#in the end he gotten semi over the fear

[starlixir]

☆ I have created a new book character and I am in need to create him in character customization. His name is Todd and he is a big scaredy cat, despite being a soldier.

[fear-less]

₊˚⊹˚ 𐙚 there'll be happiness after you

paring: remus lupin x f!reader x secret marauder

➥ in which, remus breaks up with you and one of his friends (who secretly liked you before you and remus had even gotten together) helps you move on with the break up.

warnings: angst, happy ending, prolly tons of errors..oops, semi rushed, idk what else:3

2.5k words

It was a chilly evening at Hogwarts. The grounds had begun to fall silent as the last few students trickled inside for dinner. You were supposed to be in the Great Hall with your friends, but something had pulled you to the lake instead. The stillness of the water reflected the state of your mind—unsettled, confused, and too tangled to make sense of.

You perched at the edge of the lake, your feet dangling just above the surface. The cool breeze tugged at your hair, but you barely noticed. The ache in your chest was louder than the wind, and every time you tried to distract yourself, your thoughts would return to him: Remus Lupin.

You used to feel so certain about him, about the future the two of you could build together. But now? Now it all seemed so far away, as though it had never really existed. You closed your eyes, allowing the tears to pool behind your eyelids before they fell. Remus had walked away, and in doing so, he had taken with him a part of you. His words echoed in your mind, sharp and bitter: “I’m not good enough for you. You deserve someone who can give you a future.”

You had argued, of course. You’d told him you didn’t care about his past or the darkness that followed him, that you loved him for him—for all of him. But his fears had won, as they always had.

You hadn’t expected to feel so empty.

The day Remus had told you it was over, you felt like you were watching the most beautiful thing you’d ever known slip away in slow motion. The setting sun cast long shadows in the Gryffindor common room as you sat together on the couch, the space between you palpable.

“Y/N, please understand,” Remus had pleaded, his voice soft but firm. “I love you more than I can say, but I can’t keep asking you to love someone like me.”

His words had struck you like a blow to the chest. Your heart had started racing, and your hands had trembled in your lap. “Remus, what do you mean? I want this—us—so badly.”

He had sighed, running a hand through his disheveled brown hair. “I can’t be what you need. I won’t let you waste your life with someone who’s broken.”

You hadn’t been able to stop the tears from falling. “You’re not broken. You’re just... you. I don’t need someone perfect.”

But he had only shaken his head, his eyes filled with regret. “I can’t be the person you deserve. You deserve someone who can be with you, without fear, without secrets. You deserve someone who can love you without hurting you.”

In that moment, something in you had shattered. The love you had felt so sure of—the love you had given him so completely—wasn’t enough to keep him from running. And as you watched him walk away, you felt something break inside you, something that hadn’t been fixed since.

The next few weeks were a blur. You still went to classes, you still spent time with your friends, but everything felt off. Every time you saw Remus, your heart would flutter, only to crash when you remembered that things were different now. He no longer looked at you like he used to, with the warmth and affection you had once seen in his eyes.

And you? You were pretending, trying to fit in with a world that felt too bright, too loud. Your thoughts kept drifting to the past, to all the memories you had built with him, and every time, the hollow ache in your chest grew stronger.

One evening, as you found yourself alone on the grounds again, your thoughts were interrupted by a familiar voice.

“Y/N?”

You glanced up to see James Potter walking toward you. His usual confidence was tempered by the concern in his eyes. “Hey, what’s going on? You’ve been... off lately.”

You offered a faint smile, shrugging. “Just tired, I guess. A lot on my mind.”

James sat beside you, his long legs extending in front of him as he stared at the lake, not pressing you for an answer. It wasn’t that James didn’t know what had happened—it was obvious to everyone—but he never pushed. He just was there.

“You know,” James said casually, breaking the silence, “there’s this little thing called ‘talking about it.’” His tone was teasing, but there was a softness underneath that made your heart ache a little.

“I don’t really know where to start,” you admitted, looking at your hands. “I... I just feel like I gave everything, and now I don’t even know who I am anymore.”

James turned his head to look at you, his brow furrowing. “You’re still you. You’re just a little lost right now.”

You blinked, surprised at his insight. “How do you know?”

James shrugged, a half-smile tugging at his lips. “I don’t know. You just have that look about you. Like you’re carrying something heavy. But you don’t have to carry it alone, Y/N.”

You swallowed, unsure of how to respond. His words, his kindness, made something stir inside of you. It wasn’t love—not yet—but it was something else. Something that felt safe.

“I think I’ve been pretending a little too much,” you said softly. “I’ve been trying to act like I’m fine, but I’m really not.”

James met your gaze, his expression genuine. “It’s okay to not be fine, you know? You don’t have to put on a brave face all the time.”

For the first time in weeks, you felt the tears you’d been holding back threaten to spill over. But James didn’t pull away. He didn’t rush to comfort you, either. He just stayed beside you, steady and calm.

The days passed, and you spent more time with James. It wasn’t romantic at first, not in the way you’d imagined falling for someone. It wasn’t instant sparks and overwhelming chemistry—it was easy, familiar, and comforting.

James never pushed. He let you come to him when you were ready. He’d show up with a cup of tea when you were studying late in the library, or crack a joke when you looked like you were spiraling into your own head. Slowly, you began to feel the tightness in your chest loosen. It wasn’t a fix—it wasn’t a cure—but it was a start.

One evening, as the two of you sat outside on the Quidditch pitch, the cool breeze whipping through your hair, James spoke up.

“You know, I think you’re allowed to feel angry about it all. About Remus.”

You stiffened, surprised. “I don’t want to be angry.”

“I’m not saying you should stay angry forever,” James replied gently. “But you’ve been through a lot. And sometimes, it’s okay to be angry before you can move on.”

You looked at him, his expression open and understanding. It was a rare thing—someone who didn’t shy away from your pain, someone who let you feel what you needed to feel. “I guess you’re right.”

James reaches over and nudges you with his elbow, a teasing glint in his eyes. “You know, you don’t have to do this alone. I’m here, even if you just need someone to listen.”

There was a warmth in his words that made something stir inside of you, something both comforting and unfamiliar. You weren’t sure if it was love yet—but it was a quiet understanding. A connection.

The crisp evening air was filled with the sound of cheers as Gryffindor’s Quidditch team celebrated their victory. James was at the center of the group, his eyes sparkling with excitement, but you found yourself watching him from the sidelines. You hadn’t realized how much time had passed since you last looked at him like this—really looked at him.

The glow of the setting sun reflected off the Quidditch pitch, casting long shadows across the field, and in that moment, something inside you stirred. It wasn’t love—not yet—but it was something more than what you’d ever expected.

James had always been there for you—since the breakup with Remus, since the pain that had felt endless. He never pushed, never tried to fill the empty space that Remus had left. Instead, he simply stayed by your side, offering comfort in small, quiet ways. And over time, you had come to realize that the man standing before you was someone you could trust. Someone you didn’t have to try so hard to impress. Someone who understood without words.

When the last of the cheering died down, James broke away from his teammates, scanning the crowd for you. As his eyes found yours, a smile spread across his face. It was an effortless, warm smile—the kind that made your heart flutter without warning.

"Hey," he said as he jogged up to you, his cheeks flushed from the game, his dark hair sticking out in all directions. "We did it! Did you see that last goal?"

You laughed softly, standing up from where you had been sitting on the stone bench. "I saw it. You were brilliant as always."

He grinned, brushing a hand through his messy hair. "What can I say? I'm a natural." Then his expression softened slightly, and he looked at you more seriously. "But seriously, I’m glad you were here to watch. Means a lot to me."

Something about his words—simple, genuine—struck a chord in you. Your heart swelled, and for the first time in months, the pain you’d carried around seemed to subside, just for a moment.

"I’m glad to be here too, James," you replied, your voice quieter than usual.

James tilted his head slightly, studying you with those warm, brown eyes of his. The playfulness of earlier had faded, replaced by something softer. "Are you okay? You’ve been distant lately. More than usual."

You hesitated. It was easy to say you were fine, but lately, you had begun to realize just how much you had been holding back. The grief. The confusion. The old feelings for Remus that you were still trying to untangle.

"I think... I think I’m starting to be," you said slowly. "Not all the way there, but I’m getting there."

James gave you a half-smile, the kind that showed he wasn’t quite buying it, but he didn’t push further. Instead, he stepped a little closer, his presence warm and steady beside you.

"I’m glad," he said, his voice low. "I’m really glad."

You looked up at him then, and there was something about the way he was looking at you—his face open, without any pretense—that made something inside you click. You didn’t have to force yourself to feel something. With James, you simply were. No expectations, no pressure.

"I didn’t expect this," you murmured, feeling a little embarrassed but also strangely relieved. "You’ve always been there for me, James. Even when I didn’t think I deserved it."

He shook his head, smiling as though it was the most natural thing in the world. "You don’t have to deserve it, Y/N. You’re my friend. And I... I care about you more than you know."

Your heart skipped a beat at his words. There was no fanfare, no grand gestures, but in that moment, his honesty was enough.

"You’ve been so patient with me," you whispered, almost to yourself, "and I don’t know what I’d have done without you."

James didn’t answer right away. Instead, he stepped closer, his shoulder brushing yours as he gazed at the distant horizon. The silence between you felt comfortable, not awkward. And when he finally spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper.

"I’ve always had a soft spot for you, Y/N," he confessed, his tone lighter but carrying an honesty you hadn’t expected. "I know you’ve been through a lot. And I’m not trying to replace Remus or anything. I just..." He paused, his voice growing more serious. "I just want you to know that I’m here for you. Whatever that means."

The sincerity in his words made your chest tighten. You didn’t know exactly what it meant either, but something was shifting. And for the first time in a long time, you felt a glimmer of hope that maybe—just maybe—you could start something new. A chapter you hadn’t anticipated, but one that felt right all the same.

Before you could say anything more, James turned to face you, his hand moving as though to catch your eye. "I don’t know what the future holds, Y/N," he said, his voice softer now, "but I want to find out with you. Even if it’s just one step at a time."

You swallowed, feeling an unexpected surge of emotion. All the walls you’d built up in your heart were starting to crumble, piece by piece, and in their place was something both terrifying and beautiful.

"I think I’m ready to take that step," you whispered, meeting his gaze.

James’ face broke into a smile that felt brighter than any Quidditch victory. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," you replied, the word tasting like a promise. Not just to him, but to yourself as well.

In the weeks that followed, things changed between you and James—but in the way that felt comfortable, not rushed. There was no sudden confession of love, no dramatic gesture that marked the shift. It was a slow burn, built on late-night conversations, stolen glances, and quiet moments spent together.

James continued to be your rock, but now, there was something else there too—an undercurrent of something more. You caught him looking at you a little longer than before, his smile lingering in a way that made your heartbeat a little faster. And though you still carried the remnants of your past with Remus, you began to see James in a new light, as someone who could help you heal, someone who wasn’t afraid to be patient with you as you learned to love yourself again.

One evening, after studying late in the library, James walked you back to the common room. The firelight flickered from the hearth, casting warm shadows on the stone walls.

"I’m proud of you, you know," he said suddenly, his voice low. "For how far you’ve come."

You looked up at him, surprised by the sincerity in his words. "Proud of me?" you repeated, a small smile forming on your lips. "For what?"

"For letting go of the past," he said, meeting your eyes. "For letting yourself heal. It’s not easy, Y/N. But you’ve been strong through it all."

Your heart swelled at his words. No one had ever said anything like that to you before—not like that. It wasn’t pity or sympathy, but admiration. And it made you feel... seen.

"Thank you, James," you whispered, your voice catching in your throat.

James didn’t say anything for a moment, just gazing at you with an expression that made your stomach flutter. And then, without another word, he took your hand in his. It wasn’t grand or overdramatic, but it felt significant—like the first step toward something new. Something you hadn’t even known you needed until now.

"Let’s keep walking," he said softly, squeezing your hand gently.

And you did. One step at a time.

[sturncrazy]

SPLASH

Matt Sturniolo x y/n (fem)

warnings: SMUT nsfw 18+(um lang, y/n receiving, unprotected, cream pie —assume ur on bc—-semi public/sneaky, nothing too crazy)

authors note: AW ITS KINDA CUTE GUYS. here’s the other matty poo idea i had since y’all seem to eat him up always hehe.

summary: you join some of your friends on a trip to get over a breakup and end up having a heart to heart talk during a late night swim with matt….but talkings not all you end up doing…

word count: 3,431w

—————————————————————————

“hey y/n get your suit on! we’re gonna swim!” nick said, peering in through your half opened door.

“mkay” you nodded back, forcing a smile. it’d been a split second decision to force yourself to join your friends on this trip. Nick had suggested you come to try and get your mind off of things. you and your boyfriend had broken up only 2 weeks ago, after you found him cheating on you. it’d been a long time coming and had almost never been a good relationship, but a breakup is a breakup and you were still reeling from it. you pulled out a stringy bikini, then threw an oversized t shirt on top. the house you were staying at was large and out in the middle of nowhere. the pool was a significant distance behind the house which gave it a cool secluded feel during the day, but at night the walk alone was a little eerie. you fears washed away though as you got close enough to see your friends splashing around and their laughter became audible, only lit by the purple pools lights. it brought a smile to your face and you felt genuinely happy for the first time in a while. you and your friends hung around together for a couple hours, getting late into the night when chris decided he was hungry and needed a snack. the nearest convenience store was about 20 minutes away and would be closing soon so chris and the 3 of others decided to do a junk food run, leaving just you and matt. matt had been your friend since 7th grade, but the two of you hadn’t gotten to hang out as much in the last year cause he made your ex so nervous. he was always convinced you had feelings for matt. at one point he might’ve not been wrong, but you’d never tell a soul that.

“ok last chance guys! you want anything?” nick shouted as the others ran back towards the house.

“skittles!” said matt

“oo can you get me some twizzlers?”

“yup!” nick said running off

“think he listened?” matt said wading through the water to the edge where you were sitting, dangling your feet in.

“oh definitely not” you laughed

“you should come in the water! it’s really warm”

“but then when i get back out i’ll be cold” the outside air had dropped enough to feel the slightest of chill of fall.

“so? you can borrow my sweater if you want” said matt sweetly, always a gentleman

“come on! have some fun!” he teased splashing only enough to spray a few droplets on your thighs. you could never say no to him. you stood up and pulled your tshirt over your head. matt looked up at you, his mouth slightly ajar, before he quickly glanced away. you figured he’d zoned out. you cannonballed in, intentionally hitting matt with a wave of water.

“asshole” he laughed, splashing you as you came back up for air. you grinned at him and shook the wet hair out of your eyes and paddled to sit on the pools steps. matt joined and sat next to you. he leaned his arms against the the pools edge, the water only coming up to his mid stomach. you stole a glance at his toned torso and arms, tattoos glistening from the water. his eyes darted back to yours and he gave you a half smile.

“hey, you been okay? i didn’t wanna pry, but i head about the breakup” he said with concern

“oh…yeah. i’m okay i guess” you sighed

“he’s a real dick, y/n. i mean really. such an asshole. i wanted to kill him” you snorted

“you and me both” matt was on a roll in his rant and barely seemed to notice your comment

“i mean he has some fucking nerve treating you like that. you deserve like the best of the best and the fact that he didn’t didn’t see that—“

“aww matt” a warm fuzzy feeling spread over your skin at his words. he snapped back into remembering your presence and gave you a bashful look.

“i just think you deserve someone who treats you right. so good riddance to him” he said, splashing at an invisible presence off in the distance, trying to play cool. it was an adorably dorky move.

“thank you, matty” you said softly. he paused, and looked you intensely in the eyes.

“yeah always” he breathed out. the tension hung thickly in the night air. you turned your face away from his, hoping it would dissipate.

“and not that it matters, but i remember back in middle school when everyone was playing truth or dare, all the girls made fun of him for being a bad kisser” matt said, attempting to lighten the mood. it worked and you let out a laugh.

“yeah trust me, kissing wasn’t the only thing he was bad at”

“oooooo really” matt said grimacing. you nodded and dramatically shivered at the thought.

“yeah, honestly, don’t think there was a single time i wasn’t on top doing all the work. he’d sorta just lie there…like a corpse. and y’know…second he was done that was that. maybe 2 minutes each time.” matt’s jaw dropped

“whaaaat” you laughed as you glanced at your hands under the water, feeling nervous about talking about this with matt.

“that’s crazy. half the fun of sex watching the other person enjoy it” you felt your face flush as you raised your eyebrows at him

“what?” he chuckled back at your surprise

“nothing, i’ve just never heard you talk like that before” matt rolled his eyes playfully

“yeah well much to your surprise i have had sex before, y/n”

“well i know that…”

“just didn’t think i’d be good at it” he cut you off, teasingly. your face turned from flush to beat red, making you thankful for the dim lighting.

“hey, i wouldn’t be one to judge” you shrugged out, suddenly feeling painfully aware of your lack in experience.

“what do you mean?” matt questioned

“just…he was the only person i ever…y’know” you sheepishly avoided the words.

“had sex with?” matt filled in for you. you nodded and scrunched your face. he studied you for a minute.

“so you’ve never had good sex?” he asked, quietly. you felt so exposed you might as well have been naked.

“‘guess not” you mumbled avoiding is unwavering gaze.

“have to wait around for the next boy” you snickered to yourself

“isn’t that a bit of a gamble?”

“well what are my other options i mean youre the only guy i know who probably any good at sex—“ matt’s eyes widened. you slapped your hand over your mouth, panic beginning to settle in.

“oh my god—sorry—i—that came out wrong—i didn’t mean like you and me—like you need to show me—shit” matt just continued to look at you, his eyes burning holes into your skull. you buried your face in your pruning hands.

“well, why not” matt rasped out. you peaked through your fingers at him, his expression looked blank, but his chest rose rapidly, nervously. you dropped you hands.

“what” you almost whispered. he took a steadying breath.

“i said why not.” you tried to breath, but no air seemed to be available.

“what do you mean” matt gnawed at his lip before speaking again.

“i mean that you deserve to only feel amazing and i don’t want you to go around experimenting with more assholes and—“

“matt, i’m not gonna let you have pity sex with me” you scoffed out, embarrassment itching your whole body.

“that’s not what i meant y/n” he said in a hushed voice. you continued to babble over him.

“i mean i know you’re the nicest guy ever, but come on even you have to know you don’t have to fuck me to protect me from other bad guys—“

“i dont want you to fuck other guys at all” he sounded exasperated. you gave him a lost look. he exhaled, looking up at the sky for invisible answers.

“you don’t?” he looked back into your eyes, you felt like your heart could melt.

“of course not, y/n” your heart raced.

“okay” he furrowed his brow

“okay what?”

“okay yeah— i mean let’s—“ you inhaled, pulling yourself together and met his gazed

“i want you to show me” his chest rattled again.

“yeah?” he breathed out. you nodded, rapidly. he moved closer to you, your faces now inches apart. his eyes darted down to your lips. he smiled, and looked back up into yours, as one hand gently wrapped around your waist.

“okay” he rasped out as he brushed his nose against yours. he seemed to revel in the tension between you, before bringing his soft warm lips against yours. the kiss was passionate, but still delicate. it sent electricity through your chest and down to your fingertips. he brought his other hand up to your check and jaw, molding your faces together even more. matt pulledl his lips away from yours momentarily to whisper out

“you can touch me, y/n” you only then realized your arms had been cluelessly frozen by your sides. you eagerly brought them up around matt’s neck, immediately changing the tone of the kissing to something much more heated. he let out a sharp breath into your mouth before moving to come between your legs, both hands now grasping your waist. he pulled you closer and you wrapped your legs around his body, gripping into his hair. he let out a small groan against your lips and squeezed at your flesh in his hands. you sighed out at the feeling, opening your mouth against his which he took as an opportunity to slip his tongue against yours. your mouths locked together perfectly, as your hands begin to move from his hair to explore his chest, your fingertips roaming the skin of his body you’d only ever dreamed of getting to touch. you lowered your nails to just beneath his bellybutton, which elicited a genuine moan from him. you smiled against his mouth

“where did you learn that” he grumbled

“i have have a couple tricks” you said coly

“oh yeah?” he said between soft quick kisses

“so do i” he bit down lightly on your bottom lip, pulling with his teeth as he brought your hips up against his. you whined feeling him press against your bikini bottoms. he chuckled at your pathetic reaction and pushed your hair back from your neck. he lowered his lips down to the sensitive newly exposed skin and began to sloppily kiss a trail from your jaw to your collarbone, then began sucking and biting at your flesh.

“fuck” you moaned out, your eyes rolling back. you grasped at his taught upper arms.

“you like that?” he groaned against your skin, setting it ablaze with vibrations.

“yes” you sighed out, bucking your hips slightly against his, desperate for more than just the grazing pressure of him standing against you. he seemed to understand your every need and hooked his fingers through the flimsy ties of your bikini and pulled you harshly against him. you felt a hardness in his shorts pressing against your core and your mouth practically watered. his hands trailed back up your body and to your back where your top tied together.

“this okay” you nodded and pulled him back in against your mouth, not wanting to waste a moment for words away from his lips. he expertly untied the knots and slipped the clinging wet fabric of your chest, leaving your boobs exposed to the outside air. he tossed the fabric on the ground behind you as he looked down at your heaving chest.

“god” he groaned out, his eyes widening as he brought his hands to your boobs and pawed at the the soft flesh. he ran his thumbs delicately across your nipples watching you, as you tossed your head back in a moan. he slipped his hands behind your back again, bringing your bare skin flush against his

“you’re so beautiful” he huffed against your lips. you began to rock yourself back and forth against his blatantly obvious hard on, desperate to build some friction. he wrapped one arm around your thigh and lifted you up to the top dry step of the pool, completely taking you out of the water except for your calves. matt lowered himself down to his knees a few steps bellow you, and began to kiss your knees and inner thighs. your legs quivered, as your core ached for attention. his wide blue eyes looked up at you, his mouth only inches away from where you needed him most, as his fingers hooked to the sides of your swimsuit.

“can i?” he mumbled against your skin.

“please” you whined out. he pulled at the loose bows, undoing the flimsy cover easily. you lifted your hips for him to slide the fabric from between your legs. he parted your legs with his hands, his pupils dilating to blackness as he took in the sight of you entirely exposed.

“so perfect” he sighed almost in a trance

“matt—“ you whined desperate and impatient. he looked back up at you with a half smile

“don’t worry baby, i’m gonna make you feel so good” his words alone could’ve made you come undone. he wrapped his arms around your thighs, holding you in place as he brought his warm wet mouth against your aching clit. he gently kissed at the bundle of nerves, making you thrust your hips up against his face hungry for more. he responded by beginning to drag his tongue in painfully slow circles around your clit.

“oh god—matt-“ you cried out, your fingers latching into his hair for support. he groaned against your sensitive bud.

“y’taste so good” your thighs squeezed his face as he began to move his tongue faster, flicking it it circles around your clit.

“oh fuck— that feels so good—“ you exhaled. one of his arms loosed it’s grip

as he brought his fingertips down to meet your folds. he broke his tongue away from your clit and rested his scruffy cheek against your inner thigh as his watched his own fingers drag up and down your dripping folds. you whined in torture and he brought his pointer and middle finger to your entrance pressing small torturous pulses against it, but not entering or giving you the fullness you needed. you were a mess at his touch, whining, moaning, and thrashing around, but he seemed to savor every minute of watching you. finally, he slipped his finger into your core and you cried out at the feeling.

“so pretty” he whispered again before starting to pump his digits in and out of you over and over, his fingers curving up expertly. the tension in your stomach began to form almost immediately. matt needed no clues in knowing what you needed and lowered his tongue back to your clit. your walls began to pulse around his fingers. you knew you were close.

“oh god—matt-i—“ you began to stutter out

“good girl. cum for me” he cooed. you fell apart with his permission and came undone. your legs stuttered as your high began to end and matt slipped his fingers out of you. he lifted himself back up to your level, leaning against the ledge behind you and kissing you again.

“see how good you taste” he said against your lips

“matt” you giggled slightly shocked against him, starting to close your legs. his grip latched back down on your thighs, stopping you.

“oh i’m not done with you yet” he growled through a slight smile, as he hoisted you up into the air. your wrapped your legs around him, as he carried you away from the pool to a nearby lounge chair. he laid you down on your back and climbed on top of you, between your legs. he pressed his still covered crotch against your exposed vulnerable entrance. you hissed, still sensitive from your recent orgasm. he stopped and pulled back from you

“you okay?”

“yes just sensitive” you let out a breathy laugh

“do you want to stop” the overwhelming look of concern in his eyes was adorable

“are you kidding me?” you said, wrapping your legs around him tightly, bringing him back down on top of you.

“thank god” he exhaled. you laughed as you began to kiss him again, rolling your hips up against him. he whimpered. you dragged your fingernails up his back and dug in slightly at his shoulders. he groaned again. the sound of him wanting you was enough to make you desperate all over. you continued to run your fingernails down his chest and to his waistband, snapping the elastic against his skin slightly. his stomach tensing at the feeling.

“take these off, matty” you whined.

“whatever you want” he pulled off from you and stood to the side, sliding off the shorts.

his rock hard dick sprung out free from the fabric and slapped against his stomach. your jaw opened slightly as your eyes took in the impressive size of him in front of you.

“what?” he chuckled

“youre so big” you said in genuine awe

“fuck you don’t know what you’re doing to me” he said, climbing back on top of you and needily yanking your legs up around him. the tip of his hard member rubbed against your clit as he continued to grind his hips against yours through your makeout.

“matt—“ you whined again, needing more.

“you sure you want to do this?” he asked looking into your eyes.

“yes matt—i want you so bad” you moaned to him

“fuck i’m all yours, baby” he said kissing you again, as he began to align himself with your entrance. he pushed himself inside you slowly and shuddered against you once he was all the way deep into your core. he paused for a moment, letting you adjust to the extreme stretch before beginning to slowly thrust in and out and in and out of your pussy. the stretch and fullness of him made you cry out sounds like you’d never made before.

“fuck you feel so good. such a perfect tight little pussy” he huffed out between his calculated thrusts.

“oh god matt”

“taking me so well baby” he cooed

“shitt-feel so good inside me, matty”

“yeah? you like when i fuck you like this, huh baby?” he breathed against your ear, burying his head into your neck.

“so fucking much—oh god yes—faster”

“okay beautiful” he began to pick up the pace of his steady thrusts and you thought you’d see stars. each thrust of his dick equally hard and timed out as he slammed against your g spot. you clawed at his back desperately, which only seemed to encourage him to pick up his pace to an impossibly faster speed. you slurred out curses in between pornographic moans as your mind became a total blur. you could feel your second orgasm approaching.

“OHHH FUCK MATT YES”

“fuck you sound so good moaning my name like that y/n”

“MATT OH GOD IM GONNA”

“you gonna cum for me again, baby?”

“YES OH MY FUCK”

“be a good girl and cum all over my dick” your eyes blurred with tears of pleasure as your ears buzzed and your second orgasm took control of your body. matt let out an uneven moan as your walls rapidly pulsed around his cock.

“fuck—squeezing me so good—shit—i’m close—“

“mmmm” was all you managed to moan in response as he began to trust into you wildly and unsteadyily

“oh my fuck baby i’m gonna cum”

“cum matt—i wanna feel you cum” you panted

“OHH MY OH FUCK FUCK IM GONNA CUM NGHH IM CUMMING” the groaned out as he halted his thrusts deep inside you, shooting hot white ropes of his release into your throbbing core. he collapsed breathless on top of you. after a moment matt pulled himself off your chest and propped himself up by his forearms.

“have any fun?” he asked sheepishly

“are you KIDDING ME? holy SHIT” you said in total honestly

“not half bad right?” he laughed, reaching for his shorts.

“unreal” he handed you his sweater and leaned back down to kiss you again, but pulled away abruptly

“sorry—was that weird? i don’t wanna make you feel pressured—“ you wrapped your arms around his neck shutting him up with another kiss

“good luck if you think your getting away from me now”

“i wouldn’t dream of it”

—————————————————————————live for sweet matt smut always 🫶

[studiogrimm810]

Drunk Words, Sober Thoughts

pairings/characters: sam winchester x gn!you, dean is also there

summary: after a long day of driving with the brothers, you and dean drink too much and when dean goes off with a random woman, sam takes care of you

warnings: fluff, alcohol, intoxication

word count: 2,970

A/N: fluff is so not usually my thing just fyi, i'm a whore for angst and hurt/comfort haha (also might make a part 2 for the hangover lol)

(edit: i made a part 2!! Sober After-Thought)

———————

“I’m just saying, it wouldn’t kill us to call the drive early and settle in for the night,” Dean suggested, filling up Baby with fresh gas, leaning against the trunk. Sam had gotten out to stretch his legs and you just came back out from the bathroom.

“Really, Dean, you’re calling it?” You scoff lightly as you come into earshot, your hands in your jacket pockets. “Ya gettin’ old on me?” You joke, bumping his shoulder.

Dean rolls his eyes, pushing off of the trunk as the nozzle clanks closed, signaling the tank is full, “shut up,” he mumbles. “I saw a bar a few blocks back with a motel in the same parking lot and I could use a drink,” he explains, holstering the nozzle back into the gas pump and finishing up.

“I could use a drink,” you nod curtly as you walk around to the back seat. Sam seems reluctant but not completely against it.

“Yeah- okay,” Sam shrugs, climbing into the car. Dean has a tiny moment of celebration with the pump of his fist as he drives off and back to the direction of the motel to check in.

The motel is a classic semi-run down spot that’s in desperate need of a power wash but seems like its paint-chipped siding would dissolve away at the pressure. It’s not perfect but it’s cheap.

Dean goes into the lobby to grab a room while you and Sam get your bags and meet Dean at the chosen room.

You set your bags on the couch, hoping it’s a pull out.

“Hey, you don’t have to take the couch, have one of the beds,” Sam insists, walking up next to you and setting his own bags on the couch.

“It’s okay, really,” you assure, knowing he would be far too uncomfortable cramped on the couch. You plop down onto a free spot and stretch out with a yawn “see-?” you say through your yawn “already comfy enough to sleep,” you smile simply up at him, hoping he’ll settle and just take the bed. He was obviously struggling with just going with it and also wanting to let you be more comfortable but he also knew how stubborn you were so he just dropped it.

“If you change your mind you better tell me,” he points a loose finger at you and grabs his bags back up again to lug them over to the motel bed. Dean had claimed the other bed with his own bags.

“Either of ya comin’ with me?” Dean asked, straightening his jacket and fixing his necklace. He looked between you and Sam waiting for a response.

“Hells yeah,” you nod and stand back up, “just let me freshen up a bit,” you grab your smaller bag and head to the bathroom to fix yourself up a bit, brushing your hair and adjusting your accessories. From inside the bathroom you hear Sam also agree to go out and a flutter of nerves ripple through your stomach in excitement.

Heading back out, Dean's head lifts to greet you and check to see if you’re ready. You nod softly and the three of you head out.

It’s pretty chilly out, but you thankfully had a jacket to shield yourself from the cold. Sam looked over to your direction, checking to make sure you looked warm enough for the short walk to the bar.

The bar is just like any dive bar, not as beat up as the motel you three were staying in but definitely hosting the same general demographic of drifters and truckers. A few people looked your way when you entered the bar, but it was simple side glances and such.

A few beers in and the brothers are telling you a story about some case they worked a few weeks back involving Sam's horrid fear of clowns and how he ended up bloody and covered in glitter. Sam seemed embarrassed and a little annoyed but you saw the smile that he hid behind his beer bottle as he took a swig.

“I swear- he looked like he was attacked by some PCP crazed strippers,” Dean cackled, doubling over enough to hold his stomach. You laughed as well, the image alone enough to make you chuckle.

“Oh- Oh my god, I’m so sorry, Sam,” you laughed a little harder trying to get out your words, “I can’t even- I can’t  even imagine how scary that was for you, but-” your words are chopped up by the seizing laughter rumbling your chest. As you both start to cool down, Sam looks at both you and Dean with a small smile and his eyebrows raised, silently asking ‘ya done?’.

“Sammy and his clowns, poor kid,” Dean clamps his hand on Sam’s shoulder and takes another swig of his beer. Sam rolls his eyes and finishes off his drink.

The three of you occupied a high table in the middle of the bar dining room, sharing a plate of chips and dip.

“Whatever,” Sam stands and shakes his head, “I would offer another round but neither of you deserve it,” he jokes and walks back up to the bar leaving you and Dean trying to recover from your fits of laughter.

“And you didn’t get a picture?” You ask, leaning back into your regular sitting position but still letting the afterwaves of humor shake your shoulders.

“No, but it’s engraved in my brain,” Dean shakes his head, a wide smile still blessing his lips and lighting up his face.

“I really wanted another round too,” you lift your bottle and shake the little liquid still left in it. Dean polishes his beer off and shrugs as he stands.

“I gotchya, sweetheart,” Dean heads to the bar with Sam, holding up two fingers to signal for two more beers. Dean bumps Sam's shoulder as he leans on the bar but you can’t hear what they’re saying.

When the brothers return, Dean sets your beer down in front of you and takes his own seat back. 

You all continue to talk and laugh and share stories as you get a few more rounds deep. The words seem to flow out easier as you’re telling a story of some hunt where you worked with this base-level hunter who had no clue what he was doing. You didn’t necessarily hate the guy but he did almost get you killed over a rookie mistake. You find it somewhat humorous due to the little respect you may have for your own life but Sam doesn't find it as funny. Dean entertains the story as you’re telling it- lighthearted and passive- but on the inside he feels his own pit of rage for the stranger who basically used you as bait.

“What’s his name again? I could use a punching bag for some practice,” Dean says as a joke but both you and Sam know he meant his words.

“He was a newbie, he learned, but he’s not hunting anymore- thank god,” you chuckle softly and take a swig of your drink.

Sam has stopped drinking but you and Dean continue to work off of each other, getting round after round and when Dean suggests shots, you’re completely game.

“Maybe you guys should slow down,” Sam suggested, acutely aware of both of your intoxicated states.

“Maybe you should speed up, Sammy, let loose!” Dean shoves Sam’s hand from his shoulder and goes to get a round of shots.

“‘Scuse me,” you slur, standing with a slight sway but desperately needing to use the restroom.

“Woah, you okay there?” Sam stands with you and holds out his arms.

“I’m fine, pretty boy, just wait here for me,” you smile and rub a hand up his bicep, squeezing slightly and pushing off of him to walk towards the bathrooms.

You didn’t see the blush that powders his cheeks.

The bathroom was pretty unclean but you didn’t feel squeamish due to your state. As you pass the mirror you catch a glimpse of yourself and you lock eyes with your own and- holy shit are you drunk.

Your head feels like it’s spinning and your limbs are buzzing with what you would say felt like your blood rushing but honestly you’re just shitfaced. Your eyes, however, are level and a little lidded as they look back at you and help ground yourself. You lean into the sink to get a closer look in the mirror and examine your face a bit but soon get bored and do what you came in here to do in the first place.

When you finish up, you head back to your table only to find two of the three shots empty and a wad of cash on the center of the table. Your head tilts in confusion as you finish your stride to the table.

“Hey- there you are!” Sam chuckled nervously, relieved to see you. You spin to face him, your head still cocked to the side, “Dean went off with someone he met so I think it’s safe to say we won’t see him until the morning. He paid the bill,” Sam ticked his head to the pile of cash on the table and you turned to look back at it- your head stopped at a respectable spot to view the table again but you felt like your brain just kept spinning.

“You took your time in there, you okay?” Sam asks, placing his hand on your lower back to steady you. Your stomach ripples again with nerves and your cheeks flush with heat but you blame it on the alcohol.

“Mhmm, just peachy,” you smile up at him, your brain whipping the opposite direction as you do so. You groan softly at the disorientation and feel another hand on your hip.

“Okay, I’m taking you back to the motel,” Sam said, keeping his hold on you and leaning over to grab his jacket.

“‘M fine, Sammy,” you shrug, climbing back up in your chair and reaching for the last shot. Sam's hand shoots out to grab the glass before you can.

“Nope, nuh-uh, I’m cutting you off,” he chuckles softly, setting the glass on the other side of the table with a light clank. You pout and rest your chin in your hand.

“Boring…” You draw out, letting your eyes flutter closed, relishing the feeling of floating over ocean waves like a piece of kelp.

“I know I am, c’mon,” he wraps his arm around your shoulders and gently guides you to stand with him and you stumble out of the chair but his sturdy arms keep you straight.

Your mind is still swaying so you lean into Sam and focus on how your skin tingles with his passive warmth. That warmth, however, is quickly washed away as you two exit the bar into the cold night air. The chill bites at your nose and the apples of your cheeks.

As you’re walking, your stomach aches so you wrap an arm around your torso with a subtle whine. Sam’s eyebrows pinch and he looks down at you.

“You okay?” He asks stopping for a moment to look down at you. You nod softly but make no move to continue walking. “You shouldn’t have tried to keep up with Dean,” he jokes lightly, rubbing his thumb on our shoulder where his hold is sturdy and reliable.

“God, too much alcohol,” you mumble, leaning your head completely into Sam and snaking your arm around his torso. Yet again- you miss the blush that paints his skin like a rose. He smiles softly and pulls you in a little closer, his embrace around your protective and careful.

“You’ll be okay, I’ve gotchya,” Sam continues walking slowly, giving you time to put your feet into motion. His eyes dart from your feet up to the path in front of them and then instinctively around the area for anything unseemly.

You both finally make it to the motel room and you quickly crumble into your previous spot on the couch with a loud ‘hmph’. You can hear Sam moving around the room for a few minutes and then he crouches next to you.

“You sure you still don’t want my bed?” Sam nudges you softly and you just nod- in your mind you're nodding because you want the bed and thankfully Sam knows what you mean so he just chuckles softly. “Okay, let me help you up, you look so uncomfortable,” he says sweetly- he’s so sweet.

He pulls you up and the room spins, it just keeps spinning and you’re really starting to regret that last drink- or two. Sam can tell by the look on your face that you’re struggling.

“You’re okay,” he steadies you, “just take a moment, I won’t let you fall,” he waits patiently for you to be okay enough to take another step and doesn’t push. A small nod rocks your vision, but it signals that you're good enough to walk. Sam guides you to his bed and lifts up the blankets for you and you slump down onto the spot and Sam keeps his arms out as a guard rail for you.

The feeling of your shoes still hugging your feet is unreasonably uncomfortable so you try to kick them off but only manage to scrape your ankles in the process.

“Here, let me help you,” Sam doesn’t hesitate to gently grab your calf and lift your foot to help unlace your shoes. His hands are quick as he unties the laces and slips off your shoes, sticking them neatly by the bedside table. “You feelin’ okay?” He looks up at you, taking in your appearance and trying to gauge your mental presence in the moment. You just shake your head with a small pout of pain and disorientation. “You need water,” he says, quietly enough for you to think he was just talking to himself, standing and walking to the sink provided in the motel's kitchenette.

It’s really a coin-toss if you’re swaying or not while you’re sitting on the bed.

The humorous expression of a half-laugh and half-cringe on Sam's face makes you think you’re swaying.

He sits on Dean’s bed, across from you, holding out the glass to you, “Here.”

You take the glass and down most of it in a few deep gulps, the scratch of the ice cold water against your alcoholic tongue and throat feel painfully refreshing- like chugging a sprite.

“Careful,” Sam coos softly, reaching up to try and get your hand to tilt the glass back and away from your mouth so you can take a breath. He successfully gets the glass back in his grasp and sets it on the side table. “You should get some sleep,” he speaks again, his voice low and smooth- velvety like chocolate.

“Tummy hurts,” you groan, placing your hand back on your stomach. Sam chuckles softly.

“I bet,” he nods and clasps his hands together, leaning on his knees. You push back some of your hair from your face and let your eyes laze shut, “C’mon, you need to sleep,” he stands with a soft grunt and lifts the blankets so you can slide your legs under the covers. Your body feels weighed as you melt into the mattress, letting the pillow puff up and around to frame your face as you drop your head into it suddenly.

Sam pulls up the covers, laying them flat along your body to make sure you're evenly warm and comfortable.

“Do you need anything?” Sam asks, gazing down at you lovingly- you blame your intoxication for romanticizing his pretty eyes.

“You’re so beautiful,” you murmur, staring up at him lovingly, and no amount of alcohol could erase or demote that emotion from your eyes.

Sam stops for a moment, looking down at you with a fallen expression, not of disappointment or uncertainty, but of confusion- and maybe a spark of hope?

“You’re drunk,” he sighs softly, smiling down at you sadly as he tries to keep his own feelings in check.

“Doesn’t make me a liar,” you slur, snuggling further into the bed and still looking up at him. You almost would say there was a look of awful sadness shimmering in his eyes- something deep rooted and dreadful.

His eyes dip down and away from your face, thinking about something you can’t quite interpret.

“You’re sweet,” you continue, closing your own eyes which make Sam comfortable enough to look back up at you- sweet puppy-dog eyes that could almost pierce through your closed eyelids. “And strong- really strong,” you giggle drunkenly, nestling your head into the pillow to settle in and sleep.

You don’t say anything else for a moment and Sam just lets his eyes drift over your face, taking in your unique features. His hand reaches out to hold your own before he can stop himself, squeezing it softly.

“Th-thank you f’ not leaving me,” you grumble, half-asleep. Sam’s head tilt is in confusion and his hold on your hand tightens slightly.

“What do you mean?” He asks.

“The bar- at the bar,” you yawn with a small hum of contentment, “Like I said, sweet.”

Sam doesn’t really know how to respond- why would you think you owed him a ‘thanks’? What are you even thanking him for?

“You don’t have to thank me,” he settled on his response as he shook his head, running his thumb along your knuckles.

Your prolonged silence signaled to him that you were passed out and he chuckled quietly, knowing you desperately needed the rest.

He lifted your hand slowly and placed a chaste kiss to your knuckles. “Get some rest, beautiful,” he whispered, setting your hand back down and taking one last look at your restful face before standing to get ready for bed himself.

——���————

thank you so much for reading!! <3

>pictures are not my own, i have the originals linked here (pinterest) >>check out my other works here

[leclsrc]

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 :)

[cherrychilli]

18+ Steve Harrington x F! reader, friends to lovers, skinny dipping, PIV sex, unprotected sex, semi public sex, pool sex WC:1.9K

A/N: Feeling very rusty so I'm attempting to dust the cobwebs off my brain and get back into the swing of things with a little bit of Steve filth.

This will they won't they thing was starting to get old.

The casual flirting between you and your neighbor had ramped up in the last month, but you knew him well enough to realize when he's pulling back on the reins, even if subtly.

Up until now you'd enjoyed the way Steve's gaze wandered over you and the playful banter that tended to edge towards suggestive. You'd even glimpsed the only semblance of 'King Steve' that'd remained ever since he turned his whole image inside out a few years ago — that slight, but thankfully tolerable air of playboy confidence you couldn't find in yourself to dislike despite how you made sure to roll your eyes whenever it appeared.

But things were starting to fizzle out now, you could feel it. This thing that had started to brew between you and Steve seemed to be following the trajectory of a bottle rocket — the chemistry you shared soared for a while but now the chances of things becoming serious appeared to be heading for a nosedive.

Your discerning eyes were too sharp, noticing the flickers of hesitation and trepidation that peeked through when he spoke with you now, less flirting as of late, more awkward floundering and not the adorable kind.

You don't know it yet but the reason was because all those fears he'd thought he'd long outrun had started to shadow him again, afraid of things panning out like they always had in his love life.

The Harrington charm drew the girls in like bumblebees to pollen, everything turning sticky sweet for a while but it always ended the same way — with Steve getting stung.

He's gotten in his head about it — every bad date, every lousy hook up, every ounce of self doubt he'd tried hard to swallow down regurgitating back up in his mind like bile. He'd even begun to second guess if you really wanted him the way he wanted you, scared of messing things up if he were to make a real move because he doesn't want to lose you. Not after all the years of liking you so much.

Oblivious to his internal turmoil, you only know that the waiting's been hell on you, feeling more than a little fed up of all the flirting that hadn't led to anything more than a spike in sexual tension and a bunch of almost kisses a couple of times you'd been alone with Steve.

Almost wasn't good enough.

You wanted to show him that you were serious about him — no more bullshit. You were determined to go after what you wanted, taking it upon yourself to make the first move, knowing it'll have to be something big if you were going to really convince him.

And you have the perfect thing in mind.

~

Given he was supposed to be the only one home at this hour, the sound of swashing water echoing from the pool deck comes off more alarming than anything else.

Ears trained in that direction, Steve quietly steps closer towards the noise, cautiously placing one foot in front of the other like he's walking a tightrope.

Was it robbers?

No, robbers only break in to take your shit, not take a dip, he shook his head, feeling stupid he'd even considered it at all.

Speed running a list of possibilities in his mind, a slight shiver ran through him as he quietly hoped it wasn't another skunk that had wandered too close to the edge again, nearly gagging at the memory of how the scared, drenched animal had rewarded him for saving its life a few months back.

Peering out of the entry way, he reckoned he would have guessed a hundred other things before he ever would have guessed what he saw outside. Dropping his keys and jaw, he finds you wading in his pool. Unbothered and very much unclothed.

"Um...you're in my pool", he states as he steps out, dumbfounded.

"And you're..."

He doesn't say it. He wont, afraid that if he did, whatever's happening might suddenly stop. Hell, it felt far too good to be true, half expecting to bolt upright in bed at any second to find it'd been a dream all along, a tent in his plaid pajama bottoms waiting to greet him.

"I am" you confirm, knowing exactly what he'd meant to say, smiling devilishly.

With the pool lights on, your lack of swimwear is obvious against the blue tiles although the rippling water surface obscures your body enough to prevent him from getting a clear look at you no matter how much he squints in an attempt to focus.

"You sure know how to keep a girl waiting, Harrington", you chide, moonlight making your wet skin glitter like topaz.

"Huh?", Steve shakes his head, the jolt crackling up the length of his spine feeling far too real to be part of a dream. This is happening. This is really fucking happening, thunders and echoes inside his head, the realization making his palms turn clammy — the first time since his teens that a girl's elicited that kind of bodily reaction out of him.

"Got tired of waiting for you to nut up and make a move", you wade closer to the edge of the pool with all the allure of a siren approaching shore, the tops of your breasts showing above the surface.

"I want you, Steve", you beckon to him sweetly. Sincerely. "Come join me. It's lonely in here", you finish with a little pout.

He's never undressed quicker in his entire life — all of those nerves and doubts ironed out of him with that one simple confirmation.

You watch as his belt is unbuckled in a flurry, shirt following as it's tossed off to the side. It occurs to you then to offer him a modicum of privacy because it feels like the right thing to do, placing your hands over your eyes until he submerges himself into the water with you. But not before you submit to another urge, sneaking one quick peek between your fingers, your cheeks growing hot when you glimpse his half hard length dangling between his legs.

Covering your eyes again, you wait for him to join you, growing giddy when you feel him enter the water and wade closer to you.

You're met with that hopelessly moony smile of his when he gently pries your hands away from your face. "You always leave your clothes behind when you trespass or is this a new thing for you?", he asks, pearly teeth peeking out as his smile widens into a grin.

You laugh back, a little surprised that you'd gone through with it yourself. "Gonna beef up security around here if I keep it up?", you joked lightly, earning a chuckle from your neighbor.

"Fuck no. I'll even take down the fence so you don't have to hop it next time", he grinned harder, deviously handsome in the moonlight.

Your toes brush his as you wade a little closer, a shiver running through you despite the warmth of the water you're chest deep in. "It was between this or surprising you in your car", you told him, sharing the plan you'd concocted the night before. "You know— trench coat, hide in the backseat. Pretty classy stuff but then I thought about it a little more and realized it sounded kinda sketchy", you made a face, scrunching up your nose. "Didn't want you to think you were getting carjacked or something", you huffed another laugh.

Steve pales a little, laughing along nervously, the corner of his mouth twitching.

"Hadn't even thought of that", he lied, glad he didn't rush out here swinging his bat like he would have had he not convinced himself otherwise about the robbers.

As the amusement tapers you focus your stare on the rise and fall of Steve's chest and the hair matted against it, pressing a hand there to feel his taught, wet skin.

There's a lull in your banter as his hands find your waist and your own starts to trail down, gliding over the plane of his soft stomach, fingers dipping underwater to skim the coarse trail of hair below his bellybutton.

Your touches are delicate for a start, fingers curling around Steve's erection as you feel him twitch in your palm, your thumb gently sweeping over the bump of a vein before trailing up to find his tip.

You meet his gaze when you glide the pad of your thumb over the head of his cock, smooth and from what you can tell, sensitive from the way his breath stutters and his length flexes in your hand.

The waiting comes to an end then.

Steve leans in as quickly as you do, lips meeting yours, the scent of chlorine strong on your bodies, his chest pressing against your breasts. It's a dizzying minute of his tongue hungrily brushing against yours before he pulls you up by the underside of your thighs, encouraging you to wrap your legs around his waist.

Your body reacts quickly, crossing your ankles behind his back. His shaft nudges your clit from this angle and it makes you whine into his mouth, all needy from being deprived this kind of intimacy because of how he'd held back all those weeks.

He pulls away from the kiss to look as you, cupping your cheek with his hand.

"I know baby, I know. Made you wait for it too long didn't I? Don't worry I'm going to give it to you now, okay?", he coos, one part reassuring one part cocky.

Your core aches with anticipation when he says it, desire heavy and burning in your belly.

"Steve wait", you cut him off before his lips can come down on yours again.

"Yeah?"

"Could you— could you do it rough? that's how I want it", you tell him, digging your nails into his biceps. You're in no mood for anything soft or slow. Not right now. Not after waiting this long.

"Whatever you want— I'll give you anything you want", he promises, leaning in to kiss you again.

It doesn't take long for the swashing to recommence, building up to a loud, choppy splashing. Your back will carry evidence of how he has you pressed against the side of the pool tomorrow, arms wrapped around his neck as his tip meets your entrance and he works it inside, his length rutting into your soft core, punching out a chorus of moans and whimpers wrapped around his name.

Before he's completely lost to the warm, wet tightness of your walls wrapping around him, Steve only prays that none of his other neighbors care enough to peek over because if they did, things were bound to get awkward at the next block party.

"Promise me you w-won't go cold on me again", you beg when he locates that spot inside you, the head of his cock dragging over it just right.

"I promise", he answers, unclenching his jaw to nip at your bottom lip. "Promise me you'll go out with me after this? be my girlfriend?"

It nearly sends you reeling, being asked the question you'd been waiting to hear for weeks now as he's literally inside you, making your orgasm approach faster.

Smiling hard, you're still letting out little uh's and ah's because he doesn't let up his pace, driving his cock into you, all hard and fast just like how you wanted.

You couldn't wait to keep making up for all that time you spent doing anything that wasn't this, gasping out your answer.

"I promise"

[sourrpatched]

27. i’m not the moon (1.1k wrdc)

“Welcome homeeeeee!” You yelled once you both entered the beach house. The house was quiet since your friends were currently out drinking, but that didn’t stop Jaemin’s eyes going wide at your unexpected volume.

“Can we go to the pool? I want to swim.”

“How about we get comfortable, I can still feel the sand on me from earlier.” He looked down at his clothes that were semi full of sand.

The laugh you let out pulled his attention from himself back to you. You always looked so pretty but especially when you were laughing. That’s why he had a hard time concentrating on the volleyball game from earlier, or at least what he told minjeong who had lots to tease him about while everyone went to get ice cream.

Jaemin wasn’t an idiot either, he noticed the way your stature changed earlier in the day and when you and karina walked away for a moment. Nothing affected him more than the look on your face in that moment. It seemed almost like dread or fear but mainly it was like you were trying to hold yourself back.

It wasn’t a good feeling and he knew that, that’s why he just had to follow you afterwards. He didn’t need to know the cause, he just needed to make sure that you wouldn’t end the night without your perfect contagious smile.

“Your eyes are really pretty.”

He hadn’t noticed the trance he’d been in while facing you. He also hadn’t noticed how close you’d gotten to him, observing him as if he was some type of science experiment.

“Very bright, kinda like the stars we saw earlier,” You spoke again. Even if he couldn’t see you, he would’ve heard the smile in your voice. He felt his cheeks get warm at the compliment.

“If i’m a star you’re the galaxy.” He said truthfully. If you were the sun he would’ve revolved around you as venus or some other planet, and if you were the earth he would’ve done just the same as the moon. You didn’t know it yet but Na Jaemin was wrapped around your finger, proudly.

“Wow my heart fluttered a bit.” You touched to your heart and laughed, walking over to the couch before tossing yourself onto it. Immediately grabbing the remote to check what was on the TV.

“I’m gonna go change really quickly.” You nodded from your spot on the couch, very focused on finding a source of entertainment.

Jaemin stepped into the room he would be sharing with Jeno, it of course still being empty. He ran straight to the bathroom after grabbing his luggage.

A quick rinse would be just the thing to get rid of the way his heart couldn’t stop pounding, or at least that’s what he’d hope. He didn’t even have much to drink and yet his entire self couldn’t stop the warm feeling he got just from being around you.

He thought back to when all of your friends had been getting ready to leave the restaurant and find a new place to get drinks. The way you had been whining about not being able to leave since he was ‘missing’. He had left to go pay for everyone’s meal secretly, though it was hard to do when you were the only person to notice his absence.

He walked his way back to the table, you immediately spotted him and ran over to him. Chenle and Karina hadn’t noticed as they were mid conversation.

“Where did you go? I thought I lost you.” You looked up at him with worried eyes. You looked so damn cute he couldn’t hold back a smile.

“I’m here.”

“Well come on, we have to go!” You had linked his arm in yours. “They’ll close if we don’t get there on time.”

“What will close?”

You let go of his arm and rolled your eyes. You were still so damn cute when you were annoyed. “The convenience store.”

“Don’t they stay open twenty four hours?”

You groaned at his response. “I don’t care we have to go now.” You were whining now, and to him you still looked so damn cute.

He was about to speak before you turned around and started towards the door. “What are you doing?”

“You can come with or not Jae, but i’m going anyway.” You said before running off. He quickly followed after, not expecting you to be such a fast runner. You were very full of surprises.

He let out a sigh as he turned off the shower, changing into a more comfortable pair of clothes. Before heading out of the bathroom he looked into the mirror. A shower didn’t stop the way his heart was beating contrary to his beliefs.

Once he found himself back in the living room he found you sat on the couch, you must’ve changed when he was in the shower cause you were wearing a random baggy t-shirt and some hello kitty pajama pants.

He must’ve made a sound cause you turned to face his direction, chip bowl in the middle of your lap. “Come on Jae, they’re playing some movie with this guy who’s awake during surgery or something.”

He felt butterflies at the unexpected nickname you had used twice on him tonight. He tried to shake them off as he seated himself next to you.

“They don’t know he’s awake though, creepy right?” You offered him some chips in the bowl and he accepted.

“I’ve heard that could happen.” Your eyes widened in fear. He instantly felt regret in his words. “It’s not common though so really it’s nothing to worry about.”

“Too late now anytime i’m in the hospital i’m going to be thinking about the possibility.” You said with a sour face.

“Do you find yourself in the hospital often?”

“Touché.”

“Come on, don’t worry your pretty little head. Let’s just watch the movie.”

“Okay but if you’re there with me my next hospital visit I expect you shaking me to check if the anesthesia works.” You shrugged looking back at the movie.

“Then i’d look insane?” He said holding back a laugh.

“That’s your problem not mine, now shush i’m trying to focus here.”

The movie was hard to pay attention to especially with how close you were. It seemed like drunk y/n had no sense of proximity, though Jaemin wasn’t complaining. You leaned on him during the film, chip bowl back in your arms, occasionally offering him some.

Jaemin tried not to be selfish but he couldn’t stop himself from wanting this moment to last forever. So instead of putting distance between you both he allowed himself to have this, if only for tonight.

masterlist previous next

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Author’s note ➼ I’ve been soooo scared of posting this but also simultaneously super excited i hope u guys enjoy it cause i enjoyed writing it :D

taglist: @yyangj3lly @junviadinho @pnkified @mystverse @daegalfangirl @girlz4jaem @222brainrot @multifandomania @hamjwis @nanaxwi @haechansbbg @lampcults @urlocalbeaner5 @onlyhyunjin @neoskzluvr @pastelzindecana @nctrawberries @tommina @rakshithanotrao @chaerinmin @injunnie-lemon @neocults26 @busy-daydreaming02 @nosungluv @alethea-moon @candied-czennie @iamsimplyasimp @channnaa @hyuck-me @clean-soap @nessaassen02 @lionzyon

[worth-the-chaos]

Adventures in Babysitting - Steve Harrington x female!reader - Chapter 18

Chapter Summary: You venture into the Upside Down once again in an attempt to find Vecna and stop him in his tracks before he can bring about the end of the world as you know it. With Steve and your friends by your side, you fight against time to get to Vecna before he can get to you.

Content Warning: ANGST, swearing, scary Upside Down nonsense, violence

Word Count: 7.2k

Author’s Note: Sorry this took a while for me to post! This is the last chapter of season 4 and at the time of writing, we unfortunately do not have season 5 content yet, so this story will be put on a slight pause while we wait (semi) patiently for season 5 to come out! Don’t worry though! Feel free to send in requests and I will do my best to write as many of them as possible (you can send requests set in the Adventures in Babysitting universe or requests that are unrelated!)

Message me to be added to the taglist and get updated when the next chapter is posted! I highly recommend this if you want to keep up with the story since I don’t do regular updates!

Series Masterlist | Part 17 | Next Part

***

There you stood, back at the entrance to the Upside Down in the ceiling of Eddie’s trailer. You wiped your sweaty palms on the front of your pants, trying to psych yourself up for the hell that you were undoubtedly about to endure.

You were in the middle of trying to take a deep breath to calm down when Steve gently grabbed your elbow, pulling you away from the rest of your friends who were putting the finishing touches on their packed gear.

“What?” You asked Steve, your voice hushed to preserve the obvious secrecy he was trying to maintain by moving somewhere a little more private.

A million thoughts were racing through his head. He wasn’t sure what you were all about to face or just how dangerous it might be. His heart raced as he felt fear creep up his throat. He pushed it down as he tried to get the words out that desperately needed to be spoken.

“Look, we don’t know what’s going to happen in there, and I don’t want to leave anything left unsaid,” Steve began, and you felt a lump forming in your throat at the implications of his words. “So I’m laying it all out there…just in case. Y/n, I love you and you’re really one of the only things in my life that ever feels like it’s going right. I…I-I’d like to think that I’d have found my way if I had never gotten to know you, but I know I’m only better because of you. I don’t know what the future has in store for us, but I want there to be an us when all of this is said and done, okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it, don’t do anything rash…I know,” you agreed, but he just shook his head.

“That’s not what I mean…I mean, obviously, I mean that too—don’t you fucking dare do anything stupid in there—but….but I mean….I guess I just don’t want to lose you in a different way when all of this is over, you know?”

“What do you mean?” You asked, your voice barely a whisper, your eyes searching his wide and wild ones as you tried to make out what he could possibly mean by that.

“Y/n, don’t make me say it,” his words sounded strangled as tears began to pool in his beautiful brown eyes.

“Baby, you’re scaring me,” you put a hand on the nape of his neck, pulling him towards you. “I…I-I just don’t understand.”

“I just don’t want you to fall out of love with me,” he finally spit the words out and you just stared at him dumbfounded, speechless yourself by his total misread of your relationship. Without your voice to fill the silence, he continued on. “Come on, y/n. I saw that way that you reacted when I talked about my six little Harringtons…I’m just worried that you’re realizing that we don’t want the same things.”

“Steve,” a watery chuckle escaped your lips and hurt flashed across his face before you continued, “you couldn’t possibly be more wrong, baby. I want that. I want that future with you more than anything else in the fucking world, but I…I-I’m just afraid that I’m not going to make it out of this one alive.”

Your voice dropped to a pained whisper as you explained your sadness from before, a tear slipping down your cheek as you thought about what seemed like your inevitable fate.

“There’s no way in hell I’m letting anything happen to you, you know that right?”

“But, Steve, if something does happen, I want to know that you can be happy without me…I-I want to know that you’ll be okay.”

“You’re fucking crazy if you think I’ll be okay without you. Y/n, you’re my whole fucking world,” Steve argued, taking your hands in his. This just caused you to cry harder, a small sob escaping your lips.

“Steve, please, just promise me,” you begged, tears falling delicately down your face. “Promise me you’ll be okay without me.”

You pulled a hand away from his, sticking out your pinky finger as your hand trembled. The sight was enough to break Steve’s heart. The fact that your last wish for the world was for him to be happy reminded him of how selfless you were, and even though he wanted nothing more than to respect your wishes, he knew that there was no way he’d ever find happiness without you.

So instead of taking your pinky in his, he reached his arms around your waist, pulling you in for a hug that felt a goodbye…just in case.

He swayed side to side as you buried your face in his chest, placing a gentle kiss on his neck and basking in the feeling of being loved. He placed a kiss to your temple before pulling away and placing the sweetest of kisses to your lips. It was a kiss that said more than words would ever have the capacity to, and you thanked your lucky stars that out of all the women in the world, Steve picked you to love.

When you finally pulled away, Steve wrapped his large hand around your small one, and led you back to the room with the rest of your friends. You stared at the rope from before, still dangling precariously and precisely around a point that defied physics…or at least what you knew of physics from tutoring Eddie.

“You lovebirds ready to go fucking kill this guy?” Eddie asked, a smile that didn’t quite touch his eyes plastered across his face.

“I suppose it’s now or never,” you spoke up, nodding at Nancy who nodded back and then quickly began ascending the rope.

And just like that, there you all were, making your way back to the hell you’d just escaped.

***

Eddie and Dustin stayed back at the Upside Down version of Eddie’s trailer while you, Steve, Robin, and Nancy made your way to Vecna’s lair. You tried to keep your nerves at bay while you walked alongside your friends, but it was hard to when you had to constantly pay attention to make sure you weren’t stepping on any vines. It would really suck if you alerted Vecna to your presence before you could try to end him once and for all.

“Robin! Remember the hive mind!” Nancy yelled out to your clumsy friend as she hurried ahead to make sure she was paying close enough attention, which left you and Steve with a moment to yourselves.

“So…” Steve spoke up, glancing at you with a timid smirk stretched across his face.

“So…” You replied with a smile. The air between you was a bit awkward, but it was the kind of awkward you basked in. It felt like a normal, teenage sort of awkward that made you feel like your life could maybe be blissfully ordinary once you made it to the other side of this.

Steve chuckled before picking up the conversation again. “Okay, so I told you about my idea for the future, so now it’s your turn. What do you want?”

You hadn’t really thought much of it, and you didn’t like the pressure the question put on you. Your mind flashed to the acceptance letter you’d been waiting on so that you could stay close to Steve. Beyond college, though, you hadn’t really thought about it. You constantly were just fighting to survive, but after hearing Steve’s wishes for your future together, maybe you should be fighting to live. Even though it was all just semantics, it meant something to him and you wanted to give him the world.

“I mean…I’m still waiting on my acceptance letter from Purdue,” was all you ended up saying.

“Is that where you really want to go? Or is it because it’s closer to Hawkins than the other places you’ve applied to? Y/n, I don’t want you holding yourself back from what you really want for me,” Steve sighed. It was an argument you’d had before and the reason why you didn’t really talk about college. The conversation always became stilted and tense.

“Steve, how can I even care about college right now with everything that’s going on? What difference does it make if that piece of paper says Purdue or something else? Besides, Purdue is a good school; it’s not like I’d be throwing my future away,” your voice grew angry and you hated yourself for it. You didn’t want to be this person. You didn’t want to fight with him, but you were under so much stress it was hard to hold back your frustration.

“I just don’t want you to resent me for it,” Steve’s voice was small, and you felt a pang in your chest at the way he said it.

“Baby, all I want is you. I would never resent you for a decision that I made, so please stop thinking that way,” you assured him, but he still had a far off look in his eyes, so you decided to double back to his question that started this whole conversation. “Okay. I see us having a few kids—maybe not the six that you are crazy enough to want, but still a few nonetheless.”

He whipped his head around to look at you. He was in awe of how perfect you were. He thought it was kind of a shot in the dark, talking about kids the way that he had. You were both still so young, and he had spent all this time worrying that you didn’t want the same things. He stared at you, mouth agape as you continued.

“And…and we have a dog. Like a big dog that we can take on hikes and walks. The kind of dog that makes us the boring stereotypical suburban couple, but we don’t care…and I finally have my drivers license.”

Steve couldn’t help but laugh at your last small hope for the future. “Well, maybe when this is all said and done, I can take you out for a driving lesson, how about that?”

“Sounds like a date,” you replied, smiling up at him. You both were beaming the way that young people in love can only beam and everything would have been perfect if it wasn’t for the fact that you were traversing through the absolute worst place on earth.

“Holy shit!” You heard Robin exclaim, and the two of you hurried to meet your other friends. Robin’s words didn’t even do the sight justice. You felt your stomach drop half way to hell at the sight of the Creel house. None of it felt real.

“Okay, we’re there,” you breathed into your walkie talkie.

“Initiating phase three,” Dustin’s voice crackled through the static and you thanked the universe that the damn thing worked in the Upside Down. The bats that were swarming the house suddenly darted off into the distance.

“Dustin, please be safe,” you begged, holding your breath while you waited for his reply.

“You’re the boss,” his voice rang out again and you shook your head at the fact that he was way too nonchalant about all of this shit.

You all walked up to the door of the Creel house and you sucked in a deep breath. You hated the way the vines writhed and slithered against the frame of the door, the stained glass rose much dimmer and duller in the permanent storm of the Upside Down. You went to grab the handle, but Steve pressed an arm across your shoulders, holding you back as he took a step forward. You rolled your eyes at the way he was always protective to a fault.

You gasped as the door creaked open on its rotting and rusting hinges. If you had been nervous about stepping on a vine before, that anxiety increased ten fold as you saw that the interior of the house was filled nearly wall to wall and floor to ceiling with the trip wire that was Vecna’s vines.

“Holy shit,” Steve whispered as you all stopped to take it all in. “That’s not good.”

“No shit,” you breathed out, your dry remark losing some of its edge at the sheer shock of how fortified Vecna’s not-so-secret hiding place was. The thought of it kind of pissed you off in a way. “So he just gets to hide in here with basically a state of the art security system, meanwhile we’re out there with a bum lightbulb thinking the world is gonna fucking end? Two words: Bull. Shit.”

“Well, I mean I guess when you’re essentially a ruler of the underworld you get to make the decisions. Why fight fair when you don’t have to?” Robin spoke up and you grumbled in response.

Steve took a cautious step forward, before quickly jumping from bare patch to bare patch of the floor.

“What the fuck, Steve?!” You whisper shouted across the foyer. “This isn’t mother fucking hopscotch! What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Steve just shrugged in response and waved at you to follow. You rolled your eyes, seething at how careless your boyfriend could be, before you took a careful step forward. You continued to carefully navigate with Robin and Nancy following close behind. Your eyes had been glued to the floor, but as you got closer to the stairs that Steve was standing at, you looked up, noticing the nervous look plastered across his features as he watched you navigate your way through the room.

“Absolutely not. Wipe that look off your face,” you pointed a finger at him as you took a final step towards him. However, you had spoken too soon, slightly losing balance as your ankle rolled and you began to topple towards your side. Steve was quick to snake an arm around your waist, righting you before pulling you in to his chest.

Anything else you were going to say died on your tongue as you looked up into Steve’s eyes. You suddenly felt like you did before you were dating, when you were just some silly girl with a crush on a boy that was way out of your league.

“You were saying?” Steve smirked at you, which made it really easy to snap out of your momentary blast to the past. You rolled your eyes and hit him gently with the back of your hand in the chest in a dismissive gesture.

Moving up the stairs wasn’t too difficult, and you were actually feeling optimistic for a change. The hope in your chest faltered when the ground began to shake, and the four of you huddled together to brace yourselves. Dust and ash fell from the ceiling, and you coughed a dry cough as you inhaled it, trying desperately to regulate your breathing despite the anxiety coursing through your veins.

The walkie talkie in your pocket suddenly roared to life, static spilling through the speaker before Dustin’s frantic voice rang out.

“Y/n! We don’t know how much longer we can hold them off, the bats got inside Eddie’s trailer and we think—“

Your heart dropped as his voice cut off. “Dustin!” You screamed into the transmitter, “talk to me! Say anything, just let me know you guys are okay!”

You let go of the button and listen as static crackled through the receiver. You felt the blood drain from your face when a different voice filled the airwaves.

“Y/n,” a raspy voice echoed through the walkie talkie. You gasped, instinctively dropping the device to the floor as if it had burned you.

“We need to get out of here,” you whispered, staring wide eyed as your gaze darted back and forth between the petrified expressions of each of your friends.

You barely had time to register the subtle squelch beneath your feet before you realized it was too late. A vine wrapped itself around Robin’s ankle pulling her to the wall before several other vines wrapped around her limbs and torso.

Steve darted forward, swinging his axe as hard as he could in a futile attempt to free Robin from the vines. Nancy grabbed the sawed off shotgun from your back, using the butt of the gun to hit the vines around her arm. You sprung into action to, unholstering the knife at your hip jabbing and stabbing wherever you could, but the vines wouldn’t relent.

Steve swung his arm back to hack at the vines once more when something wrapped around his axe, pulling him to the other side of the room, before you knew it, Steve was being pulled up on the wall by his neck, and your heart stopped as you watched his legs kick and flail while he wrestled with the vine around his throat.

You didn’t even have time to react before Nancy was pulled up against the wall as well, struggling as she attempted to fight against her restraints.

“Y/n! Go!” Steve screamed with all his might, his voice straining against the vines that were slowly constricting around his neck. “Please.”

The word came out in a whisper, but you froze, hyperventilating as you spun between all of your friends, helpless and bound to the walls around you. You willed your legs to move as you ran a hand through your hair, trying to breathe through the obvious panic attack that had you in its clutches. You felt a sickening feeling settle in your chest as a creak rang out on the stairs above you.

A slow and solid step sounded as your tear filled gaze slowly ascended to take in the form in front of you.

There Vecna was. No mind tricks. No gimmicks. Just him in the flesh standing right before you.

“What do you want?!” The words came out as a guttural shriek as you fell to your knees, him taking another sure and resounding step towards you.

Steve felt the vines around his neck relent slightly, realizing in horror that Vecna wanted him to be alive enough to watch. Seeing his clawed hand and ragged, decrepit skin, Steve felt nausea settle in a pit in his stomach as he realized the constant terrors you had been facing in the confines of your own mind. This was the monster that you had already met face to face countless times before. This was the man who was using your own mind—your own memories—against you.

This was the man who had taken you from him, over and over and over again.

Vecna didn’t answer your question, simply taking another step towards you.

“I said, what do you want?” You cried out again, the words dissolving into sobs as he grew ever closer to your shaking and dejected form. Ever since that day in the Byers’ living room, you always seemed larger than life to Steve. Seeing you look so small and defeated and terrified on the ash covered landing of the Creel house broke something in him.

“Leave her alone,” the words came out much more confident than Steve felt. The vines tightened, and Steve gasped, wincing and struggling at the sudden tension.

“Please!” You begged, horrified at the danger your boyfriend and friends were in. “I’ll do anything….anything.”

The promise spilled from your lips in a whisper and Steve wished he had the strength to yell at you, to tell you to fight, to flee, to do anything but that. But he couldn’t.

“Stand up,” Vecna’s voice rang out, and you quickly rose to your feet. Steve’s heart broke as he watched the way your legs shook, your knee giving out momentarily as you stumbled and righted yourself.

You swallowed the lump in your throat as Vecna approached you, putting his clawed hand around your throat. You gasped, tears spilling relentlessly from your eyes. Your hands wrapped around his wrist, as you forced yourself to meet his gaze.

“Please. I-I…I don’t wanna die,” you whispered, your face contorted in fear of what the ending would feel like and regret for all the things you’d never get the chance to do.

Vines wrapped slowly around your ankles, snaking up to grab your wrists as well, binding them behind your back to minimize your struggle.

“Try and stay very still,” his deep voice shook your heart inside your chest. Steve wanted to scream, but he couldn’t, silenced by the vines around his throat as he thrashed to no avail. Tears streamed down his face as he watched, helpless to stop the cruel fate in which you would meet your end. “It will all be over soon.”

“Please don’t hurt them,” your voice was small, and sobs wracked your frame as your words came out through hiccuped pauses. “Let them go.”

When Vecna didn’t respond, you turned your head towards Steve, meeting his big, beautiful, brown eyes for the last time. “I love you, Steve.”

With that, Vecna’s large clawed hand reached up, opening in front of your face and Steve watched as your eyes rolled back in your head.

“No!” Robin shouted, her strained, guttural cry something that would haunt Steve for the rest of his days. They all watched as your body twitched and small whimpers escaped your lips. Blood began to drip from your nose, and you breathed out one last shaky breath, and then the world went still.

Just like that, Vecna’s hand dropped and your head lolled to the side. He stepped away from your lifeless form and the vines holding you up released, and you dropped like a rag doll to the floor. Vecna turned and made his way back up the stairs, leaving you all behind. The vines released their grip on your friends as they each collapsed to the floor in a coughing fit. Steve scrambled to the heap on the floor that was your body and scooped you up in his arms.

He cried out as he cradled your head in his hands, the weight of it something so familiar as he thought back to all the times he’d cradled the nape of your neck and watched as your mouth turned into a small smile before he would kiss you. All the life, all the loveliness, everything that made you you was gone, disappearing on dust and ash as Steve could swear the room grew ten times colder. He gently wiped the blood away from your nose with his jacket sleeve, trying desperately to fix the carnage in front of him.

“No….no, no, no, no, no! Robin, I didn’t get to say it!” Steve sobbed as he pulled you into his chest to shield you. “I-I…I didn’t get to tell her I love her.”

Robin didn’t know what to say. There was nothing she could say to make any of this better. She choked back her own sob while she tried to piece together the right words. “She knew, Steve.” Tears streamed down her face as she dropped to her knees next to him.

“You don’t understand,” his words came out in a strained whisper. How could he ever find the words to explain how he failed to even be there for you? How he couldn’t even comfort you as you cried out? “It’s all my fault.”

He buried his face in your neck, his wet tears mixing with the not quite dry ones staining your face. “I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you,” he whispered into your skin, his hands running over you hair, delicately holding onto you the way he wished he could have. The way he’d never be able to again. As soon as you started having visions he should’ve put you in the passenger seat of his car and drove off as far away from Hawkins as he could get. He thought about the way you would’ve looked with the pale light of the moon filtering into the car as he watched you smile and laugh and sing while the radio played songs that neither of you really liked but you both inexplicably always seemed to know the words too. He thought about the way you could’ve started over, the way he could have made something of himself instead of being the posh, depressed, and mediocre man his parents always wanted him to be.

He thought about the love that filled his chest that would never have anywhere to go, instead just sitting there like a weight he had to carry, a fire that would spread and fester and consume.

Nothing would ever be okay again.

Nancy stood back, her jaw set with an anger that could burn the world to ashes. Hot angry tears streamed down her face as tension set across her entire body.

Steve laid his head down on your chest, and his tears flowed faster at the complete sound of silence. He tried to lose himself in a memory, but it became tainted with the pain of losing you as soon as he had conjured it in his mind.

“I can’t believe you would do that! What the hell were you thinking, y/n?!” Steve yelled as he slammed the door to his bedroom.

“Steve, please, just calm down. I’m okay! I promise! Can you please just let it go?” You begged. You tried to gently grab his wrist in an attempt to make him turn to face you, but he shook your hand off and roughly ran his hands through his hair.

“You could have died.”

He wasn’t wrong. The two of you hadn’t been working at Family Video that long and it was one of the days that Robin had band practice so it was just the two of you running the store.

You were working the register and Steve was getting a box of movies to restock in the back when a man walked up to the counter.

“Welcome to Family Video, my name is y/n if you need anything at all!” Your customer service voice dripped like honey.

“How about you open the register?” The man had asked. Something in his eyes didn’t look right and you had felt your heart rate pick up as you opened your mouth to speak.

“Excuse me?” You asked with a chuckle, hoping that keeping a light demeanor would keep the situation calm.

“I said, open the register,” he repeated himself, slowly lifting his arm, a pistol nestled between his fingers and pointed shakily right at your chest.

“You don’t have to do this,” your words sounded even and confident, even though inside you were falling apart. Dealing with the supernatural on a semi regular basis had prepared you for the unpredictable, and you slowly raised your hands up to show compliance.

“I said open the register, bitch!” The man shouted, and your heart stopped as you heard Steve’s footsteps bounding towards the front of the store. The man quickly turned to his right, training the pistol on Steve.

Without thinking, your arms had darted out and you grabbed the gun out of the man’s hand, quickly pointing it square in the middle of the robber’s chest. Your hands didn’t shake, confidence radiating from your stoic form as the man’s hands slowly raised as he backed away.

“Get the fuck out of my store,” you shouted as the criminal in front of you quickly turned heel and ran. Steve quickly locked the door behind him, and you calmly set the gun down on the counter. Steve looked at you like you were insane, but you just quietly picked up the phone and dialed the police.

After an entire evening of showing the police security camera footage, explaining what happened, and still trying to manage customers, needless to say, Steve was understandably a bit pissed off. So standing in the middle of his bedroom, you tried to calm him down once he was finally able to release all of the anger and fear he’d been bottling up all day.

“You could have died too! What was I supposed to do?” You argued.

Steve sat down on his bed, sighing as he held his head in his hands. You felt guilty. You knew he’d been stressed ever since all the shit at Starcourt happened and his parents were on his ass about having a job. This little incident didn’t do anything to help his mood.

Quietly, you sat down next to him, pulling his hands away from his face as you beckoned him to lay down next to you. He complied, and you pulled his head against your chest, laying his ear down right over your heart.

He closed his eyes as he listened to the gentle and rhythmic reminder that you were okay.

“See. I’m fine, baby,” you whispered as you ran your hands through his hair. “My heart’s still in there, still beating. All for you, baby.”

Yet here Steve was now and your heart that was always supposed to be beating strong was still. He cried as he stayed there trying to listen for something, anything. Placing a gentle kiss to your chest, he continued to fall apart. “Please, y/n, please just come back to me. I’ll get you your dog and your white picket fence—I promise—just please don’t leave me here alone,” he begged.

Suddenly, though very faint, he swore he heard the familiar thump of your heart. His eyes shot open and he held his breath as he listened closer.

“Steve, we have to get out of here,” Robin spoke up, tears still falling down her face as she pulled gently at Steve’s sleeve, doing all that she could to avoid looking at your lifeless form in his lap.

Steve quickly shushed her, listening closely, as he heard another beat of your heart against your ribcage. It was weak and it was slow but it was there and it was you.

He sat up abruptly, and began to shake your shoulders. “Y/n! Y/n wake up! Please y/n!”

“Steve she’s gone,” Robin tried to explain, looking at Steve with pity and sorrow.

“She has a pulse, Robin!” Steve exclaimed, a watery laugh escaping his lips as he wiped at his tears and placed a kiss to your forehead. He quickly grabbed Robin’s hand, placing her fingers on your neck. She felt like she could drop to her knees and just cry at the rhythmic tapping of your heartbeat.

Nancy quickly dropped to the floor next to the three of you, pulling a water bottle out of her backpack. She quickly poured the cool liquid onto the sleeve of her shirt, pressing it to your forehead. After a pause that felt like an eternity, you began to stir as you groaned, your face contorting into a pained expression.

Relieved laughter surrounded you as Steve pulled you into a sitting position, pulling you into the tightest hug you thought you would ever receive. The reality of what just happened began to sink in and you started to cry with the relief that Vecna had respected your wishes and left your friends alone.

“I can’t believe he didn’t crack me like a glow stick,” you croaked as soon as you could speak.

“This is a miracle,” Robin breathed as she pulled you into a hug as everyone helped you to your feet.

“Then we better not waste it,” you replied, your voice even and steady. You took the shotgun from Nancy and cocked it. You had escaped the worst fate imaginable. You were not messing around.

“Phase four,” Steve breathed, his hand snaking around your waist. He didn’t think he’d ever let you go after what just happened. His voice was about as shaky as his hands, and he took a deep breath to try to calm his nerves to lock in for the next part of the plan.

“Flambé,” Nancy chimed in, you looked at her stern expression and nodded, taking a step forward towards the attic.

When you silently entered the room, you watched as Vecna hovered in the center of the room, vines attached to him from all angles. You shuddered at the sight of it as Robin placed her bag down on the floor, each of you grabbing a Molotov cocktail from the bag. You heard the click of the lighter and watched as the flame began crawling up the rag in the bottle in your hand. You thought back to the same click of the lighter in Jonathan Byers’ living room the first time you encountered creations of Henry Creel’s design. You thought about the chaos that followed you since, the people you’d lost, the pain you’d felt. You thought about the life and future you’d almost just lost at his hands.

“Fuck you,” you whispered, hurling the bottle towards Vecna, watching it erupt into a spray of flames as it hit Vecna square in the chest.

He bellowed, vines retreating, as he fell from his perch in the middle of the attic. As he so roughly drew you into visions against your will, you just as abruptly pulled him out of his.

His burning body dropped to the floor, and you wished that would be the end of it. Your heart jumped to your throat when he stood up, his piercing blue eyes meeting yours as he stared at you with a focused contempt that sent a chill down your spine. He took a steady step towards you but was quickly knocked off kilter when Robin threw a second bottle at him.

You felt all the anger and resentment you’d been harboring since the Upside Down entered your life. You felt the rage of watching your friends suffer, of watching the kids grow up too fast, stuck in a battle that was not theirs to fight. Vecna had spent all this time making you feel shame and guilt, festering and spreading like a disease that wouldn’t die until it took you with it. You didn’t feel that shame anymore. Instead it was replaced with red hot hate at the man—no, the monster—that had spun this twisted web of suffering and carnage and destruction.

You aimed the shotgun square at his chest, firing the first shot. It hit him in the shoulder, knocking him backwards. You wasted no time as you cocked the gun again, firing off another shot that tore through his abdomen. You continued firing without mercy, knocking him back and back again until he stumbled through the boarded up window of the attic, falling with a sickeningly satisfying thud to the ground below.

You turned back towards your friends, a look of shock on everyone’s faces, including your own. In your assessment, you had just defeated evil itself. The four of you raced down the stairs towards the front door. You felt your stomach turn however, when you noticed that Vecna was gone, nothing left but charred patches of grass and a few sputtering flames.

He had escaped.

***

The news was saying it was an earthquake, but you knew better than that. You felt guilt settle in your chest when you heard about the fissures ripping through Hawkins.

It was exactly what Vecna had shown you.

Four kills. He had done it. You had been dead—albeit not that long, but dead nonetheless.

When you had made it back to Dustin and Eddie, Eddie was pretty banged up, but nothing some bandages and a few very not professionally done stitches wouldn’t fix. He’d have to hide out; there was no way the town was going to let go of the cult leader who was picking off high school students one by one. Luckily, it was petty easy to go off the grid and disappear in small town rural Indiana.

To your complete non-surprise, Jonathan, Will, Mike, Eleven, and Jonathan’s new friend Argyle had been dealing with similarly supernatural shit in California and were no strangers to the messed up load of shit that was going on in Hawkins, so it was pretty easy to get each other up to speed. Besides, at this point, exchanging stories didn’t result in incredulous disbelief; you pretty much believed that anything was possible at this point, much to your collective dismay.

But presently, you tried to shove all of that aside, as you, Steve, Robin, and Dustin carried in boxes of stuff to donate. Hawkins High had been turned into a makeshift clinic, resource center, reunification center, etc. So many people had been displaced and injured in the “earthquake” that normal day to day activity ceased, instead everyone put all of their focus on rallying around those who needed support after the recent events that had quite literally shook the town.

Almost as soon as the four of you had arrived, you had volunteer name tags adorning your shirts as you went off to help with various aspects of disaster relief.

Robin joined Vickie at the meal prep station and you couldn’t help but smile as they chatted away.

Your smile quickly vanished when you saw Dustin talking to Eddie’s uncle. It was easier for Eddie if everyone assumed that he didn’t survive the earthquake. You had questioned him multiple times to make sure it was what he really wanted, and though you were sure the answer would never be a whole hearted “yes,” he was convinced it was easier than his uncle having to deal with the emotional turmoil of watching his nephew face multiple counts of murder that the townspeople of Hawkins were more than eager to lock him up for.

Steve nudged you slightly and you tuned back into the kind woman who was explaining how the two of you were to sort clothing donations. Steve watched the soft and polite smile on your face as you asked a couple of clarifying questions, and he felt luckier than he ever had before.

You had been gone. It was the hardest thing he’d ever had to experience, and he knew one thing was certain: he would never, ever take you for granted.

He watched as you folded clothes, carefully folding up a children’s pajama set. It felt so inexplicably domestic and he took a breath as he thought about how his hope to have a future with you was still intact.

“Hey, uh, y/n?” Steve spoke up, his voice quiet.

“Yeah?” You replied, staring up at him sweetly. He was too nervous for you to be staring at him like that because he was sure if you smiled at him like that for much longer, he would melt right then and there.

“Well, when you were…when you were gone…I-I-I promised you something,” Steve whispered.

You saw how much he was struggling with talking about it and you quickly began to spiral. “Steve,” you replied softly, taking his hand in yours, “I’m sure you were under a lot of stress, and-and I’m so sorry that I put you through all of that—believe me, I wish it hadn’t have happened that way—but I don’t even remember it, on account of the fact that I was…well, you know…dead, so please if your worried about keeping your promise, don’t because it’s not like—“

Steve quickly cut you off, softly grabbing your face and tilting your head to look up at him. “Y/n, no it’s not that—and never apologize for what you went through. That was in no way, shape, or form your fault and if you worry about that one more time I’m going to lose my mind just a little bit.”

“Hey!” You mocked offense, crossing your arms and Steve just chuckled at your antics.

He took a deep breath before he continued. “When you were gone, I promised that if you came back I would get us the white picket fence and the dog and the future that we never get to talk about because we’re always so confident that we’re not going to have it. When you came back it felt like a second chance to…to just really go for it, you know? And I kept thinking before all of this shit that we were just too young, but after almost losing you, I realized that it’s pretty fucking stupid to wait when you know you’ve met the love of your life.”

Steve reached a hand behind his back into his back pocket and pulled out a ring box. Your eyes immediately started welling with tears. You were glad that everyone was caught up in doing their part to help the people of Hawkins because, even with what felt like half the town in your high school gymnasium with you, it felt like you and Steve were the only two on earth.

“Y/n, I know it’s not much, and I really planned on doing this in a way that was a little more special, but you know me and I really just couldn’t fucking wait…will you make my life complete and be mine, til death do us part?”

You didn’t respond verbally, instead you took a step forward and threw your arms around him and buried your face in his neck. You held him so incredibly close and breathed in the scent of his cologne. This moment, it was sweet, it was simple, and it was all yours; perfectly imperfect and lovely all the same.

“Absolutely,” you responded in a whisper. He gently placed the ring on your finger and you admired it. It wasn’t anything flashy, a simple stone set into a plain band, but it was probably the nicest piece of jewelry you had ever owned. “When did you have time to get this between ‘the earthquake’ and now?” You asked incredulously. You’d spent nearly every minute together since then, so how had he been able to get that ring after having his “why wait?” epiphany.

Steve’s face flushed and he chuckled awkwardly as his hand when to the back of his neck. “Well, the thing is, I’ve had it…for a while,” he admitted. You stared up at him in disbelief and he continued. “I actually had finally saved up enough to get it shortly before everything went to shit. I-I was gonna ask you after graduation, just because that felt right at the time, you know? I-I’m sorry it’s not super fancy or anything…my parents offered to help so I could get something a little nicer, but I wanted it to be something I got on my own.”

“It’s perfect,” you stared up at him like he hung the stars in the sky.

“Are you sure?” Gosh it was cute when he doubted himself.

“I promise,” you reached your hand towards his and he smiled, hooking his pinky finger around yours. He pulled you towards him and placed a sweet kiss to your lips and you smiled into it.

Everything was just so perfect.

You continued folding clothes, not wanting your proposal to get in the way of helping out your community, and you felt like nothing could take away the warmth that was radiating through your body. That was until the room darkened suddenly, and you felt a pit in your stomach. You quickly turned to Steve and you could see the worry painted across his face.

You followed the crowd that was making its way towards the windows of the gymnasium.

A chill ran down your spine as you watched white ash swirl through an overcast sky.

Steve’s hand slipped into yours, and that was when your perfect moment shattered into a million pieces before your very eyes.

***
a/n: AHHHHHHHH! It’s so crazy that we’re at (kind of) an end to this story! I wish we had season 5 out so that I could continue to write alongside the plot, but unfortunately we don’t! Keep on the look out for more stuff I write though! I have a couple of ideas that I’ve been brainstorming that I think could be good.

If you enjoyed this chapter, consider reblogging! It really helps inspire me to write more seeing the engagement and how much people are liking the story!

Thank you all for sticking with me! I love you guys!

taglist:

@season4steve @sassyheroneckgiant @tangledinthegreatxscape @palachannie @keeryverse @usaguisenpaisblog @emilieluckwood @sabrinadelreyy @mochminnie @xprloki @kitdjarin1 @kissmxcheek @daemonskitty @bethsvrse @aheadfullofsteverogers @quinnsadilla @chervbs @sheisjoeschateau @goosy-goose @frtfvthg @criesinlies @cycat4077 @kachelleee @killerqueenfan @newyorkangelbaby @spaghetittied @anxfl @huffledor-able541 @mikariell95 @nothergoaway @angie2274

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

the paint

lilac, chapter nine

a/n: hi! I'm back after taking a short break to obsessively work on this year's kinktober, but now i'm finally back to writing this beloved story. it feels so good to get back into it. it's only been a few weeks, one month max, but i've missed my lumberjack so much.

summary: “oh please, there’s only one guest staying here right now, and even so, people know this room is under construction, who in their right mind would just willy-nilly waltz in here?” 

warnings: lumberjack!frank castle x reader, smut, lumberjack AU, past domestic violence, crazy ex trope, renovating an inn, painting, kissing, semi-public sex, oral, fingering, dirty talk

word count: 1922

∼ gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here ∽

previous chapter | series masterlist | next chapter

masterlist | join my taglist

A faint ache began to bloom in the muscles of your face from how hard you were smiling. You simply couldn’t help it. Every time you thought you’d gotten it under control, your eyes would just flutter back up to the man beside you as he stretched, reaching the paint roller in his hand far enough up to kiss the taped-off crown moulding that framed the ceiling, and each time he’d do so, his flannel would ride up just enough for you to catch a sliver of his skin before it dropped back down, giving you just enough of an unintentional tease to remind you of what he looked like beneath it. 

“You’re laughing again,” Frank pointed out the soft giggle that bubbled out of you as your glance washed over him.

“I’m not laughing,” you gushed, straightening back up to your full height as you finally stopped rolling over the one low spot you had absentmindedly been painting over and over again for a few minutes or so.

Eyes briefly flickering your way, his feet carried him closer to you, “well, what’s so funny then that you can’t stop laughing?” 

“Nothing’s funny,” you tried to keep your eyes on the wall as you felt his broadness brush against your shoulder. 

“Oh, no?” 

“Nope,” you playfully bumped your hip lightly against his, childishly angling your roller dangerously close to where his was glazing the wall a soft blue tone, an action that quickly developed into a juvenile game of chasing him across the wall. 

To your amazement, Frank played along, keeping it going till he suddenly changed tactics and caught you by surprise, rerouting his roller down to collide with your own, however, it never got the chance to strike as you, in the midst of a giggle fit, retracted your brush from the wall, fearing that he would roll right over you and make your arm all sticky with paint. Though in the end, not noticing exactly where you were hastily withdrawing your paint roller to, it ended up being him that got smeared and not you. 

“Oh my god,” your eyes grew wide at the sight of the blue that coated over the dark brown of his plaid sleeve, “I am so sorry, I didn’t mean to–”

“Oh yeah?” he glared back at you, grin crinkling up his eyes, “you didn’t?”

“I swear, it was an accident.”

“Ah, sure it was, just like this,” you felt his roller glide down the length of your top, making it look like you’d hugged a smurf.

Letting out a shrieking gasp, it only took approximately two seconds before you pouched in an attempt to get him back. Though the former soldier’s swift hands caught your roller before you could manage to seize your revenge, settling both yours and his own down on the covered floors before playfully wrapping his arms around you, halting your attempts at retrieving it. 

Laughter mingling and mixing into one, your feet then left the ground as Frank lifted you up. As your gaze now rose to be at the same level, the silly game swiftly vanished from your memory as you stared back into his brown eyes, both of your glee fading away as if it was never there to begin with. 

You didn’t know who initiated the kiss, but that part couldn’t be less important as your arms curled around his neck and one of your legs blissfully bent, softly flicking your foot upwards as you felt his tongue sweep across your own. 

Lowering you back down to the floor, his touch dragged up your form till his fingers tangled in your hair, tugging at the very roots in such a way that made you purr against his lips. Feet shuffling, the far wall you hadn’t begun on yet soon collided with your spine, though you weren’t pressed against it long before Frank surrendered to your enthusiastic efforts in spinning him around and switching places.

As your lips then detached, you slowly began to drop down to your knees, a wide grin warmed Frank’s features as your fingers hooked into his belt, “what do you think you’re doing, huh?” his head gently fell back to collide with the wall as he stared down at you in adoration. 

“What do you think I’m doing?” you blinked up at him as you bit down on your giggling lips, palm nuzzling against his blossoming hard-on as you undid his belt, his excitement created an impressive imprint against the fabric of his dark jeans. 

“I think we’re in an inn full of people and someone could walk in here at any moment,” he narrowed his eyes almost in a daring fashion as you tugged his zipper down. 

“Oh please, there’s only one guest staying here right now, and even so, people know this room is under construction, who in their right mind would just willy-nilly waltz in here?” 

Not tearing his eyes off of you for even a second as you freed his heavy length, he muttered softly, “you’re trouble…” utterly hypnotised as you wrapped your fingers around his girth. 

“Nuh-uh,” you smiled up at him, “I’m adorable,” before you swiped your tongue softly over his tip, visibly sending a shiver down his spine.

“Yes, you fucking are…” he uttered enchantingly, mouth falling agape as you began to plant sweet kisses all the way down towards his base, your dazzling eyes never leaving his, “holy shit…”

As your slobber began to gloss him up, your palm exploited it as you slowly twisted your enclosed fist up and down his length, keeping your movements up as your lips soon wrapped around his bulbous head, flat tongue fluttering like a gentle sea against his throbbing underside. 

Looking like he had died and gone to heaven, you felt as Frank’s fingers reach down to ghost over your features, his broad thumb caressing the outline of your face as your head began to bob, drool slowly dribbling down from your efforts and adding to the mess already painting the front of your shirt.

“Atta girl,” his fingers tenderly combed through your hair, “fuck,” lips stretched, his tip hit a place in the back of your throat that caused your eyes to squint, tears nearly appearing before you settled back to slobbering around his head, “you're so pretty like this.”

One hand steadily pumping the latter half of him, your other wandered over your own thigh. Like a magnet, your fingers pressed down on your clit through your pants, the astonishing relief causing a muffled moan to vibrate against Frank’s cock, a sensation he clearly enjoyed by the sounds of his own eager groans. 

“Oh, just like that,” he grunted, eyes lightly fluttering as you gurgled around his cock, “don’t stop,” fingers flexing and balling up into a fist in your hair as he twitched in your mouth, soon stifling a mesmerising moan as he came down your throat, “fuck…” 

Letting go of him with a soft pop, you swallowed as you gazed up at his hazy visage, feeling yourself drip and drench your panties from the borderline meditative motion of giving him head. 

Hands still fast in your hair, Frank kneeled down to your level and pressed his lips to yours, the teasing touch you had going on over your pants quickly grew into something more desperate. 

“Could you–…” you breathed heavily, “god, I feel like it’s been forever since you touched me…”

A warm chuckle rumbled out of him as he looked back into your blown pupils, “we fucked this morning,” he noted, rising back up and scooping you with him. 

“Exactly,” you bit down on your smile, “it’s been like three hours.”

Slipping beneath your waistband, your grip fastened in the front of his open flannel as his fingers grazed through your wetness. Eyelids fluttering at the foggy sensation, Frank manoeuvred your frames, spinning you around and pressing your back against the wall. 

“Well, I’m sorry that you had to wait that long,” he entertained your quip, rubbing your puffy clit just right, “whatever can I do to make it up to you?” his free hand securely snaked around your middle. 

Sharing his breath, your nose nudged against his, “seems to me like you already have a pretty good idea of what could suffice.”

“Oh yeah?” he chuckled like a crackling fire, “could this maybe make you feel a bit better?” your hold on his shirt tightened as he gently slid one finger inside your dripping heat.

“Mhm,” you nodded hazily, one of your knees briefly lifting to graze against his leg. 

As you readjusted your arms, draping them around his neck, “or how about this?” his lavish pace then intensified as he eased his ring finger in beside his middle one, curving them a bit as the root of his palm nuzzled firmly against your throbbing clit. 

“O-oh, fuck!” your head fell back and collided with the wall, your fluttering gaze glued to his. 

Leaning in to muffle your breathy whimpers with his kiss, the sensual soppy sound his efforts produced echoed throughout the half-painted room, those only growing in their volume as he rocked his digits within you rougher.

Moans melting against his tongue as it danced against your own, it didn’t take long before your pussy clenched down around him, clambering and inadvertently pulling his fingers in that much deeper as he slowed back down, rendering it a demanding task for him to get his hand back with the way you blissfully clung to it. 

Head resting a moment against his broad shoulder as you caught your breath, your puffs gradually morphed into the same blissful giggle you hadn’t been able to shake just moments before.

“You know what?” you lifted your head. 

“What?” he chuckled through his smile. 

Tangling your fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck, you rose up to your tip toes and uttered, “I don’t know if I can wait another three hours,” before you captured your lips in another heated kiss, your hands swiftly travelling south on a mission for more. 

But just as Frank hoisted you up, your legs tangling around his hips, a booming voice from somewhere else in the inn cut through your haze. 

“I did it!” you heard your father shout, his jovial stride caused the staircase he hastily ascended to creak just as loud as his boisterous words boomed, “I finally did it!” 

“Shit,” you hissed, nearly pushing Frank away as you scrambled to hide any evidence of what the two of you had just done. 

“I’m a genius! I think I’ve finally cracked the code to croissants!” the moustachioed man burst through the doors just as you rushed to pick your paint roller back up as if it had been glued to your grip for hours. 

“Dad!” you skurried to roll some more blue on the wall, hoping he wouldn’t notice just how flustered you were, “hey!”

“I think I was handling the dough too much while laminating,” he rambled, flour tinting his apron a lighter shade of green, “also why I’ve never been great at pies, I fiddle with it too much, but I think I finally got the hang of it! Just pulled some out of the oven and they look amazing,” darting his dazzled gaze from you to Frank, he offered, “you kids want one?” 

“Uh,” you glanced back at the man, still standing close to where you’d blown him just moments before, “sure,” you stiffly heard yourself agree, “that sounds lovely, dad.” 

© 2023 thyme-in-a-bubble 

[violinios]

Corrupted!Dream

What if he ate the golden apples? More information below! (This au is not finished yet)

Some facts about him:

I wanted to use roots with thorns to reference Nightmare's tentacles, and also to recall the roots of a tree, like the tree the two guardians used to protect. It comes out of Dream's back, and the first time they came out, right after being corrupted by positivity, they tore the back of his clothes and his cape, so he eventually changed the clothes he was wearing, but the old cape remained. Another reference to Nightmare in his design are the yellow and purple carnations in his left eye, not only because of the meaning of the flowers themselves, but because Nightmare of the goo covering one of his eyes, so I decided to do something similar, but with plants instead of slime. Dream is blind from the left eye after gotten attack from defending his brother from the villagers.

As for the meaning of the colors of the carnations that come out of his eye, I did very brief research, so don't take the meanings I'll write here for certainty. Yellow carnations represent rejection and purple ones represent loneliness. Although they are attached to Dream's body, they represent Nightmare's feelings towards the villagers who often mistreated him. The flowers grew after the corruption and after Dream discovered what they did to his brother.

What is controlling Dream's body now is not Dream himself, but rather a parasite that has taken over his body and identity, while the real Dream remains semi-conscious and unable to regain control of his body.

He feeds on positive feelings and his objective is to exterminate negativity for his own survival. He is not capable of feeling remorse, and will not be afraid to exterminate an entire universe if it has a very strong negative aura (like universes that follow the genocidal route, for example), but he cannot visit these universes alone since his magic works using positivity as "fuel", so he's dependent on allies to travel to negative universes.

He doesn't kill because of his moral compass and doesn't really care about what's right or what's wrong, who's good who's bad, he will kill them anyways if their negative aura is enough to give him a headache. This means he will kill innocent people who hold suffering on themselfs only to end with their negativity.

He calls himself a hero/savior/angel to manipulate people with false promises, when in reality, he only acts out of his own needs and survival instinct, not actual kidness.

There's only one who is full of negativity that Dream wants alive; for now, names won't be mentioned (who the person/monster is still not decided, it can be an already existing character or maybe i'll make an OC for this, but for now, feel free to imagine whoever you want to imagine) but their aura, somehow, makes the burning feeling of overwhelming positivity inside of Dream feel a bit less like it's burning. Yes, the positivity is too much even for Dream to the point it feels like it's burning from inside (remember how in original Dreamtale, a human body would barely even survive with the amount of energy the magic held inside the siblings body? Well, now imagine that now the magic way more powerful to the point that even his skeleton body hurts sometimes), and their negativity makes it feel less painful.

He is not completely incapable of feeling negative feelings, but it is VERY rare. Some examples are his fear of owls, a trait from the original Dream that remained, or the anger he feels when he is disobeyed.

He killed the citizens of the village when he saw the amount of negative feelings they caused his own brother. At first, he didn't want to kill Nightmare, but after he saw Nightmare attack him after the genocide he caused, Dream now seeks to kill him as well. He thinks of him as ungrateful for trying to hurt him after finishing off the people who caused him so much suffering, and he blames himself for leaving him alive, knowing that he is also the result of negativity.

Nightmare doesn't want to kill Dream, because he knows that the balance in the multiverse is important and it is their existence that causes it to exist, he just fights against him to not be killed and when some universe/being is being hurt by Dream. He wants to find a way to bring his brother back to consciousness, he still wonders if he could kill the parasite without killing Dream too. Dream, on the other hand, doesn't care about the balance.

His spines possess a poison that gives his prey the illusion of comfort, hiding the sensation of pain and fear within his own positive aura so that they do not escape when captured. It is rare for their prey to regain consciousness to realize the danger they are in, but not impossible, and some may be immune to the venom or his aura, like Nightmare, who'd feel a big pain if he got captured, which is a good advantage if you don't want to be trapped with Dream forever or eventually die.

[cheshiresaf]

The sun's warmth

| A Leona oneshot of what I imagine might have happened in the sequence during his overblot. I wish we'd gotten more depth into it, especially since he's such a complex character.

! Semi-canon divergent!

_________________________

"From the moment I was born, Ive had to bear the weight of a burden unfit for a child so young."

The sun had shone valiantly the day the young prince had been brought into the world. But, the birds ceased their singing, and those dim rays of light quickly began to fade.

The plan had always been for there to be one heir. One child to carry on the noble Kingscholar lineage. The King and Queen had fulfilled that plan, and along had come Farena, the shining star in their lives.

But with it had come a price.

The Queen, Amirah, had never exactly been in the best of health. It had only deteriorated after she'd had her son. Thankfully, she made a quick recovery. But the doctors told her that it would be a great risk if she were to have any more.

And yet, there Leona was.

He'd never been planned. Not like his brother. It had been easy to tell, even for a kid who had been 5 years old.

They'd been born 10 years apart, and monarchies such as the one his family followed required the eldest child to be the heir to the throne. 

Besides, Farena had always been treated better than him.

The attendants had always dawned over him like hed been their own son, murmuring endless praises of how 'bright' and 'cheerful' he was. Whenever the Crown Prince had passed, they made sure to ask about his day, easily and willingly making conversation with him.

His father always put Farena above him, for he was always the priority. His brother could have gotten anything he wanted with so much as a simple ask. Leona had taken note of the conversations they used to have, both of formal and informal topics. Yet, there'd always been that underlying hint of love sprinkled in. Whenever his brother smiled, the affection had been crystal clear on his father's face.

It was never like that with him.

The same attendants who adored his brother to no end always chided him. He was moody, closed off, selfish, rude. He truly wondered why, he'd sarcastically snarked to himself. They cowered from him, eyes alight with fear and worry for their well being. All because of his magic.

He'd never asked to be given the power to cause such destruction. He'd been just 5 years old when he had discovered it. By marring the face of his very own personal attendant, in what he'd thought had been a normal childish meltdown. Did they think he'd meant to do it? That he was some sort of monster, a calamity that had befallen the royal family's ranks?

His father didn't care to so much as spare him a glance. What was he meant to do with his second son, the spare? Conversations were non-existent, short exchanged words slowly dying down over the years with change. As he'd grown older, Leona had begun tirelessly studying in the royal library, cooping himself up to one of the desks for hours, perched walls of books shielding his view of the outside world. Once he'd reached his teenage years, exhaustion and realisation had hit him like a truck, and he began shielding himself from view once more. Only this time, he'd stayed in the comfort of his room for extended and unhealthy periods of time.

There was a reason why he didn't remember much from the years after he'd reached 10, and before he'd come to Night Raven. There was nothing to remember. He'd slept through half the days of the week, rotting in his bed as the energy began sneaking away from him.

The only exception had been his mother.

Even with her health rapidly deteriorating after Leonas birth, because of his birth, she never loved him any less than she did Farena.

It wasn't his fault. Nothing was.

It wasn't his fault that she wouldn't be there to see him grow. It wasn't his fault that the attendants around the palace hated him. It wasn't his fault that he'd been given the power to destroy.

It wasnt his fault he was unloved.

How could a child have controlled the circumstances to be in his favor?

For the years she'd been around in Leonas life, he remembered her with nothing but fondness and love in his tired heart.

When he had turned 1, she had been the first to congratulate him. She'd snuck into his room at midnight, the light of the moon reflecting her features as she'd whispered to his ears a soft, "Happy Birthday, my little prince". He'd been so confused, blinking sleepily up at her. She'd chuckled at his reaction, urging for him to go back to sleep. Amirah had sat by the foot of his crib, her son's tiny hand in hers as she reassured him. "We have all the time in the world."

When he was 2, the boy had grown a little bigger. He remembered the day he'd first learned to walk. With each stumble, she'd kept encouraging for him to keep going. With wobbly feet, he'd finally managed to get across to her. She let out a laugh full of pride as she'd gently picked him up. Shed held him close to her chest, murmuring "I knew you could do it, Leo."

When he was 3, was when his curiosity had really started to set in. It was the prime age of all toddlers to grow imaginative aboutthe world. He had mindlessly flipped through the large pages of his children's books, not quite getting some of the material. And so, he'd rushed to his mother's room, moving as fast as he could on those little legs of his with a load of books in his hands. His mother had seemed surprised when he'd suddenly burst through the door, but as usual, she welcomed him with open arms. They'd sat together from the afternoon long into the night, Amirah doing as best as she could to explain to her young son. The boy listened as eagerly as he could, sitting still for as long as possible. Until eventually, the soft lull of his mother's voice began to sound like the sweet melody of a lullaby. Hed nodded blearily by the time night had fallen, his small ears drooping. On those days, Amirah let him stay in with her. And as expected, she always held him close to her heart, hands supporting his small head. "Goodnight, Leona."

When he turned 4, Leona began to slowly grow into his features. He'd tilted his head as he'd stared at himself in the mirror. He noticed he looked alot like his mom. The colour of their eyes was the same, a royal shade of emerald. His brown curls, he'd gotten exactly from her. He remembered the time he'd tried braiding some strands of her hair with his little fingers. It hadn't turned out pretty, really. But his mom had kept them in for the whole day. Later in the day, he'd told his mom how happy he was that he looked so much like her. To look like the person he loved so much.

When he turned 5, he took more notice. His mom was growing more sick. She seemed more frail, more lethargic. She didn't have the energy to chase him around anymore to take a bath, nor did she have the energy to play hide and seek with him when he used to hide, afraid of getting his nails cut. Even so, the light in her eyes never diminished. One particular night, he'd crawled into her bed, gently tugging at her sleeves like he had always done. Even with how exhausted she was, she'd sat herself up, brushing the hair out of his face as she'd smile down at him. Always loving. But this time, she'd been melancholic.

"My little prince, mommy might go away soon." She'd muttered softly. "And.. I won't be coming back."

He'd stared up at her confused, earning him a soft chuckle as she begun to explain. Her sickness had recently taken a turn for the worst, and she'd been told by the nurses and doctors to prepare any day now. Yet, she'd gently stroked his hair all the while, in hopes of soothing his heart.

Leona hadn't quite yet processed it. Why did his mom have to go away? Why couldn't she stay? He wanted her to stay with him. She was all he had.

And before he knew it, tears were streaming down his cheeks. Amirah had brought him close to her chest once more, and perhaps for the final time. Shed held him there for as long as she could, humming a soft lullaby in his ears. She'd kissed the top of his forehead, whispering to him right before he fell asleep. "Don't forget that I love you, Leona."

......

Perhaps it was a good thing he'd gotten his scar. The one that marred across his left eye. If he looked too closely into the mirror, all he saw was the spitting image of his mom staring back at him. The scar set them both apart.

He didn't think he could handle it if he was reminded of her every single day.

In the years after her death, he'd found studying as a way to cope. He had read tirelessly in the library, hoping to earn some form of recognition if he proved his intelligence.

And for a while, it worked.

Until he came along.

The day Prince Cheka had been born had been a real turning point for him.

Nobody cared to take note of how hard he'd worked. The hours he'd spent rereading college material at the age of 10, to the point he'd constantly cried tears of frustration and annoyance if he didn't get it immediately. The constant exhaustion after staying up all night, to get not a single question of concern regarding the eyebags under his eyes that seemed to big for a child such as he.

All of that? Thrown out the window as soon as his nephew was born.

Unlike the day he has been born, Chekas birth was celebrated. The irony of it, considering the topic of his birth had always been ignored. He shouldn't have gotten annoyed at a child. It wasn't his fault.

But the burning frustration within him couldn't be ceased.

And boy, did his relationship with Farena only complicate things further.

His older brother had always been nice to him. He wondered if he would have been loving too. If only Leona hadn't pushed him away.

It burned, knowing that no matter how hard he tried, no matter how much effort he out in, he would never be first.

When would he get to see his mom again?

He'd finally learned how to tie braids now. He desperately wanted to show her, reaching out to do them on her brown curls just as he had when he was a child.

Was returning to her warm embrace such a bad thing to ask for?

[zialltops]

honeysuckle’s & huckleberry’s

Cowboy!Joel (41) X F!Reader (25) | 47.3k words | wip | explicit | 18+ minors dni | enemies to lovers | slow burn | au: no cordyceps outbreak | oral (f receiving) | (semi) public sex | vaginal fingering

masterlist | ao3 | spotify playlist

You chance a glance over at the outlaw in the driver's seat while he scans his surroundings like he’s done this before, the rear view mirror and the road ahead never leaving his sight. “What if they catch up to us? I don’t want to get arrested, Joel!”

a/n: howdy folks! I’m pulling my head out of my ass and getting back into writing. These last few weeks have been leveling put for me and I’ve been feeling a lot better compared to how my life HAS been. These two were the perfect break even though this took my two whole months for only a few thousand words. I’ll be back sooner than last time with an update, but you’ll see me before then for another wip. Much love, hayhay 🤍

Chapter 8: What Was I Thinkin?

Three hours ago, if you asked Joel how the night would come to its end, he’d tell you he’d probably be in the cabin, laying in his cold bed, staring up at his ceiling fan, alone—with his right hand working his dick to the tune of the farmer’s daughter. In fact, three hours ago, he’d told Tommy something similar.

“Joel, man—I promise It looks fine.”

He adjusts the buttons on his shirt another time, stuck between leaving one undone and letting the opening linger down his chest. “Fine ain’t gonna cover it, Tom—ain’t no way in hell I’m walkin’ up to her lookin jus’ fine.” Tommy huffs from behind him and starts to go through the closet beside Joel while he stares at himself in the body length mirror behind the door.

“What about this one?” Tommy beams, He’s holding up a black shirt on a hanger, slight dust on the shoulders from it’s lack of use. He’s half surprised the moths haven’t gotten to it yet. Its buttons are made of iridescent pearls that snap in place, labyrinthian embroidery adorning the breast pockets. “Ain’t worn it since before the accident.” He lifts one of the sleeves in his hands, lingering on the fitted cuff.

His mind takes him back to half forgotten nights under neon lights, long neck bottles and ropers calluses on his rodeo-worn hands. To money wasted on buckle bunnies and broncs, to years taken off his life under the sharp hooves of a one ton animal—years he’ll never get back. Years he wishes he’d never taken for granted.

He was a more confident man then, not cocky—but proud of his abilities in the arena, proud enough to walk tall, speak surly. He was a master in his sport because he trained religiously, fully immersed in the idea that this was his only shot at making it. He still believes that, even now. He wishes you could have met him then, when he was that Joel—Rodeo buckles and spurs, cowboy hats and stadium lights. When he was a white straw hat and chaps, an unsullied grin with a thirst for adrenaline and belt buckles.

He holds the black cotton between his well worked fingers and longs to be that man again—if only for one night. Would you like him? A cowboy in his prime with worked muscles, before his beer belly and the softness in his chest really set in? “This one’s good,” he huffs, brushing the dust off the shoulders before unbuttoning it enough to remove it from the hanger. “Lemme help you.” His brother offers. Joel’s not naive, he knows the fear is visible atop the surface of his flushed skin, in the deepened frown lines and the shake in his hands.

Tommy is a lot of things, but once in a while he softens around his selfish edges and he bends a little, reaching out for the weeping limbs of his brother, struggling with all his might to keep himself standing up straight in the storm, a resilient and irrepressible figure to look up to. Tommy sees the way the longing shines through the perforations in his irises, the way his shoulders slump with oppressive burden—and he takes pity on the older man. “I’ll wash it real quick while you shower. It’ll be good as new, fresh outta the dryer by the time you're done.” He looks up at Joel, who’s still transfixed in the forgotten token of his former youth, of the man who he used to be. Items he’d left in storage down in Austin that Hank had so graciously shipped to Jackson.

He almost wishes he’d never gotten it all back, it was easier then—to hide from who he was when he wasn’t reminded of his past every single day, but once in a while—that reckless, spotlight chasing cowboy grasps for the surface. And tonight? Tonight is your birthday, the town dance, where you’re going to be, probably looking like something Joel doesn’t have a shot in hell with. It’s your damn birthday and he wants to ask you to dance but he’s not sure the fee quick dance lessons he got will suffice. What if he stumbles? Steps on your pretty little feet? Drops you?

“Joel—“ there's a snap in front of his face and he pulls himself out of the chaos inside of his mind. “Man, you are loosin’ it. I’ve never seen you this wound up over some girl—“ his eyes snap up to his brothers and he huffs lowly. “She ain’t just—some girl. She’s Hank and Lou’s daughter, people I think of as family. She’s smart and resourceful, sometimes a little reckless but she makes me feel like…like I’m alive for once.” Tommy sets the black shirt down and sit on the side of Joel's bed. Beside him, Joel's weight sinks onto the mattress. “M’gettin’ old, Tom. I don’t have a lot of good years left in me and I don’t know if I’ll ever have a opportunity like this again.”

Tommy takes a glance over at the distant look in his brothers eyes. “Opportunity?” Joel's eyes flick over and he sighs. He wishes Tommy had a little bit of what he had built inside of him, the innate goal of settling down, finding where he belongs and who he belongs with.

“At bein’ happy. Good memories for my restless nights.” If he fucked this up and missed his chance, he’s not sure he’ll have it in him again, if it will ever feel like this with anyone else. He thinks he’s done, thinks you’re it. He thinks he could give you forever if you’d let him.

“S’that why you’re so messed up in the head? What, do you think she’s going to shoot you down?” Tommy’s voice picks up in pitch, offense used like a weapon to get his point across and Joel appreciates the gusto. “Think I’m gonna go home alone tonight. Think it’s just gonna be me and the crickets and this damn hand again, dreamin’ bout how damn sweet she is.”

Tommy’s hand reaches into the breast pocket of his shirt and he retrieves a silver flask, offering it to his older brother who takes it with unsure fingers. “Just be yourself, man. Walk up to her like you belong there. Just need a little bit of confidence, don’t let her think you’re second guessing yourself. I don’t know her like you do—but I know that girl is more than willing when it comes to you.”

Joel takes a long swig of rot-gut whiskey, lets is sink into his bones and find the will to drag himself into the shower and wash away the saw dust lingering on his skin from the floor of the dance hall, ease some of the soreness in his knees and back from learning how to dance.

When he’s finished, there's a clean shirt and a flask laying on his bed. Joel finishes off the whiskey before he fastens the first button.

Liquid courage is the only thing that gets him to town.

He’s everywhere—everywhere. His hands burn on your thigh, on your hip where they dig in just a little too roughly when he pins you to the wall beside the back door. The second it closed behind you, there was a desperation clinging to the early spring air, perforating the slight chill until it shimmied beneath it and took life in the form of heat dripping across your exposed flesh. It was sticky and hot, sucking you in like a vortex straight to the center of what your world revolved around—Joel Miller and his touch that feels like fire.

He tastes like alcohol and tooth paste and part of you wonders if that’s what's changed about him, why he was so willing to let go of his reservations in-front of half of the town. He’s been drinking, drowning his insecurities enough to throw himself at you bravely.

Will he still be this Joel when you open your eyes in the morning? Will he regret it?

His teeth dig into your bottom lip and your brain goes fuzzy, stars forming behind your closed eyes. Insecurities can wait until tomorrow, you decide. His hips press forward ever so slightly and the outline of his cock can’t go unnoticed, not with the way it makes the fabric of your panties drag against your clit tantalizingly. Behind your closed eyes, the stars morph into crackles of fireworks, filling your senses with bright pleasure and desperate desire to chase those lights into the night.

You hike your legs higher, trying to drag him into the delicious delirium with you. The movement pulls a guttural groan out of the broad cowboy. “Joel—Joel,” you need his hands to leave brands on your skin where they’ve touched you, setting fire to your soul. “I know—fuck, baby, I know.” Is he crumbling like you, throwing himself into this very moment right here? Is he as desperate as you are? Does it feel like a travesty and a triumph? The yearning you’ve endured, for the victory of finally knowing what he feels like when he kisses the breath from your lungs.

It’s more than you know how to articulate—more devastating than you anticipated and yet—it’s still not enough. It won't be enough until his heart beats in time with your own and you feel him wrapped up in your body

His teeth dig into your jaw and your body reacts before you tell it to, searching for the release only he can bring you.

“Touch me, please—please, touch me.”

And suddenly, in the time it takes to flip on a light switch, he’s gluttonous, insatiable and voracious—a wild predator set loose just to turn on its careful handler. The only thing that comes to mind, in comparison, is a pack of wolves frenzied to sink their teeth into the supple flesh of their prey.

In your case—Joel is the starved pack—and you? You are but an unsuspecting doe, practically sacrificing yourself to his uncontrollable famine.

Those thick digits, adorned with callouses earned from laborious work, hastily push aside the fabric of your dress in search of your covered center. He feels so fucking good when those digits push their way past the hem of your panties and he gasps against the shell of your ear. Like it feels just as good to him, letting the pads of his index and middle finger tease the seam of your lips before slipping between and dragging those rough digits over your hardened clit. It’s all the built up want, longing, needing that makes him feel so other-worldly, you’ll never experience something like this, the rush of relief to finally be his.

His fingers dip lower, searching for the source of all this slick adorning his knuckles, when his thumb drags idly over your already sensitive clit. Its like an electric shock straight to your sternum, arching you forward in search of anchorage to this reality altering interaction. There's a hint of alcohol swimming behind your fluttering eyelids, but his shuddering groan is sickeningly sobering. You want to say something, tell him how good he makes you feel, but the words bubble up in your chest and hang in your throat in the form of a silent sob, your mouth hanging open and your toes curling against your shoes.

“There it is, huh? S’what finally gets you quiet? Just needed me to touch your pussy, didn’t you?” Where the hell has this Joel been hiding? He’s never been so vulgar, so vocal and confident in himself. His fingers tease the soft ring at your opening, smearing slick around on his fingers when he leans against your front to press his face against your heaving chest and neck. His fingers plunge in—and your body jerks against his solid form. He lets you shudder and tighten up against him while his thumb moves steadily, never coming off the peak of your nerve—locked on it with such perfected percussion that there is no jerky catch, just steady—drowning pleasure. His rough pant of breath paints your shoulder in sticky warmth and your thighs tighten around him, begging to draw him into your desperation.

“She’s just cryin’ for me, ain’t she, Honey?” His drawl sounds like sweet tea on a hot summer afternoon, like your sight set on the Austin sunset from the seat of an old saddle, driving cattle through tall grass and endless horizons.

Being touched by Joel Miller feels like coming home.

He finds a steady pace, working his fingers in and out, each drag punctuated by the ridges of his knuckles and the rough pads of his finger tips. Just faintly, you can make out the wet sound your sex makes every time he fucks his fingers into you intentionally. Its instantaneous the way heat blooms in your pelvis, knotting up in your stomach until you’re so overwhelmed, you’re trembling in his grip. “She’s so fuckin’ greedy, pretty little cunt needs to be stuffed, don’t she? G’damn, you’re quiverin’—you gonna cum f’me already?” His words are like a dirty secret, never meant to be revealed—knowing exactly what kind of storm that truth would bring. Let the rain pour down, let the thunder crack and the gusts rip the apprehension from your bones—because Joel Miller wants you and you’ve been waiting for this moment for two years.

You’ve imagined this a million times, slipped your fingers between your legs to the mere idea of this revered and dignified southern gentleman—more once you’d put a face to the elusive cowboy. No matter how deeply you lost yourself to your imagination, none of it will ever amount to the way cold brick feels against your exposed back, the way denim jeans ruffs up the insides of your smooth thighs, the way a felt Stetson bumps against your temple when his fingers curl against a spot inside of you no man has ever found, dragging the air from your lungs, robbing your vocal cords of their melody. With your eyes rolled back and your desire strung tight, you manage to string together enough sound to produce words.

“Yes-Yes, Joel—make me cum! Please!”

A third, assured finger slips in right beside the other two and slam forward, sending you spiraling down that one way path towards pure ecstasy. His fingers curl again and his thumb quickens, pushing you up and up until you’re sure you’re about to melt through his finger tips, a weeping puddle at his feet. “That’s it, pretty girl—cum on these fingers, let me feel her squeeze me.”

His command is your saving grace, the final twist that undoes the well wound rope holding you together. A variation of his name rips from your throat and consumes the space around you, invoking a bright euphoria that shrouds every nerve ending you possess. He doesn’t even know what he’s just subjected your body to—a life altering experience that you will never be able to recreate with another person. “S…s’the best orgasm I’ve ever had,” is the only thing your mind conjures up once you’ve come down enough to speak. He’s still holding onto you, slowly slipping his fingers out and letting you down with a satisfied chuckle.

“Wunna taste you,”

How will you handle another assault from that honed attention? How will you ever unsee that unruly tousle of curls between your thighs?

He doesn’t give you long enough to form a protest before he’s rushing you through the parking lot, a determination in his step that you’ve never seen. He’s surpassed the point of antsy when he yanks open the passenger door and finds leverage on your hips to hoist you up, then toss you down on the torn upholstery. You should say something—tell him to slow down before you pass out from the burn of his hands—but fuck you don’t want him to stop, consciousness be damned.

Instead, you watch him set his cowboy hat on the dusty dashboard, the silver trim of the band shimmering with luster in the golden street lamps. He drinks your body in visibly, relishing in every curve and inhale of breath. When his vision finds yours, they are nearly black with desire—his pupils having consumed every inch of bourbony brown. When his big hands find your thighs again, the resistance bleeds away and gives way to insurmountable, greedy hunger.

“C’mere, girl.” The hands on your thighs dig into the flesh, leaving finger shaped dimples in your sensitive skin. “Lemme see that fuckin’ pussy.” Jesus christ.

If your friends could see you now, they’d all laugh at how easy you are, but right now—it’s just you and your cowboy—you’ll never be anything but easy for him.

His hands move with fever, hastily pushing your dress up your hips. “I’m going to fucking ruin you, babygirl. Only word you’ll know is my name when I’m finished with you.” That same ferocious want consumes you, possessing your hands to work on their own accord, helping Joel shimmy your panties down your thighs and over your heels.

You have enough time to register the way he stuffs the black lace into the front pocket of his wranglers before that head of his is forcing its way under your dress. He spreads your legs easily, pushes and pulls with his hands until his mouth seals over your clit, drenching your nervous system in blinding heat.

He’s good, so good at this. His tongue slides through your dripping folds with a tedious, monotonous rhythm. He’s licking for a taste, for his own glutinous thirst based on the way he groans and sighs against the softness of your lips. His eyes flick up at the same time your body starts to quiver, trying to adjust to so much honed desire narrowed in on you. “J-Joel, please don’t st-top.” Your eyes start to leave his in favor of rolling back in your head when your chest arches out, searching for a breath of sobering air, for something to hold onto so you don’t crumble apart. “Feels so good—you feel so good.”

His mouth closes over you and he sucks, pulling your clit against the smoothness of his tongue as he flicks it over and over, soothing the sensitive bud, while actively robbing you of any coherent train of thought. The only sounds that leave your lungs are sharp gasps and whines, fueled by the low groaning sound he’s muffling between your thighs. He releases you and your body reels, drawing in breath after breath to catch up with your racing heart.

“Wunna split this little pussy open on me,”

Oh fuck, oh fuck fuck—fuck.

You have long enough to gaze down at him, watching as he slides the flat of his tongue through your lips, over the sensitive bud, before your head is dipping back again.

“I’ve been practicing—I got, oh, fuck Joel, like that,” you heave and he pulls away completely, shocking you into a mewling, whining mess. “You got what, baby, use your words.”

Your body bares down on nothing, /wish he would just give it up already, unbuckle that belt, push down those wranglers and fuck you like you deserve. Joel grunts while he watches, letting it rumble through his whole body. “Got a toy that’s as big as you so I could practice. So I'd be able to take you.”

His whole demeanor shifts, alternating from this brazen, confident cowboy to the man suddenly lost between your thighs, sucking and slurping, licking and moaning to himself. He’s gutless, starving and desperate, he whimpers when you squeeze your thighs and cry his name, holding on tight until the flash of blue and red and the sound of a loud voice rips him from his mission.

“Jackson Police department, step away from the vehicle!”

Joel rips himself away from your body before you even have a chance to cover yourself. “Fuck-fuck,” he looks around sharply, eying the lone officer in a tan blazer with flashing lights fastened to its hard top. The sheriff has a light in their hand, leaning over the side of the blazer. You manage to pull your dress down and scoot back, trying to hide yourself from the light shining on the two of you.

Joel's gaze falls away from the officer, parked behind the truck, blocking it in. Instead, he looks forward, into the clearing in front of the parking lot, half lit by the street lamp. His jaw clicks and he looks set on whatever is going through that big brain of his. “Put a seat belt on.”

What?

Joel grabs his hat and slides across the bench seat quickly, slamming the door behind him. He makes it across you and throws himself in front of the steering wheel, finding the ignition quickly to turn the keys in the shaft.

The chevy roars to life at the same time that he slams the gear shifter into drive and plows over the parking block. Before you have a chance to register what's happening, the blue pickup is sliding through mud and grass, leaving tire tracks in the field as he cuts through it towards the highway.

“Joel, what in the—fuck!“ you shout, reaching up for the oh-shit handle, while the other hand reaches for the solid form beside you, grasping him by the bicep as he snorts nervously. “Just—calm down for a second, we’ll lose ‘em.”

Your heart races and your nerves radiate through your entire body. You’re a good kid, you’ve never ran from the cops before, never been in trouble for crying out loud. You did your best in school, tried to make your parents proud despite your small side of rebellion. And yet, here you are—trying your best to hang on while he cuts corners and runs stop signs, old alleyways and back roads through the thickets. The truck roars past speed limit signs, loosing rodeo flyers pinned to telephone poles when he slams the gears—orange papers fluttering in the settling dust.

You chance a glance over at the outlaw in the driver's seat while he scans his surroundings like he’s done this before, the rear view mirror and the road ahead never leaving his sight. “What if they catch up to us? I don’t want to get arrested, Joel!”

He snorts, taking another random left and speeding down the street. “Ain’t gonna get arrested, honey. Just trust me.”

Trust him? How could he even ask you that, like that wasn’t what this was all along. You trusted him like you trusted the sun to set and rise again, like you trusted the birds to sing and the rivers to run—you’d trusted Joel with your family’s dream and he never let you down.

Somewhere along the way, you lose the ability to fight off your grin, Joel manages to leave flashing red and blue in a cloud of dust. He cuts through a group of trees leading into a clearing and shuts off the lights. He drives by moonlight, effectively covering his tracks and making his way onto another road, leading up the mountain towards the ranch. He pulls off another dirt road that is cut out along the side of the hill, but he isn’t in as much of a hurry as he was before. He takes a last left, bringing the truck to the edge of the hillside that overlooks the entire town of jackson—from the dance hall—to the bar—to the red and blue set of lights on the south side of town, still looking for you and your cowboy.

The world grants you a few silent moments to catch your breath, before it completely robs you of tingling in your muscles, the conscious connection between the two of you. The reality of being truly alone with him is sobering, with nothing but the trees and the wildlife to offer a distraction.

Now that the air has cooled and your heart has finished pounding in your ears, you can make out the faint hum of the stereo, the FM dial lit up by the soft glow behind it. The station is still the same as it was when you were a girl, riding in your daddy’s pickup, playing old country music like it did in the days of your youth.

Now, it rings in your ears with the nerves seeping into your bones, settling into an uncomfortable dust. Right now, of all times? Anxiety has to claw up your chest and wrap around your throat while his saliva is still drying on the inside of your thighs?

Fuck, his beard is still glistening in the green-glow of the stereo.

“You’re starin’ at me.” He says almost quietly. You expected him to tease and flirt, maybe boast, but his voice waivers halfway through and you start to pick up on his slight nerve. Under all that charm and intensity is starting to give way to a much more vulnerable Joel—a man you know all too well.

“You’re just, uh—“ you swallow thickly and try to find the courage to meet his deep brown eyes. “Your beard is…wet.” When you do find his irises, his mouth picks up in a half smirk. If he’s as scared as you are right now, he’s doing a good job of hiding it. He’s giving it everything he’s got to hide it from you.

It’s been so long and you need this. Need to be touched, appreciated, worshipped.

The look in his eyes tells you that he’s eager to kneel.

“And who’s fault is that, hmm?” That sweet, sultry accent drags you in, sliding closer on the seat until you're nearly tucked into his side, leaned back against the seat while he looms over you. He’s still nervous, you can see it floating around in his dark eyes, but his jaw clicks like he’s trying to rein something in.

Silence falls upon you once more, but unbeknownst to the cicadas and the crickets, your dancing gazes say everything you need to hear. His eyes drop to your lips and yours to his. His tongue peaks out unconsciously, wetting his bottom lip ever so slightly—like he’s tasting you there.

His mouth clicks shut and it's then that you glance up. His eyes are back on yours, suddenly so much softer with a lulled arch to his eyebrows. In the depths of his eyes you find renewed hunger, fire burning in those pools of smooth chocolate. Your body relaxes, succumbs to the form of his plains of muscles adorning his body. When you tilt your head up to him in offering, you sink so deeply into those dark pools you can nearly taste the sweetness of him like velvety candy melting against your taste buds.

“Joel—“ you choke out, deciding then that if he waits a second longer you’ll suffocate.

There's things about this life that can never be stopped, inexorable phenomenons that are unavoidable. The seasons will always change. The storms will always come, lightning will always strike. The days will always end and the sun will rise again on the next.

And Joel Miller will always, always break when you say his name like that.

He falls into you with a sharp intake of breath, crashing his mouth against yours with surprising accuracy. It’s so easy to let him take over with the perfect combination of rush and savor he puts into the way he envelops you. His mouth is soft, but persistent, wrapping around your bottom lip when he sucks it between his teeth for a soft bite that makes you want to live in this moment forever.

You nearly do because you get absolutely lost in kissing him, you don’t protest when he leans you back on the bench seat, you don’t put up any sort of fight when he spreads your thighs with his wide hips. When his hands grip your knees, you know you’re completely done for.

He pulls away from your mouth and his eyes find yours in the low green glow and there, you find everything you’ve ever longed for.

“I…I think,” Joel shifts, looking down at his hands like he’s just woken up from sleep walking straight into your heart and soul. “I think I should get you home, s’gettin late.”

Late? Your poor muddled brain cannot keep up with how quickly he fades in and out of doing anything to have you, to be terrified to touch you. How quickly he slips into a starved desire to shaking in his boots.

Not for the first time, you wish you could reach right into his brain and pull out whatever it is that makes him think you don’t want those rough hands all over your bare body. He’s already had a taste of you, already kissed you—what more could be standing in his way?

“Home? Joel, we were just getting started—“ he clears his throat and sits up, trying to slide away from you but your heels dig into his tailbone and drag him back. “Started down a road we both know only leads to nothing but trouble and regret.”

What, the, fuck?

“I’m—you think this is a bad idea?”

The uncomfortable air settles back in between you and your legs around him loosen. “Think you're going to realize really quickly this ain’t what you want and this—I’ve got…too much on the line.”

He has too much on the line? What about the ranch? Your childhood home about to be lost to the bank? What about the dance hall where he’s built a new floor to make you smile? Does it all wash away with his assumed doom?

“What are you saying? This…this was a mistake? Joel I still have your fucking spit drying on my pussy and you—you regretted it already?” The realization feels like a dull blade straight to your gut, forcing it way in and twisting you from the inside out. It burns with shame and agony and you pull yourself out from under his sturdy build.

“I didn’t mean—I regret anything, fuck knows I don’t—“ no, no. You’ve given this man so much of yourself, committed so much to be thrown around and have your feelings stomped on.

“Then what the fuck does it mean, Joel! You—you made me cum while telling me you wanted to stuff my cunt but now you think this is…” you have a realization then, that maybe—just maybe, he does actually regret it. What does he think, you’d turn around and throw him out on his ass? If he truly thinks that low of you then maybe…

“This was a big fucking mistake.” You say coldly, making up your mind as you right your bunched up dress and adjust your fixed gaze on the passenger side window.

“Take me home.” It’s not a request.

It’s not an invitation, either, Joel understands as he watches you close the front door behind you later that night, settling his made up mind.

He presses his palm to his crotch twice and comes in his pants right there in the driveway, just like he knew he was going to.

And he feels like a fucking fool.

[risenwrites]

Title: The Important Question

Pairing: Boyfriend! Sanji X Girlfriend! Reader

AU: Modern Day

Warnings: Slight angst if you squint, mainly fluff, french words (I used Google translate pls don’t come at me), reader is kinda clueless, pet names (my love, darling, etc.)

A/n: This is for the Loverboy Sanji Event that @stephisokay is hosting! (I hope it's okay I tagged you fhdjskfks)

Word Count: ~2.6K

Status: Semi-edited

Snow had already been falling for a couple of hours when you reached the apartment complex Sanji lived in. You stood at the base of the stairs, shivering in the frigid air despite your warm coat. You gently rubbed your palms together before sticking them in your armpits as you began climbing the staircase. With each step, your mind drifted back to earlier that day when Sanji texted you out of the blue.

His text said there was something important he wanted to talk about at his apartment tonight and that you should wear something nice. You had tried to ask him over text what he wanted to talk about, but he never responded. You’d gotten texts like that with previous boyfriends, which ended with a breakup each time. Deep in your heart, you feared tonight would end the same way.

When you reach the floor of Sanji’s apartment, you quickly rush over to his front door. You were eager to get inside to be warm but hesitated to knock on his door. Fear crept into your mind from the thought your boyfriend might break up with you. You loved him, probably more than you’ve loved anyone before.

You quickly shake your head to push away those thoughts. Pressing your lips together, you take a deep breath and then knock on the door. Within seconds, the door opened to show your boyfriend’s smiling face and curly eyebrows. Seeing his face instantly chased away all your fears and anxiety about what he might want to discuss. A smile spread across your face as he gently took hold of your hands.

“Y/n, my love!” he greeted, peppering your face with kisses, making you giggle. “Come in, come in!”

Sanji gently pulled you inside, grinning ear to ear as he closed the front door. The smell of food and cigarette smoke filled your nose, warming your heart and soul. You were about to turn toward your boyfriend, but he started taking off your coat before you could do or say anything.

“Thank you, Sanji,” you said while facing him, an even bigger smile on your face.

“It’s always my pleasure, my darling,” he said lovingly while hanging up your coat.

As he finished hanging up your coat, you stomped your feet a little to remove the snow on your shoes. You briefly looked him over, noticing how he wore one of the more fancy suits he owned, whereas you were wearing something nice but much more casual. Immediately, you began to feel a bit underdressed.

“Hey, did you want me to wear something more… fancy?” you asked hesitantly.

Sanji looked at you, his eye widened in surprise. He blinked a few times before panic flashed across his face, and he fully turned toward you. “No, no! You look wonderful, my love! I’m sorry, I should have said more than just nice in my text,” he apologized while holding your hands. 

“If you want, I can change into something else so you don’t-” he began to explain, but you quickly cut him off by giving him a quick kiss.

“No, it’s fine, really. Don’t change because I am underdressed,” you told Sanji with a small smile. “Especially with how dashing you look in this suit.”

Sanji let out a small breath while he stared at you, relaxing from the panic rising within him. Your heart skipped a beat from seeing the genuine love and admiration in his gaze.

“For the record, you never look underdressed. Everything you wear only makes you look more beautiful than you already are,” Sanji said with a grin slowly appearing.

Light pink dusted across your face, and you chuckled shyly, looking away with a happy smile. Part of you wondered how you found such a wonderful man, while another part gushed over how cute he is.

“A-anyway, what’s the fancy clothes?” you asked to change the subject.

Sanji’s face lit up, and he let go of your hands to place one on the small of your back. “Let me show you,” he said.

He led you through his familiar apartment, bringing you to the living room. Your eyes widened in surprise as you glanced around the room. All the furniture had disappeared, probably moved to another room. White and golden fairy lights were strung up on the walls and across the ceiling, making the room slightly dim but still lit enough to see. A little square table sat in the middle of the room, two fancy seating arrangements opposite each other. In the center of the table was a simple vase with a beautiful red rose inside.

Without hesitation, Sanji led you to the table and pulled out one of the chairs for you to sit. “I hope you came with an empty stomach, my darling! I’ve got something special planned for dinner tonight!” he explained while smiling at you.

You stared at Sanji for a moment, utterly dumbfounded by how much work he’d put in for a dinner he never told you he planned. You’d have dinner with him often, but this was completely over the top for a simple dinner. Sure, you’d always known how much of a romantic Sanji could be, but he’d only ever done something like this on special occasions. You couldn’t think of any holidays or special dates that could have made him want to set up something like this. Did this have something to do with what he wanted to talk about?

“Um... earlier today, you texted me, saying you wanted to talk about something?” you asked while moving to sit down.

His visible eye widened, and a light pink dusted on his cheeks as he chuckled. “R-right, that’s something we can talk about when we eat dessert,” he quickly said while pushing your chair in. “I’ll be right back with our food!”

Sanji kissed the top of your head and then walked off into the kitchen. You frowned slightly and leaned your cheek against your fist. With all the thoughts of a possible breakup gone from your mind, you wondered what Sanji might want to talk about. A small part of you hoped what he wanted to discuss had something to do with your future together, but you quickly dismissed the thought. He’d always change the subject when you tried to bring it up in the past. There had to be something else he wanted to talk about. You just needed to wait and see.

Soon, he returned holding two dinner plates with covers, like something you’d see in a fancy restaurant or other fine dining. He carefully placed one down in front of you and gave what you assumed to be a wink (you couldn’t be sure with his left eye covered by hair). He placed the other plate opposite you, where you assumed he would be sitting.

“May I present to you…” Sanji began with a cheeky grin, “Pâtes Épicées Aux Fruits de Mer!”

Sanji lifted the metal covers to reveal bowls of pasta covered with marinara sauce, the smell of spices and shrimp rushing up your nose. A smile spread across your face as you recognized the dish without asking him to repeat himself in English. Your stomach rumbled, and you giggled softly while looking at your boyfriend.

“Wouldn’t it have been easier to just say ‘Spicy Seafood Pasta’?” you asked.

Sanji chuckled and pecked you on the lips, causing you to giggle again. “And where would be the fun in that, hm?” he questioned with the rise of one of his curly eyebrows. “Let me put these in the kitchen, and then we can start eating.”

Once Sanji had put the metal covers in the kitchen, he sat across from you at the table. You both began eating the food he had made, which tasted amazing as always and chatted about how today had been for both of you. Most of that was Sanji complaining about men who came to The Baratie with their girlfriends and men who went to the restaurant to flirt with women non-stop.

“I swear to god that all men are pigs! You should have seen some of these guys. They were totally making the other customers uncomfortable with how they were talking to the fine young ladies dining at the restaurant. All of these men were absolutely swooning, and I mean swooning, to get the attention of our lady customers. Don’t get me started on how they stare like starved animals. Men have absolutely no respect for women these days,” he explained, eyebrows furrowed while he scowled.

Your hand flew up to cover your mouth to ensure no food came out while you laughed. All the frustration and irritation Sanji had melted away, his expression relaxing as he smiled.

“What’s so funny?” he asked while taking a bite.

You swallowed the food in your mouth and then chuckled. “I just find it funny how you’re saying that since you acted similarly before and when we first started dating,” you explained with another chuckle.

Sanji’s eye widened, and his face immediately turned bright red. “Dats not-” he started saying but stopped to swallow the food he had just put in his mouth. “That’s not the same! Besides, I was only trying to show my appreciation for women! I-I never swooned like those pigs!” he argued while the red spread to his ears.

You couldn’t help but laugh a little bit more, finding your boyfriend adorable from getting so flustered. “Oh yeah? If I remember correctly, you were always swooning to get the attention of any woman you met,” commented with a giggle. “But I guess you still do that now, even though we’re dating.”

Sanji’s body went rigid momentarily, and he became quiet after hearing your comment. The smile on your face immediately disappears, and you put your utensils down to reach across the table and hold your boyfriend���s hand.

“Hey, did I go too far with the teasing?” you asked worriedly.

He quickly shook his head and looked you in the eyes while squeezing your hand gently. It was his turn to chuckle as he caressed the back of your hand with his thumb.

“No, it’s just…” he began but trailed off like he was looking for the right words.

“It’s just… what?” you asked.

Sanji looked into your eyes, catching your breath in the back of your throat. He seemed so serious yet simultaneously filled to the brim with love and adoration. Your heart skipped a beat at the sight.

“It’s just I can’t imagine why you’d think I’d be vying for the attention of other women when I already have the most beautiful woman in the world,” he explained as a smile returned.

Your eyes widened, and it was your turn for your face to turn red. You gently squeezed Sanji’s hand before pulling away to pick up your utensils. “You’re such a flirt,” you softly state with a small smile.

“I’m only telling the truth, my darling,” he said with his smile becoming a grin. “No one could ever match the radiance you have.”

You swore your face looked redder than the marinara sauce in the food. Still, you giggled softly while finishing off the last of your food. When you looked up, you noticed how Sanji’s eye widened while he seemed to become extremely nervous yet excited. Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion, finding it strange how he suddenly became anxious when he’d just been flirting with you.

“Uh, are you done eating, my love?” he asked after a moment.

When you nodded, he quickly stood up and took the empty plates into the kitchen. Soon, he returned with two new dishes with metal covers. You raised an eyebrow and tilted your head to the side while he placed the two covered plates down. You saw Sanji’s hands trembling for the first time since you started dating him years ago. Worry bubbled up to the surface, and without hesitation, you gently took hold of his hand and looked up at him.

“Is everything alright? I’ve never seen you this anxious before. Not even when we’ve run into your family,” you said with a slight frown.

Sanji blinked a few times and looked down at you. He was quiet momentarily before a wide smile spread across his face, and he chuckled. Gently, he placed his hand on your cheek, rubbing his thumb against your skin.

“Yeah, everything is great. I promise you don’t need to worry,” Sanji told you before taking his hand off your face. He took a deep breath while grabbing the metal cover on your plate. “y love, here is your dessert,” he said softly while lifting the metal cover.

It took you a minute to realize what was in front of you on the plate. There sat a single piece of cheesecake with a beautiful ring on top with a few fruits. A ring with a diamond. At that moment, you felt your heart skip a beat, seeing the beautifully simple arrangement on the piece of cheesecake.

You watched with wide eyes as Sanji picked up the ring from the cheesecake. He used a napkin to clean off the bits of the dessert still on the ring, then got down on one knee beside you. His curly eyebrows were furrowed slightly, a serious yet nervous expression on his face. Slowly, he lifted the ring up to you, showing off a beautifully simple design on the ring with a diamond in the center.

“Y/n l/n, will you make me the happiest man in the whole world, spend the rest of your life with me, and marry me?” Sanji asked, his eyes locked with yours.

The whole world seemed to disappear around you, even yourself, leaving only Sanji. You committed everything about him at this moment to memory, from his curly eyebrows to the fancy suit he wore to the mixed smell of spices and cigarette smoke. He looked nervous yet hopeful like he thought there was a chance you might say no, but at the same time, he assured himself that you would say yes.

Tears began building up in your eyes as you placed a hand over your mouth. How could he ever think that you would say no to him? After all the time spent together, all the memories made, all the ups and downs, he was still unsure if he was worthy of your love. Just like how you were with his love. You threw your arms around his neck and held him close without hesitation.

“Yes! A million, no, a billion times yes!” you exclaimed happily, a bright smile appearing on your face.

You could feel Sanji let out a sigh as he wrapped his arms around you. He held you close and nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck. You could feel the happy smile on his face as he gently pressed his lips against your neck.

“God, I love you so much it hurts,” he whispered while tightening his hold on you, making you giggle softly.

“Is this what you had wanted to talk about?” you asked, the whole situation still feeling like a dream.

“Yeah, it is. Sorry for keeping it a secret. I just really wanted this to be a surprise. Especially since you’ve wanted to talk about our future together,” Sanji explained.

You shook your head while pulling away from hugging him, which had Sanji pouting a little. You chuckled while gently taking his face in your hands, a happy simple on your face. You placed a gentle, loving kiss on his lips, and he eagerly kissed back with just as much love, if not more.

After a moment, you pulled away and ran a hand through his hair. “Then let’s talk about things while we eat our cheesecake,” you suggested with a laugh.

Sanji grinned and nodded in agreement while resting a hand on top of yours. “Yeah, let’s,” he agreed.

©following works belongs to risenwrites, do not repost, modify, plagiarize, translate, or share on other platforms. comments, likes, and reblogs appreciated!

[glitch-karma]

Bsd hcs with a very chill (but still lowkey badass) s/o? 🧎 Very much down for anything and not really one to bicker all that much, but still with a bit of an attitude and goofy jokes 🙏

Dazai

Absolutely LOVES it

Although you never put up with his banter and Suicidal tendencies (which is annoying to him) he loves the side of you that will do just about anything with him as long as it's fun

Although his suicidal ways annoy you most times, there were at least once or twice you tried suicide with him

It obviously didn't work

Plus you got a scolding from Kunikida which was not pleasant

When it comes to work, you and he are teamed up a lot

Which has allowed him to see just how kick-ass you are

There was one time you took out an entire group of Port Mafia members without his help at all

Although he did fall first, that was the moment he fell for you hard hard

I feel like on missions he's like a damsel in distress on purpose just to allow you to save him

Your relationship is always full of excitement that's for sure

Kunikida

He's very cautious around you that's for sure

You do have the courtesy to do your work semi-on time,

But also your laid-back attitude scares him sometimes

He knows you're strong and can take care of yourself, but also fears that one day you'll be in over your head and he won't be there to help

But you definitely are the one thing that calms him down at the end of a long day, which he is incredibly grateful for

Atsushi:

God, he is smitten with you

He falls more in love with you every day

He admires your laid-back attitude so much, the way you can just do something without thinking is amazing to him

During fights, it's typically you saving him a lot

You holding him in your arms is an amazing feeling to him, he feels safe with you

It's usually you paying for food with him since you impulsively go out to eat a lot

Ranpo

Omg he loves it

His snacks? Always refilled.

His need to go out of the office and do something? Fulfilled.

His need for someone to cuddle and take a day nap with? BOOM, BOOM BOOM

You two genuinely will do anything with each other

Poe

Poor baby worries about you a lot

He loves when you're carefree, but much like Kunikida worries for your safety

You run a lot of errands for him, which he is grateful for

But he is very much an introvert, which means it's hard to get him out of the house

Which means you two do a lot of stuff inside rather than going out

Chuuya

He's both very impressed by you, but also terrified for you

Your fighting skills are incredible, and he knows you'll always be there to catch him when he falls

But he's also terrified of you falling instead.

Chuuya has lost a lot of people in his life, and he's honestly terrified of losing you

Weekly dinner dates are definitely a thing, followed by whatever you wanna do after

This has made a lot of random long stories about you two getting into trouble

Both being port mafia executives have made you two close-in combat, meaning he has gotten to see you fight up close and personal

Definitely has flirted with you in the middle of fights because of that

Nikolai

Omg he's in love with you

You always are down to do anything with him which he loves

You help within the Doa and typically are with Nikolai whenever shit goes down

Nikolai's ability protects him very well, but the few times you've had to step in he's constantly screeching and flirting in the midst of battle

Nikolai never is one to worry about you at all, he just enjoys doing anything and everything with you

Sigma

Oh boyyyy he is so scared for and of you

You're a helper in the casino which is typically an easy job

But he's seen the way you recklessly say and do anything which scares him a lot

the few times he has seen you fight, he's amazed but also horrified for you.

Lots of reassurance and comfort after for this bb

Jouno

He doesn't humor you like many of the others do

You can beg and beg for him to do anything, it just makes him amused at you

Typically your days are full of training

Fighting, however, is when he lets you have some fun

You fight any way you wish and he'll just stand by and listen for if you need help

[abidolly]

I saw this painting by Boris Nemensky in the gallery, and I couldn’t stop thinking about it. It was heartbreaking and beautiful, so I put this little story I had around it into words—and of course, made it about Sebastian and Ominis. Consider this drabble an AU from another life. But I gave it a semi- happy ending. What they desreved.

*

There was silence all around, only the distant barks of stray dogs echoing through the still air. They were always the first ones, either brave or hungry enough to dare out of the trenches when the whistling of bullets stopped.

It had stopped long ago. Sebastian was alone in his dirt hole—not the only body there, but the only one alive. He took a pack of cigarettes out of the pocket of the man whom, just a few hours ago, he'd warmed with his own body heat so they could survive the night.

Now there was no more warmth to be found from anyone around.

It was quiet for too long. Maybe it was all over. Maybe he had gotten lucky again.

He heard a cough from another foxhole not too far from where he was lying.

So he wasn’t alone.

Was it an ally or an enemy, though? 

Sebastian remained as quiet as possible. If anyone saw him, he could pass for just another corpse. Playing dead to stay alive.

Time dragged on. Hours, maybe a day. No help came. But no enemy either. He wasn't hungry, but he craved lighting a cigarette more than anything. He didn't, though.

Before morning came, a rain began to fall. Sebastian didn't have to move; he just opened his mouth to catch some drops. He swore the water hissed in his dry throat as he swallowed.

He must have fallen asleep. Dogs were sniffing around. He had to move. He threw a rock in their direction. They snarled but left. His body wasn't worth the fight for them.

As dawn approached, the sky tinged with hues of grey and pale pink, Sebastian heard anoher faint cough from the nearby trench. Desperation gnawed at him. He summoned his courage and  whispered into the silence.

“Who's there?”

A moment of hesitation, then a reply came—hoarse and weary. “Ominis. Ominis Gaunt.”

Sebastian drew a sharp breath. An enemy name. “Are you hurt?” 

“Depends on your perspective,” Ominis answered with a dry laugh. “I'm alive, for now.”

“Ally or enemy?” Sebastian pressed.

“Does it matter anymore? We're the only ones left, it seems.”

Sebastian pondered this. Ominis sounded young. In another life, they might have been friends, but in this one? Was Ominis the one who killed the men around him? Did Sebastian kill Ominis’ friends? Did it really matter anymore? Alone, they were meat for dogs.

After a long pause, he spoke. “I'm Sebastian Sallow,”

“I have some gin here,” said Ominis. “Not good stuff, but it keeps you warm.”

“I've got some cigarettes.”

Silence stretched between them screaming with unspoken fears.

“Truce?” Ominis dared.

“Truce,” Sebastian agreed.

Slowly, cautiously, Sebastian emerged from his trench, raising his hands slightly to show he meant no harm. Across the scarred earth, Ominis did the same. They approached each other, the distance closing step by step.

Up close, Sebastian saw that Ominis was as exhausted and battered as he felt—mud-caked uniforms, unshaven faces, eyes empty as if they were already dead.

Sebastian offered a cigarette.

Ominis accepted it with a faint smile. "Much appreciated." He pulled out a small flask and handed it to Sebastian. 

Sebastian took a swig and grimaced at the harsh burn. “Terrible,” he muttered.

Ominis sniffled. “Told you.”

They sat on the ground, backs against the remnants of a shattered wall. The silence between them was somehow comforting. Smoke curled into the damp morning air as they both took long drags.

[wannabegwenstacy]

Eden's Favorite Scoups Tumblr Fics

updated: 5/2/2023

A/N: check out the full svt fic recs masterlist for some of the other members. warning i'm a baby carat so its not super full yet and i currently have only some members posts created currently. will be updating with more fic recs periodically. :)

A/N: Also, I don't have a lot of fics linked yet. :( Will continue reading and updating periodically.

.

.

⇣Below cut⇣

Terrifyingly Innocent by @twogyuu

Pairing: Seungcheol x fem!reader

Genre: Fluff, angst, fake dating, slowburn, older brother’s best friend!Seungcheol, badboy!Seungcheol, innocent!reader, older brother!Jihoon, non-idol!au, university!au, low-key Crazy Rich Asians!au (Seungcheol is RICH - implied chaebol lifestyle, Jihoon and reader's family aren't chaebols and are commoners but well-off)

Warnings: PG-13, specific warnings will be listed per chapter.

Summary: Fearful of losing her, yet unwilling to leave; this agreement between Seungcheol and his best friend’s little sister was meant to be casual and temporary, yet he finds himself growing more attached to her day by day.

.

.

.

push it down (sooner or later it all comes out) by @dontflailmenow

Pairing: Seungcheol x fem!reader

word count: 50,301

genre: smut (18+), enemies to lovers, camboy au, angst (with a happy ending)

Warnings: adult language, excessive use of petnames, copious amounts of banter, e2l antagonism/shenanigans, camboy!cheol, strength kink, size kink, blink and you miss it sir kink, reader likes being a brat and cheol is into it, brief discussion about/hints of potential sexual power dynamics (but they're pretty tame imo), two instances of ass-swatting, mutually consensual possessiveness, semi-public touching, explicit sexual content: masturbation (m. and f.), manual stimulation (m. and f. receive), oral sex (m. and f. receive), protected and unprotected sex + creampie.

Summary: thirsting over your ex’s best friend in general is a bad idea. given that you and seungcheol have never gotten along, it’s even worse. when you accidentally stumble across his stream, though, and he finds out? all bets are off.

.

.

.

baguette by @bwinnies

Pairing: choi seungcheol x reader

Wordcount: 1.2k

Warnings: FLUFF , some cursing , food is mentioned (they’re in a grocery store) , seungcheol may make u kinda weak ngl

.

.

.

FINE DINING 101: STEP ONE (s.c) by @ncteez

Pairing: seungcheol x afab reader 

Wordcount: 3.6k

Warnings: pussy eating (he gets in there), masturbation in the form of humping the mattress and then into his hand, finger fucking, there isn’t any penetration or anything but like– maybe in a part two they can actually do more??? idk it depends on if y’all want a part two.

Summary: Is it weird that no man has ever given you some good head and your best friend is a bit annoyed by that? Probably not. Is it weird that he offers to eat you out after a particularly bad date? Oh yeah, for sure. You’re still gonna let him though. 

or the one where seungcheol proves to you just how good he is at giving head.

.

.

.

Remind Me by @milfgyuu

Pairing: Choi Seungcheol x Fem!Reader

Wordcount: 2.7k

Genre: fluff, humor

Warnings: mc gets drunk, cheol sleeps in underwear only (u can fight me on this), like one (1) unintentional innuendo.

Summary: You’ve had a little too much to drink at your sister’s wedding and can’t understand how or why Choi Seungcheol of all people is assigned to babysit you.

.

.

.

ice cold, cabin fever by @smileysuh

Pairing: Seungcheol & Mingyu x afab!Reader

Rating: 18+ explicit

Wordcount: 25.9k

AU's: e2l, s2l, step brothers Jihan, non idol, ski resort, roomies, etc...

Warnings: threesome, daddy issues, mean/tsundere cheol, wet dreams, spanking, marking, dirty talk, choking, unprotected sex, pain kink, dacryphilia, breast play, praise, degradation, fingering, oral, hand job, blow job, multiple orgasms, overstim, edging, orgasm denial, manhandling, size kink, cumplay, finger sucking, spit roasting, hair pulling, voyeurism, | petnames: (hers) princess, bitch, whore, baby (s.coups) cheol, douche, dick, daddy (mingyu) gyu.

Summary/Preview: "come on, let’s just go back to snakes and ladders and you can pretend we’re not snowed in with no firewood and a dude you hate locked in the bathroom."

.

.

.

inflection point series by @lovelyhan

Pairing: jeonghan x reader x seungcheol

Wordcount: 6.3k + 8.3k + 7.6k

Tags: unresolved emotional tension, friends to lovers on the hannie side of things, lovers to exes to enemies to lovers again on the cheol side of things, established relationship, angst, smut

Warnings: | pt.2 : implied alcohol consumption, graphic sexual content (minors dni!!) | pt.3 : graphic sexual content (minors dni!!)

Summary: you love yoon jeonghan. no, scratch that. you fucking adore yoon jeonghan; so much that the moment he asks you to be in an exclusive set-up with his current partner, you accept the offer in a heartbeat. what you fail to consider, however, is who your boss’ boyfriend actually is.

.

.

.

Bite That Lip | One-Shot (Seungcheol) by @beahae

Pairings: Seungcheol/S.Coups x Reader(f)

Rating/genre: M18+, friends-with-benefits to ???; smut 💖, mild angst/fluff

Word Count: 6.3k

Warnings: Explicit smut, unprotected vaginal penetration, spanking, dom!Cheol and sub!reader, finger sucking, Cheol and Mingyu both lift and carry reader, reader wears workout clothes (sports bra, leggings), sorta sweaty sex, creampie, degradation, kind of breeding kink (depends what you consider a breeding kink to be), reader is referred to as ‘brat’ and ‘a hole’, pet name ‘baby’, begging, possessiveness/jealousy but it’s like hot and not crazy in my opinion, reader is a tease and brat but only before the smut lol

Summary: Seungcheol knows you're really close with his whole friend group. But now that things have... quietly been developing between the two of you, he would love it if you'd cool it with the heavy flirting with the other guys.

.

.

.

in the eye of the beholder by @cheolism

Pairing: choi seungcheol x fem!reader

Wordcount: 6.2k

Tags: boyfriend!cheol, dom!cheol, possessive cheol. wall sex, fingering, oral; unprotected sex. worshipful sex. cheol's crude mouth, dirty talk. crying during sex from pleasure, mating press, spitting, hair pulling, consensual choking (just a little). pet names (princess, baby, sweetheart, angel, pretty girl, beautiful). simp seungcheol, his real spending addiction. he's going to tell you you're beautiful until you believe it.

Warnings: MDNI. fat/chubby!reader, insecurity, internalized fatphobia, anxiety. mentions of fatness, stretchmarks, love handles.

Summary: when you don't like how you look in the mirror, your boyfriend decides to take it upon himself to worship you.

.

.

.

F*ck, Marry, Kill: With the Experienced by @bitchlessdino

Pairing: fem!reader x ex!mingyu x seungcheol x wonwoo

Genre: smut

Wordcount: 5.6k

Tags: poly, exhibitionism, voyeurism, degradation, pet names (princess), unprotected sex (except cheol), praise kink, spanking, clit slapping, fingering, oral (rec. and giving), u, pussy slapping, ass play, triple penetration

Summary: one dumb party game makes a comeback.