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reysdriver · 10 months ago

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Keeping It Quiet | E.M.

Eddie comes to visit you when everyone is sleeping... or so you thought — eddie x fem!hopper!reader fluff

warnings: suggestive content, making out, fear of getting caught, jokes about guns/getting shot

words: 1.7k

a/n: idgaf about timeline or continuity with the show when I do this series of oneshots, it's just kind of an alternate version of the show where Hopper is still here around the events of season 4 ig (also I LOVE this gif of joseph omg)

It was late at night, but you weren’t sleeping. You were taking advantage of the quiet house and catching up on some reading that finally wasn’t for school. You laid with the book at the foot of your bed, and your feet dangling over your pile of stuffed animals right by your pillows.

It was so comfortable, you forgot about the world around you.

And you were only brought back by the terrifying sound of someone knocking on your window. It scared you right out of your haze, at least until you looked outside and realised who it was.

Eddie was standing right outside your bedroom wall with a stupid grin on his face, and he was pointing to the windowsill, wordlessly asking you to let him in.

After rolling your eyes and marking your spot in the book, you got up and opened the window for your boyfriend.

“What are you doing here?” You asked, leaning over the separation to peck his lips quickly.

“Not quite the warm welcome I was expecting.” He grunted, using the log you had placed under your window to climb in your room. “You’re not happy to see me?”

“You scared the hell out of me ‘cause you didn’t tell me you were coming over.”

“I didn’t know I was coming over until I was already in my van. I haven’t seen you in forever, plus I had something I wanted to show you.”

The last part was intriguing, but you still wanted to correct his dramatics. You’ve learned that if you didn’t act as the voice of reason sometimes, he would start believing his own exaggerations.

“It’s been two days since you last saw me.” And it didn’t take long for you to give in to whatever he was hiding. “But what is it that I have to see?”

He let out an exaggerated sigh as he flopped down on the end of your bed. He looked up at you with fake sadness. “I should have known you would only like me for material things, Madonna.”

“So what if I was a material girl? You’d still love me anyways.”

He started speaking like he was in the school play, which he would never do. “It’s just sad—”

You jumped towards him to cover his mouth with your hand. As much as you loved his antics and would encourage it at any other time, it was all quiet in your house and you were petrified of waking your family.

“Are you crazy?” You asked him in a hushed scold.

He just nodded happily since he couldn’t speak with your hand still over his mouth.

“If my dad hears you, he’ll burst into the room with a gun in his hand. You might be able to charm the pants off of me effortlessly, but I think you’d get shot if you tried to test your charisma on the chief of police.”

You cautiously took your hand away from Eddie’s face while he looked at you with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“Stop looking at me like that and show me what you wanted me to see in the first place.” You told him, sternly but lovingly.

“Wow, you really are the chief’s daughter.” He joked as he stood up and took off his leather jacket.

You figured he was just making himself comfortable, but when he started taking off the t-shirt he was wearing underneath the coat, you wondered what was really going on.

Then you saw it.

On his right side, where his rib cage ends, there was a new tattoo. A flaming sword that you knew was based on his current—and favourite—Dungeons and Dragons campaign of his.

He pointed to the pommel of the weapon, which was a heart shaped gemstone.

“Did you see the end? It doesn’t have anything to do with the game, but I designed it while thinking of you.” He smiled at you, and you smiled back. “Do you like it?”

“I love it, Eds.” You answered sincerely. “When did you get it done?”

“Friday. Right after your dad picked you up from the mall.”

“Did it hurt?”

He shook his head as he gently pushed you back against your pillows, then positioned himself on top of you.

“Not as much as it hurts to be away from you.”

You had to stifle your own laugh at his corniness. As stupid as it was, you did feel kind of flattered by him at that moment. And that’s exactly why you let him kiss you, despite you being just a few decibels away from your sleeping father waking up and grounding you permanently for sneaking a boy in.

But you pushed all your worries aside and let him press his luscious lips against yours. God, how you couldn’t get enough of that sensation.

You loved how he kissed you just because he likes to kiss you, how he used flavoured chapstick so he could heal his chapped lips, and how he always tasted faintly of cigarettes and the lemon candies you got him hooked on.

You loved all that almost as much as what came next.

When he moved his lips from your mouth to your jaw, and then your neck. He nipped the skin just lightly and then continued to work his magic. You had both noted another time just like this that your bodies must be made for each other, and this exact moment was perfect proof for that claim.

“Oh, god, Eddie. You’re so good at this.” You praised, trying to keep your voice down.

He mumbled an ‘mhm?’ against your throat. He was such a sucker for your affirmations.

“Yeah. Just be careful not to leave a bruise.”

Eddie lifted his head up, causing your face to morph into a frown from the expression of pleasure just a second ago.

“You don’t want little reminders of my love?” He asked, lips exaggeratedly pouted.

“Not when my family can see them, loverboy.”

He seemed satisfied with that response, returning his attention to you and practically attacking your neck with his kisses. The way his mouth was worshipping your neck damn near put you in a trance. It was so good that you didn’t even notice the soft knock at your door, nor the opening that followed it.

When your younger sister called out your name softly, that’s when you realised the importance of not letting your guard down. You tried to push Eddie off of you as he hadn’t seen Eleven there yet, but he got up quickly once he did notice.

You urged him to sit down and stay silent while you pulled El away from your bedroom and into the bathroom, all while your sister stared at you with a wide-eyed expression.

Eleven was the first one to speak between you two. “Who was that in your room?”

“That was my friend.” You said, partially honest. He was your friend, he was just also more. “His name is Eddie.”

“What were you and Eddie doing?”

You racked your brain, trying to think of something believable to say that would get your sister off your back. You really should have prepared a lie before this, because it was proving to be more difficult than you would have thought; of course, you never really thought about your sister catching you making out with your shirtless boyfriend.

“We were playing.” You answered as confidently as possible.

“Playing?”

You nodded. “Yeah, you know when you and I play-fight, like wrestling? When Dad sometimes thinks we’re hurting each other but we’re really just having fun?”

“So you and Eddie were just having fun?”

“Mhm.” You ran a hand through her hair, feeling somewhat guilty about your lie. “Why? Were you worried about me?”

She didn’t seem fazed at all by your fingers combing through her hair, but her cheeks flooded with pink when you asked if she knocked on your door out of concern for you.

“I heard you were awake and I wanted to know what you were doing.” Eleven told you.

It really was nothing embarrassing, she’s just a shy girl. And now you felt less guilty about lying since you know she was just curious rather than upset.

“Well, I was just playing with my friend. But, don’t tell Dad about Eddie, okay?”

“Why not?”

Another question you didn’t quite have an answer for. Luckily, you were quick enough on your toes that your little sister wouldn’t notice the nonsense spilling from your mouth.

“You know Dad can be a fun sponge sometimes. Like when he spends an hour questioning your friends before you can hang out, or when he won’t let us turn the couch into a pillow fort. If he hears about Eddie, he won’t let us have fun together anymore, and I would be really sad if I couldn’t see my friend.”

She seemed to be eating your excuse up, knowing exactly what you meant.

“Okay. I won’t tell him.” She agreed. “I don’t want you to be sad.”

“And I don’t want you to be tired, little lady. So, now that you know what you wanted to learn, how about you go back to sleep, okay?”

“Okay, goodnight.”

She opened the slightly creaky bathroom door and headed back to her bedroom, hopefully to fall back asleep soon.

“Goodnight, El. Sleep tight.” You called in a volume just above the whisper you were using just seconds before.

You stood in the bathroom alone after you heard your sister’s bedroom door close. For a minute, you just listened to everything around your house. The quiet wind blowing outside, the sounds of Eddie flipping through your books as he waited for you to come back, and best of all, not a peep from your father’s room.

It was safe to return to Eddie in your bedroom and resume the fooling around from before.

Once you silently pushed open your door, closed it again, and sat down next to your boyfriend on the corner of your bed, he pulled you onto his lap.

“So, we’re in the clear now?” Eddie asked you.

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean we can be any less careful than usual. That just proves my family can hear us, so let’s not be stupid.”

A flirty grin spread across Eddie’s face as he trailed his fingers under your shirt and up your sides. “Baby, I can’t promise anything. Stupid is my middle name.”

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x hopper!reader #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson oneshot #stranger things #stranger things imagine #stranger things fanfiction

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muniimyg · 2 months ago

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*ੈ✩‧₊˚ SUPERNOVA // JJK ੈ✩‧₊˚

01 | 02 | ♡ 03

— stuck in an unspoken love triangle, oc and jungkook face the end of it all

au/genre:

mean girl au

love triangle

childhood friends to lovers

note: omg ! the end <3

jungkook had a plan.

he was going to show you around the new exhibit, confess, and ask to be your boyfriend. his entire life, he waited for signs and for the perfect time—only for him to realize that there will never be a moment where bells ring and tell him; now.

no.

you see, after all this time—for his entire life—you have been the quiet.

his quiet.

all his life, it’s like his eyes only focused on you. everything and everyone around him was blurry and the only real clarity he had in his life was art and you… and as corny as it is; that’s what you are to him entirely.

art.

from your pottery, to the way you look, and to the way you simple are—you are his favourite masterpiece.

the canvas gallery is where you two ran around as kids, amazed at all the pieces other artists made. so, it only made sense that this would be the place where he kicks his anxiety in the ass and finally fucking goes for it.

so, he waited.

and waited.

…. and waited.

and right when he was about to call you—

hana showed up.

she grabbed his arm and yapped all about how excited she is to be here with him. to that, jungkook shook off her grip and stepped away.

...

“what are you doing here?”

“___ gave me her ticket—”

“fuck that. hana, why do you always do this? why do you always take things from ___?”

with distant yet jealous eyes, hana replied; “because she has better things than me. i like her things. is it so wrong to like her things?”

“are you insane?”

“maybe.” hana scoffed. “i don’t get it. what does she have that i don’t? we grew up together and did everything together—yet, it’s like… i’m not even half of her.”

“because you aren’t.” he growled. “you hate ___, right?”

silence.

“that’s okay,” jungkook exhaled. “cos i fucking hate you. with all my being. ever since you blew out ___’s 14th birthday candles. ever since you always kissed the guys she was into. ever since her pottery business bloomed and you accidently knocked over a piece she was working on for two months. god, hana. i have and will always hate you.”

“shit, jungkook. is that it? are you done—”

“no,” he sighed. “i will never be done hating you for taking every opportunity to turn anything good for ___ into something bad. you want to play mean girl? fine by me. let’s fucking play. get this through your fucking head; i will never be yours but i will forever be ___'s."

...

jungkook gave you time.

partly because he was mad—mad that you gave hana your ticket so easily, mad at how quickly you folded like you always do. but mostly, because he knows how you are in moments like this. you don’t talk. you retreat, giving yourself space to breathe, to think. he hopes you’re using the time to clear your head, making space for him.

by the third week of awkward text exchanges—his dry "good night" met with your overly polite “you too"—and no more nightly facetime calls where he fell asleep to your voice, jungkook snaps.

he gets into his car and drives to your studio.

the late afternoon light spills through the frosted windows as he parks outside. his stomach twists at the sight of the closed sign hanging on the door, but the faint hum of a song playing inside tells him you’re there. jungkook knocks, loud and insistent.

for a moment, he worries you won’t answer.

that you’ll pretend not to hear him or let the music drown him out. but then, he hears the soft shuffle of slippers and the click of the lock.

when the door creaks open, you’re there.

cheeks flushed from the warmth of the studio, hair tied back messily, and streaks of dried clay smudged across your forearms. your apron is dusted in powdery beige, a damp hand towel clutched in your fingers.

“jungkook—”

he doesn’t let you finish.

his name on your lips is enough to tip him over the edge. stepping forward, he pushes the door shut behind him and closes the space between you in one fluid motion.

your back hits the sink behind you with a soft thud, the cool porcelain biting through the thin fabric of your apron. his hands find your waist first, firm and grounding, as though he’s anchoring himself to you.

“w-what are you—”

“i can’t do this anymore,” he mutters, his voice low and trembling, the words spilling out as though they’ve been trapped inside for years.

he shifts closer, one hand leaving your waist to cradle your jaw. his thumb grazes your cheek, where a smear of dried clay clings to your skin. you’re so warm, and so unbearably soft that it makes his chest ache. his other hand brushes against the edge of your apron, his knuckles bumping against the damp streaks of clay still drying on your fingers.

“jungkook—” you try again, but your voice falters when he leans in. his forehead brushes yours, and he’s so close you can see the strain in his jaw, the tension pulling at the corners of his mouth.

“i’ve had enough, ___,” he breathes, his voice trembling with something between desperation and exhaustion. “i’m tired of bending backwards to see you. i'm tired of people standing in front of you and i'm sick of you letting them. most of all, i’m tired of waiting for the right time. i—i’ve been in love with you since we were seven, and you know that.”

his hand leaves your cheek to tuck a stray piece of hair behind your ear, his fingers trembling slightly as they linger there. “i haven’t done much to hide it, have i? i'm sorry. i've been a coward but... maybe i never did anything because i always knew how you felt about me too.”

your hands tighten on the towel, the wet clay squelching under your fingers. you glance down, unable to meet his gaze, but he doesn’t let you escape.

“look at me,” he pleads softly, tilting your chin upward until your eyes lock with his. the raw intensity in his stare steals the air from your lungs.

“please, ___... i'm fucking begging to you see me through this,” he whispers, his voice breaking as he leans his forehead against yours again. “i'm begging you to take my heart and mold it yours.”

and that’s exactly what you do.

your hands tremble, damp with clay and nerves, as you reach for him. you cradle his jaw gently, your thumbs brushing over the faint stubble along his cheeks.

then you kiss him.

jungkook freezes at first, his breath hitching in surprise, but it takes only a heartbeat before he softens. his lips move against yours, slow and deep, like he’s memorizing every second of this moment.

he’s hesitant—his hands stay planted on your waist, his grip cautious, almost shy. but when you sigh against him, his restraint snaps. his fingers curl into the fabric of your apron as he steps closer, pressing his body firmly against yours.

he bends his knees slightly, his arms sliding down to wrap around your thighs. with a quiet grunt, he lifts you effortlessly, settling you on the edge of the sink. your legs part instinctively, making room for him to step closer, his body slotting perfectly between yours.

you gasp softly as his hands find the back of your thighs, pulling you flush against him. your fingers slip into his hair, still streaked with clay, and he laughs quietly against your lips at the mess you're making.

his laugh fades quickly, replaced by a deep hum as he kisses you harder, with more certainty. the kiss grows messy, your breaths mingling and the faint taste of salt lingering between you.

when he finally pulls back, his lips are swollen, and his eyes search yours with an intensity that makes your heart stutter. he doesn’t move far—his forehead rests against yours, his nose brushing yours as his fingers trace small circles on your thighs.

“so…” he whispers, his lips curling into a boyish grin as his gaze flicks to your apron, your hands still smeared with clay. “about that mug?”

#bts mini fic complete #jk scenario #jungkook confession #jungkook f2l #jungkook childhood friends to lovers #jungkook fic #jungkook scenario

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monotonesmile · 5 days ago

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omg hihi! can I request a Damian Wayne x reader where reader pranks him by ignoring him for a day. but if backfires because he actually gets really sad?

Prank Gone Wrong!!

[Damian Wayne X GN!Reader]

[Word Count: 1896

[Warnings: N/A]

[Fic Genre: Hurt/Comfort]

[Notes: Pouty Damian Wayne my beloved.]

—————————————————————

The moon was high in the sky as the moonlight streamed in through their window, illuminating their room in a soft glow, the sound of crickets chirping outside was a comforting and calm noise, a surprisingly calm night for the city of crime that is Gotham.

They were scrolling through their phone while lounging in bed, just scrolling YouTube before they had to sleep. After all, it is a school night, they’ll have to sleep eventually. Although, their attention was caught by a prank video where a girl was ignoring her boyfriend for an entire day, the, probably scripted, video making them snicker a little before their mind wanders into wondering how Damian would react if they started to just ignore him for a day.

They don’t know how he’d react to this prank in particular, they’ve pranked him in the past though, maybe he’d be pouty or grumpy because of it, but it sounds fun and they’re intrigued to see what Damian would do if they did ignore him for an entire day. Curiosity gets the better of them and they grin while turning their phone off, setting it aside and deciding to prank Damian the following day, thinking it’ll just be harmless fun, besides, Damian will probably just get annoyed and pouty, that’ll be a sight for them.

—————————————————————

As the next day comes around, the sound of students hustling about the halls to gather their supplies from lockers and head to class is the first thing that greets Damian, the usual sound of students talking with their friends, everything normal like every day previously. Though currently, he’s far more focused on trying to find his partner as he would every day, he usually starts his school day by talking with them about anything happening in their classes or if they’re possibly busy later, it’s one of the many things he enjoys.

Damian eventually found them after trying not to get squished by the crowd of students wandering the halls, seeing them looking through the locker, likely gathering their items for the first class of the day, it still brought a small smile to his face, no matter the situation, he finds himself smiling whenever he sees them.

“Beloved!” Damian called out to them but they had given no response, which was odd, but it’s entirely possible that they just couldn’t hear him over the multiple loud conversations happening around them, it is a crowded hallway and it’s not fairly big, so they probably just didn’t hear him, that’s fine, he’ll just get closer.

It wouldn’t take much to just walk over to them while they were closing their locker and heading off to their first class of the day, so Damian picked up his pace, quickly getting to their side, slowing down once he was beside them, feeling their familiar warmth just by standing beside them. He does notice that they have yet to say anything to him though, which he finds odd as well. They looked focused on something else entirely, though he doesn’t know what, trying to think back on previous conversations they had recently.

Perhaps they were just distracted by something, he doesn’t really think much of it, recalling that they said something the day before about a test they had today, so they’re probably just focusing on the curriculum of that class, knowing they likely want to get a decent grade, so he’s not particularly fretting over it. He can’t blame them for wanting to get a good grade, plus, he doesn’t mind just walking with them to class, even if they’re silent, it’s still nice to be by their side.

Damian walks beside them as they head to class, subconsciously opening the door for them before following them inside, taking his seat beside them and getting his notebook out, readying for the long school day ahead, putting their ignoring of him on the backburner until later on at lunch where he can talk to them later, for now, it’s time to focus and learn.

—————————————————————

Lunchtime rolls around a few hours later, the cafeteria filled with loud and rowdy students as Damian sat down beside them in their own little corner where they can be away from all the drama and noise, setting his lunch down, he was already prepared for them to start chatting about their day and possible plans they had for the day as they would do normally, yet nothing came this time, just pure silence, they didn’t even acknowledge him sitting down next to them, just focused on their food.

Not even the test Damian had taken was as confusing as this was, they weren’t talking to him at all, it’s been hours without their voice, and he hates it. He doesn’t like this random silence, he could practically hear his heart beating in his ears without their voice to fill the silence and drown it out, their voice was one of his favorite sounds in the world, but without it, he feels a void in his heart.

Damian frowns as he glances over at them, not that he’d ever admit it, but he was excited to hear them talk to him. It’s a possibility that they were just worried over their test score, but even then, they’d rattle his ear off about it, perhaps something with their personal life was distracting them, he had no clue and they weren’t making it any easier. He does know that he wants you to talk to him again, the silence was making him feel weird.

“Beloved? Is something wrong?” He tried to get them to talk to him, questioning if something was truly wrong, if they possibly wanted to talk about it, but again, no response, just pure silence as they ate, ignoring him completely.

“Beloved…please, talk to me.” Damian loathed pleading or begging, but he hated this weird feeling in his chest, he needed to hear them speak again, it was causing him to overthink every single possible thing that could’ve made them do this. Did something happen to upset them? So much that they went silent? Is it possible that he did something to upset you? He hopes not.

Damian hates this, he hates being ignored by them, it’s making his chest tighten up with dread and an odd feeling, his heart feels heavy, he doesn’t understand this, or them, is he truly upset that they weren’t talking to him? Is he…sad? He’s upset that they weren’t speaking, he’s gotten so used to hearing them speak and their voice that without it, it feels like something is missing, that something is wrong, and he despises it.

—————————————————————

The end of the school day comes to a close, the bell ringing throughout the halls as students rush past each other to escape to the buses or their parents cars to return home and leave the school day behind, but Damian didn’t, he was far too busy with his thoughts, he needed an answer to their silence, needing to know why he was being ignored, searching the halls for them, maneuvering through the crowd, trying to spot them in the sea of students.

Damian had finally spotted them heading to the lobby to leave as well, he was quick to run over to them, grabbing their arm without saying a word and dragging them to a corner where it’s quieter and away from anyone that could listen in before he finally confronted them.

“Beloved, why are you ignoring me? Did I do something to upset you?” Damian held them in place with his hand on their arm, he needed to know if this was his fault, if he upset them, he wanted them to talk to him. “I apologize if I did, but I do not like you ignoring me, it feels weird not having your voice following me. Please, talk to me, it feels like something is missing from my life without you speaking.”

He almost looked heartbroken as he spoke, even though he was trying so desperately to hide how much it hurt, but it was obvious in the way his eyebrows creased and scrunched up, his eyes downcast as his hand moved to hold their own, squeezing it gently. It made their resolve crumble almost instantly, they hadn’t meant to make him worry, they didn’t think he’d get this upset by it.

“Oh god…I’m sorry, I was trying to prank you, I didn’t think this would be the outcome…” They finally broke their day long silence with an apology, they didn’t like seeing him look so heartbroken, he’s usually so stoic with his expressions and emotions, his sudden display of sadness took them off guard completely.

“I’m so sorry, Damian, I saw a stupid prank and thought it’d be interesting to see how you’d react, I didn’t think you’d worry this much over it…” They reached up to gently cup his face, feeling him lean into their touch, a soft frown on his face, it had completely softened his sharp features, making him look so much sadder than anything they’d seen previously.

Damian melts into their touch, breathing a sigh of relief, he was truly happy that this was just a dumb prank, and that he hadn’t done anything to make them upset, that doesn’t make it hurt any less, but hearing them finally speak makes his heart lift back up, filling the void he had been feeling the entire day.

“So you aren’t mad at me?” He had to make sure, he doubts that they’d lie about it, it definitely sounded like something they’d do, they’ve pranked him plenty of times in the past, with varying reactions from him.

“God no, I’m not mad at you at all, Dami.” They smile softly, dispelling his worries with their words, slowly tracing their thumb across his cheek, not wanting him to worry any further about a prank they did that was definitely a mistake on their part.

“Good,” Damian huffs, his original stoicism returning as he crosses his arms, trying to look like he was just heartbroken or pouting, and failing spectacularly because he’s still leaning into their palms. “Never do that again.”

“I won’t, no more pranks that involve ignoring you.” They chuckle a little, trying not to snicker at his pouty face, they’re struggling to though, he just looks so damn cute like this.

“Stop laughing. You owe me a date where you can just ramble the entire time, to make up for your single day involving a vow of silence.” Damian grumbles at them, still trying to look like he isn’t pouting, he just wants to hear their voice for hours now after being deprived for a whole day, so they will be going on a date, no other options, it’s final.

They actually laugh at that before nodding with a big smile, their arms falling to rest around his shoulders in a loose hug, they missed talking to him anyway, it was truly a struggle to not talk or acknowledge him an entire day, this is something they missed, just holding each other. Damian rolls his eyes before wrapping his arms around them in a hug, albeit his is much tighter, they’d been dodging his affection so he will be practically crushing them in a hug now, it feels nice to have their warmth against him again, the comforting feeling returning to him.

—————————————————————

[Requests are open!]

#monofics!#dc #dc comics #dcu #dc dcomics #dc x reader #dc damian al ghul #dc damian wayne #dc robin #robin damian wayne #robin damian #damian al ghul #damian wayne #damian wayne x reader #damian al ghul x reader #robin x reader

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totalswag · 1 year ago

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okay so rafe x brat!reader with a huge attitude towards everyone around her ??? only rafe could make her calm down n behave omg the dream

attitude attitude - RAFE CAMERON

authors note pretty sure you sent me request before you sent me this one but THANK YOU for this idea. i can definitely see rafe being the only one to calm brat!reader down in these certain circumstances. just the thought of rafe doing this ugh only a girl could dream 😫.

requests are still open so feel free to send them my way. if you click on the bold red font it will take you to my ask box lovies!!!

summary brat!reader has a huge attitude towards everyone and her boyfriend rafe is the only one to calm her down.

warnings drinking, smoking, cursing, possible fight, making out, implied smut

Rafe and you were on our way to a kook party, which had been the talk of Kildcare for quite some time. The traffic lights made the drive take ten minutes. Rafe had his right hand on your thigh and the other on the steering wheel.

Rafe let out a breath, turning his head in your direction as you look out the passenger window, "Y/N before we get to the party, please be on your best behavior tonight," you turn your head around looking at him confused.

"And what if I'm not on my best behavior?" You smirk, tilting your head to the side.

Rafe laughs as he turns the corner toward the house. "You already know what will happen, princess," he says in the tone that just gets you going.

One thing about you have a bad attitude towards everyone around you. You have a short temper and become overstimulated easily. Rafe is the only person who can calm you down and behave in certain situations.

You say what needs to be said and don't care whose feelings get hurt. You have no fear confronting someone that's been talking about you or anyone you care for in a negative way.

If anything, Rafe and you are nearly the same, except you are worse.

The party has undoubtedly been the topic of much discussion during the last week. Outside, music can be heard, as can voices. Rafe held your hand as you two entered the big house, which smelled of weed, alcohol, people making out, and bodies grinding against each other. To move around the house, you have to squeeze.

A few guys recognized Rafe- calling out his name, waving, or dabbing him up.

"The fuck you looking at?" You question a group of girls who give you a filthy look as you walk past them with Rafe.

Rafe squeezed your waist after you snapped at the girls, "remember what I said princess."

You rolled your eyes as you let out a huff at his comment but on the inside you wanted to get on your knees for that man. There's something about the way the word princess rolls off his tongue.

Rafe and you parted ways after spending a majority of time together in the first half n hour. He went to hang out with the guys, while you are with some of your girlfriends. You two trust each other enough to be away from each other at parties like these.

He was out on the balcony which wasn't far from where you were. So if anything were to happen he would be there in a second.

Your girlfriends and you were in the living room, sitting on the couch with drinks in our hands after dancing for thirty minutes in the large crowd to the music which was still packed with sweaty bodies rubbing against one another.

"This party is packed," Olivia, one of your girlfriends, exclaimed while gazing around.

The rest of you are nodding in agreement with Olivia's comment.

"Josh will have a lot to pick up in the morning," you say, taking a sip from your drink, talking about the guy who's hosting the party.

You noticed the group of girls you snapped at earlier walking up to where you and your friends were seated; they stood close enough for you to hear what they were saying.

You tell your friends about the little incident. They all agreed it wasn't that big of a deal. You were wondering why they were giving you a dirty look for no reason.

"Can you believe that bitch came in with her guy earlier? I can't believe Rafe is even with that girl," the girl shouts to her friends, clearly affected by the situation. Her friends all agreed and saying their imput.

Who do these girls think they are? You think.

Thalia's jaw dropped as she heard what the girl said. Thalia rushes to look at you, but she already sees you standing up to confront the group of girls.

"This isn't going to end well, get Rafe right now," Olivia runs towards Thalia, pointing to the balcony.

Thalia sprints to the balcony to grab Rafe and the guys. Olivia looks in your direction with worry- she knows you like the back of her hand.

"Like Rafe can do so much better than that sl-" The girl was cut off when you poked her on the shoulder. She turns around about to see who tapped her but shuts her mouth when it's you.

"You wanna finish what you were gonna say?" You ask in a serious tone, crossing your arms over your chest, "because it's really funny hearing you lame asses talking shit about me over something so minor," you remark with a straight face.

Your blood was boiling.

The girl that was talking the most scoffs, putting her hair over her shoulder. "I said that Rafe can do much better than being with a slut like you" she steps close to your face.

Her little posy agreed and putting in their input.

These bitches sound dumb.

You can't help but laugh: "You sound very insecure, you all do in fact," pointing at them. "Calling me a bitch because I clapped back cause you three were giving me a dirty look when I walked in mind my business with my boyfriend?" The tone in your voice indicated that you were not messing around.

She puts her index finger on your chest, "Oh honey that's not us being insecure it's just us stating facts. Plus you are a bitch" she says giving a fake smile.

The moment her finger laid on your chest everything in you was telling you to rip her face off.

You forcefully swap her hand off your chest, taking her off guard with your strength. She glances at you, slightly afraid, but remains calm. Her friends' eyes almost fell out of their sockets.

Other's around have their phones out and waiting for something to happen. To them this is entertainment.

"Am I a bitch for calling you out for giving me a dirty look? Listen, bitch, I have never met you before in my life. I don't care what comes out of my mouth because I'll say what needs to be said." At this point, you are eating the girl up and she has nothing else to say since she knows you are correct.

After you finish your sentence, she rolls her eyes and extends her arms, pushing you back slightly, taking you by surprise. She glances at you, still wanting more. You aren't the kind to fight, but she put her hands on you first.

Your girlfriends rush over immediately. No matter what happens your girls will always have your back.

Before you swung you felt two strong arms wrap themselves around your waist, pulling you away from the fight that's about to happen.

"What did I tell you princess?" Rafe calmly asks you in your ear. He could feel the tension in your body on a hundred.

The group of girls begin giggling, "Aw, you need your boyfriend to pull you away from that mu-" Rafe instantly hushed her up, "You shut the fuck up!" he said sternly, pointing at her and gazing at her straight-faced.

Others around started laughing.

Rafe halted in front of the host, Josh, and told him to kick the group of girls out of the party. Josh nods and instructs the girls to leave due of the ruckus they created.

Rafe took you upstairs to a room for you to cool down. He knows what to do in situations like these- always gives you reassurance, gives you a cold bottle of water, telling you that everything's going to be okay and to take deep breath's.

When your body is placed on the bed carefully, you let out a frustrated sigh, running your hands through your hair, shaking your head. Ranting about the encounter that happened.

Rafe stands between your open legs, gently grasping your chin with his thumb and pointer finger, and tilting your head back slightly to make eye contact with him.

"Princess you are okay, focus on the sound of my voice, yeah?" He says in a calming tone that relaxes you, placing the front section of your hair behind your ear.

The more Rafe calms you down the more relaxed you feel. Words cannot explain how you appreciated him. You can't imagine how you could get out of this moment without him helping you out of it.

"There you go, just keep repeating that," Rafe says as you take long breathes in and out.

Once you calmed down enough you looked up to Rafe, still standing between your legs, looking at you with his blue eyes.

"Thank you for calming me down- I love you," you say, smiling with your teeth, "of course, anything for my girl. I know how you get in these types of situations and it's my job to calm you down" he says before kissing your lips softly.

When he pulls away you ask him the question, "Are you mad at me?" You asked curiously.

"No, I'm not, but it was really hot seeing you like that," he grins as he plays with the gold necklace he got you with his first initial.

You cover your face with your palm, blushing. Rafe takes your hand away, putting it back on your lap and moving closer to you, causing your back to hit the bed's comforter.

You two look into each other's eyes and then kiss. The sexual tension in the room starts to rise. You both crave each other's touch in the most intimate way.

"I want you Rafe," you moan between kisses, "so bad" dragging out the d, running your hands down his clothed chest.

"I'm all yours."

my taglist

if you would like to be added to my taglist and be notified whenever i post please let me know either in the comments or in my ask box. if there's a line on your name that means i couldn't find your account.

@runningfrom2am @winterrrnight @chenslucy @brooklynscherry-z @johannelis2302nely @kaydr3venge

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron imagines #rafe cameron fanfic #rafe cameron x female reader #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron smut #rafe x reader #rafe obx #rafe cameron x kook!reader #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe fic #rafe cameron blurb #drew starkey #drew starkey imagine #drew starkey x reader #drew starkey imagines #totalswagrequest!#request

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niniwritesxo · 1 month ago

Text

‘cute coffee guy’

roh jaewon x fem reader

pt.2 <-

summary: you enter a cute coffee shop having no idea what to order, what happens when a cute guy decides to help you out?

꩜ .ᐟ————————————————————————

the bell above the door jingled as you stepped into the daily grind, a cozy coffee shop tucked away on a quiet street corner. the smell of freshly ground coffee beans immediately wrapped around you, warm and comforting against the chilly morning air outside. the shop was charming, with mismatched furniture, chalkboard menu’s filled with handwritten specials, and shelves lined with quirky mugs.

soft indie music hummed in the background, and the buzz of quiet conversation gave the place a peaceful, lived-in feel.

as you made your way to the counter, the barista,

a guy with messy hair and a tattoo peeking out from under his rolled-up sleeve flashed you a smile. his name tag read alex.

“morning,” he greeted, his voice warm and casual. “what can I get for you today?”

you opened your mouth, but before you could respond, a voice from behind you spoke up in a tone that made you tense.

“are you seriously just standing there?” the woman behind you, clearly in a rush, tapped her foot impatiently. “there’s a line, you know. It’s not rocket science. just order something already.”

you blinked, taken aback by her bluntness, but before you could apologize, she muttered, “i don’t have all day,” and crossed her arms.

‘‘alex, give her a vanilla iced, oh and put it on my tab’’ a man sitting at the window, his laptop in front of him speaks up.

after a few minutes alex hands me the coffee the random man told me to get, great.

you look for a quiet place to sit and spot the man again, he has medium black hair, round glasses and is wearing a north face puffer jacket.

‘‘mind if i sit here?’’ you softly ask looking at the man sitting down, typing what seems like a essay.

when the man looks up you can see his full face, the way his eyebrow raised up when you spoke up, the way he stopped typing to look at you.

this guy was handsome, gosh.

‘‘oh yeah yeah, go ahead’’ he says before quickly standing up to pull the chair a bit.

as you sit down you thank him for the coffee and explain how you weren’t really that big of a coffee person.

“you’re welcome, jaewon by the way,” he said, offering his hand.

you introduced yourself, and soon the two of you fell into easy conversation. he asked what brought you to the coffee shop, and you explained you were escaping the rain and taking a break from work. when you returned the question, his eyes lit up.

“i write,” he said simply.

“like… essays or something?” you asked, taking a sip of your drink.

“something like that,” he replied, chuckling. “poems, mostly. and books.”

“oh, that’s cool,” you said, genuinely impressed. “do you do it like full-time?”

“i do,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “i’ve been lucky. a few of my books have done pretty well actually’’

“that’s amazing,” you said, your curiosity piqued. “what kind of books?”

he hesitated for a moment, as if choosing his words carefully. “mostly poetry, but I’ve dabbled in fiction. stories about connection, loss, love and kind of all sort of things that make us human.”

‘‘oh i’ll definitely check it out some time!’’ you answer with a kind smile.

there was a quiet passion in his words, a depth that made you want to hear more.

by the time the rain had stopped, you realized you’d spent hours talking to jaewon. as you gathered your things to leave, he tore a page from his notebook and handed it to you.

“a little something to remember me by,” he said with a kind smile.

a few hours later you were sitting on your couch, eating take away noodles like your life depended on it. you haven’t ate since the morning and really needed these noodles.

when you grab your phone you see a text from your best friend ellie.

ellie <3:

hiii y/n, what have you been up to girl?

you:

hey elle! met the cutest guy at the coffee shop today, he bought me a coffee #iaminlove

ellie <3:

omg spill.

you:

okay so he was like a writer? apparently he is quite popular, i think he mostly writes poetry.

ellie <3:

don’t tell me his name was roh jae-won

you:

wait how..how do you know that???

ellie <3:

IT WAS? CALL ME RN

you were confused, no way he is THAT famous right?

as soon as you call ellie she goes on about how famous jae-won actually is, she told you how he has the best selling book in south korea right now.

you decided to look up his name and there it was, blogs, a sorts of new channels and fan pages talking about him, you click on the tumblr link you see with his name in it.

roh jae-won published today at 19:34:

and though the rain has gone away,

the memory still chooses to stay,

of the girl who made the coffee shop

a place where time forgot to stop.

and there you were, sitting behind your phone screen with your eyebrows scrunched together wondering if that poem was about you.

ellie <3:

no way, cute coffee guy has a crush on the one and only y/n??

you laugh at the message your friend send you, but jae-won was probably at that same coffeeshop daily so you bet it was just coincidental.

꩜ .ᐟ————————————————————————

(english is not my first language so if you spot any mistakes my apologies xo)

#roh jaewon #nam gyu x reader #roh jaewon x reader #nam gyu headcanons #player 124 #namgyu #romance

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im-totally-not-an-alien-2 · 1 year ago

Text

Halloween prompts year 2 day 2

Tim, as a child, went to a party/gala with his parents and ended up getting dragged into an Oiji board session when he was shoved off to go join the other kids.

It somehow escalated to a "bride of Satan" ritual but instead of Satan they chose the "king of ghosts" just to see if anything replied. Tim didn't believe in ghosts at this point and was goaded into being the bride. They thought the ritual failed after the flames of the candles turned green then purple then green again before blowing out entirely.

After Jason dies Tim makes a wish/prayer to anyone who could hear him. He desperately wanted his hero, his Robin, to live.

Phantom died at four and became the king of the Infinite Realms at 7. He was often lonely and hid his halfa status from everyone outside of the Far Frozen where he was raised. Both he and the Yetis guarded this secret zealously. Still, he craved contact from other humans and knowledge of thier world that was so different from his own. So naturally when he felt someone willingly sacrificing themselves to be his spouse? He only hesitated a moment before agreeing. Then he just needed his fiance to wish for something and thier engagement would be set.

Cue Jason Todd waking up in his casket.

Nothing really comes of it until Tim gets his first major injury from a bad guy as the new Robin and Tim wakes up to a giant nightmare fuel skeleton monster just chilling on his ceiling watching him. It had mandibles like a beatle made from fingerbones woven into one another and its face seamed the same save for the artistic inclusion of opals, pearls and other small bones that Tim couldn't identify. Its body looked like a mass of bones both human and animal while its many, many arms kept it stuck to the ceiling where dark empty eye sockets stared down at him. Two human skulls protruded from the creatures back, one watching the window and the other watching the doorway.

Tim screamed.

Danny just hoped his fiance liked his new bodyguard. He made it himself special order, he called it a BoneKeeper.

----

Much later

Batman, Zatanna, and Robin: *tries to summon ghost king*

Phantom: omg my fiance wants to meet me!

Phantom: I cant go like this! I want to meet him while looking my best!

Phantom: *sends note through in his stead stating to call back at a specific date and time*

Heroes: wtf? Is this a trap?

Day comes

Heroes: *summoning*

Phantom: *appears looking nice and very much a child* Are you my fiance?

Batman: ...oh god thats a child

Zatanna: ...oh god thats a child

Robin: *same age as Danny and unbothered* Whats with the bone monster?

Phantom: I made it to protect you! I heard that you guys used fear as a weapon. Is it scary enough?

#halloween prompts #prompts #this fic prompt wanted to be born and i could not stop it #it came out terribly tho #dpxdc #dcxdp #danny phantom #danny fenton #fanfiction prompts #batman #zatanna zatara

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amirasainz · 5 months ago

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Omg Queen, you are giving us so much. Can ypu maybe do a George Russell x Reader, where reader is sick and George takes care of her. Add a lot of fluff, please💙💙💙

Ahh, George Russell. The man that you are.

Enjoy reading and send some requests

- xoxo, Babygirl 💋

Through sickness and health

The rain tapped softly against the window, a gentle reminder of the cool October weather outside. Y/N was curled up on the couch, bundled in blankets, clutching a tissue in her hand. Her nose had been running for hours, and her throat felt scratchy. But George was due back from the gym soon, and the last thing she wanted was for him to know she was feeling under the weather. Not because he wouldn't care—quite the opposite—but because she didn't want to worry him. He was in the middle of a busy F1 season, and the last thing he needed was to fuss over her.

As the front door creaked open, Y/N quickly wiped her nose, trying her best to put on a normal face. George walked in, his gym bag slung over one shoulder, a beaming smile lighting up his face as he caught sight of her.

“Hey, love!” he greeted, dropping his bag by the door. He came over, leaning down to kiss her forehead gently. As soon as his lips touched her skin, though, he paused, frowning slightly. “You feel a little warm.”

Y/N stiffened, inwardly cursing her body for betraying her. “No, no, I'm fine,” she said quickly, waving it off. “Just cozy under the blankets. It's chilly today.”

George raised an eyebrow, clearly not convinced. “Is that so?” he asked, his tone playful but with a hint of concern. “You sure you're not hiding something from me?”

She shook her head, avoiding his eyes. “I’m fine, George. Just tired.”

George studied her for a moment, then sighed, sitting down beside her. “Y/N, you know you don’t have to hide when you’re not feeling well, right? I can tell something’s off.”

“I’m not hiding anything,” she insisted, sniffling slightly, which only made her claim less believable.

George didn’t say anything for a moment. Instead, he reached out, brushing a strand of hair away from her face. His touch was gentle, and the warmth of his hand felt soothing. “Love,” he said softly, “you’re the worst liar I know.”

Y/N tried to hold out, tried to keep up her act, but the gentle way he was looking at her, the concern in his eyes, made her resolve crumble. She let out a long sigh, her shoulders slumping.

“Okay, fine,” she admitted, her voice coming out quieter than before. “I think I might be coming down with something. But I didn’t want to worry you.”

George’s expression softened even more, if that was possible. “Y/N, you don’t have to worry about that. If you’re sick, I’m going to take care of you. That’s non-negotiable.” He tilted her chin up so she was looking directly into his eyes. “I love you, and I want to make sure you feel better. Let me take care of you.”

His words sent a warm, comforting feeling through her chest, and she nodded slowly, finally giving in. “Okay,” she whispered.

A grin spread across George’s face, and he pressed a kiss to her forehead again, this time lingering there for a moment. “That’s my girl.”

He stood up and immediately began moving around the living room, gathering her used tissues and tidying up the area. “Right,” he said, more to himself than to her, “first things first, I’ll make you some soup.”

“You don’t have to—” Y/N started, but George gave her a mock stern look, and she quickly fell silent, smiling despite herself.

“I said it’s non-negotiable,” he reminded her with a wink before disappearing into the kitchen.

From the couch, Y/N could hear him moving about, the clatter of pots and pans, and the occasional hum as he worked. The comforting smell of chicken soup soon filled the air, and she found herself feeling a little better already, just knowing George was there.

A few minutes later, he reappeared with a steaming bowl of soup in hand. “Homemade chicken soup, doctor’s orders,” he said proudly, setting the bowl on the coffee table. He helped her sit up a little, fluffing the pillows behind her before handing her the spoon.

Y/N smiled up at him. “You’re too good to me.”

“I’m just getting started,” George teased, sitting down beside her as she took her first spoonful. “After you finish that, I’m going to help you clean up, change the sheets, and then we’re going to watch some movies. How does that sound?”

She gave him a grateful smile, her heart swelling at how sweet he was being. “That sounds perfect.”

George grinned and leaned over to kiss her temple. “Good. I’ll take care of everything.”

After Y/N finished the soup, true to his word, George whisked her bowl away and returned a few minutes later with fresh sheets and a determined look in his eyes. He pulled her off the couch gently, guiding her to the bedroom. “Right, let’s get you into bed,” he said.

Y/N let out a tired laugh. “George, I can change the sheets myself.”

“Not today, you can’t,” he replied, shaking his head as he carefully stripped the bed and replaced the linens. “You’re on bed rest. Doctor’s orders.”

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t help but feel her heart flutter at how seriously he was taking all of this. Once the bed was freshly made, George helped her climb in, tucking her under the covers with a soft kiss on her cheek.

“Comfy?” he asked, brushing his hand over her hair.

“Very,” she murmured, already feeling more relaxed than she had all day.

“Good,” George said. He grabbed the TV remote and settled in beside her, pulling her close to his chest. “Now, movie time. Anything you want.”

Y/N smiled against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. “You pick. I don’t really care what we watch.”

He chuckled softly. “Alright, how about something comforting? ‘The Princess Bride’?”

“That’s perfect,” she murmured, her eyes already feeling heavy.

As the movie started, George kept one arm wrapped securely around her while his other hand absentmindedly played with her hair. Y/N nuzzled closer into him, her head resting on his chest, and her body immediately relaxed into the warmth of his embrace.

“Thank you,” she whispered, feeling a wave of gratitude for him. “For everything.”

George kissed the top of her head softly. “There’s no need to thank me, love. I’d do anything for you.”

For the rest of the afternoon, they stayed like that, tangled in each other’s arms as the movie played in the background. Every so often, George would glance down at her, smiling softly as he watched her slowly drift off to sleep.

“Sweet dreams,” he whispered, pressing another gentle kiss to her hair, holding her a little tighter. “I’ll be right here when you wake up.”

And with that, Y/N let herself fully relax, knowing she was in the best possible hands.

#formula 1 #formula 1 x reader #george russell x reader #george russell x you #charles leclerc x reader #lando norris x reader #lewis hamilton x reader #carlos sainz x sister!reader #pierre gasly x reader #max verstappen x reader #carlos sainz x reader #mercedes #george russell #sickfic #xoxo babygirl 💋

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l0relaii · 1 month ago

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reader riding josh’s face while she’s standing up………josh’s big hands holding on to her ass to prevent her from falling down

omg. that. is. so. hot

but let me add something. josh doing that while you talk to someone over a counter or window. ok ok let me elaborate

let's say you were planning the winter getaway to the lodge and decided to come with josh one day earlier to make sure everything is prepared

but over night it got so cold the locks froze and you didn't realize you were stuck inside until sam called you to tell you she got to the cable car

so you've tried the door.

locked.

you tried the key.

still locked?

"fuck- josh??"

"hm? what's wrong?"

"i think this thing is frozen"

"jesus fucking christ, again?"

he comes up behind you and tries to open the door, but he can't

"dammit.."

"sam called, said she made it to the cable car"

"well, i guess we'll have to use the deodorant again"

"i swear you're gonna burn this place down one day"

"let's hope today is not that day babe"

"haha, very funny josh"

he gives you a little wink as he goes into one of the bathrooms in search of a deodorant

you see him coming back with it searching for a lighter in his pocket while crouching down in front of the door

you shift your gaze towards the window where you can see two silhouettes appearing

you squint your eyes trying to make out who they are through the foggy window listening to the diy flamethrower

"josh, be careful with that thing"

"oh don't worry baby"

while you try to make out who the two people are you don't even hear the noise of the deodorant stopped, not until you see him, or rather feel him crouched between your legs

his hands come up to your pants dragging them down along with your underwear. you hiss at the cold air hitting your bare pussy and look down at him

"what the fuck josh? what's gotten into you? stop- there's someone out there"

"probably sam"

"no- there are two people, fuck-"

"who cares? they'll have to wait either way"

you feel his hands coming up to your ass dragging you towards his head while he starts trailing kisses up your thighs

chris and ash. fuck, they probably forgot to call. and sam is on her way too, great

"josh stop they're literally at the door-"

"the lock's frozen"

"no it's not, you literally just-"

oh. OH-

yeah the lock is frozen. they can wait outside until you're done, right?

his mouth is suddenly on your clit sucking and licking and kissing while you let out a breathy moan

you hear ashley calling out your name when she sees you looking at them through the window and you wave awkwardly

"open it"

"what-?"

"you heard me, open the window and talk to her, come on, tell her what happened"

fuck.

you reluctantly open the window and lean out towards them so they couldn't peek inside and see josh on his knees between your legs

"oh hey ash, chris, i'm so happy to see you made it"

"oh my god please let us in i thought we were gonna freeze out here"

"where's josh?"

"yeah, where is he? and why aren't you opening the damn door?"

"josh? ugh-"

you feel him digging his fingers into your ass cheeks while sucking harder on your clit. he really wants to get caught, huh?

"josh is, uh, looking for uh- deodorant"

"and he can't open the door without smelling like fresh flowers?"

"no, no- fuck.."

"is something wrong? are you okay?"

"oh yeah i'm fine just.. a little cold, i'm frozen -the door, shit- the lock is frozen, yeah that's right, and josh wants to use the lighter with the deodorant"

"ohh yeah, just like we did with the little army dudes"

the little fucker. he snuck a finger up your cunt while you were trying to explain to your dear friends that the lock is frozen

"oh hiii sam"

amazing

could this situation get any more worse?

"why are you out here? did josh lose the key again?"

oh. that would have been a better lie

"nah, the damn lock is frozen"

you feel it in your lower belly, your orgasm building up. josh feels it too, he can tell from the way your thighs are trembling and the way you're squeezing around his fingers

"hey.. are you.. okay?"

"me? yeah, yes why wouldn't i be?"

"you seem a bit.. shaken up"

you see chris trying to lean forward and look through the window but you put your hand on his shoulder and push him away a bit

"mmfuck.. i think i am a bit- nauseous, you might want to look away"

"do you want some water? ash get the water from my backpack-"

"no, jeez no, chris turn the fuck around or i swear to god i'm gonna- i'm gonna puke on you"

well that worked at least, they all turned around

exactly when your orgasm hits you and your hand shoots down to josh's head pushing him away

you see him wiping away at his mouth with a smirk and disheveled hair. he pulls up your panties and pants before walking to the door and opening it

"i thought the lock was frozen?"

"oh no bro, i guess i just got the wrong key in"

#anon ask #until dawn #until dawn x reader #until dawn smut #josh until dawn #joshua washington #josh washington #until dawn josh x reader #until dawn josh #josh washington x reader #josh washington smut #until dawn chris #chris hartley #until dawn ashley #until dawn sam

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theonottsbxtch · 5 months ago

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HEAR ME OUT 🙂 charles x pianist!reader where he’s like writing/composing a new ep and his producer is like “omg you should totally do a duet with (reader) 🥰” and uh yeah just anything related to that

i can already envision a scene where charles spends most of his time in the dark alone in the studio with his piano but reader is ofc there…

go for any trope you want 🙈

MY MUSE | CL16

an: im sorry this is so long istart writing and then i can't stop. btw i want everyone to know that i was listening to that's not me by skepta and jme while writing this. completely different vibes. SEND MORE REQUESTS IM BORED HOUSESITTING FOR THREE WEEKS

wc: 7.8k

dedicated to @iamred-iamyellow & @iimplicitt

The studio was thick with the scent of aged leather and dust, the faint glow of a single, dimmed lamp casting long shadows across the hardwood floors. Charles sat hunched over the grand piano, its black lacquer surface reflecting the soft light in fractured shards. His fingers hovered above the ivory keys, trembling with a kind of frustrated anticipation, but no sound came. The room seemed to echo with a deafening silence, broken only by the faint ticking of the clock on the far wall—an incessant reminder of time slipping away.

He had been here for days, isolated from the outside world during the off season. The once-comforting walls, lined with shelves of dog-eared books and musical scores, now felt like the confines of a cage. His last piece had been a masterpiece—a soaring composition that had flowed from him like water, effortless and pure. It was the kind of music that haunted you long after it ended, the kind that etched itself into the soul of anyone who heard it. But now, the notes eluded him.

Charles ran his fingers through his dark, curly hair and let out a low sigh. There was a pressure building in his chest, like a wound slowly tightening, pulling him apart. For the past week, he had been locked in this room, trying to capture the essence of something even greater than the last, but all he had managed to conjure was noise—fragments of half-formed melodies that crumbled before they could take shape.

He stood abruptly, the sudden movement causing the papers on top of his piano to rustle, brittle with neglect. The room was stifling; the air was thick with the remnants of burnt-out candles and sleepless nights. He paced to the window, pulling the curtains aside to reveal the darkened Maranello streets below, slick with the remnants of a recent rain. The city outside moved on, indifferent to his struggle, its distant hum a reminder that time had no patience for his creative paralysis.

He pressed his forehead against the cold glass, his breath fogging it up in shallow bursts. What was missing? What had he lost in the months since his last piece? It felt like chasing shadows, reaching for something just out of grasp. Every melody he tried to shape slipped through his fingers like grains of sand, and the harder he tried to hold onto it, the faster it dissolved.

The clock struck three in the morning, the chime echoing through the stillness of the room. Another night wasted. Another night consumed by the weight of his own expectations. He turned back to the piano, his eyes heavy with fatigue but burning with a quiet, desperate need. He couldn’t leave. Not yet. Not without something to show for the hours he’d lost.

With a sigh that felt like surrender, Charles sat back down at the piano, his fingers hovering over the keys once more. He could feel the cold beneath his skin, the way the silence seemed to press in around him. His hands shook, not with nervousness, but with exhaustion.

And then, in the quiet, a single note broke the silence.

It wasn’t beautiful. It wasn’t the haunting, ethereal sound he had been searching for. But it was something.

His gaze fell to the pile of sheet music he had scribbled on throughout the night. Inked lines of failed ideas, crossed out again and again. With a final resigned sigh, he stood up, the bench scraping the floor, the sound too loud in the empty space. He began to gather his things, shoving crumpled papers into his bag alongside notebooks, headphones, and his laptop. The familiar weight of them didn’t bring comfort; instead, they felt like reminders of the failure he was starting to carry with him. This was meant to be a hobby but it was haunting his every move.

As he turned to leave, keys jangling in his hand, a soft sound reached his ears—a distant, faint melody. He paused, his hand hovering over the light switch, ears straining to catch it. It was coming from down the hallway, barely perceptible at first, but unmistakable—a piano, its notes drifting through the quiet night like a whisper.

Charles hesitated for a moment, then slipped into the hallway, drawn toward the sound. He moved slowly, the dark corridor seeming endless, the music growing clearer with every step. It was beautiful—achingly so. Each note was delicate yet certain, as though whoever was playing knew exactly what they wanted to say. The melody swirled and climbed, creating something ethereal, something that made his chest tighten in a way he hadn’t felt in weeks.

He stopped outside one of the smaller practice rooms, the door slightly ajar, a soft glow of light spilling from within. The music filled the narrow hallway, surrounding him, pulling him in. He stood there for a long moment, his heart beating a little faster, a strange mix of awe and envy twisting inside him. This was what he had been trying to create—the same kind of raw emotion, the beauty that lingered long after the sound faded.

But it wasn’t his.

Charles leaned against the wall, just out of sight, listening as the music flowed through the cracks in the door. The player inside didn’t falter, didn’t stop to wrestle with the notes. It was effortless, pure. He didn’t dare move, didn’t dare interrupt, afraid the spell would be broken if the other person realised they had an audience.

The melody soared, and for a brief moment, Charles closed his eyes, letting himself be swept up in it. It reminded him of why he had started this in the first place—of the nights when music had been his refuge, when it had felt like an escape, not a burden. He could feel the heaviness in his chest easing, just slightly, as the music wound its way through the silence.

But as beautiful as it was, it also stung. Whoever was playing had found what he had been searching for all this time—something he had lost.

The music came to a soft, gentle end, the final notes lingering in the air like a breath held too long. Charles stood there for a moment longer, still leaning against the doorframe, waiting for something—he didn’t know what.

When the quiet finally settled again, he stepped away from the door, not daring to break the fragile stillness with the creak of the floorboards. He glanced back one last time, his fingers curling tight around the strap of his bag. For a moment, he considered knocking, stepping inside to see the person who had played with such grace. But something held him back.

Instead, he turned and walked down the hallway, the echo of that haunting melody still playing in his head long after the door to the studio clicked shut behind him.

His following morning came in fragments—a bleary haze of sunlight filtering through half-closed blinds, the distant hum of traffic muffled by the walls of his apartment. Charles stirred, his body sluggish and heavy with the weight of too little sleep. He lay there for a long moment, eyes closed, trying to hold onto the remnants of the dream he couldn’t quite remember. But it wasn’t a dream that lingered in his mind.

It was the melody.

That same haunting, angelic piano from last night, curling through his thoughts like a whisper. He could still hear it—those delicate notes weaving together, the way the melody had seemed so effortless, so perfect. It had been circling his mind from the moment he left the studio. Now, it played softly in the background of his thoughts, no matter how hard he tried to push it away.

Charles groaned, rolling out of bed and dragging himself into the shower. The hot water did little to shake the fatigue that clung to him, nor did it drown out the persistent tune echoing in his head. His mind kept returning to the small, dimly lit room where the mystery pianist had been, to the way her fingers had danced across the keys as though they had always belonged there.

He towel-dried his hair, staring at his reflection in the foggy mirror. Dark circles under his eyes, a face hollowed by days of restless nights and creative frustration. He had some sort of media training today—something important. A meeting he couldn’t afford to drift through half-awake. But even as he dressed, pulling on his usual team shirt and straightening the collar, his thoughts were elsewhere.

The city outside was awake, the streets buzzing with life as he made his way through the crisp morning air to the Ferrari HQ. His coffee sat untouched in his hand, the steam rising in lazy spirals, but he barely noticed. The melody from last night played on an endless loop in his head, the memory of it clinging to him like a ghost he couldn’t shake.

The office was a blur of familiar faces, bright smiles, and too much energy for this early in the day. Charles moved through it all, barely fully acknowledging Carlos, the world around him dull and muffled. The media manager was already waiting when he arrived, tapping impatiently on the table as Charles sat down for their first meeting.

But even as they discussed plans, upcoming shoots, and expectations for both his and Carlos’ media presence, Charles wasn’t fully there. He nodded in the right places, offered half-hearted responses, but his mind kept wandering back to that melody. The notes haunted him, pulling his focus away from everything else, as though they held the answer to something he was desperate to grasp.

“Charles, are you listening?” Carlos’ voice snapped him back to the present.

“Yeah, yeah,” he mumbled, though his eyes betrayed him. He scribbled something on the notepad in front of him, though the lines didn’t form words—just scattered shapes, like the music notes he couldn’t get out of his head.

The meetings dragged on. Through every discussion, every pitch and presentation, Charles felt the same distraction pulling him away. He couldn’t let it go. The melody. It had stirred something in him—a frustration, yes, but also a strange kind of inspiration. There was something there, something unfinished, and it gnawed at him.

By the time the last meeting ended, Charles felt hollowed out. He hadn’t contributed anything meaningful to the discussions, not really. His mind had been elsewhere the entire day, replaying those fleeting notes over and over again. It was maddening.

He needed to know. Needed to find out who had played it, and why that music—the music he hadn’t written—felt so much like it belonged to him.

Without thinking, Charles pulled out his phone and dialled his producer’s number, pacing back and forth in the hallway outside the conference room as it rang. It was late afternoon now, the sky outside tinged with fading light. He knew he should be focusing on his own work, or on getting back to the studio, but the compulsion to solve this mystery was stronger than his exhaustion.

The line clicked, and his producer’s voice crackled on the other end. “Charles, hey. What’s up?”

Charles leaned against the window, his forehead pressed to the cool glass. “I need to ask you something,” he said, his voice low, edged with impatience. “Last night, around 3 a.m., there was someone in one of the smaller studios, playing piano. Do you know who it was?”

There was a pause on the other end, the faint sound of papers shuffling. “3 a.m.? You sure?”

“I’m sure,” Charles replied, closing his eyes. The melody drifted back into his mind, as clear as if he were still sitting outside the door, listening. “It was… incredible. I couldn’t stop listening. I need to know who it was.”

Another pause, then a small chuckle from his producer. “Ah, that must’ve been the student. Yeah, she’s been coming in late at night to practise. Studies music at the university downtown. Doesn’t perform much, though—mostly keeps to herself.”

Charles’s heart skipped a beat. The name felt unfamiliar, but it already held a weight to it, like it was connected to something he hadn’t yet fully understood.

“She doesn’t perform?” he asked, brow furrowing. It seemed impossible—someone with that much talent, hiding in the shadows.

“Nah,” his producer continued, “she’s a bit under the radar. Not really into publishing or performing her work, but, man, she’s got something special. I didn’t realise you’d heard her.”

Charles was silent for a moment, processing the information. The melody. He could see it now—something just out of reach, like the missing piece of a puzzle he hadn’t realised he was trying to solve.

“You know,” his producer said, his tone shifting slightly, “you’ve been stuck for a while, Charles. Maybe you should try working with her. See what happens. It might help you find what you’re looking for.”

Charles swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. The thought of it—composing with someone else, with her—made something stir inside him. Could it be the answer to breaking through this creative silence he’d been drowning in?

“I’ll think about it,” he muttered, though the decision was already forming in his mind.

As he hung up the phone, the melody returned, softer this time, but still persistent. And now, it wasn’t just haunting him—it was pulling him forward.

_________________

The studio felt different tonight, as though it had shifted in his absence. The air was cooler, the lights dimmer, casting long, quiet shadows over the floorboards. Charles stood in the hallway again, just as he had the night before, but this time his heart beat with something more than exhaustion or frustration. There was an anticipation simmering in his chest, a tension just beneath the surface.

He hadn’t come to compose tonight. Not really. He had come for the music. Her music.

The name felt strange on his lips, unfamiliar, yet full of significance. He didn’t know her, had never spoken to her, but her music had already gotten under his skin. It haunted him still, drifting through his mind in fragments even after the long day of meetings, pulling him back here.

He moved quietly down the hallway, the same path he had taken last night, his shoes barely making a sound against the worn floor. As he neared the smaller practice room, the faint sound of the piano floated toward him, delicate and clear, weaving through the quiet.

There it was again—the same effortless, angelic melody that had captivated him before. But now, listening to it a second time, Charles felt something deeper stirring. The way she played was different tonight, more intimate somehow, as if the music had softened, becoming something even more personal. He stopped outside the door, just as he had before, leaning against the wall and closing his eyes.

For a long moment, he simply listened. The notes seemed to dance in the air, spinning and intertwining, building toward something both beautiful and fragile. It was mesmerising.

But then, the music stopped. Abruptly.

Charles’s eyes snapped open, his pulse quickening in the sudden silence. Before he could move, a voice broke through the quiet, soft but teasing.

“Mama always said it’s not nice to lurk.”

His breath caught in his throat. For a second, he didn’t move, caught off guard. The door was still ajar, the light spilling into the hallway, and from inside, he could make out the silhouette of someone sitting at the piano, her back turned to him. She hadn’t looked up, but she knew. She had known he was there the whole time.

Heat crept up his neck, but before he could stammer out an apology, she spoke again.

“You coming in, or are you planning to stay out there all night?”

Her tone was light, amused even, but it was an invitation all the same. Charles hesitated for a heartbeat longer, his hand tightening around the strap of his bag. Then, without thinking, he stepped forward, pushing the door open a little wider.

The room was small and softly lit, just as he remembered, the grand piano dominating the space. She sat at it, her posture relaxed, fingers still resting lightly on the keys. She turned her head slightly as he entered, giving him the faintest glimpse of a smile.

“Sorry,” he said quietly, feeling a bit ridiculous for standing outside like that. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“You didn’t.” She shifted on the bench, making space beside her. “Come on, sit.”

Charles’s throat tightened, but he nodded and moved toward the piano, his steps feeling oddly tentative. He hesitated for a second when he reached her, unsure if he should really be sitting so close. The bench was narrow, and he could already feel the warmth of her presence.

She looked up at him with raised eyebrows. “I don’t bite.”

With a small chuckle, he slid onto the stool beside her, the space between them barely a few inches. It was strange, this closeness—to sit here with someone he didn’t know, yet felt connected to through the music that had haunted him for days. Their shoulders brushed lightly as he settled in, and for a moment, the silence between them felt heavy, loaded with expectation.

She glanced at him, her eyes glinting with something unreadable. Then, without a word, she placed her hands back on the piano, her fingers moving over the keys with an effortless grace. The melody returned, soft and slow, and Charles felt his breath catch in his chest again. It was different this time—gentler, more deliberate, as though she was playing just for him.

The room seemed to shrink around them, the air thick with the quiet intimacy of the music. He watched her hands move, the way her fingers danced across the keys with the kind of fluidity that only came from years of dedication. The melody wound its way through the air, filling the small space between them, and Charles found himself leaning in, just slightly, drawn to the sound and to her.

“You play like it’s the easiest thing in the world,” he murmured, the words slipping out before he could stop them.

She smiled, a soft, almost secretive smile. “It’s never easy,” she said, her voice low, her eyes still on the piano. “It just looks that way.”

She played a few more notes, then paused, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye. “What about you? You’ve been in the studio night after night. What’s haunting you?”

Charles let out a breath he didn’t realise he had been holding. “I’ve been stuck,” he admitted, his voice quieter than he intended. “It feels like everything I try to create falls apart. Nothing compares to what I’ve done before.”

She didn’t respond right away. Instead, she played another soft chord, the sound hanging in the air between them.

“Music’s strange like that,” she said after a moment, her tone thoughtful. “It comes and goes. Sometimes it’s easy, other times… it slips through your fingers.”

Charles nodded, feeling the weight of her words. He had been trying so hard to force the music out, to create something that could match his last piece, but all it had done was elude him.

The girl beside him shifted slightly, her shoulder brushing his. “Here,” she said, moving her hands off the keys. “Play something.”

“What?”

“Anything,” she replied, her eyes meeting his for the first time fully. There was a challenge in them, but also an understanding. “Show me what you’ve got.”

Charles swallowed, feeling a sudden surge of nerves. But her gaze was steady, encouraging, and without thinking too much about it, he let his hands find their way to the keys. The notes that came out weren’t perfect—they were hesitant, half-formed. But they were honest. He played softly, the melody faltering at times, but it was real.

She listened, her head slightly tilted as she watched his fingers move. Then, without warning, she joined him, her hands moving gracefully beside his, adding harmonies to the melody he had started. The sound shifted, growing fuller, more complete. The music filled the room, and for the first time in what felt like forever, Charles didn’t feel the weight of his failure pressing down on him.

Together, they played, their hands moving across the keys in tandem, creating something new. Something neither of them could have done alone.

When the last note finally faded into the quiet, Charles sat back, his heart pounding. She turned to him, her eyes soft and knowing.

“See?” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “It’s easier when you’re not alone.”

For a moment, they sat in the quiet, the echo of their shared melody lingering in the air like the last breath of a long-forgotten song. Charles stared at the keys, feeling the warmth of the music still buzzing in his fingertips. He hadn’t felt like this in weeks—maybe longer. There was something about the way she played, the way her music had melded so effortlessly with his, that made the creative block he’d been wrestling with seem almost insignificant.

He turned to look at her, realising for the first time how close they were, their shoulders still brushing lightly. Her eyes were fixed on the piano, her fingers resting gently on the keys, as though she was waiting for the next melody to arrive. Her presence, though quiet and composed, carried an intensity that matched the music she played—an unspoken understanding of the way music could consume you, take you apart, and put you back together.

“That was…” Charles began, but the words caught in his throat.

“Different?” she offered, a slight smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

“Yeah.” He let out another breath he hadn’t realised he was holding. “It felt… easier. Like it wasn’t something I had to force.”

She tilted her head slightly, her gaze thoughtful. “Music isn’t something you’re supposed to wrestle with. It’s like water—it flows when you stop trying to hold onto it so tightly.” She shifted her hands off the keys and folded them in her lap, her eyes now fully on him. “You’ve been pushing too hard. I could hear it.”

Her words were soft, but they carried something that made Charles pause. He had been pushing—straining against the silence, desperate to capture a piece of the magic he’d once had. Every night in the studio had been a battle, and he hadn’t realised until now that the real fight was with himself.

“You’re right,” he admitted, running a hand through his hair. “I’ve been trying so hard to top what I did last time that I forgot why I was doing it in the first place.”

She leaned back slightly, still watching him, her expression unreadable. “What was your last piece?” she asked, her voice curious but not probing.

Charles hesitated. The memory of his last composition—an orchestral piece that had been his most successful work to date—felt distant now, like it belonged to someone else. It had been raw, emotional, inspired by something deeply personal, but the success that followed had overshadowed the joy he’d felt when he created it. Ever since then, he’d been chasing that same feeling, trying to recreate the magic, only to fall short.

“It was…” He trailed off, searching for the right words. “Something personal. It came easily back then. But now it feels like I’m trying to catch lightning in a bottle, and I’m just… stuck.”

She nodded, her fingers idly tracing patterns on the piano’s surface. “I get that. Sometimes the more you want something, the harder it is to find. That’s why I don’t perform much.” She smiled faintly, almost to herself. “There’s less pressure when no one’s watching.”

Charles studied her for a moment, sensing the layers beneath her calm demeanour. She spoke with such ease about the creative process, but there was an edge of vulnerability there too, a reluctance to expose too much of herself to the world.

“Why don’t you perform?” he asked, curious now. “I mean, with the way you play, you could easily—”

“Because I don’t need to,” she interrupted, her tone gentle but firm. “The music is for me. It’s not about the audience. It’s about…” She hesitated, searching for the right words. “It’s about connecting with something deeper, something that doesn’t care about applause or recognition.”

Her words hung in the air between them, and Charles found himself nodding slowly, understanding exactly what she meant. In a way, she had found a kind of freedom he had lost along the way.

“That’s why you play at night,” he said, more a statement than a question. “When no one’s around. It’s like…” He trailed off, trying to find the right analogy, “…the world doesn’t exist.”

She smiled at that, a real one this time, her eyes brightening just a little. “Exactly. It’s easier to lose yourself when there’s no one expecting anything from you.”

Charles sat back, processing her words. For so long, he had been weighed down by expectations—his own, his producer’s, the fans—and it had drained him. Maybe that was the problem. He had been writing for others, forgetting that the music had always been something he did for himself first. Something he loved.

She nudged him lightly with her shoulder, breaking his thoughts. “You know,” she said, a playful lilt in her voice, “you could try playing like no one’s watching. Even if they are.”

He turned to her, raising an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” she said, leaning in just a bit, “you’re too worried about what people think of your music. But here”—she motioned to the piano in front of them—“there’s no audience. Just us. So why not stop thinking so much and just… play?”

Charles blinked, the simplicity of her suggestion hitting him harder than it should have. She made it sound so easy, but maybe that was the point. Maybe it was supposed to be easy.

Before he could respond, she slid her fingers back onto the keys, playing a few soft chords that hummed through the air like the beginning of something new. Then she glanced sideways at him, a small, teasing smile tugging at her lips. “Come on. Share the bench again. Let’s make something together.”

A spark of excitement flared in his chest. Without another word, Charles moved closer, their knees brushing as they both settled into position, fingers poised over the keys. This time, he wasn’t overthinking it. He wasn’t wrestling with the music. He was just… there.

She started first, her melody soft and fluid, and Charles followed, instinctively matching her rhythm, letting their sounds merge and flow together. The music wasn’t perfect—it stuttered at times, shifted unexpectedly—but it was alive. It had a pulse. It breathed with them.

And for the first time in what felt like forever, Charles wasn’t haunted by the silence. He wasn’t weighed down by the pressure of creating something great. He was just… playing. Creating. Feeling the music as it moved through him, through them both.

As their hands danced over the keys, weaving together something raw and beautiful, he realised something that felt both terrifying and thrilling: maybe this was what he had been missing. Not perfection. Not even recognition. Just the simple, undeniable joy of creating with someone who understood. Someone who could make the music feel real again.

When the last note faded into the quiet, Charles turned to her, his heart still racing.

“I think,” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper, “I need to stop chasing what I’ve already done and start finding something new.”

She nodded, her eyes bright and knowing. “And maybe,” she said, her voice equally quiet, “we can find it together.”

The last note lingered in the air between them, and Charles felt something warm and alive settle in his chest. The music they had made together had been unlike anything he’d played in so long—imperfect, yes, but honest. Real. The creative block that had suffocated him for weeks was finally gone, or at least, it felt that way in this fleeting moment of clarity.

She glanced at him, her smile soft but distant. She seemed different now, as though the music had taken something from her as well. Before Charles could say anything, she pushed herself up from the piano bench, her fingers lingering on the edge of the keys for just a second longer than necessary.

"I've got to go."

Her words were quiet, almost an afterthought, and they hit him with an unexpected force. She didn’t give him time to respond, to ask anything, to even say goodbye. She simply gathered her bag and moved toward the door, her steps quick and purposeful.

“Wait—” Charles started, rising halfway from the bench, but it was too late.

She turned to him for a brief moment, a smile that was part mystery, part something he couldn’t quite read crossing her lips. “Don’t stop playing, tesoro (treasure)” she said softly. “You’re closer than you think.”

And then, before he could find his voice, she was gone, the door clicking shut behind her with an eerie finality.

Charles stood frozen for a few long moments, staring at the door. His mind raced. He didn’t have her number. He didn’t know where she lived, where she studied, or how to reach her. She had slipped away like a melody in the night, as effortlessly as she’d come into his life.

With a sigh, he sank back onto the piano bench, running his hands through his hair. The room felt strangely empty without her, the space they had shared now echoing with the silence she left behind. But something inside him had shifted. The music they’d created still hummed in his veins, and the weight of doubt that had plagued him for so long felt lighter. Almost like it was dissolving, piece by piece.

He placed his hands on the keys, the cool touch of ivory grounding him, and began to play.

At first, the melody was slow, almost tentative. It mirrored the notes they’d played together, but now it began to morph into something new, something entirely his own. As his fingers moved, the music unfolded naturally, effortlessly. It was as though every piece of frustration, every sleepless night, every failed attempt to capture the right sound was now fueling something greater. Something real.

The notes swelled and cascaded, filling the room with a rich, haunting melody that seemed to flow directly from his soul. It was raw, brimming with emotion—a reflection of everything he had felt, everything he had fought against. But now, there was no more fighting. The music came freely, weaving together in ways that felt effortless and inevitable.

For the first time in what felt like an eternity, Charles wasn’t thinking. He wasn’t chasing perfection or wrestling with expectations. He was simply… playing. The music poured out of him like a long-held breath, each note sharper, more vivid than the last. The emotions he had buried—frustration, longing, even joy—flooded into the sound, and it consumed him.

His hands moved faster now, the melody becoming more urgent, more intense. He didn’t know where it was going, but he didn’t care. It wasn’t about the destination. It was about this—this pure, unfiltered moment of creation.

And then, without warning, a tear slipped down his cheek.

Charles barely noticed it at first, too wrapped up in the music, but soon another tear followed. And another. He wasn’t sobbing—there was no sadness in it. Instead, it was an overwhelming sense of release, of joy, of finally breaking through. The music swelled, the room vibrating with sound, and Charles felt it wash over him. A catharsis he hadn’t known he needed.

When he hit the final chord, it echoed through the room, ringing out long after his fingers had stilled. The silence that followed was profound, heavy with the weight of everything he had just poured into the keys.

Charles sat there, hands trembling slightly, staring at the piano in disbelief. A shaky laugh escaped his throat, followed by a deep, breathless exhale. He had done it. He had finally played something worth keeping.

No—it was more than that. He had played one of the best pieces of his life.

For a long while, he just sat there, his hands resting in his lap, feeling the weight of what he had just created. Tears still clung to his lashes, but his chest felt light—lighter than it had in months. Maybe years.

He wasn’t just crying because of the music. He was crying because, for the first time in a long time, he was truly happy.

Charles leaned forward, resting his forehead against the cool wood of the piano, letting the last remnants of tension drain from him. His breath was steady now, calm. The room was bathed in a kind of quiet peace he hadn’t known in so long. He had no idea where the girl had gone, or if he’d ever see her again. But somehow, it didn’t matter.

The music was enough.

What he didn’t know—what he couldn’t have known—was that she hadn’t really left. Not entirely.

Outside the door, hidden in the shadows of the hallway, she stood, her back pressed against the wall. She had stopped as soon as she’d heard the first notes drift through the air, her hand hovering over the door handle but never turning it.

She had listened. Every note, every chord, every emotion Charles had poured into the piano, she had felt it too. Her heart had raced with his, her breath had caught in her throat when she’d heard the moment he broke through the wall he had been fighting against.

She smiled softly to herself, her hand finally dropping to her side as the last note of Charles’s masterpiece echoed through the studio. She had heard something in his playing tonight that she hadn’t expected. Something raw and powerful.

She turned to leave, her steps soft on the floor, leaving the sound of his triumph behind. Maybe she would come back one day, maybe not. But she knew this much—he didn’t need her anymore.

He had found his music again. And that, in itself, was enough.

As she disappeared into the night, Charles remained at the piano, still catching his breath, unaware of the quiet presence that had stayed with him until the very end.

The following days felt surreal, like a dream Charles was reluctant to wake from. After that night in the studio with the girl, his life had been interrupted by a trip to Silverstone to try out the tyres for the new season. The track buzzed with its usual energy, but no matter where he wandered, Charles’s thoughts always drifted back to her and the music they’d played together.

He had left the studio that night haunted by the memory of her delicate touch on the keys, the way their melodies had intertwined as though they’d been waiting for each other all along. He carried it with him over to England, through busy track meets and silent hotel rooms. Late at night, when sleep wouldn’t come, he would close his eyes and hear her music, as if it had lodged itself permanently in his mind.

It wasn’t just the music, though. It was her—the quiet way she had smiled at him, the lightness in her voice when she teased him, the sense of understanding that had passed between them without needing to be spoken.

Now, as Charles stepped back into the familiar silence of the studio late at night right off the plane, he felt a quiet anticipation coiled tightly in his chest. The lights were dim, the air cool and still, and for a moment, it felt like time had paused. The room was empty, and there was no trace of her—no soft melody floating through the air, no sound of delicate fingers dancing across the keys.

Disappointment stirred, settling somewhere deep. He’d been hoping, perhaps foolishly, that she’d be here. That they could pick up where they’d left off. He made his way to the piano, where the polished surface glinted in the low light, as inviting as ever.

And then he saw it—a small note left on the piano bench. His pulse quickened as he unfolded it, her handwriting instantly recognizable, though scrawled in that same casual, hurried way:

"Play with your heart, tesoro."

A soft smile tugged at his lips. The simplicity of the message was so very her. It was a whisper, a reminder of what mattered. A push, gentle but certain.

Charles set the note aside and sat down on the bench, the studio eerily quiet around him. For a moment, he just sat there, the weight of the piano keys beneath his fingers, the faint memory of their music hovering in the air. Then, without thinking too much, he began to play.

The melody started slow, almost hesitant, each note like a thought he hadn’t quite formed yet. But as he played, the music unfolded into something deeper, something more intimate. It wasn’t complicated or grand—it didn’t need to be. It was soft, heartfelt, like a quiet conversation spoken in a language only they understood.

He let go of the pressure, the constant need to craft something perfect, and instead just let the music be what it was—a reflection of what he felt, of what had been buried deep inside him since he’d met her. The music filled the room, curling into the corners like a secret. And for the first time in what felt like months, he felt at peace.

As the last notes lingered in the air, a soft sound broke the quiet. Applause—light, slow, and warm.

Charles turned, startled, and there she was, standing in the doorway, her silhouette framed by the dim light from the hallway. She was watching him, her hands clasped softly in front of her, a small, knowing smile playing on her lips. Her eyes sparkled with something tender, something familiar. She’d been listening, perhaps the whole time.

“I didn’t hear you come in,” Charles murmured, his voice softer than the room itself.

She took a few quiet steps toward him, her gaze never leaving his. “I didn’t want to interrupt,” she said gently, her smile deepening. “It was beautiful.”

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The room felt suspended in a kind of stillness, the last remnants of his melody hanging between them, but no words were needed to fill the quiet. She came closer, and Charles shifted slightly on the bench, instinctively making space for her. She sat beside him, their shoulders brushing softly in the small space, the warmth of her presence settling something inside him.

“Play it again,” she whispered, her voice low, like a secret shared just between them.

He hesitated for a second, but then his fingers found their way back to the keys, this time slower, more deliberate. The music that spilled out was softer now, more intimate, as if shaped by the quiet weight of her sitting beside him. She watched as his hands moved, her gaze gentle, and as he played, the world outside seemed to melt away, leaving just the two of them and the music between them.

After a few moments, her fingers joined his, their hands moving together over the keys with a quiet ease. Her touch was so light, so effortless, and the sound they created was simple yet achingly beautiful—a melody that spoke of longing and connection, of words unspoken but deeply felt. There was no rush, no urgency in the way they played, only a slow unfolding of something real and fragile.

Charles stole a glance at her, his heart tightening. There was something unspoken in the air, something that went beyond the music they shared. He could feel it in the way she leaned in ever so slightly, the way her breath seemed to sync with his, the soft, steady rhythm of their playing.

When the last note faded into the stillness, neither of them moved. They sat there, shoulders barely touching, the silence around them thick with the weight of everything unsaid. Slowly, she turned her head toward him, her eyes soft, her smile quiet but full of meaning.

“You played with your heart,” she whispered, her words echoing the note she had left for him.

Charles’s throat tightened, the room suddenly feeling too small, too full of everything he hadn’t yet said. He turned toward her, his voice catching in his chest as he whispered back, “You make it easier.”

Her smile deepened, and for a moment, there was only the soft rise and fall of their breathing, the music they had created still lingering in the air around them. It felt like something had shifted between them, like a door had been opened that couldn’t easily be closed again.

And as they sat there, side by side on the piano bench, Charles realised that the silence no longer felt heavy. It felt full—of possibility, of something quiet and beautiful, waiting patiently to be discovered.

Together.

Charles’s heart raced, the air between them thick with anticipation. They sat in a charged stillness, so close their breaths seemed to mingle. The soft light of the studio flickered gently against her face, casting shadows that made her seem almost otherworldly. Her lips parted, just slightly, as if waiting for something—an unspoken invitation.

Before he could think too much about it, before doubt could creep in, Charles leaned in.

At first, it was tentative—a brush of lips so light it felt like it might disappear if he wasn’t careful. He kissed her softly, testing the moment, unsure if he was crossing some unseen line. But then she responded, her lips pressing back against his with the same quiet hunger he hadn’t realised was burning between them all along.

The kiss deepened, their soft breaths mingling in the quiet. A slow, intoxicating warmth spread through Charles’s chest, pulling him further in. He cupped her face gently with his hand, his thumb brushing against her cheek as their lips moved together, tentative but growing bolder with each passing second. Her hand found his, her fingers slipping between his, and she pulled him closer, as though the space between them had become unbearable.

Suddenly, the kiss wasn’t soft anymore—it became something more urgent, more passionate, the weight of everything they hadn’t said spilling over into the kiss. Charles felt his pulse quicken, his mind lost in the warmth and closeness of her. He slid his hand to the back of her neck, pulling her in deeper, their lips moving together in a rhythm that felt as natural as the music they had created moments ago.

She shifted slightly on the bench, her body pressing closer to his, and the heat between them grew. The world outside seemed to vanish, leaving only the two of them in the dim, quiet studio, the echoes of their kiss the only sound. The softness of her touch, the taste of her lips—it was all intoxicating, a crescendo building within him.

Charles could feel his heart pounding in his chest, and he didn’t want it to stop. He could have stayed in that moment forever, lost in the intensity of her kiss, in the way her hands tangled in his hair, in the way she fit so perfectly against him.

But then, as though sensing they were both on the edge of something overwhelming, Charles pulled back just slightly, his lips still lingering close to hers, their breaths mingling in the stillness. They were both breathing harder, and for a moment, neither spoke.

Her eyes fluttered open, her gaze locking with his, wide and full of something unspoken. Her cheeks were flushed, her lips slightly swollen, and Charles had to fight the urge to pull her back into another kiss.

“Tesoro” she whispered, her voice soft and a little breathless, as though she couldn’t quite find the words.

He smiled gently, his thumb brushing over her lips before he let his hand fall away, resting on the piano between them. His heart still raced, but there was something peaceful now, something right. He hadn’t felt this in so long—this connection, this ease.

“I need to thank you, angioletto ” Charles murmured, his voice low and full of emotion.

“For what?�� she asked, her eyes searching his, a quiet vulnerability in her gaze.

“For inspiring this,” he said, his words soft but heavy with meaning. “For inspiring me.” He gestured toward the piano, where the notes of their shared music still seemed to hover in the air between them. “That song we played together… I never would have found it without you.”

Her lips parted, a soft smile tugging at the corners of her mouth, but her eyes shimmered with something deeper, something that mirrored what Charles was feeling.

“You’ve helped me more than you know,” he continued, his voice barely above a whisper. “Before you, I was stuck. I couldn’t write, couldn’t feel the music anymore. But playing with you—it’s like something clicked. You brought it back.”

She looked at him for a long moment, her smile growing, but there was a quiet tenderness in her expression, as if she understood all the things he wasn’t saying. Slowly, she leaned in, resting her forehead gently against his, and they stayed like that, breathing each other in, the world softening around them.

“I’m glad I could help,” she whispered, her voice a soft caress against his skin.

Charles closed his eyes, letting the moment settle between them, the weight of her words sinking in. He had been searching for something—chasing it endlessly, driving himself to exhaustion in its pursuit. But sitting here, with her, with the music they had created still vibrating in the air, he realised he had already found it.

It wasn’t just the music. It was her. She had become his muse in more ways than one.

He pulled back slightly to meet her gaze once more, his eyes searching hers for a long moment. And then, without another word, he kissed her again—slowly, tenderly this time. It was a kiss filled not with urgency, but with gratitude and something deeper, something unspoken but undeniable.

And in that kiss, Charles knew he wasn’t just thanking her for the music. He was thanking her for being the spark that had reignited something inside him, for being the light in a place that had felt dark for so long.

When their lips finally parted, he rested his forehead against hers once more, the two of them still breathing each other in, their hearts in sync. The studio was quiet now, but it wasn’t empty. The music they had shared—the connection they had formed—lingered in the air like a promise.

And for the first time in what felt like a lifetime, Charles felt whole.

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