’re surprised Joel would tell you something like that, but it makes you so wet. 

The image in your mind forces you to arch your back, your body curving before Joel into the mattress. He grunts each time his hips come into contact with the plushy meat of your ass, telling you good girl and squeezing you just right as his cock hits you so deep you feel him in your chest.

“I’m - gonna - cum - again,” you pant, words muffled by the floral pattern your lips are smushed into. “Joel - I’m -”

“I hear ya, baby,” he says, hips snapping. His voice is rough, hoarse. He sounds like he needs some NyQuil. You make a mental note to offer him a refreshing glass once you’re done. “Cum for me, go on. Know you need it.”

Your walls close around him as you do as he says, tightening around the intrusion in your pussy. 

His cock begins to twitch deep inside you and he shoves you by the ass off of him. You tumble to the bed and roll over just in time to be drowned by his cum, thick white ropes spraying all over your tummy and tits. You worry with the ferocity of his release that it might reach the photo of your parents, but you’re too caught up in the pleasure of the moment, your own spend spilling out of your tight little hole.

“Fuck yeah,” he groans, “Take that cum.” Then, all of a sudden, his face drops and he freezes in place. He looks at you, covered in his semen, then runs his hand over his face and tucks himself back in his pants. He looks stressed as it dawns on him that he just came all over his best friend’s daughter.

“Joel,” you say carefully. 

“Yes, darlin’”. He winces when the word leaves his mouth. 

“W-what if my dad finds out?”

He runs his hand over his beard. “I don’t know,” he says, “I gotta go.”

“But w-wait, Joel!”

He’s already shuffling out of your room, hopping as he tugs his jeans back over his hips. “M’sorry, baby, I have to-”

“Wait!” you yelp, tearing your underwear from your body. You almost trip over the fabric as you hop down from your bed. “Take these!”

You throw the panties across your room and Joel catches them against his chest, scrunching them into a ball. You sit back on your heels, totally naked in front of him, smirking at the thought of him crossing paths with your dad in the hallway and knowing the secret he holds in his jeans pocket. Knowing that he just fucked his best friend’s daughter, in her childhood bedroom.

His cheeks heat with shock. Your panties are dripping wet. He nods and tucks them into his back pocket and adjusts the crotch of his pants over his still hard cock. 

Suddenly, you hear the front door opening. 

Your parents are home. 

You gasp and fumble with your jeans, trying to put them on with shaky hands while you hear Joel step onto the first floor, just leaving the staircase as the door shuts behind your parents as they come in. 

“Hey, buddy,” your dad calls, and you hover at the top of the stairs. “What- whatcha doin’ with your shirt off?”

Joel stammers, scratching the back of his neck. Your mom stares at him, eyes raking up and down his hairy torso. You feel a hot pang of jealousy at her wandering eyes on the man you just fucked.

“She, uh,” he motions up to you, now stepping slowly down the stairs, “She spilled her drink down my shirt.” He reaches for the crumpled flannel, whipping it in his hands and throwing it over his shoulders.

Your mom tsks. “So clumsy,” she says, shaking her head. “Did you get it cleaned alright?”

Joel nods, jumping a little when you arrive at the bottom of the stairs by his side. He’s still buttoning the shirt. “Yeah, all cleaned up. Thank you, ma’am.”

You feel a surge of excitement shoot through your veins, feeling your wet leaking out onto your jeans and knowing what lives in Joel’s pocket. You sway back and forth, hands clasped behind your back, smiling innocently.

“Sweetie,” your mom calls over, “Why don’t you go walk Joel to his truck?”

“Y-yes, mom,” you stutter, and motion for Joel to walk ahead of you. 

“Have a good night,” he says and pats your dad on the back on his way out. 

You watch every one of his heavy footsteps down the hall and out of the house, slipping on your Crocs before you follow him out, closing the door behind you. 

The two of you linger outside of his truck for a moment. He looks over your shoulder, squinting in the Texas sun as he looks towards the house. You look at the gray in his beard, the curve of his nose and his salt and pepper hair. 

Part of you hopes he’ll ask to see you again, but he’s your dad’s best friend, it could never work. He kicks a small rock with the toe of his boot, arms folded. He leans against the truck and looks up at the sky. 

Your stomach flutters at the sight of him and the feeling of his sticky cum on your stomach, gradually absorbing into your skin. 

“Guess I’ll see you ‘round,” he says and straightens up. He purses his lips while he looks away, then at you. 

You giggle and tuck your hair behind your ear, “Um, yeah.”

“Then I’ll teach you a lesson ‘bout not payin’ attention while watchin’ a movie,” he says, and his voice is sultry and raspy. His fingers are around your chin, tilting your face up to him. “You’ve been a bad girl, lettin’ your dad’s buddy fuck you like a little slut.”

Your lips smush between his finger and thumb. “Yesh, Mr. Miller,” you push between your teeth.

“The hell’d I tell you? It’s Joel.”

You nod fervently. “Yesh, Jool.”

He releases you and opens the truck door, eyeing you constantly as he gets in. 

You pick at your nails nervously as you watch him start the truck, and then drive away. 

You lean against your parents’ Honda Civic and look up at the sky, closing your eyes and sighing. Your teeth come to bite your lower lip into your mouth, tasting him on your tongue. Your dad’s best friend. 

He promised he would teach you a lesson. You wonder what the lesson is.

[aphroditesmoon]

to the people who follow me for my book content, these are some authors that i no longer support:

pierce brown: one of the earliest authors to share the "i stand with israel" posts. (I guess rebellions are only cool for plot points. I loved red rising but ive always found it to be a whitewashed version of the hunger games, and b4 u go "but hunger games characters r white too!!" No theyre not. Katniss was supposed to have darker skin. The movie franchise whitewashed her.)

sarah j maas: has made it clear that her grandmother was in the IDF and is proud of her israeli heritage. I liked her when i was like 14. I grew to realise just how much queerbaiting and subtle racism there is in her books.

victoria aveyard: i loved her for a very long time, red queen was the series that pulled me back into reading and she have been one of my biggest inspiration in being a writer, but she had made a statement of standing in neutrality, and she have made a tiktok of her Starbucks order while everyone is trying to boycott starbucks for their donation to israel. I hope her words and actions are only of ignorance and that she'll learn to do better soon. but until then, I've completely lost my respect for her.

•••••••••••••••

IN RETURN: HERE ARE SOME AUTHORS WHO HAVE BEEN SUPPORTING AND DONATING TO PALESTINE AND WRITE AMAZING BOOKS:

- Rebecca F. Kuang: The poppy war trilogy, yellowface, Babel.

- Olivie Blake: The atlas six trilogy, One for my enemy, Alone with you in the ether, Masters of death.

- VE Schwab: A darker shade of magic series, The invisible life of Addie Larue, This savage song (monsters of verity) duology.

- Chloe Gong: These violent delights duology.

- Faridah abike iyimide: Ace of Spades.

- Leigh Bardugo: The grishaverse, Ninth house.

- Tracy Deonn: Legendborn series.

- Xiran Jay Zhao: Iron widow series.