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pucksandpower · 5 months ago

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What’s the Worst That Can Happen?

Charles Leclerc x Reader

Summary: Charles convinces his unathletic girlfriend to join him for his annual winter training ski trip … what’s the worst that can happen?

Warnings: description of ski injury and mentions of surgery

Based on this request

“Pretty please?” Charles begs, giving you his best puppy dog eyes.

You let out an exaggerated sigh. “Oh come on, you know I’m hopeless at anything athletic. I’ll just end up faceplanting in the snow the whole time.”

Charles grins, wrapping his arms around your waist. “That’s what I’m here for, to catch you when you fall.”

“Yeah until I drag us both down a mountain,” you retort.

He laughs. “I promise I won’t let that happen. We’ll start nice and easy on the bunny slopes.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Bunny slopes? Mr. Formula 1 driver wants to ski the bunny slopes with his clumsy girlfriend?”

“Hey, everyone has to start somewhere,” Charles protests. “Even the great Charles Leclerc was once a beginner. And the bunny slopes are the perfect place to learn together.”

You snuggle against his chest, still not convinced. “But it’s so cold there. You know I hate being cold.”

Charles kisses the top of your head. “The hotel has an amazing spa with hot tubs and a sauna. We can warm up in there after skiing. I’ll even give you a massage if you’re sore from falling down too much.”

“Gee thanks,” you laugh. “But what if I really am hopeless at it? I don’t want to ruin your trip.”

“Impossible,” Charles declares. “You could never ruin anything. This is about us having fun together, not about expert skiing. Though I have no doubt you’ll be shredding the black diamonds in no time.”

You smack his chest playfully. “Okay now you’re just lying to make me feel better.”

“Never,” Charles gasps in mock offense. “I have complete faith in your yet-to-be-discovered skiing abilities.”

You bite your lip, smiling shyly. His enthusiasm is adorable, even if misplaced. “Well, I guess it could be fun to try something new together ...”

Charles pumps his fist in excitement. “Yes! That’s my girl, up for an adventure!”

You hold up a finger in warning. “But I get to pick my own skis, and a helmet with a cute design on it. If I’m going to be falling a lot, I at least want to look stylish doing it.”

Charles grins. “Of course, whatever you need. I’ll take you to the best ski shops in town. You’ll be the most fashionable beginner skier on the mountain.”

You smile, shaking your head. “You’re crazy, you know that? Most guys wouldn’t want to deal with their girlfriends being accident-prone novices who will just slow them down.”

Charles takes your hands in his, gazing into your eyes earnestly. “Most guys are idiots then. I don’t care if you’re the clumsiest skier ever, I just want to experience new things with you. We’ll take everything slow, stop for plenty of hot chocolate breaks, and I’ll catch you every time you start to slip. The most important thing is being together.”

Your heart flutters at his words. You lean in for a tender kiss. “How did I get so lucky to find a man as sweet and patient as you?”

Charles smiles, pulling you close again. “I’m the lucky one. Now come on, we better start packing if we want to make our flight tomorrow morning!”

You wrinkle your nose. “Tomorrow? As in, the day after today? Don’t you think that’s rushing it a bit?”

“Why wait any longer to start having fun?” Charles counters enthusiastically. “Unless … you’re trying to back out already?” He pouts accusingly.

“No, no, I already agreed!” You insist. “It’s just, my suitcase is a mess and I’ll have to dig through my winter clothes and shop for ski gear and ...” Your protests trail off at the amused look on his face.

“Excuses, excuses,” Charles teases. “Admit it, you’re trying to stall so you can change your mind.”

You smack his shoulder again. “I am not! I promise I’m not backing out. I’m just … nervous. I’ve never skied before, what if I really am a disaster?” You bite your lip anxiously.

Charles tilts your chin up. “Hey, you’re going to do great. I’ll be with you every step of the way. But if you really aren’t comfortable, we can rethink this.” His eyes search yours with concern. “I don’t want you to feel pressured into anything, even from me. We can pick a different winter trip if you would rather do something else.”

You shake your head, smiling softly. “No, it’s okay. You’re right, it’ll be fun to try something new together. I’m just psyching myself out cause I’ve never been skiing before. But with you there supporting me … I can do it.”

Charles’s face lights up. “Yeah?”

You nod, leaning up on your toes for another lingering kiss. “Yeah. I trust you.”

“You’re the best!” Charles shouts gleefully, lifting you up and spinning you around. You cling to his shoulders, laughing.

“Whoa there, save some of that energy for the slopes,” you tease.

Charles sets you down gently, though his eyes still sparkle with exhilaration. “I’m just excited, that’s all. This is going to be such an amazing trip.” He kisses your forehead. “Thank you for agreeing to come. It means the world that you trust me enough to try this with me.”

You smile, running a hand through his hair. “Of course. Any chance to spend time with you is worth facing my fears and clumsiness.”

Charles grins. “Remember you said that when I have to stop every ten feet on the bunny slope to help you up.”

You smack his chest playfully. “Hey! I might not be totally hopeless.”

“You’re right, I’m sorry,” Charles says seriously. “For all I know, you could be a secret skiing prodigy.”

You snort. “Yeah right. But I promise I’ll try my best not to plow into too many innocent bystanders.”

“That’s the spirit!” Charles encourages. “We’re going to have the best time.”

You smile up at him softly. “I know. Anywhere with you feels like an adventure.”

Charles’s eyes shine with adoration. He leans down for one more lingering kiss. “I love you so much. Now come on, we’ve got packing to do!”

He grabs your hand and you let him lead you excitedly down the hall, butterflies swirling in your stomach. You still feel nervous attempting something so out of your comfort zone. But Charles’s childlike enthusiasm is contagious. And you know without a doubt that by his side, you’re ready to try anything.

What’s the worst that can happen?

***

Famous last words.

This is the only thought running through your head as you stand at the top of the beginner ski slope, knees knocking together nervously. Charles had seemed so confident about this yesterday. But now, staring down the gentle incline covered in packed snow, you’re starting to realize how insane it is to strap slippery sticks to your feet and careen down a mountain.

Beginner slope or not, you’re certain to make a fool of yourself.

Charles must notice your trepidation, because he squeezes your mittened hand gently. “You’ve got this, mon amour. I’ll be right by your side the whole time.”

You smile weakly, comforted by his presence. At least when you inevitably crash and burn, it will be into his strong, steady arms.

Charles grins at you eagerly. “Ready to give it a try?”

You take a deep breath, willing your knees to stop quaking. “As I’ll ever be.”

“That’s the spirit!” Charles says brightly. He turns to address the small crowd behind you — his performance coach Andrea, best friend Joris, photographer Antoine, trainer Nico, and friend Antonio. “Okay guys, let’s start nice and easy so she can get the hang of it. We’ll take turns skiing slowly beside her.”

You feel a rush of gratitude for Charles’ patience and consideration. The other men cheerfully voice their agreement. With so many experienced skiers guiding you, surely you can handle gently sliding down this minor incline.

Charles volunteers to go first, expertly snapping into his skis and gliding to your side. “Just stay relaxed, bend your knees, and focus on keeping your tips pointing forward. The snow will do most of the work, you just have to guide the direction. I’ll stay right here if you need me.”

You wobble forward, mimicking Charles’ athletic stance as best you can. The slope doesn’t look nearly as gentle anymore now that you’re staring down it. But with Charles’ coaxing, you slowly push off.

For a moment, you feel triumphant. The icy wind whips past your face as you coast downhill, skis sliding smoothly. You’re doing it! This isn’t so hard after all.

But your small victory is short-lived. An unexpected bump jolts you, throwing off your tenuous balance. You pinwheel your arms frantically as the ground rushes up to meet you.

Before you can taste snow, Charles’ strong hands grip your waist, stabilizing you back upright. “Whoa there! I’ve got you, just regain your balance.”

Your heart pounds against your ribs. But the reassurance in Charles’s voice helps settle your nerves. With his support steadying you, you manage to get both skis back under control.

“Thanks,” you sigh in relief. “That would have been a quick first run.”

Charles grins. “What are ski instructors for? You recovered nicely. Want to keep going to the bottom?”

You eye the remainder of the slope warily. But so far with Charles’ help, you’ve managed not to cause a complete disaster. “Okay, but stay close please.”

“Always,” Charles promises, sticking to your side like glue.

With Charles’ hand hovering protectively behind your back, you make it the rest of the way down the slope with only a few wobbles. At the bottom, you collapse into Charles’ arms, exhilarated.

“I did it!” You cheer. Charles sweeps you up in a hug, spinning you around.

“You were amazing!” He proclaims proudly. “A natural.”

You smack his shoulder. “Oh stop, I would have face-planted in two seconds without you.”

“But you didn’t and that’s what matters,” Charles insists earnestly. “I told you this would be fun!”

You can’t help but smile, caught up in his enthusiasm. As the rest of the group takes their turns skiing slowly beside you for a few more timid runs, you start to relax into the motion. Having skilled athletes guide you step-by-step gives you the confidence to slide a little faster, turn more smoothly, and keep your balance over bumps.

With each successful run, Charles’ grin grows impossibly wider. “Look at you go!” He exclaims after your latest effort. “You’ve gotten so good, I might have some competition soon.”

You snort. “Let’s not get carried away.” But secretly, you’re thrilled by the progress. Maybe you do have some hidden athletic talent after all.

On your next run, you’re feeling confident enough to wave Charles forward. “I think I can make it one time on my own now. Just stay ahead in case I start to wobble.”

“You sure?” Charles checks, poised protectively at your side. At your firm nod, he smiles. “Alright, you’ve got this! I’ll just be a few paces ahead.”

As Charles slides effortlessly downhill, you push off after him, a fierce look of determination on your face. For a few moments, everything goes perfectly. You whoop excitedly as you zip down the slope, wind stinging your cheeks. Charles cheers you on from where he’s stopped halfway down.

But right as you reach him, disaster strikes. Your left ski hits a patch of ice and skids wildly sideways. You flail your arms, trying to stay upright, but it’s too late. Your legs fly out from under you and you’re airborne, the white ground spinning dizzily.

You slam down hard on your bottom with a painful whump. For a second, stunned silence fills the air. Then Charles is at your side, helping you up as raucous laughter echoes from the group gathered at the bottom.

“You okay?” Charles asks, barely contained mirth dancing in his eyes.

You groan theatrically. “Only my pride is bruised.”

Charles wraps an arm around your shoulders, joining in the laughter. “It was an awesome run up until that point!”

You lean your throbbing head against him for support. “Laugh it up, superstar. We can’t all be pros like you.”

Charles presses a quick kiss to your helmet. “Even the pros take spills sometimes. Falling is part of learning. And you really are getting so good!”

From below, Joris cups his hands to shout encouragingly, “We’re proud of you!” The rest of the group gives thumbs up and cheers.

Their support, combined with Charles’ steadfast pride, melts away your embarrassment. This mishap was simply proof you still have more to learn on your journey to skiing mediocrity.

After a few more cautious runs under the wing of Charles’ companions, you regain the courage to try solo again. Each time you stay upright a little longer, recovering from slips with increasing agility. The sun reflects brilliantly off the pristine white slopes, making you squint against the glare. But with the Dolomites rising majestically around you, icy air filling your lungs, and Charles’ voice urging you onward, you feel truly in your element.

By afternoon, the group decides you’re ready for something more challenging. Charles leads everyone to the top of a longer and steeper slope. It’s still rated for beginners, but looking down the incline makes your stomach drop.

“You’ve got this,” Charles says as you stare uncertainly. “It looks scary, but you’ll build up speed gradually. Just remember everything you’ve learned.”

You take a deep breath and nod, encouraged by his vote of confidence. As the others line up to follow behind you, Charles gives your gloved hand one last encouraging squeeze.

“See you at the bottom, mon amour!” He snaps on his own skis and glides smoothly to the base to wait. Heart hammering against your ribs, you push off.

The acceleration down the hill is alarming at first, icy wind biting your cheeks. But focusing on keeping your skis parallel, you manage to control your speed, leaning into smooth turns like Charles taught you.

Halfway down the slope you chance a glance over your shoulder. The group is fanned out behind you, following your path and whooping encouragement. Their cheers on this more difficult hill send a thrill of pride through you. Just wait until you tell your friends back home that you, Miss Uncoordinated Klutz herself, skied down an actual mountain!

But in your moment of distraction, disaster strikes again. Your right ski snags on something, jerking you off balance. Panicked, you spin your arms rapidly to recover. But it’s too late. You’re careening out of control, picking up dangerous speed.

“Look out!” You scream as you zip across the slope sideways. But the ground is racing too fast to stop. Other skiers scatter hastily out of your path as you barrel toward them like a runaway freight train. You slam through their midst in a spray of snow, not even having time to wince apologetically at the curses that follow your wake.

Up ahead, Charles’ figure grows rapidly larger as you hurtle toward him. He holds out his arms bracingly, but the impact when you collide sends you both tumbling head over heels in a tangle of skis and poles. Snow sprays violently in your wake.

When you finally roll to a stop, face down and groaning at the base of the slope, all is silent. Hesitantly you raise your head, blinking snow from your eyelashes. The sight that greets you is one of absolute chaos.

Skiers litter the slope, sprawled in your destructive path like fallen bowling pins. Poles, hats, and gloves are strewn haphazardly across the snow. Fresh scarlet tracks stain the pristine white from ski edges catching on now-shredded pants and jackets. Groans of pain and bewilderment fill the air.

Horrified, your gaze lands on Charles pushing himself up just a few feet away, covered head to toe in snow. He shakes powder from his hair, blinking dazedly. Then his eyes land on you.

“Mon amour, are you okay?” He asks, scrambling over in concern.

Mortified tears prickle your eyes as you stare speechlessly around at the scene of destruction. So much for impressing everyone with your burgeoning ski talents.

Some first day on the slopes this turned out to be.

***

As Charles helps haul you to your feet, pain suddenly explodes in your left knee. You cry out, leg buckling dangerously beneath you. Charles’ arms instantly wrap around your waist, holding you up.

“What’s wrong?” He asks, brow creased in concern.

You grimace, tentatively trying to put weight on your leg again only for searing agony to shoot through your knee joint. “Something’s really wrong,” you gasp through clenched teeth.

Charles’ face pales. He keeps you supported against his side as he quickly unclips your skis so you’re not stuck in them. The moment your left foot touches the snow though, you yell in pain, leg giving out dangerously again.

Charles sweeps you up effortlessly in his arms. “I’ve got you, don’t try to stand on it,” he urges worriedly.

Over Charles’ shoulder, you see his friends weaving through the dispersing crowd of skiers, fetching a medic. As they confer in urgent French and Italian, Charles holds you close, face etched with guilt.

“This is all my fault,” he murmurs, distressed. “I never should have pushed you to try skiing when you weren’t comfortable.”

Despite the fire burning inside your knee, you force a pained smile, touching Charles’ cheek. “Hey, don’t do that. I wanted to try, remember? You didn’t pressure me into anything.”

Charles just shakes his head bitterly. “But look what happened. I’m so sorry, mon amour.”

You open your mouth to protest further, but just then the medic arrives with a toboggan sled. Charles gently sets you down on the padded plastic. You recline back, trying not to jostle your leg as the medic examines your rapidly swelling knee.

At the lightest touch, you flinch away with a sharp cry. The medic frowns. “Possibile lesione al legamento crociato anteriore. Abbiamo bisogno di portarla in ospedale,” he says grimly.

Charles squeezes your hand, face pale. “He thinks you may have torn your ACL. They need to take you to the hospital.”

You blink back panicked tears. You’ve always been prone to clumsiness, but nothing this severe. As the medic gestures ski patrol over to help transport you, the pain throbbing inside your knee seems to mock your brief foray into athleticism. Maybe you just aren’t cut out for winter sports after all.

Charles refuses to leave your side during the bumpy toboggan ride down the mountain. At the base, an ambulance is waiting to take you to the nearest hospital. While the paramedics work swiftly to transfer you into the back, Charles cradles your hand, looking utterly distraught.

“I never should have let this happen,” he berates himself again. “What was I thinking taking an inexperienced skier down that slope?”

Despite your pain-induced haze, you glare sternly at him. “Charles, stop. This isn’t your fault, it’s mine for losing control. Please don’t blame yourself, you’ll make me feel even worse.”

Charles still looks unconvinced. But he forces a tight smile, brushing hair back from your face. “I’m sorry. I just hate seeing you in pain. Let’s just focus on getting you fixed up. The doctors will know how to help.”

You nod, trying not to let panic overwhelm you. As the ambulance wails toward the hospital, Charles keeps his gaze locked comfortingly on yours.

Once there, nurses whisk you immediately in for x-rays and MRIs. Charles paces the waiting room, refusing offers from his friends to bring him food or drinks. When the doctor finally emerges, Charles springs forward anxiously. “How is she?”

The doctor’s solemn expression says it all. “Your girlfriend has sustained a complete ACL rupture. She will require reconstructive surgery as soon as possible to repair it.”

Charles sags back against the wall, color draining from his face. You fight back tears as the doctor explains your diagnosis — one of the worst knee injuries possible. It will require months of intensive rehab even after the surgery.

When the doctor leaves, Charles returns to sit by your side from where he was pacing back and forth. The pain in your knee has settled into a pervasive throbbing. At the sight of your obvious anguish, Charles’ stoic facade finally crumbles.

“I’m so sorry,” he chokes out, rushing to your side. “This is all my fault.”

You grab his hand fiercely, despite the IV of painkillers tugging at your skin. “Charles, stop. I already told you not to blame yourself. It was an accident.”

“An accident I caused by pressuring you to ski,” Charles argues miserably.

You level your most stern glare at him. “Charles Leclerc, you listen to me. I chose to try skiing. Me. Not you.” Your voice softens. “So please stop tormenting yourself over this. It kills me to see you like this.”

Charles searches your face silently for a long moment. Finally he nods, exhaling shakily. “You’re right. I’m sorry.” He gently brushes a strand of hair behind your ear. “I just hate that you’re hurt. But no more blaming myself, I promise.”

You smile weakly. “Good. Now come here.” Charles leans down and you tug him into a fierce kiss, trying to convey without words that you don’t hold him responsible.

When you pull back, Charles looks significantly less tormented. He caresses your cheek tenderly. “I’ll take care of you, I swear. You’ll get the best care possible and recover even stronger than before.”

You try for a teasing smile. “Guess you’ll have to find a new ski bunny next season.”

Charles shakes his head. “Never. No one could ever replace you.” His voice drops earnestly. “I don’t care if you never ski again, I just want you healthy and happy.”

Before you can reply, the doctor returns with consent forms for surgery. When he mentions performing the operation here, Charles’ brow furrows.

“No, she needs the best surgeon possible for this injury,” he argues. Turning to you, he adds, “I know a specialist at a private clinic in Austria. It’s where all the elite skiers go. I’ll fly us there tonight.”

Your eyes widen at the suggestion, but you know better than to argue once Charles is in protective mode. You have a feeling you’re about to receive world-class medical treatment fit for an Olympian.

Sure enough, Charles arranges for emergency transport to the prestigious clinic. On the flight, he sits vigilantly by your side, holding your hand through every painful bump of turbulence. By the time you’re admitted to the glamorous facility, you’re touched, but not surprised by the lengths he’s gone to in order to help you.

The surgeon Charles selected, Dr. Braun, inspires immediate confidence with his warm bedside manner and decorated credentials. After thoroughly examining your knee, he determines you are indeed a candidate for ACL reconstruction.

Charles listens intently as Dr. Braun explains the procedure, involving grafting tissue to replace your ruptured ligament. Though you try to follow along, exhaustion and pain medication make it hard to focus. All you can register is Charles rubbing your shoulder and reassuring you that Dr. Braun is the best there is. You trust Charles completely, so his confidence in this surgeon is enough.

Too soon, nurses arrive to prep you for surgery. As they wheel your gurney toward the operating room, Charles walks alongside, face etched with worry. He leans down to press a gentle kiss to your forehead.

“I’ll be right here when you wake up,” he promises. “I love you so much.”

You cling to his hand for as long as possible before the nurses firmly insist he can’t go any further. As the operating room doors swing shut between you, separating you from Charles, your heart clenches anxiously. But Dr. Braun smiles kindly down at you, patting your arm.

“Not to worry, we’ll have that knee fixed up nicely,” he says. “When you wake, you’ll be on the road to recovery.”

As the anesthesia mask descends and your vision fades to black, you cling to the doctor’s reassuring words. Maybe there’s still hope for a somewhat happy ending to this disastrous ski trip after all.

***

As you blearily open your eyes, the first thing you see is Charles’ worried face hovering over you. The moment he notices you stirring, his expression floods with relief.

“Thank god,” he breathes, grasping your hand tightly. “How are you feeling?”

You blink slowly, trying to clear the hazy fog of anesthesia from your brain. “Okay I think.” Your voice comes out scratchy. You glance down at the heavy brace immobilizing your knee and the events leading up to surgery come rushing back. “Did it … go alright?”

Charles smoothes your hair back gently. “Everything went perfectly. Dr. Braun said it was a very successful surgery.”

You exhale, tension easing from your shoulders. With the capable doctor and Charles by your side, you’ve made it through the first step.

Right on cue, Dr. Braun enters, smiling when he sees you awake. “Wonderful, you’re up. How is our patient feeling?”

“A little groggy, but not too much pain yet,” you report.

“Excellent. The pain medication should be keeping you comfortable.” Dr. Braun moves to your bedside, examining your knee closely. “Everything continues to look promising in recovery. You’ll need to take it very easy for the next few weeks to protect the graft while it heals. But if all goes smoothly, you’ll be back on your feet before you know it.”

You nod, stomach swooping anxiously at the thought of the long recovery ahead. Noticing your nervous expression, Charles gives your hand a reassuring squeeze.

“Whatever she needs, we’ll make sure she has the best care and recovers properly,” he tells Dr. Braun seriously.

The doctor smiles. “Her rehabilitation will be the most crucial part. I work closely with a wonderful physical therapist, Elisa, who specializes in ACL reconstruction recovery. I highly recommend continuing your physio with her once you return home.”

Your eyes widen, not having considered that aspect yet. But Charles nods without hesitation. “Just tell us where she’s located and I’ll arrange for her to fly out to stay with us as long as needed. Money is no object.”

“Whoa, wait a minute,” you interject, head still fuzzy but fairly certain booking a private international physiotherapist is overkill. “That’s incredibly generous, but I’m sure I can find someone local-”

Charles silences you with a stern look. “Not a chance. Dr. Braun said this Elisa is the best. I won’t risk your recovery with anything less.” Turning back to the doctor, he adds, “Just say the word and I’ll have a plane and a place to stay waiting for her.”

You sigh, but can’t help feeling touched at the lengths Charles will go to help you heal. Dr. Braun seems equally unfazed by the bold offer — clearly Charles’ wealth affords certain privileges in care.

“I’ll speak to Elisa immediately and make the arrangements then,” Dr. Braun confirms. “With around the clock support from both her and myself, I’m confident you’ll recover wonderfully.” He gives your other knee an encouraging pat.

Over the next few days in the upscale hospital, you begin to adjust to the restrictive new reality of your injury. While your knee remains heavily braced and immobilized, the rest of your body seems to ache from compensating. But true to his word, Charles sticks to your bedside attentively, keeping you distracted with games and books during the long inactive hours.

When Dr. Braun finally clears you for discharge, you’re armed with piles of post-op instructions, crutches, and medications. As Charles helps you hobble out of the hospital lobby, you eye the crutches nervously.

“I’m not sure I can manage these things along with the brace,” you admit. The awkward metal sticks feel precarious beneath your arms.

Charles frowns, glancing between you and the crutches uncertainly. Then in one swift motion he sweeps you up into his arms instead.

You yelp in surprise, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Charles! What are you doing?”

“Carrying you, obviously,” he states, as if this were the most natural solution in the world. When you open your mouth to protest, he silences you with a look. “The doctor said to stay completely off your leg if possible. So no walking for you until it’s healed.”

You know better than to argue with Charles in protective caretaker mode. So you simply chuckle, shaking your head in amusement, and let him carry you like a princess out to the idling car.

At the airport, he again insists on keeping you cradled securely in his arms the entire walk out to the waiting private jet. Normally you’d feel self-conscious being lugged around like this in front of staff. But the utter tenderness in Charles’ hold makes you feel nothing but safe.

Once settled on the plush leather seat, Charles hurriedly arranges pillows under your braced leg. “Here, keep it elevated like Dr. Braun said. Do you need more pain meds? Let me grab you an ice pack ...”

He fusses attentively until you’re thoroughly bundled up with your knee raised and iced. Only once he’s certain you have everything required for the flight does Charles take his own seat, lacing his fingers through yours.

“Get some rest if you can,” he says gently. “I’ll wake you when we land to carry you home.”

You roll your eyes but can’t help smiling. “My knight in shining armor.” Leaning your head on his shoulder, you nuzzle into his warmth. The steady rumble of the engines is soothing, and despite your lingering aches, you feel yourself beginning to drift off.

Throughout the flight, Charles continues diligently caring for you. He helps you hobble to the restroom with assistance. He ensures you take your next round of medications on schedule. When the flight attendant delivers meals, Charles only picks at his own, too focused on making sure you actually eat to remember his food.

You’re simultaneously touched and exasperated by his hyper-vigilance. But you know it comes from a place of love and residual guilt, so you endure his constant fussing without complaint. If doting on you helps absolve his conscience, then so be it.

By the time the jet begins its descent toward Nice, your eyelids are drooping heavily. Charles lifts the window shade, sunlight streaming over your face. “Almost home,” he says with a tender smile.

You blink groggily, glancing down to make sure your knee is still properly supported. Reassured that Charles hasn’t forgotten a single detail of your care, you nestle back against his chest contentedly.

As the jet coasts down the runway, Charles cradles you close, placing a kiss atop your head. “Get some rest, mon amour. I’ll carry you out and get you settled back home.”

His quiet promise fills you with cozy warmth despite the lingering chill from your ice pack. You let your heavy eyelids fall shut, lulled by the steady thump of Charles’ heart.

Tomorrow your intensive recovery begins. But tonight, safely encircled in your love’s arms thousands of feet in the air, you feel confident you have the strength to face whatever lies ahead.

***

When you wake a few weeks later, pale morning light is just beginning to creep across the blankets. Blearily, you glance over to see Charles already awake beside you, brow furrowed as he stares up at the ceiling.

“You’re up early,” you murmur sleepily. “Everything okay?”

Charles startles slightly, as if pulled from deep thought. He forces a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Of course, just thinking about some things.”

You prop yourself up on one elbow, scrutinizing him in concern. His evasive tone is uncharacteristic. “What’s going on? And don’t say nothing, I can tell something’s bothering you.”

Charles holds your gaze silently for a moment before letting out a heavy sigh. “It’s nothing, really. I’ve just been thinking about the start of the season coming up so soon.”

Your brow furrows. The opening race in Bahrain is only two weeks away. As the realization hits, your heart sinks. With your still-mending knee, it will be a lot harder to keep up with Charles globetrotting to races worldwide. For the past two seasons of your relationship, you’ve attended every race possible together. The thought of that no longer being the case feels daunting.

“Oh,” you say quietly. “I guess I hadn’t thought that far ahead yet.”

Charles’ expression is conflicted. He gently takes your hand, “I just hate the idea of leaving you here alone when you’re still recovering. It doesn’t feel right being apart.”

You force an optimistic smile. “Hey, don’t worry about me. I can take care of myself and Elisa will still be here for physical therapy. I’ll be okay.”

But your reassurance doesn’t seem to ease Charles’ frown. “I know, I’m just worried about you re-injuring yourself with no one here. I can get my mother to check on you too ...”

As he spirals back into restless thoughts, you squeeze his hand firmly. “Charles, stop. I’ll be fine, I promise. This isn’t my first time on my own, remember?”

Charles grimaces. “I know, but you’re hurt now. I just hate leaving you when you’re still recovering. If something happened while I was gone ...” He trails off, looking stricken.

Your heart swells at his protectiveness. But you won’t let him torment himself with hypotheticals. Sitting up fully, you level Charles with your most stubborn expression.

“Well then, it’s a good thing you won’t be leaving me here for long, because I’m coming with you just like always.”

Charles gapes. “What? No, you’re injured, there’s no way-”

“Uh uh,” you interrupt firmly. “I’ve been to every race I could since we got together, and I’m not about to miss one now over a bum knee. I’ll agree to skip pre-season testing but then I’m going to Bahrain no matter what.”

Charles' mouth opens and closes wordlessly before he finally manages to argue, “But how will you manage airports and flights and crowded paddocks? You’re still on crutches!”

You wave a hand dismissively. “So I’ll hobble around the paddock looking pathetic, big deal. Better than moping here alone.” Crossing your arms, you fix Charles with your most unyielding stare. “Face it, you’re stuck with me.”

Charles searches your determined expression, clearly trying to formulate another protest. But he knows you too well, can recognize when your mind is made up. With a resigned chuckle, he pulls you against his chest.

“You are the stubbornest person ever, you know that?” He kisses the top of your head, a smile in his voice. “But I really shouldn’t be surprised. Nothing can stop you from being there to cheer me on.”

You grin, basking happily in his embrace. “Damn right. You should know by now that I’m going to be by your side every race, no matter what.”

Charles just shakes his head in amused exasperation, arms tightening around you. “Well in that case, it seems I have some calls to make to arrange for your care in the paddock.”

You kiss his jaw tenderly. “See? Problem solved.” Settling back against the pillows, you add teasingly, “Now stop stressing and let me sleep a little more. Unlike you, I need my beauty rest.”

Charles barks out a laugh, the last tension fading from his frame. As you drift back into cozy slumber cradled against his chest, his steady breathing lulls you like a soothing melody.

Later that morning, it’s time for your daily physical therapy session in the makeshift rehab space set up in your apartment. Elisa guides you through gentle range of motion and strengthening exercises, keeping up cheerful encouragement. The work is grueling, but Elisa’s optimism inspires you to push through the discomfort.

You’ve just finished up with an ice break when hushed voices drift in from the adjacent room. Craning your neck, you glimpse Charles sitting at the kitchen island, phone to his ear as he rifles through an open notebook. Though you can’t make out his full conversation, you catch snippets.

“Need to make sure she has somewhere to rest comfortably ...”

“Don’t want her trying to walk too far ...”

“She says she’ll be fine, but I need to be sure ...”

You muffle a laugh into your hand. Of course Charles is already contacting Ferrari about you joining him in Bahrain, planning every detail to accommodate your injury. Elisa raises a questioning eyebrow but you just shake your head with a smile. Charles’ protectiveness never fails to make your heart melt.

Oblivious to your eavesdropping, Charles continues speaking in a hushed but urgent tone. You can visualize his serious expression pinched with concern, wanting to arrange every detail to ensure your comfort during race weekends.

It’s hopeless trying to curb his caring instincts. So you simply shake your head in amusement and turn back to your exercises, resolved not to override the plans you’re clearly not meant to hear.

After your session concludes, Elisa helps you prop up your leg to ice before gathering her things. “You’re making great progress,” she encourages. “Keep it up and you’ll be back to normal before you know it.”

You smile through your fatigue. “Thanks for everything. See you tomorrow?”

Elisa nods, waving farewell as she heads out. Once she’s gone, you eye your crutches propped nearby. Normally you’d use them to hobble around, but mischief sparks inside you. This seems like the perfect time to test your boyfriend’s hovering instincts.

Bracing yourself on the workout table, you carefully rise to your feet, keeping all weight on your good leg. The short hobble to the living room leaves you breathless, but triumphant.

Rounding the corner, you spot Charles sitting on the couch reviewing emails on his tablet. Before he notices your approach, you boldly flop down to sprawl across his lap.

Charles yelps in surprise, tablet clattering away as his arms reflexively cradle you. “What are you doing walking around alone? Where are your crutches?”

You grin up at him impishly. “Must have forgotten them back there. But I managed okay for a short distance.”

Charles gapes, torn between horror at your recklessness and awe at your determination. You take advantage of his stunned silence to wrap your arms around his neck and tug him down into a kiss.

“Have I mentioned how amazing and caring you are?” You murmur when you finally separate for air. “Taking care of me even when you think I don’t notice?”

Understanding flashes across Charles’ face and his cheeks tint pink. “You heard that phone call earlier, didn’t you?” At your smug grin he groans. “I should have known I couldn’t get anything past you.”

You laugh, nuzzling your nose against his. “It was very sweet. But you really don’t need to go through so much trouble for me.”

Charles’ eyes lock earnestly on yours. “It’s no trouble at all. I want to make sure your needs are taken care of so you can be comfortable and safe.” He brushes your hair back gently. “I hate the thought of you struggling while supporting me at races.”

Your playful expression softens. You take his hand, intertwining your fingers against your heart. “Do whatever you have to do so that you can focus on driving your best without worrying about me. I’m a big girl, I can handle a few weeks of long flights and sitting in the back of your garage instead of standing. As long as I’m cheering for you, I’ll be happy.”

Charles searches your face, as if committing every detail to memory. “I don’t deserve you,” he says finally, voice husky.

You smile, squeezing his hand. “Sure you do. We take care of each other. It’s what partners do.”

Charles’s eyes shimmer with emotion. He cradles your jaw, kissing you deeply. When he draws back, the anxious creases in his face have smoothed away, leaving only tenderness.

“I promise I’ll do my best not to worry,” he concedes. “Just promise you won’t push yourself too hard.”

“Deal,” you agree easily, then smirk. “Now, how about carrying me back to the crutches you claim I so desperately need?”

Charles laughs, once again sweeping you effortlessly into his arms. You cling to his shoulders, perfectly content to let him fuss over you just a little longer.

***

“We should all go skiing together!”

Pierre’s enthusiastic suggestion makes you freeze mid-bite, forkful of pasta suspended comically halfway to your open mouth. Across the table, Charles goes completely still, face draining of color.

Oblivious to your boyfriend’s reaction, Pierre barrels on with growing excitement. “There are some amazing resorts in the Alps we could visit over New Year’s. Epic mountains, fresh powder-”

“No!” Charles interjects forcefully. He looks mildly ill at just the thought. “Absolutely not happening.”

Pierre blinks in surprise at the vehement refusal. Even his girlfriend, Kika, appears confused by Charles’ sudden change in demeanor. You have to press your lips together to keep from laughing at their bemused expressions.

“But why?” Pierre asks, brow furrowed. “I thought you loved skiing.”

Charles shudders. “Not anymore. Not after ...” He trails off, eyes darting to you meaningfully.

Understanding dawns on Pierre’s face. “Oh! Right, of course.” He smiles apologetically. “Sorry, I didn’t think-”

You wave a hand, unable to contain your amusement any longer. “It’s okay, Pierre. I know you didn’t mean to bring up traumatic memories.” You cast a teasing glance at Charles. “But I think skiing might permanently be off the table for us.”

Charles nods emphatically. “Absolutely. Never again. From now on, we take beach vacations only. Somewhere warm, with no snow, mountains, or treacherous icy slopes.” He shudders again for effect.

By now, you’re laughing so hard you have to set down your water glass to avoid spilling it. You knew Charles was still sensitive about the topic of skiing, but you hadn’t anticipated him having such an extreme reaction tonight. His overprotective dramatics are too adorable.

Still chuckling, you lean over to smack a kiss on his cheek. “You’re being ridiculous, but it’s very sweet that you’re so traumatized on my behalf.”

Charles wraps an arm around you, some tension easing from his shoulders. “After what you went through, can you blame me for swearing off anything to do with skiing forever?” He shakes his head vehemently. “Never again. It was the most terrifying experience. I thought I might have permanently damaged the love of my life.”

Your heart melts. “I’m completely fine now, thanks to you. But I can understand preferring to avoid ski trips in the future.” You smile teasingly. “We can find a nice beach to lounge on instead.”

Pierre chuckles. “Yeah, that’s probably smarter. Sorry for bringing up bad memories.” He smiles sheepishly across the table. “A tropical vacation does sound nice though!”

The group dissolves into easy laughter, the awkwardness forgotten. The conversation meanders to warmer destinations and the approaching off-season. Charles eventually relaxes his grip on you, seeming reassured that skiing is off the table.

You make it through the rest of the amicable double date without incident. As you all exit the restaurant into the cool night air, Pierre turns to you and Charles apologetically.

“Really sorry again for that ski trip suggestion earlier. Definitely wasn’t thinking.”

You wave off his concerns with an easy smile. “Don’t worry about it! No harm done.” You pause, then add impishly, “Though from now on, Charles may vet all vacation plans just to be safe.”

Charles nods, face comically serious. “It’s true. I take your physical safety very seriously now.” His grave expression cracks into a grin. “So expect lots of beach vacations in our future together!”

Everyone dissolve into laughter again. After final farewell hugs, you and Charles head to your car, his arm wrapped securely around your shoulders.

Once home, Charles tucks you into bed with an amount of care bordering on reverence. As he curls up behind you, you lace your fingers through his against your heart.

“Have I told you lately how amazing you are?” You murmur into the darkness.

You feel Charles smile against your hair. “Maybe, but feel free to say it again.”

You snuggle deeper into his embrace. “You’re pretty much the best boyfriend on the planet. I love how protective you are over me, even when it’s a bit dramatic. It just shows how much you care.”

Charles presses a kiss to the top of your spine. “Of course I care. You mean everything to me.” His voice drops lower. “I never want to be the reason you get hurt again.”

You roll over to face him, gently cradling his jaw. “You could never hurt me. What happened was an accident, and I recovered just fine. So no more feeling guilty, okay?”

Even in the dim light you can see the sincerity in Charles’ eyes as he searches your face. “You really are too good for me,” he murmurs. “I’ll try to stop feeling overly responsible. Though I make no promises on vetoing future ski trip suggestions,” he adds with a teasing grin.

You laugh, snuggling happily against his chest. “Now get some sleep.”

As his breaths deepen into slumber, you reflect on how lucky you are to have found someone so devotedly caring. With Charles’ fiercely protective presence heating the sheets beside you, the future — filled with sandy beaches rather than ski slopes — looks bright indeed.

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hotvintagepoll · 10 months ago

Text

Propaganda

Cary Grant (The Philadelphia Story, His Girl Friday, Bringing Up Baby, Charade)—just the peak of old-school Hollywood sexuality. The glam, the suits, the gentle wit, the acrobatics, those eyes that always looked like they knew exactly what movie they were in and were laughing at the joke...

Vincent Price (Laura, Leave Her to Heaven, House on Haunted Hill, The Masque of the Red Death)—svelte, stylish, horrifying, beautiful, wickedly funny, camp and gorgeous and evil. he was an art connoisseur who advocated passionately indigenous art, he was an actual literal gourmet cook, he was so liberal he got greylisted during the mccarthy era for being too rad, he's my favorite muppets guest of all time

This is round 4 of the bracket. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage man.

[additional propaganda submitted under the cut.]

Vincent Price propaganda:

Submitted: this fancam

Submitted: this entire Tumblr page

Cary Grant propaganda:

"My Golden Age of Hollywood professor, who was very outwardly gay himself, put it this way: Even though Grant's sexuality was kind of an open secret in Hollywood, the public couldn't know in any real way. But anybody could see that there was a queerness about him, so he was casted for roles where he physically embodies his masculinity in a non-explicit but queer way. Bringing Up Baby is famous for the scene where Grant wears a frilly robe (pictured below, but what people don't always realise is that he plays kind of an awkward nerd in that movie. He's a hot awkward scientist in a grand robe!!! Hot!!! In The Philadelphia Story, one of my famous movies of all time, he plays C. K. Dexter Haven, a rich, sarcastic, supposedly abusive guy. And yet, what we see is this laid back, dandy-ish figure, who absolutely does not feel threatened when a woman he supposedly loves (Katharine Hepburn) starts having feelings for, and hooks up with another guy (James Stewart). He lets a drunk Stewart into his office and helps him get his job back! Obviously that is the script and not the actor, but the whole film, and that scene in particular, shows him having this very queer attitude of openness toward Hepburn and Stewart, which is only amplified by the casting of Grant and his portrayal of the character. Anyway, this is not an essay arguing for The Philadelphia Story to be considered a queer film, all I will say is: he's super hot in it."

The link to the above mentioned frilly robe scene from Bringing Up Baby: "I just went gay all of a sudden!"

last minute cary grant propaganda: the last few paragraphs of that new vanity fair article about him and randolph scott that just came out 2 days ago on cary's birthday where he calls it "gravity collapse" and "love at first sight" and says their souls touched and and and i'm actually sharing this mostly because it makes me emotional but also because a vote for archibald is a vote for love. this is my message. apologies for sounding mildly insane.

#vincent price #cary grant #round 4 #hotvintagepoll #fuck that old man

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morganbritton132 · 4 months ago

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was thinking about that wayne buying little steve cereal text post and was wondering if you still plan to write the fic its inspired? if so i am definitely looking forward to it and am cheering you on. if not that's cool too, i was just curious!

Unfortunately, I don’t think I’ll ever actually write the fic. But! I will tell you what I had in mind because it wasn’t supposed to be a sad fic!

Wayne starts noticing this kid around town.

He shouldn’t. He doesn’t notice any other kid, and this boy is well-dressed. He seems polite enough and well-behaved. There’s no reason that Wayne should pay him any mind, except… the hair. It’s a mess. It’s brushed up and backwards like the person who fixed it didn’t quite know what they were doing.

He keeps seeing that hair everywhere.

It’s asking questions at the hardware store about lightbulbs. It’s distracting Bob at the Radio Shack. It’s taking up half the aisle at Melvard’s with a cart it can’t see over, and asking Wayne, ‘Mister, can you reach the floss for me, please?’

There’s nothing out of the ordinary, honestly, but Wayne feels a might uncomfortable every time he sees this head of hair (a bit more stylish than the last) doing something that a parent might do. Especially because he never sees a parent.

It comes to head when he’s three people back in line at Melvard’s and people are complaining. He sticks his head out to see what the hold up is and sees that head of hair again, counting out quarters and dimes at the counter for a box of cheerios.

Davey, in front of him, swears under his breath and bounces on his feet like he’s about to say something, but Wayne beats him to it. Wayne takes the few steps up to the counter, looks Donald in the eye and wishes that it had been Joyce Byers instead.

He sits his carton of eggs and gallon of milk down on the counter next to the kid’s cereal and tells Don to ring it all up together. Then he tells the kid, “Put your money away, boy.”

He tries to talk to him outside the store, but the boy squeaks out ‘thanks’ and is running before Wayne can get anything out. He doesn’t see him for a while after that, and he can’t stop thinking about how hungry he looked.

A month and some change later, Wayne finds himself sliding into a booth at the diner across from the kid with the hair. He’s devouring slices of toast, pennies and nickels counted out on the table next to him.

The kid startles, and Wayne cuts to the point, “You hungry?”

The kid nods in that skittish way that reminds him of his nephew and Wayne orders two plates of pancakes. He lets the boy eat before he asks where his parents are. He gets no answer. He asks if he has enough food at home. The kid’s eye flicker to him and then back down, “Usually.”

He clicks his tongue, swears internally, and asks how often he’s left alone and hungry, and the boy says, “Their flight got delayed.”

The boy shrugs his shoulders and explains the money they leave him, and how sometimes he’s runs out but he’s learning better. It crushes Wayne just a little that he seems so proud of himself. Wayne gives the kid his number and tells him that if he’s ever hungry to call him.

For a while, Steve would call sporadically. Sometimes goes weeks, sometimes months. They’d meet at the diner and eat. This eventually lead to Wayne cooking for him in his trailer, then to him teaching Steve the basics, then to them cooking together.

Steve got older. He got a credit card. He got busier with school, and sports, and his friends. He didn’t need Wayne to feed him anymore, but they still tried to have dinner at least once a month.

When Eddie came to live with Wayne, he told him that Stevie came to dinner every third Saturday of the month. Eddie assumed Stevie was Wayne’s girlfriend.

The first Saturday that passed, Steve had to cancel because he had a basketball game. The second Saturday, Steve’s parents were in town so he couldn’t come. The third, Steve no showed, called the next day delirious with flu and apologized to Wayne.

The fourth Saturday rolls around and Eddie is thinking, “Man, this chick does not like Wayne. He needs to break up with his girlfriend before it gets really sad.”

Then there is a knock at the door, and Eddie opens it to the biggest jock asshole in the school.

Eddie stares at Steve in horror, and Steve stares back in total confusion, and then they both get annoyed like, “What are you doing here?”

Then cut to Eddie calling Steve out on bullying and Steve tattling about Eddie walking on the lunch tables. They bicker and argue, and Wayne secretly loves it.

#you can actually see the moment this fic idea ran out of steam for me #as I get less and less descriptive #if anybody likes this idea than you are more than willing to take it and write the fic #just let me know so I can read it #wayne munson #steve harrington #eddie munson

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fraugwinska · 5 months ago

Note

I've seen fanfics about Alastor × deaf reader

But what about.. blind reader? Maybe they lost sight in some battle

How they would be confused meeting Alastor at first: did someone turn the radio on- oh, thats a demon talking!

And how confused would be Alastor as his feelings started to grow towards the reader: he just enjoys their company! What else can he do when they like to listen to him spilling the tea and just rambling about everything because of his soothing voice? His favourite listener

Then.. their relationships get a bit different as in another one relaxing evening together Alastor asks if they want to see him..

And on their confused silence he answers bringing their hands to his face for them to "read" his apperience..

Just thought it would be hella fun to read! Not good enough at english, sorry for mistakes

I love your writtings! 💕Stay hydrated and don't dare to overwork yourself ☝

Hiya lovely Anon! <3 I put my own little spin on your idea! I love fics like those, and this one sat in my drafts for ages - I hope the wait was worth it! Thank you so much for this ask! <3 Warning: Contains depictions of attempted SA, please read with caution - MINORS DNI!

The bookstore was always quiet in the evenings. Well, it was quiet almost always.

Hell wasn't the most... appreciative place for tombs and books that didn't have porn or egregious murder in them, so your shop wasn't really frequented much. Occasionally, a new sinner would find their way in, not yet taken by the unpunished excessiveness Pentagram City had to offer, and would buy a book or two, never to be seen again. The rest of your clientele were loyal regulars, mostly elderly demons and imps getting books for their masters in other rings. It wasn't much, but enough for you to get by, live a simple, modest life. Your shop was mundane enough as to not attract the more dangerous ones the city had to offer, yet held the beauty that only an antique bookstore could, with a reading room like atmosphere, mismatched armchairs scattered in between the high bookshelves and an old radio on the counter playing in the background.

That didn't mean there weren't moments you'd have to get yourself out of some serious situations. On rare occasions, the patrons of your bookstore became too demanding or rough with you, thinking they could intimidate or screw you over because of your... handicap. After all, how would you see the hand reaching in the register, or the little spell book slipping into the inside pocket of a jacket. The blindness you were born with on earth hadn't left you in your death, but the enhanced sensitivity of your other senses made things easier for you. You had learned to take your losses, unwilling to let these moments ruin your confidence in your work or diminish your spirits.

You navigated through the little store with ease, putting laid-out books back into their designated places - feeling the backs of the books like it spelled their names, and motion memory guiding you through the maze of furniture and shelves - your plain, long felt skirt softly brushing this edge and that wood panel. What you wore wasn't fancy, modern or stylish attire, but it was comfortable enough. And who were you kidding? At the end of the day, nobody cared for your less-than-ordinary appearance, but yourself.

Your mind had been drifting around between random topics for a while until, on your last trip back to the front desk, your round ears picked up the bell on your door and the faint sound of staticy talking, coming from the direction of the counter. A customer, at this hour no less! But you were sure you had turned off the radio hours ago... maybe the old thing was finally breaking down, you thought with a little sadness. You hurried to it, still hung back in your thoughts and babbling as you turned the desk to shut the little device off so your customer wasn't disturbed.

"Hello, I'm terribly sorry if you're bothered by the radio, I should have turned it off. Feel free to browse through-" you paused mid-sentence as the air shifted slightly. You had turned the familiar knob but the filtered voice didn't stop talking. Your ears moved around, as if the source was everywhere and nowhere at the same time, trying to determine its source, when the other occupant of the store laughed at the surprise written on your face.

"Apologies aren't necessary my dear, but that wasn't the little device here but me, asking for service. Although I'm quite fond of a little old fashioned tune - comes with the title of the Radio Demon, you see." He talked with amusement, or something in his tone seemed powerful and dangerous. As his words started to make sense to you, you held a sharp breath, struggling not to take a step back. Of course you've heard of Alastor, the Radio Demon, but you've never had the honor (or dread) of meeting him in person. Rumors had spread around in hell a long time before you'd even gotten here, stories of a powerful overlord who'd broadcasted the screams and torments of his victims, spreading fear to everyone, from sinner, to lesser demons, to even other overlords themselves.

"W-welcome to my store, sir! What can I help you with today?" You smiled pleasantly, hoping that showing him respect and going out of your way for a courteous interaction could possibly keep you from being torn to pieces. You heard the ruffling of fabric - a hand reaching into a pocket, wrapping it's fingers around a thick piece of paper, along a low, distorted chuckle. "A good friend of mine recommended your store to me, I am looking for a few... unusual books, hopefully to be found here."

You waited into the silence, one second, two, three. When he said nothing, only static noise slowly increasing in volume, you decided to speak again. "May you tell me the titles, sir?"

"If you'd take the list, little mouse, everything I need is on it." His voice had an edge of annoyance to it now. You didn't know when his presence had approached so close to where you stood, and couldn't decide if that was a good sign or not. You sighed, pulling the darkened glasses off you wore day in, day out, revealing the white irises that gave your blindness away. After a sound like a record scratch, you managed a helpless smile. "I fear if it's not in braille, it won't do much to hand me that."

The other demon was silent again, but the crackling static had dropped, and before you had time to add something that wouldn't get you gutted, he'd barked a laugh, sounding genuinely amused and entertained.

"My, isn't that a bit cliché, my dear? A blind mouse? Any chance you have two siblings?"

That joke was new. You dared to husk out a little laugh, too, your hands gently resting on the counter top. "I hate to disappoint, but no. I even have my tail still, no farmers wife with a knife."

There was a change in his stance, his coat sweeping the air as you heard the list was laid on the wooden surface in front of you, surprisingly not crushed or crumbling under the power of his hand. Coldness swept like waves of fog over the front desk and your hands, you pulled them away with a shudder, confused, but your patron just hummed.

"There, that should've done the trick. I'd rather not want to read my little.... requests aloud, they're a rather curious bunch, I believe. Very useful, though, especially those for more creative types in cooking."

You reached for the paper and thumbed through the braille letters one after the other, feeling a long list of more... taboo tomes you were sure wouldn't have even been mentioned in any respectable catalogue. Luckily, you were a glutton for oddities and curiosities, and with a small smile of pride you found that you had every book on the list on hand. Maybe it was this pride thatgave you the confidence so that you didn't reply and instead swiftly jumped ahead, bustling through the rows and pillars of bookshelves. Every step was calculated, from the short staircase to the tiny nook where you stored spell books and tombs of dark magic, navigating past all the tables and furniture to the particular bookcase containing ritualistic cookbooks. Once you had a feeling where a book would be located, you searched the titles by stroking the backs with the pads of your fingers, tapping quickly and analyzing the material and little bumps and nicks of the spines. Once found, you traced the edges of the piece and drew up a mental image in your mind to check it wasn't bent, dirty, torn or had any parts missing. Your fingers were your eyes, and they were keen.

As you carried the rather heavy stack back, the Radio Demon hadn't moved an inch from where you'd left him, as far as you could tell. It had been hard not to acknowledge him throughout the ordeal while your brain just went on autopilot after realizing he didn't mean to kill you, at least for the moment. On one hand, that was comforting; on the other hand, it was absolutely horrifying.

"Here you go, sir. Please, feel free to check if they are up to your standards." You set the books down carefully, counting the number of thick covers in the stack to be sure and your fingers brushed sharp talons as apparently the Radio Demon reached out to inspect the books as you offered. With a sharp inhale and a heated face you quickly drew back, stammering apologies. He only chuckled faintly, the static surrounding him crackling as if it, too, was amused.

You stood silently behind the counter and listened to him flipping through the pages, turning the books around to read their contents, humming here and there. He seemed content with the lot and you were sure that once he'd paid, he would leave, hopefully sparing your meager existence and not leaving any destruction behind.

"Very well! These will do perfectly, little mouse. And, I have to say, you have a very interesting collection. The quality of your inventory exceeds what Zestial promised. You might expect a few more visits from me in the future, if you don't mind."

The last sentence wasn't a question. It was a statement, underlined with the sound of a heavy stack of bills placed on your counter. Your hands confirmed what your ears already suspected - your patron well overpaid you.

"Not at all, sir, but you gave me too much mon...."

But the air shifted again, and a chime and a thud later you knew he had already walked out, his laughter the last thing you heard before the door clicked shut.

“...ey.”

What a peculiar man, you thought, still processing the entire experience. His voice had been darling, no wonder he chose radio as his medium. You were sure his smile you've heard so many demons whisper about was wide and predatory, but he had been so polite. Even the nickname he'd given you had been charming, compared to the names and remarks you've had thrown at you by lesser demons, and you shook your head at the ridiculousness of your face flushing at the memory.

'Little mouse.'

After a long moment, you finally counted the money and put the amount he tipped you aside in your hidden safe, making a note to yourself that you would give it back to him when he'd return. If he'd return.

Weeks passed and the Radio Demon had kept his promise and visited again. And again. And again.

The first time he came back and you, already flustered, offered to give back the surplus money he'd paid you, he was baffled before he heartily laughed and ignored your attempts to return it to him, instead buying three more books and leaving you with even more undeserved cash in your hands.

Almost once a week he'd return to your store, sometimes he'd have a whole list of books he'd want to buy, and he almost never left your store with empty hands. Sometimes he'd sit down in one of the many chairs to peruse a tomb you set aside for him, predicting he'd find interest in it as you learned his tastes in literature, and he'd hum almost happily when you found a new curiosity or a grimoire that was especially hard to come by. And sometimes he just came in for a quick visit, not even intending to buy a book but just to chat a bit. With every encounter your initial apprehension shifted into appreciation, so much so that you'd grow to eagerly await his return, the sound the bell made when he enthusiastically swung the door open or the slight distortion of your radio when he changed the station to one that suited his mood better.

You were a bit enchanted with him, if you were honest. Not only had every interaction been intriguing and entertaining, he'd been one of the rare visitors who hadn't maliciously mocked or threatened you, or worse. And you found that you enjoyed the small banters you could have with him, the fact that he treated you no differently than anyone else. It was refreshing, and each of his visits put a spring in your step for days, no matter how hard you tried not to think about him.

By the time several months had passed, he became your favorite client and he seemed to have an everlasting interest in your inventory as well as yourself. You learned that he was quite a wealthy demon with a seemingly insatiable appetite for entertainment, and always with an eye for quality, which you vowed yourself to provide in return, if only to keep him coming back. You found you could spend hours with only him at the store over freshly made coffee, discussing various literary concepts and historical events he used as references, and it was a delight to laugh together about some particularly odd rituals in books like 'Old Spells to Cure Thievery' or 'Blood Rituals of the Flaying Kink'.

Sometimes, when you'd hand him a new find or a heavy tomb, his hands would lightly brush yours and his voice would drop and become a bit softer, quieter as he cooed his nickname for you - 'Little Mouse'. With your lack of vision, you didn't know how his face looked nor how his expression would've surely changed - but his voice took on a tone that would be fitting for a date, and the touches made you shiver lightly and tingle and you felt heat spread all over your chest and the pit of your stomach when he did. If your body betrayed those reactions on your face, he wouldn't tease you for them. At least, you never noticed if he did. Maybe he had the grace to simply not remark on them, you thought, for once grateful for your blindness so you wouldn't have to see your own - surely ridiculously dumbstruck - expression reflected in the windows of your storefront. But the physical contact between you became more frequent, more deliberately made, and you'd caught his own quiet sigh every now and again when he lingered for just a moment longer before the doorbell chimed and he'd leave again.

One evening, as you were cleaning up and preparing for tomorrow's customers, a soft knock on the already locked door pulled you out of the haze of your radio's gentle tune. Turning around, you moved slowly towards the sound of the interruption, adjusting your dark glasses.

"My apologies, but we're closed for tonight, please come back tomorrow."

There was no reply, no sound of footsteps and your ears strained to catch a whisper of a sound, to find a new hint as to who was outside. Another knock, harder now, sounded and this time it took all your courage to approach. Your hair stood at its roots as your hands rested at the wooden door, your senses tingling that you better not open - that danger stood in front of your store.

"Please go, we'll be open again tomorrow."

Your reflexes, acting faster than your brain, made you stumble back as the glass of your front doors shattered into a million pieces. In a panic you tumbled to the floor, hands over your face as the pieces broke apart on impact. There were voices, rough and foreign sounding, that accompanied the stomping of boots. You shuffled back on the ground, trying to get out of the way before being stepped or kicked upon, reaching to the walls and bookshelves to find some stability to guide you in getting away from what was coming towards you.

"T-take what you want, please, I won't stop you. Just... just take it and leave."

Your words were shaking in fear and the little hope that a verbal warning and submission would placate the robbers. To your horror the voices - two, if your panicked mind didn't fool you - erupted into raspy laughter and you realized then that money might not be the only thing these demons were after.

"You were right, Hank. This is going to be easier than I thought, look at how helpless the bitch is."

"Told 'ya, Tommy Boy. An' the best part..." supposedly the one called Hank said deviously, and you were yanked up at your wrists and thrown over what must've been your counter, your glasses slipping and breaking at the impact and your eyes dwelling with hot tears. You recognized this voice… just a few days ago this demon had come into the shop, just as Alastor was about to leave, lingering around the shop and leaving quickly mumbling a half-asses excuse without buying anything after you asked if you could help him find something and Alastor's static crackled dangerously. The same smell of sharp sweat and wet tobacco lingered around him, making your stomach turn. "... she can't tell anyone who we are. Hoh, look, her eyes are some freaky shit, 'n you bet her tits 're freaky, too. S'not even our damn birthday but looks like we got ourselves a gift. 'Ya wanna go first?"

"You know me - Don't mind if I do."

With a heart beating out of your chest and shallow breaths, you tried to feel with your only free hand for something, anything, to defend yourself with. You had to defend yourself. Anything would be better than what horrific thing they were about to do. There was only the flat, leather bound accounting book close by, but it was better than nothing, and in a motion of impulse and fear you slashed with it into the general direction you felt the weight of Tommy settle onto the counter top above you. His complice bellowed angrily, making your ears ring, and Tommy snatched the weapon from your hand to throw it away. His breath smelled of filth and cold ash, the skin of your throat burned when he wrapped his calloused hands around it.

"We're gonna show ya your fucking place, worthless blind cum-chunk bitch, an' when we're done with ya..."

There was a sudden, instant sound of feedback, a wet splatter and a horrified scream and hasty, fleeing footsteps before a wave of relief washed over you as your neck fell free from the intruders grasp and you heard a familiar voice.

"Oh, my dear fellow, do go on. I'd love to hear the end of that sentence." A low, distorted chuckle followed. Alastor sounded different - menacing. Bone-chilling. If those words would've been directed at you, you would've been mortified. But it sounded like honey in your ears, knowing who the recipient was. "Ah, how silly of me - surely it's much harder to speak without vocal chords."

Your teeth sank into your bottom lip as the sounds of violence became ever more gruesome. A whipping sound, a wail and a choked gasp and two stomach-churning thuds of something hitting the floor.

"Well that's not handy at all - you can't even sign your pathetic pleas now. How unfortunate to be in such a vulnerable position, isn't it?"

A thud, then another - your stomach turned as the room got flooded with a different type of warmth. Your lungs and chest stung from the stench of iron and decay and your throat hurt as you realized one aura had vanished from the store and Tommy was most likely reduced to a fleshy pile on the ground. Suddenly you felt a sharp but warm, strangely long but familar hand cradling the back of your skull, pressing your cheek against a broad, angled shoulder, another wrapped tightly around your shoulders, resting under your ears. It was quiet, now - you could only hear your staggered breathing and Alastors static that had gone down a notch or two. You thought his breathing had become more labored, too, when he slowly, gently, let go and straightened you to bring you to a standing position, his hands shifting into their usual shape as they came to rest lightly on your upper arms.

"Are you alright, dear?" His voice was almost back to the tone you were so fond of - almost. There still was an undertone, a dangerous sharpness. Your fingertips instinctively grasped and searched until they met with the familiar texture of his clothing and you nodded.

"Y-yes... I think so, yes. What - what happened to the other one?"

There was a deep laugh, one you haven't heard yet from him. "Oh, my dear, no need to fret over that. I'll deal with that pest later. I should've dealt with him the moment he stepped into your store. An oversight I intend to shortly redeem."

It should have frightened you - should've made the situation so, so much worse, hearing that Alastor planned more torture for that vile creature, probably even an equally gruesome death like the one his friend got. But his words only calmed you. Made you feel... safer. Your fingers lingered on his suit longer than you expected, tracing the detailed seams of his lapels, smoothing out invisible wrinkles on the fabric, feeling the details of the cool, metallic buttons. And he let you. He stood still, allowing your hands to see what your eyes couldn't.

"I can't decide if it's a blessing or a shame that you can't see the carnage I caused. Although I am pleased that you didn't have to look at the ugly faces of those cretins who tried to defile you." He took your hands from his coat and placed them softly on his face. "But maybe… you can try to envision what your savior looks like, hm?"

His hands left yours again, though you found the sensation and feeling of his touch remained where he placed them. Your heart fluttered as you couldn't keep yourself from running your palms and fingertips over his skin, cautiously tracing his angular jaw, making out the distinct feeling and sharp lines of a toothy grin. Then you pushed further, fingers running along a slight bow and over the indent where his brows arched, his cheekbones prominent enough you felt the warmth of blood flushing under the skin as the mental image of his face got clearer.

You were in awe that you could do this, that he encouraged it even, but he allowed you the tender moment, making a muffled humming sound and exhaling quietly under your soft, curious touch. You realized at last that his eyes were closed for you, the skin there slightly pliant and firm at the same time. With the tips of your fingers, you followed the firm, straight bridge of his nose down the length of it and he inhaled sharply when you brushed his lips. The familiar sound of static increased just enough for you to realize there had been complete silence aside from your soft and his steady breathing. He opened his eyes again, slowly taking your hands away to leave a feathery light, lingering kiss on your knuckles as he hummed thoughtfully.

"Now, let me clean up this mess, we don't want you stumble over any... unpleasant bits." You heard a snap and felt the air whirring around you, filling with a thick, fog-like sensation as you heard your floors creaking, wood mending and cracking and tiny bits of glass swirling around you, piecing itself together and returning into their frame. Not even a minute later the shop felt normal again, the unpleasant smell gone as well, and with it the overall apprehension the threat had caused.

"Thank you, Alastor. Truly, I don't know what would've happened if you weren't..." you started, pausing as his hands wandered gently around your face to put on your miraculously repaired glasses. He laughed softly, tapping a gentle, slender finger on the tip of your nose.

"Luckily we didn't find out, did we? Ah, but, unfortunately, I'd say the night has been spoiled for us, given that there's another vermin to take care of." He walked behind you, carefully setting the accounting book you had used as an attempted weapon into your hands, his taloned fingers curling gently around yours as if to make sure you had a proper hold on it.

"You lock up when I'm gone, little mouse. And who knows - Maybe we'll continue to see each other... tomorrow night."

And then you felt another gentle peck, this time on your flushed cheek, and the door opened with the bell ringing, the faint crackle of a radio fading and his heavy, signature scent of burned wood and bourbon lingering around you as you hurried to bolt the doors shut, heart racing painfully in your chest at the prospect of adding even more parts of the Radio Demon to the image in your mind.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #alastor #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel fanfiction #fraugwinskawrites #zestial morde #alastor fluff #blood and gore #TW: depictions of attempted SA

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aventurineswife · 5 days ago

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HELLOOOO, i was wondering:

A reader that likes watch anime, and some HSR characters gives them a try. But, what anime would you think they watch with the reader? Based on what they like or just something to start watching.

I LOVE YOUR WRITING STYLE, please don't overwork yourself a lot, have a nice day/night! <3

What Anime Would They Watch With You?

Tags: Aventurine x Reader, Ratio x Reader, Blade x Reader, Kafka x Reader, Silver Wolf x Reader, Anime Watching, Humor, Lighthearted moments, Comfort and Bonding, Can be read Platonically or Romantically.

Warnings: Mentions of psychological trauma, Light spoilers for anime, Philosophical and existential themes, Violence and combat (in anime contexts), Emotional conflict, Mild language (?), Possible mild angst(?).

A/N: I don’t watch much anime, but my sister does, so I based the anime choices on what she’s watched and told me about, as well as clips I’ve seen on yt shorts 🫣😔 ALSO THANK YOU!! 🤭💖 I'LL TRY MY BEST HEHE

Aventurine stands in front of the TV, his eyes glinting with curiosity. His usual confidence is slightly tempered by the unfamiliarity of the moment — an evening of anime watching. He’s dressed in his usual stylish attire, the gold accents catching the light as he adjusts the remote with his gloved fingers. His gaze flickers to you, a mischievous smile playing at the corners of his lips.

"So," he begins, voice smooth like a well-played hand in poker, "what do we watch tonight? I suppose I should try something new. But, I must admit, I prefer shows with a bit of strategy — something that makes you think, perhaps a game of intellect or manipulation."

You suggest Death Note, the classic tale of the battle between genius minds.

Aventurine’s smile widens. “Ah, an excellent choice. A battle of wits, a contest of who can outsmart whom. Much like life itself. I must say, the intrigue here appeals to me. The protagonist, Light Yagami, reminds me of someone who knows how to play the game... and win.”

As the opening credits roll, Aventurine lounges back, his eyes gleaming with the same focus he applies to his work at IPC. The intricate web of psychological tension between Light and L unfolds in a way that mirrors his own thinking — everything calculated, every move deliberate. The darker twists intrigue him, and he often leans over to comment on Light’s strategy, or offer his own hypothetical alternatives. Every so often, he’ll pause to explain a parallel to a strategic investment move, his voice laced with a playfulness only you can appreciate.

The night is filled with insightful discussions, his enjoyment of the show evident not just in his words but in the way his eyes spark with intellectual thrill.

Ratio enters your living room, dressed in his usual academic attire, though he seems slightly more relaxed than usual. His hair is perfectly in place, and he adjusts his glasses, his piercing eyes scanning the shelves. He’s intrigued by the idea of anime, but like everything else, he believes it must meet the highest intellectual standards.

"I assume this will be a pursuit of knowledge, correct?" he asks, his tone indicating that he is less concerned with entertainment and more with what the anime can teach him.

You offer him Steins;Gate, a mind-bending tale of time travel and its implications. Ratio raises an eyebrow, his interest piqued.

"Time travel," he mutters. "The concept is fraught with paradoxes, theoretical inconsistencies... But let's see how this unfolds."

As the show progresses, you can tell Ratio is captivated. His usual dismissiveness towards “mediocre” content fades as he engages with the intricacies of the plot. He is particularly drawn to the scientific explanations of time travel, making insightful comments about the laws of causality. The intellectual depth of Steins;Gate resonates with him, and he begins to see the show as more than just entertainment but as an exploration of the human condition through the lens of scientific theory.

His stern exterior softens slightly as he leans forward, absorbed by the delicate unraveling of fate. At one point, he pauses the show to make an impassioned argument about the ethics of time travel, his eyes alight with the thrill of the debate.

Feixiao, in her usual battle-ready attire, steps into your space with her arms crossed, her eyes narrowing slightly in skepticism. She’s not one for frivolous distractions, but she’s willing to give this anime thing a try — provided it’s something that involves action, strategy, and perhaps a little bit of inner conflict.

"You’d better not have picked something weak," she says with a smirk, her voice unwavering. "I don't have time for anything that isn't worthy of my attention."

You suggest Attack on Titan, with its intense battles and deep emotional conflicts. Feixiao grunts in approval.

"Alright, let’s see if they can deliver on the carnage." she says, as the opening scene plays out.

She’s immediately absorbed by the ferocity of the Titans and the desperation of humanity’s fight for survival. The battles, filled with adrenaline and relentless pursuit, mirror the kinds of conflicts she knows too well. She’s particularly drawn to Eren Yeager’s inner struggles — the deep rage that simmers beneath his resolve.

"That’s what I like to see," Feixiao mutters under her breath, her eyes flashing with approval as the protagonists fight with everything they have. "There’s more to these battles than just the physical; there’s emotion, too. A warrior’s mind is as sharp as their blade."

Throughout the night, she becomes invested in the character dynamics, especially Eren’s moral dilemmas. The show's dark tone and brutal honesty about the human condition resonate with her, and she even offers some commentary on the combat strategies used by the soldiers.

By the end of the night, she’s hooked, her face flushed with the excitement of both the action and the emotional weight of the series.

Blade steps into the room, his eyes burning with a quiet intensity, his demeanor as cold as the blade he wields. His mind constantly in turmoil, he’s not interested in frivolous entertainment. Everything he watches must speak to the darker aspects of his soul, and anything too light-hearted will not hold his attention.

You offer Neon Genesis Evangelion, a psychological and emotional rollercoaster that digs into the deep recesses of human existence. Blade’s expression is unreadable as he nods and sits, his eyes steely.

The first few episodes grip him, and soon he is fixated on Shinji Ikari’s inner torment — the crippling isolation, the struggle to find meaning in a world that seems bent on destruction. Blade sees pieces of himself in Shinji, his own existential struggle reflected on screen. He finds an unexpected resonance with the show's depiction of personal battles and the search for purpose in and the search for purpose in an uncaring world.

As the show delves into its more abstract and psychological themes, Blade’s face hardens in contemplation. He doesn’t speak much, but his occasional glances at you tell you everything you need to know — Neon Genesis Evangelion is more than just an anime to him; it’s a mirror to his own fractured soul.

By the end of the night, Blade is silent, lost in thought, the weight of the show's philosophical questions lingering in his mind.

Kafka strolls into the room with her usual cool confidence, adjusting her black jacket over her shoulders. Her hair sways slightly as she surveys the situation. While she doesn’t often indulge in entertainment, she’s intrigued by your suggestion to watch anime together. After all, there’s something elegant about the concept of using subtlety and manipulation to achieve one's ends, and Kafka is drawn to that kind of intrigue.

You offer Code Geass, a series filled with strategic battles, hidden motives, and complex characters. Kafka smirks, her interest piqued.

"This might be interesting. Let’s see if it lives up to the hype." she says, her voice smooth and measured.

As the episodes unfold, Kafka finds herself charmed by Lelouch vi Britannia’s calculating nature and his ability to manipulate others for his own purposes. She’s drawn to the layers of deception, the way Lelouch maneuvers through the world with his intelligence and charisma, much like herself.

"Ah, this is the kind of show I can appreciate," Kafka remarks, glancing at you with a knowing smile. "Power lies not in brute strength, but in the subtleties of the mind. Lelouch truly knows how to play the game."

By the end of the night, Kafka is hooked, her mind racing with the complex political strategies and moral questions the show raises. Her admiration for Lelouch’s ability to control events through sheer willpower is clear.

Silver Wolf lounges in her seat, her purple glasses perched on the bridge of her nose. She’s always up for a challenge, and if anime is as much of a game as you say, then she’s ready to dive in. She’s looking for something that’s both fast-paced and unpredictable, a true test of her adaptability.

You suggest Psycho-Pass, a futuristic series that blends action with deep psychological exploration and questions about the nature of justice. Silver Wolf’s eyes light up as the opening credits roll.

"Alright, this looks fun," she remarks, her fingers tapping on her leg like she’s already hacking her way through the plot. "A system that reads people's intentions? Sounds like a game I could win."

As the series progresses, Silver Wolf becomes engrossed in the moral and psychological dilemmas the characters face. She’s particularly drawn to the futuristic technology, intrigued by the interplay between the systems that control society and the human minds that try to outwit them.

"I could hack my way through this world in no time." she chuckles to herself, but she’s also genuinely captivated by the philosophical questions raised. What is justice? Who decides what is right or wrong?

By the end of the night, Silver Wolf is already planning her next anime binge, eager to see what other “games” the world of anime has to offer.

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rukia-writes · 11 months ago

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hi rukia.

can you do Rangiku kind of reader as Hades and Poseidon s/o, separately of course.

the other is up to you

T/N: Let’s see what I can cook up. 🧑‍🍳 I love Rangiku a lot. Top 3 BLEACH characters

Poseidon.

Tyrant of ocean.

The Most Fearsome God.

Poseidon was that and much more.

A complex individual with his own principles and beliefs.

Poseidon also wasn’t much of a talker, he spoke only when necessity or when something was out of line.

However, not many people knew it but he did like talking. Rather, with someone. (Name), his beloved who was the opposite of him in every way and yet somehow the two clicked.

(Name) could be lazy, Poseidon had his days but he liked doing stuff.

Poseidon liked modesty, (Name) was a beauty with loved showing her body and curves getting the attention of other gods.

(Name) has an easy-going and free-spirited personality, Posieodn was the exact opposite.

The biggest contrast between the two that people noticed was that (Name) liked wearing human clothing and Poseidon always found that the hardest to tolerate about her as he considered human nothing but filth.

Yet, the two clicked.

“Human clothes again? You should take that filth off.”

“But I like it, the fashion those are developing is slick and stylish. If you want me to take off these clothes you’ll have to do it yourself.”

Yes.

No shyness or shame.

Poseidon sighed in response while she enjoying teasing Poseidon smiled as the other gods found their conversation “entertaining” as the cleared their throats changing the subject.

Zeus called the two the weirdest soulmates ever.

Before the two became an item (Name) was arguably the most beautiful goddess in Valhalla. Hades had a saying about her,” A voluptuous beauty with an adult charm in Valhalla. With her broad-minded personality, the chances of men in Valhalla who say no to her... simply do not exist."

Even Poseidon.

(Name) had a habit of whenever she felt like drinking, she would find free people and then invite them to come out with her, and then has them treat her to drinks, so that she wouldn't have to spend any money. Drinking buddies were many but she enjoyed Hades and Poseidon as drinking buddies.

Why Poseidon? People didn’t know.

Poseidon didn’t know. Unlike his brother, Poseidon wouldn’t talk much.

So, Poseidon came to the conclusion that (Name) was using for free drinks and while this could have been true…he didn’t care if it was.

Because he liked her company and he had more than enough money that he didn’t seem to mind.

That’s how it started.

From drinking buddies to lovers.

“Please, don’t tell me you brought that human shit.”

“Listen, listen. This is really good, top notch.”

“You said that last time. It was disappointing to say the least.”

“No, no. Not this one. Here, here. Just close your eyes, tip it back and swallow. It’s really good…See! That’s good right?!”

(Name) gracefully got the tyrant of the seas to drink the alcohol from the human world, only for Poseidon to say it was worse than the last one. Which made the two go back and forth that they had “bad taste” in alcohol.

Although, the next day (Name) was in for a real treat when Proteus invited her to Poseidon’s palace. In the dining room was a small bottle of wine, two wine glasses with Poseidon already at the table.

“Sit. I have somethings I wanted to discuss.”

Poseidon didn’t have to repeat himself as (Name) sat infront of him with a happy smile on her face while Proteus opened the wine bottle.

The two discussed politics and seemingly family problems.

Seemed like Poseidon when he had a few drinks would talk about family a bit.

(Name) mentioned that the wine was exceptionally great and took the bottle wanting to know where Poseidon got it from. Sure, (Name) had a few drinks but the wine wasn’t necessarily strong that she couldn’t recall what wine was what.

“What is this, Poseidon?”

“Wine from those humans. It’s called “Beaujolais nouveau” apparently.”

“…You like human wine-oh my god.”

Smiling in a teasing manner while Poseidon simply shrugged his shoulders, simply saying, “It’s not bad.”

“Not bad you say, and yet you took it. Why?”

“…You enjoy teasing me don’t you?”

“I’m just wondering why we are enjoying human wine, since you called it gross yesterday.”

Cold blue eyes saw how much his visitor was liking this situation, of course she was. A quick sigh and Poseidon poured her another drink and then himself.

“Shut up and drink.”

The two clinked their glasses together and enjoyed a night of drinking and talking.

Poseidon loved those moments.

“That’s my seat.”

The unknown god that was seated next to his drinking buddy quickly got up from the seat as the king Helheim, not only being one the most respected gods but also feared wanted his seat beside (Name).

The gods were having a party, a reason didn’t have to be, and Hades managed to arrive just in time knowing (Name) was already partaking in the wine with a few unknown gods wanting her attention.

Something Hades didn’t like.

“Why is it whenever I leave you alone there’s always a no name god wanting your affection?”

“I honestly, didn’t notice him there. I think you scared him.”

Hades sat down beside (Name) and like any gentleman poured her a drink and then himself, sighing in a tired smile.

“Oh no, how dare I?”

“Jealous?”

“Protective. Now drink and tell me about why you’re visiting the human world for clothes.”

Hades didn’t have big disdain for humans like his brother Poseidon, (Name)’s other drinking buddy. While she had many drinking buddies Hades and Poseidon seemed to be her favorite.

(Name) also had a habit of going to the human world for clothes, sometimes the clothes were modest and sometimes they were a bit revealing.

Hades didn’t mind either.

(Name) was a rather beautiful goddess arguably the most beautiful goddess in Valhalla. She wasn’t above using her charms to get what she wanted which could be drinks, so she didn’t have to pay, or getting support on anything she wanted.

“They are comfortable. The humans aren’t all bad, great fashion sense. However, your brother thinks otherwise.”

“Of course he does. Especially, since you gave him that wine from the human world.”

“It was great! You had to admit it was great!”

(Name) seemed to already be a bit tipsy as she gently shook Hades shoulder trying to get Hades agree with her. Drinking from his wine glass, Hades eyes quickly, very quickly, glanced at down her shirt to admire those beautiful breasts.

Hades didn’t have to quickly look in honesty as (Name) and himself were close and (Name) liked it when he gave her compliments on her body or how she dressed.

“Whatever you say. I’m not arguing with you.”

“Good! I was hoping you would let me see your Bident.”

Hades kindly chocked on the wine he was drinking as a easy going and kindly flirty (Name) patted the top of his head with a teasing smile. A smile, Hades came to love just as much as the smile that was charming.

“You can’t see my bident. Are you insane?”

“Aw, come on! Just for a little while~”

Slightly giving Hades a peek down the split shirt, which Hades already took a quick peek at, but Hades quickly played coy. Saying that he couldn’t be swayed. Even when, (Name) tried again Hades still said no. As the night went on and the two talked, as though the two were the only ones there, and had some more drinks for the night.

“I don’t like cold men, Hades.”

“Then why are you friends with Thor?”

“He has good company! Just because he doesn’t talk to you doesn’t mean he doesn’t talk. Don’t laugh! It isn’t funny.”

Hades had to laugh.

Imagining the indifferent and cold Norse talking and keeping good company seemed a bit out there to think about. While laughing (Name) kindly shook him trying get Hades to take her seriously, it didn’t work.

But that was Hades way of flirting; teasing.

The two liked to tease each other whether the two were together personally or on the phone.

“You’re still on that?”

Days later, Hades was sitting on his chair in his king’s chambers reading a book while on the phone with his favorite drinking buddy; beautiful drinking buddy.

“If you won’t let me see your bident. At least name an attack after me. Shows that you love me~”

“What makes you think I love you?”

Hades had a smile on his face as he awaited (Name)’s answer, on the other end (Name) was back in the human world. Shopping no doubt.

“Poseidon told me.”

“Lies.”

“Are you calling your brother a liar? Shame on you~”

Smirking Hades found (Name)’s teasing and charming, that’s what he loved about her. That and how he could just be himself around her.

“I’m not calling my brother a liar. Just my favorite drinking buddy.”

“I’m hurt! Just for that you and I are no longer friends.”

Playing hurt (Name) knew Hades would reply back with something just as sly or funny and he did as he clutched his hand over his heart and pretended to be hurt.

“Oh no! Whatever will I do? My one and only friend is gone. I enjoyed placing my head on your lap. Looks like I’ll to find another place for my head to rest.”

“It’s not too late to apologize.”

“Good night, (Name). I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Bye, Hades.”

The two said good bye and ended their call, Hades had to admit he must have had it bad if he found her saying bye to him was sexy.

(Name) was truly beautiful goddess inside and out.

Hades had a saying about her;

“A voluptuous beauty with an adult charm in Valhalla. With her broad-minded personality, the chances of men in Valhalla who say no to her... simply do not exist."

Her beauty alone was what made gods trip over their own feet, except for Hades. Hades didn’t seem to let her beauty rule his desire, it was in truth that her personality that he loved.

Her teasing.

The way he could talk to her about anything, as he laid his head on his lap and she gave him sound advice. The way she waved and smiled at him would make him a liar if he said he didn’t feel his heart skip a beat.

Jealous? Protective? Hades wasn’t sure.

All he knew was he didn’t like certain gods coming around, not everyone has a warm agenda. Hades had to keep an eye out for her.

As the years passed, it wasn’t a secret that Hades and (Name) were close. A few gods and goddess became jealous of the two good looking, close friends, but it didn’t matter to them as the two just became closer and closer.

“Where are you two going?”

“Where does it look like we’re going?”

Poseidon caught his brother and (Name) at the gate that went to the world of the living both were dressed for the beach. Hades was carrying all the equipment, no doubt (Name) asked him to do so.

“You have a domain to run, you know.”

“Yeah, but if he stay cooped up in Helheim all the time he’s going to age faster than Zeus.”

“Helheim can’t be left unattended.”

“Beelzebub is taking command.”

Poseidon heard (Name)’s stance on taking Hades with her to the beach and while he hoped he could get some sense into Hades it was too late, (Name) already had her claws in him. Gently grabbing Poseidon’s well toned arm (Name) tried to convince Poseidon to join them.

(Name) was the only one in Valhalla who could hug Poseidon’s arm and get away with it.

Poseidon declined to go and instead told his brother not to be gone too long. Hades promised he would be gone two hours tops…

Hades and (Name) were gone the entire day.

🎀Rukia-Writes🎀

#hades x reader #record of ragnarok x reader #Poseidon x reader #shuumatsu no valkyrie x reader

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luxsky · 1 year ago

Text

Kicking out

Rhysand x reader

Summary: Reader tries to have a peaceful day without their partner hovering with overprotection, but destiny has other plans.

Warnings: Pregnancy, mentions of body aches, Rhysand being an overly protective rooster. Ignore any biological errors; I've never been pregnant and have no background in any health-related field, so everything here is either from my imagination or a quick Google search.

Autor's Note: This is my first time posting here, and I'm anxious and very, very nervous (especially because it's the first time I've written in a long time). I don't know if I like this or not, but this idea has been lingering in my head for days. Maybe I'll do a part two, but I'm not sure. Please, I welcome any kind of feedback here! (but be careful with how you say it). I apologize if the grammar is... bad? English is not my first language, and I'm not fluent (much of this had help from AI for translation, so if something doesn't make sense or is placed incorrectly, please let me know so I can correct it).

It's the beginning of fall, all you wanted to do was sit on the expensive and cozy sofa decorating the House of Wind and read a soft and cliché romance book while sipping on a cup of hot coffee. Except, you couldn't consume caffeine for the sake of the baby growing in your belly. Still, you had the option to sit and read a book, but your large and exuberant belly prevented you from sitting comfortably for too long. Well, nothing a few pillows and a blanket couldn't solve. Okay then, you didn't have coffee or a comfortable position, but you could still read your book, right?

Well, no, you've been trying to do that since the early afternoon when you sent Rhysand to his office, asking him to work a bit in his own court instead of watching over you. In fact, he had been a mother hen since the beginning of the pregnancy, and that was just one of the excuses you gave to get rid of his overprotectiveness. But it was becoming a challenging mission to concentrate on reading. You're nearing the end of your pregnancy, which is exciting in part, with the anticipation of meeting your little one consuming you, but the discomfort of carrying a baby constantly kicking your ribs has proven quite persistent.

It's been more than five minutes since you were stuck on the same page, reading and rereading but unable to focus on the book, back pain and intermittent cramps stealing all your concentration. You were used to a slight discomfort in your back since the beginning of the second trimester, but today, in particular, it was more of a significant and noticeable discomfort. You sighed in frustration and decided that maybe eating something would help. Putting the book aside, you remove the blanket from over you and swing your legs out of the sofa, prepared for the struggle it would be to get up. Normally, Rhys would help you, but if he left the office long enough to realize something was bothering you, he would spend the rest of the day hovering over you, worried and concerned.

Breathless and almost sweating, you managed to get up. At this point, the only clothes that fit you were light fabric dresses, or what you were currently wearing: one of Rhys's sweatpants and a sweater stolen from his closet. Your partner started sharing half of his wardrobe when your beautiful, stylish, and beloved clothes no longer fit you—you cried for a whole hour after trying to put on one of your favorite pants, and Rhys almost cried too, not knowing how to comfort you.

Walking towards the kitchen, you almost laughed, remembering the various times when hormones provided you with uncontrollable tears and frightened your partner. In those moments, you felt slightly vindicated by his insistence on being present for every breath you took. It's not that you didn't love your partner and appreciate his concern; it's just that he didn't know how to balance it at certain times. As soon as you told him you were pregnant, he became an overprotective mother hen full-time, and it suffocated you a bit. Of course, you talked about it, and he promised to control himself, but if you made a different move, he was already on top of you, asking what was wrong and insisting that you needed to stay in bed.

Reaching the kitchen, you pause for a moment to catch your breath and lean your hands on your back while deciding what to eat. God, this belly was weighing more than usual. Deciding to make a big, hearty sandwich, you start gathering all the necessary ingredients from the cabinets and placing them on the counter.

You feel your partner gently pulling that thread connecting you two, and the next moment, he's entering the kitchen, a furrow between his eyebrows indicating that he's thinking, and the slight contraction in his mouth tells you he's worried. "Darling, you should be resting."

You roll your eyes and let a faint smile form on your lips as you reply, "I was resting, but then I got bored." You lean against the counter for a minute, then turn to grab a knife to cut the tomatoes. When you turn again, Rhys is in front of you, reaching out towards you and taking the knife. "If you wanted something to eat, you just had to ask." You pout at him, but he ignores it and turns to the counter, starting to cut the tomatoes. "I just wanted to do something for myself; you don't let me touch anything since you found out I'm pregnant."

You're beside him, staring at the tomatoes he cut, waiting for a response. He turns his face to you and plants a quick kiss on your forehead, grabbing the bread and saying, "Because the only thing I'll let my partner do while she's pregnant is to make this baby. That's consuming enough energy, and I don't want you to tire yourself out."

"Well, your partner may be making a baby, but she assures you she has enough energy to make her own sandwich."

He raises an eyebrow, and a shit-eating grin forms on his lips. Like she had enough energy to organize the baby's clothes last night? His voice fills your mind, the thread connecting you two vibrating with his amusement. Bastard.

I only slept because you decided to intervene and didn't let me do anything else.

"Darling, I only intervened because you were asleep." He starts putting each ingredient on the bread, and you decide to sit — not because you're tired, obviously — in front of him. You go around the counter as you respond, "Well, I don't remember... Argh." The sudden pain reverberating in your back and cramping that comes and goes cut your speech in half. Damn, you really hoped it wouldn't happen now.

Rhys is in front of you before you can even move, one hand on your belly and the other gently placed on your face, guiding your eyes to meet his. "What's wrong? Is it you? The baby? Panic fills his voice and shines in his beloved violet eyes. His mouth has that contraction again.

The only response you give is a negative nod, trying to catch your breath as the pain passes. He continues with his hands on you and doesn't seem satisfied with your non-verbal answer. I'm fine, the baby is fine. It must have been just another kick in my rib.

His right hand holds the one he placed on your face, and his lips try to form a reassuring smile, which is probably just a funny grimace at the moment. He kisses your forehead, and there's still concern on his face when he pulls away just enough to put both hands on your belly. His gaze alternates between your face and your belly; he still seems reluctant, so he asks again, "Are you sure? I can call Madja just to check, and..."

''Shh." You interrupt him, placing a finger on his lips. Your gaze softened, and now you're the one placing both hands on your partner's face, your thumb stroking his cheek." I said we're fine; it's nothing serious. The baby has been restless all day."

That seems to convince him enough because he agrees and holds your hands, bringing his face closer to yours and planting a gentle kiss on your lips. You pull away after a moment, this time with a complete smile when you playfully say, "Now, go finish my sandwich, or else this baby will start kicking for food." Rhysand laughs with your remark and turns to the counter, finishing your sandwich.

He starts putting away the ingredients again after placing the plate in front of you. "Why didn't you tell me you were in pain? We could have asked Madja for something." He finishes putting away the last ingredient and turns to you again, only the counter separating him as he watches you take the first bite of the sandwich.

"Oh God, this is so good." You ignore his statement, too focused on savoring what might be the best sandwich of your life. He accepts your lack of response with a soft laugh and turns to the cabinets to grab a glass. "Do you want some juice?" you mumble a yes, with your mouth full of the sandwich, and wait for him to fill the glass. He has his back to you while rummaging through the cabinets.

Splash.

"What kind of juice do you want, dear? Because I think we only have orange or grape, but I can ask the House to make some other flavor." He turns to you, waiting for a response, but his face transforms when he sees your expression. "What? Is something wrong?"

Oh, well, this is going to be funny. You finish swallowing the sandwich, trying to formulate a word. He stays where he is, waiting for your response, frozen. But it's your next words that make him run towards you.

"I think my water just broke."

Another pang erupts in your back, and you realize that maybe it wasn't the baby that was restless. It was contractions.

And this baby is about to kick its way out of your belly.

#acotar #rhysand #fanfic #Rhysand x reader #rhysand acotar #rhys acotar #rhys x reader #pregnancy #x reader #pregnant reader #Soft #rhysand imagine #a court of thorns and roses

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octuscle · 1 year ago

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My professor is such a pain in the ass! I tried turning him into an average dumb college frat guy, but it’s not working!

Whew! Indeed, your professor is a tough nut to crack. He's as stiff as if he'd swallowed a stick. On time like a Swiss watch. And the strictest teacher imaginable. I'll see what I can do. Time is pressing, it's Friday and the exam period starts on Monday.

07:30. Your professor's shiny Volvo rolls into the faculty parking lot. He's always on time to the second. His suit may be cheap, but it's immaculate. And he walks into the staff room with his hair perfectly parted. No one notices the small tattoo on his forearm.

When he arrives at your lecture, it's like a sensation: he's not wearing polished Oxfords, he's wearing sneakers. Pretty cool, pretty expensive sneakers. And WHITE socks! He's never been seen wearing anything like that before. And you swear his stomach is flatter. Normally his jacket always conceals a tummy bulge. But now his silhouette is perfectly slim. Unfortunately, it doesn't change anything about his lecture. He's way too fast, firing his questions like a sniper in the direction of the students who weren't paying attention. He's a pain in the ass, and that hasn't changed yet.

During the lunch break, the professor is seen wearing jeans for the first time. Pretty crisp fitting jeans. He really has a tight ass. And damn: Does he actually have a beard shadow? Normally he's always perfectly shaved. You're sitting in the canteen with your bruhs when he approaches you and asks "All gud, bruhs? can one of you give me uh fag? I must have forgotten mine at home…" You are far too surprised not to give him a cigarette. "You're such uh lifesaver, dude," says your professor and asks what you're up to this weekend. You tell him about your plans to go to the sports bar, work out in the gym and maybe take a trip to the beach on Sunday. "Sick thing" replies the professor. "See you around, bruhs!" He leaves you with your mouths hanging open.

The professor leaves the parking lot in his open-top Mustang with loud hip-hop music and screeching tires. You grin broadly. Your plan seems to be working. You are sure of it when you meet the next day at the gym. Your professor has a cool haircut, a stylish beard and looks like he's a regular at the tattoo parlor. You greet each other with a fist bump. And when he takes off his sweaty T-shirt after two hours, you say goodbye with a chest bump. Damn, this guy has a killer body.

On the beach, your prof disappears from time to time with random people and goes to the trunk of his Mustang. Shit, he's selling drugs. Hashish or apparently steroids and other stuff. And at sunset you see him lying on his towel smoking pot while one of the musclemen from the gym massages his nipples. Fuck, the boner in his surfer shorts is impressive. You're very pleased with yourself. You don't need to be afraid of tomorrow. It's a good thing you didn't waste the weekend studying.

Hot picture, you think to yourself on Monday morning when you see your professor's latest post on Instagram. And then you read the caption: "Sicc training 2 start the new wk. Now let's go kicc sum student ass. I luv it when i c the airheads sweating over my exam questions"

Pic found @marechais

#male tf #muscle tf #reality change #chronivac #male transformation #muscle transformation #inked man #age reduction #jock tf #nerd to jock

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thinkingotherwise · 7 months ago

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Requested by: misticbullet Please do more fanfics with bad girl vibe with suo and the rest, or preppy girl from all girls school in sailor uniforme like one from akebi's sailor uniforme, i'm a total sucker for good girl bad boy situation relesh

Not sure if I got the preppy girl vibes correctly.

Also, I'd surely add some other stories with this dynamics and the bad girl/boy reader, because it's really fun and on point with the series.

Choji Tomiyama x fem! Preppy Girl! reader

He's such a deadly cinnamon bun

TW: blood

Even with his funny shirts and a big smile, Choji inspired fear in your friends but not in you. You got along really well since the day he complimented your keychains attached to your bag. Seemingly the only "strange" thing about your elegant and stylish appearance. At the same time, his T-shirt brought a smile to your face, leaving both of you grinning and richer by a new friend.

You got more attached to each other, the more time you met. He brought you so much joy so easily and, you could say, stupidly. You really did appreciate the different and more relaxed way he was compared to your classmates.

All the rumours your friends told you about him being the leader of Shishitoren, the fights he got in, and the race for the strength he constantly found himself in, didn't have that much effect on you. Of course, the first time you saw his bloody fists and dark eyes was very shocking, you even took a step back trying to calm yourself before you could run away from him. And so after talking and him sharing in excitement that his fists were finally heavier and more powerful you only grinned at him and congratulated him. He reminded you of a cute puppy, a cute but feral puppy.

As mentioned it wasn't strange for you to see him covered in blood but to see him at your school gate with blood over his T-shirt was new. He just got too excited to share something with you and had to do so right after the fight.

You came out of school with your friends and immediately you heard all sorts of mutters from around you.

"Why is he here?" Someone behind you whispered.

"Oh my God!"

"Is that blood?" A couple of voices echoed.

Then your eyes meet the figure that caused all this disturbance. His eyes searched the crowd constantly moving from one leg to another and swinging side to side. When he finally found you he smiled brightly and waved in your direction.

"Oh, (Y/n)! I was waiting for you." Choji said and eagerly bounced toward you.

Seeing that your friends hid behind you grabbing at your arms and using you as their shield. You knowing such a delinquent made them question if you had some trouble or got into some unwanted company.

"Hi Choji, what happened to you?" You asked when he stopped before you.

Your friends and people around gasped at the friendly attitude you shared with some thug, covered in blood and with bruises lining his body.

"Oh, that? Just some weak guys that went out of line. Had to set them straight." He replied cheerfully and you could see the people around shivering in fear at the temporary change in his voice.

"I see, then good job keeping them in their place." Your monotone voice made him very happy.

"Thanks."

When you felt your friends' grips tightening around your arms and shoulders once again you sighed and shook them off. You reached into your fancy bag and took out a pack of wet tissues. Taking one you stepped closer to him and your hand reached toward his face.

"Here, let me help you with the blood." You proposed and your friends gasped dramatically making you roll your eyes.

"(Y/n), don't come so close to him." One of them said trying to come to you and bring you away from the boy but you just raised your brows at them.

"Oh, come on, it's not like he'll bite you." You said sarcastically, but you knew that he could if he was provoked, you wouldn't put it behind him.

"Eeek." At yet another sound from your classmates, you had enough.

You grabbed Choji's hand leading him out of the school grounds and on the way to some quiet place.

"I'll see you guys later." You told your friends not even sparing them a look.

"Are you sure?"

"Will you be alright?" They asked worried about you.

"Yes, don't worry." You turned briefly toward them and sent them a small reassuring smile before continuing with Choji by your side.

He was unusually docile, but you blamed it on his after-fight excitement and need to share the whole story with you.

When you were far enough, you sat on the benches near some playground. You gave him the tissue and he finished cleaning his face up as best as he could without seeing where the dry blood was. Then he searched his jacket's pockets before grabbing something and showing it to you. From his finger dangled a cute little charm and you tilted your head.

"What's that?"

He grinned at your question.

"Ah, yes! Here you can have it. I got it from the kid I helped." He said before shoving it in your lap.

He then started telling the story in much more detail, talking about how heavy his fists were when he saw the kid in trouble, and when he beat up the guys. And you, you listened to him going on and on while playing with the fuzzy charm.

#wind breaker (satoru nii)#wind breaker (satoru nii) x reader #wind breaker #wind breaker x reader #choji tomiyama x reader

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icequeenbae · 1 year ago

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Translucence (m) | Astro LDM

Pairing: Cha Eunwoo x Reader (Lee Dongmin x Reader)

A Jinjin cameo? hehe

Established Relationship, slice of life, fluff, PWP, smut

Warnings: glass bathroom you heard me lol, explicit content, unprotected sex, this is smut with minimal plot (it’s becoming my style), a sprinkle of voyeurism, maybe a noona kink, maybe Dongmin's splendid ass is mentioned more than once

Word Count: ~4.2k

Author’s Note: Heyyy~ Finally posting my first ASTRO fic! This has been waiting to be released for a while now, but the timing wasn’t working out… But now that it’s done, I hope that you enjoy this little story! Let me know what you think~ And a special thank you to the lovely @the-boy-meets-evil for looking over my story, I really loved your comments, Jess <3

Summary: It’s your first short vacation with Dongmin since you started dating, and you get a chance to stay at an extremely fancy hotel in Jeju. The ocean-view suite is perfect, yet there’s a small inconvenience… or a genius design?

Network tags: @superm-net @exo-writers-net @bbh-net @k-vanity @ksmutsociety

It was your first time taking a vacation together.

With the type of hectic schedule Dongmin had to maintain, you barely managed to book the hotel of your dreams for this weekend, which was actually your one-year anniversary. Two days was all you had, and you planned to enjoy them to the fullest, start to finish.

Which was why you’d surprised your boyfriend by appearing clad in a white sundress with a stylish wide brim hat to match. It was a simple feminine look, yet it set the mood from the start.

‘Wow, I’m suddenly looking forward to our flight…’ He smiled at you softly before murmuring, ‘You look beautiful.’

Avoiding his eyes timidly, you chewed on your lip to contain a silly grin. Dongmin took the handle of your suitcase to put it away in the trunk of the car.

‘Let’s get going, we have to be at the airport in thirty,’ Jinwoo’s voice startled you as the window on the driver’s side rolled down. ‘You’ll have a whole hour to exchange your lovey-dovey stares on the plane, children.’

‘Hyung…’ Dongmin mumbled in embarrassment, and you coughed, sliding into the backseat while your boyfriend’s palm hovered above your head protectively.

‘I’m older than you, Jinwoo-yah,’ you scolded, and he hummed in response.

‘Barely!’ He glanced in the rearview mirror, meeting your eyes, and added. ‘Noona.’

You shook your head in disapproval, and turned to Dongmin, who settled in the backseat with you and moved to buckle you up.

‘I can do it! Let’s not make Jinwoo cringe.’

‘Why would he cringe…’ Your boyfriend pouted, watching you tug at the seatbelt.

‘I’m fine unless you start the funny business,’ the leader announced nonchalantly from the front seat.

‘Have you ever caught us doing anything?’ You huffed, and the car was silent for a few long seconds. ‘Have you??’

‘Does hearing count?’ He asked, and your boyfriend’s eyes almost bulged out of his head.

‘Shut up,’ you laughed nervously, only half-assured that it was a joke.

‘It’s actually true. It was when we all stayed at the dorm for a sleepover. You rustle like mice,’ Jinwoo recalled.

‘What?? We weren’t doing anything fu-’

Dongmin’s hand suddenly squeezed your thigh, putting a stop to your protesting speech.

‘Please, just… change the subject, noona.’

Teasing you and Dongmin was Astro members’ favorite pastime, and you noticed from the very beginning. They simply loved making him a flustered mess. Not that you couldn’t relate – the face genius looked almost unbearably cute when embarrassed. You weren’t a stranger to teasing him yourself, just to get your fix of his adorable shy smile and his extensive nagging about how you never let him breathe.

In fact, he loved to nag. It was his way of showing affection.

‘Ah, noona… Your dress is so revealing,’ he kept whining while you were on the plane. ‘D’you know how active the sun is in Jeju? Did you apply the sunscreen thoroughly?’

‘Yes. But you can reapply it if you want an excuse to touch my chest,’ you murmured, making him flush red and lower his voice to a scandalized whisper.

‘That’s not what I meant-’

‘I’m sure it isn’t.’ You hummed, laying your head on his shoulder. ‘But I’d still let you.’

The flight from Seoul to Jeju Island was rather quick, about one hour in the air. And it seemed to be over even faster since you were too busy whispering, giggling like lovestruck teenagers, and ‘oh’-ing in excitement as you looked out the illuminator.

Going on a trip with your boyfriend was something you’d been dreaming of for months now, so your mood was through the roof from the moment you woke up. It kept gradually increasing while you were on your way to the dream destination, and reached its peak when Dongmin rented a car to drive the two of you to the hotel.

‘If anything is better than this view,’ you turned away from the window to look at your boyfriend’s relaxed form. ‘It’s probably this.’

‘What?’ He glanced at you, not catching your meaning.

‘You.’

He huffed, scolding you for being cheesy.

‘What, I’ve told you this before! You look most handsome either when you’re driving or when your hair gets wet.’

‘I shall try driving with wet hair someday. Will that make you explode?’

‘Is that your goal?’ You asked, tracing your index finger down the side of his neck, which made him squirm.

‘Stop it, you know I’m ticklish…’

‘You’re not ticklish, you’re sensitive.’ You corrected, running the pads of your fingers over his skin again to make him shudder. ‘So, who’s exploding now?’

He gave you a reproachful look, and you chuckled, pinching his cheek to annoy him further.

‘Why do you have to be so shameless, noona…’

‘Don’t you love that about me?’ You asked playfully.

‘I do,’ he was quick to admit. ‘I love everything about you.’

Caught off guard by his sudden confession, you fell silent. Dongmin didn’t say things like this often, he was a bit reserved about his feelings. You actually recalled that he’d only said ‘the three words’ twice in the span of your relationship. And on one of those occasions he was actually drunk, so… yeah. He was strangely tight-lipped about it for the romantic that he was.

But you’d learned to accept it. You wouldn’t push him to do something he didn’t want to or wasn’t ready to do. So, you just said nothing before your hotel was finally visible.

‘This is great, we can just drop everything and head out to the beach! I’m living for this weather,’ you said, clapping your hands in excitement.

Dongmin nodded in agreement.

As expected, the hotel was splendorous. You noticed that while your boyfriend was checking you in. Taking those few minutes to look around, you found yourself ogling the crystal-clear glass constructions that separated the lobby and the waiting area. The outer wall was also steel and glass, so you could enjoy the beautiful landscapes of Jeju even from there.

‘Let’s go,’ a low voice called, and you followed the tall figure to the elevator.

You really wanted to give him a back hug as he pressed the button, but decided to at least wait until you were on your floor.

Dongmin took your suitcase, which made you pout, unable to hold his hand.

‘I think it’s here,’ he guided you to the door and used the card to open it. ‘After you.’

And there went your plan to give him a back hug. Up in flames.

You sighed and stepped into the room.

‘Oh!’ You exclaimed, rushing to get rid of your outdoor shoes in favor of slippers. ‘Let’s check the view! Come on!’

Surprised by your eagerness, your boyfriend shook his footwear off as well, reaching out his hand to allow you to tug him towards the balcony.

‘Oh my god, this is even better than I expected!’ You squealed, almost jumping in excitement, and squeezed his palm. ‘My hands are itching to take pictures! Come on, lean on this railing.’

Knowing better than to argue with you, he did exactly as he was told, and posed for you.

‘Ah, so handsome,’ you kept repeating, while preserving this moment in the form of a photograph.

Dongmin lost his patience in about a minute, pulling you closer to his body.

‘Are you interested in the view or in spending time with me?’

‘I see you every other day, and it’s my first time in Jeju, of course I’m interested in the view!’ You exclaimed. ‘Especially when you’re making it even better.’

He allowed you to kiss away his pout, and held you close for a selfie.

‘No, my head looks too big like this!’

You jumped in place to reach the phone, because your partner refused to take likable pictures.

‘I got it, I got it,’ he assured you, angling it to make the two of you look disproportionate again.

When you pinched him angrily, he laughed in the cheekiest way possible, begging for mercy instantly.

At least then you’d managed to finally take presentable photos.

Leaving you to admire the ocean some more, Dongmin headed back inside to unpack your belongings. You needed to change into your swimsuits if you wanted to enjoy the rest of the day on the beach.

‘Uh- noona?’

‘Mhm?’

‘Did you… see that?’

His voice sounded confused, so you followed it back into the room.

‘See wha- Omo! Is this..?’

You turned to your boyfriend, who denied you eye contact.

‘Glass bathroom.’ He noted blankly, without showing what his actual feelings about it were.

Was he shy? Anxious? Excited? Uncomfortable? You couldn’t decipher his expression for the life of you.

‘Yeah,’ you agreed.

It was a simple yet exquisite design, no one could argue that it looked good. But the problem was that the bathroom here had no wall separating it from the main bedroom space. Which could only mean…

‘Well, I’m sure we’ll manage,’ you shrugged, walking past Dongmin to find your change of clothes. ‘Get your swimwear out while I change. And don’t peek!’

He grumbled under his breath and you snickered faintly. Damn, you were going to have to face the bathroom issue at some point today. And you should mentally prepare.

It wasn’t on your mind for long though.

As soon as you hit the beach… The beautiful clear sky, the warm sand under your bare feet, the lagoon blue water – all of it occupied your head and made you forget all of the possible inconveniences.

‘Don’t swim away,’ Dongmin nagged, stretching out his arms to reach you.

‘Why, scared of going in deep water?’ You teased him, splashing him lightly with your foot.

‘Noona,’ he sulked, and you allowed the waves to push you towards your boyfriend.

As soon as you were within his reach again, he pulled you closer to his body, not caring too much about the spectators.

‘What now, giant baby?’

‘Don’t call me that,’ Dongmin murmured, and you instantly knew he wanted a kiss.

‘There’s too many people, Min-ah,’ you responded, placing your palm on his chest, covered by the soaked white fabric of his tee.

‘Just once,’ he badgered, stepping closer to you.

Of course, his feet were still grounded where you were floating.

‘Why should I?’ You feigned a complaining tone, glancing at his plump lips.

‘Because.’

Dongmin’s hands seized you by the waist, and your forearms prickled with goosebumps.

Staying still while he leaned in and pressed his lips to yours, you’d allowed him to steal this quick kiss before swimming away again.

You had literally spent all day in the water, taking short breaks to let your wrinkled skin get back to normal. And reapply sunscreen again, of course, with your boyfriend being a total worrywart.

‘I don’t want you to get sunburnt. Your skin is so fair and delicate, it’s important to make sure it’s protected. Did you know getting sunburned increases your chances of skin cancer?’

A worrywart and a smartass.

It was hard to be mad at his smart (and round) ass though, when he had brilliant ideas like tonight. Dongmin had suggested ordering a fancy dinner to your room and having it on your balcony to enjoy the view.

‘Wah, the sunset is perfect today,’ you said.

‘Your dress goes well with it. Very chic and minimalistic.’ His eyes followed the curve of your waist down to your thigh.

‘I’ve had it forever, but I have no clue where else to wear a red silk gown.’

‘Don’t.’ Dongmin’s cheeks and lips were both red from the wine. ‘Only wear it for me, noona.’

Chuckling, you rose from your seat and stepped closer to your boyfriend. Using just your index finger, you tipped his head up to meet his eyes, and then you put your right knee onto his chair, right between his thighs.

‘Are you telling me what to do now, aegi?’ You asked, enjoying the sensation of his gentle fingers ghosting over your thighs.

‘It’s your decision, but why would you deny me this request?’ His hand became more confident, creeping up your bare skin now. ‘Are you hungry for someone else’s attention?’

‘How drunk are you, Dongmin-ah?’ You asked, brushing your lips against his. ‘Because it seems like you could do something right here, where people might see us.’

Straightening up, you smiled angelically at him.

‘We need to shower and cool off. I’m pretty sure I have sand where it shouldn’t be.’

It was obvious that he was disappointed, but the night was young, and to fully enjoy the experience you had to sober up a little. But it was nothing a quick shower couldn’t fix.

‘You go first, I’ll get rid of the dishes. Don’t argue,’ you cut him off, nodding at the entrance to your room. ‘Go.’

It took you only a few minutes to tidy up, so when you walked in Dongmin was just starting out. The water was on, and he was in front of the glass door, almost ready to step in.

The realization hit you right then. You were going to see all of it. And you didn’t hate the idea.

You’d watched, as if in slow motion, how your boyfriend shoved his underwear down, revealing his plump butt, and got into the bath. Feeling no shame whatsoever, you stood your ground, staring at his bare back.

The water hit his body, languidly running down his smooth skin like a dozen forest streams. From where you were standing you could see the enticing flex of his muscles and the breathtaking curve of his waist. As he leaned in to wet his hair, you pressed a palm to your mouth. This slight voyeurism was making you quite… hot. And bothered.

Swallowing hard, you took a step towards him. You were a bit uneasy with the thought of how he might react. At least you’d hoped that he wouldn’t consider you a complete pervert. But you couldn’t resist the obvious temptation; it was most likely what this bathroom was built for. After all, you still owed him a back hug in your mind from earlier… Surely, he wouldn’t mind that you decided to give it to him now, you thought.

Easily sliding your dress and underwear off, you stopped in front of the glass that was getting foggy already.

‘Dongmin-ah,’ you called, opening the glass door to join him. ‘Noona doesn’t have to wait, does she?’

There was no way you could get a coherent response to your question as your hands wrapped around him and your cheek pressed to his shoulder blade. You felt him freeze for a moment, probably startled by your actions, and then he sighed under his breath.

‘What are you up to now? I thought you wanted me to cool off.’

‘Did you now?’ You hummed, pressing a quick succession of kisses along his spine. ‘Would you like me to stop?’

He pressed his palm to the wall in order to maintain his balance under the attack of your tantalizing hands.

‘No.’

Snaking your hand down to cup his balls, you smiled at his gasp of surprise.

‘That’s what I thought.’

With your body pressed so tightly to his, you didn’t even think twice before grinding on his ass and urging him to moan out loud as your fingers wrapped around his semi-hard penis.

‘Noona…’ He gritted, glutes flexing against your pelvis impatiently. ‘What are you doing…’

‘You don’t like it?’

Dongmin glanced at you over his shoulder before turning to face you. His hands gripped your sides and pushed you into him.

‘Were you watching me this entire time?’ He scolded in his low, velvety voice.

‘It was just a couple minutes,’ you defended weakly and wrapped your arms around his neck, ready to purr as his palms stroked up and down your back.

‘I see.’

You stood like that for a few moments, soaking in the warmth of your entangled bodies while the water splashed you from the side.

‘Didn’t you mention having sand in places it shouldn’t be?’ He murmured, hands dipping lower to squeeze your ass. ‘Want some help with that?’

‘How naughty,’ you snickered, messing up his wet hair even further. ‘Would you rather help me clean up, or...?’

‘Or.’

He responded in a heartbeat, gripping you tight before lifting you up to settle you in the bathroom wall niche.

‘But I can always do both,’ he said, readjusting the shower head to splash you with water again.

You squealed and dragged him in the line of fire as well. Inevitably in ten seconds you were both properly soaked.

‘There was no need to get my hair wet. You look sexy like this, and I look like I need to use a hairdryer real bad.’

He ignored your complaints, leaning close and nearly grazing your lips. With your eyes shut, you waited a few seconds but nothing happened.

‘Were you expecting a kiss?’ He grinned in your face, eyes crinkling in mischief. ‘Aw, what a tiny baby…’

Recalling your earlier interactions in the water, you rolled your eyes at him.

‘So, this is your revenge?’ You asked, not resisting as he wrapped your legs around his waist to move even closer. ‘I don’t find it fair since I did let you kiss me. In public.’

He huffed in response to your statement.

‘You call that a kiss?’

Dongmin’s lips suddenly found yours, and you couldn’t avoid the contact. Tilting your head back you hit the tiled surface, but, thankfully, your boyfriend could predict this move. His palm on the back of your head cushioned the hit, and you could only squeak in surprise, parting your lips invitingly.

He wasn’t the type to waste an opportunity like that. And once Dongmin’s tongue was in your mouth, there was no point in fighting him. Your partner was a little too good at French kissing, and you could easily admit to being hopelessly weak to his talent. He was also a toucher, so whenever a makeout session started, his hands would be all over you.

Moaning as he squeezed your breast gently, you pushed against his chest to break the kiss. Your lips were moist, and you were sure it wasn’t because of the water still running, and you licked them in a failed attempt to gather your thoughts together. Dongmin used your momentary struggle to tease you.

‘That is what I call a kiss, noona. You know this.’

You gulped, trying to think of a good comeback. At this point, you really just wanted to surrender. But him being smug about it was an obstacle: you had no intention of pleasing his ego with instant capitulation.

Grabbing a handful of his hair, you pulled hard. His head whipped back, and you didn’t think twice before latching onto his neck hungrily.

Dongmin’s grunt was the single sexiest thing in the entire situation, not even the sight of his broad shoulders that you were holding onto right now or his curvaceous butt that you loved so much could compete with the sound he produced. It was both surprised and pained, loud and husky with pleasure. You could tell he was conflicted about it just from the way his fingers dug into the skin of your sides, almost scratching at your ribcage, while his cock twitched, pressed between your bodies. He needed to get you off of himself but did he want to?

Pulling away from his flushed neck, you tugged at his hair again just to hear him groan beautifully before he used his strength to tear your hand away from his hair.

‘Noona. You know how heavily it bruises,’ he rubbed his neck with the pads of his fingers. ‘Why would you?’

‘On a scale from one to ten,’ you murmured, brushing wet hair out of his eyes. ‘How much did you hate it?’

You touched the tender skin of his neck, just where the redness was growing, and his breath seemed to get shakier.

‘…s-seven,’ he mumbled.

‘Mm?’

Dongmin cleared his throat, staring at you through his dark eyelashes.

‘Three point seven,’ he offered this time, and you couldn’t help but smile.

‘That’s more like it,’ you hummed, finding his frowning lips in a quick peck.

Meanwhile, he reached down to wrap his fingers around his rock-solid cock to guide it where you both wanted it.

‘Ough-’ You gasped as he bottomed out in one go. ‘Don’t be impatient.’

Your boyfriend’s hips didn’t slow down one bit, although his next thrust seemed slightly more careful. He loved you but he was also damn stubborn.

The glass wall behind Dongmin was getting cloudier from the hot water, which you didn’t hate. The enclosed space seemed snugger now that you were isolated from your surroundings in a way, holding so tightly onto each other. Your skin was slippery under your partner’s fingers, yet he made sure to secure you in his arms. He liked to make it known that once he got you, he wasn’t letting go.

‘Mm- Dongmin-ah,’ you moaned, clutching his shoulder to ground yourself as he kept thrusting quickly.

‘There,’ he finished for you, already knowing what you wanted to express from the way that you tightened around him.

‘Yes, fuck-’

‘Don’t you wish you were more compliant earlier?’ He chuckled darkly, knowing damn well his hips were steadily pushing you towards your release.

The curses you muttered only spurred him on. He got fired up easily, and wanted nothing more than to see and hear you come undone. Especially when he felt he was denied something – like access to your body.

‘I’m… so close, Min-ah, please- You feel so good.’

You knew he liked to stay in control, so instead of bickering with him mid-sex, you just let him know how great he was at what he was doing. A tiny smile that he couldn’t contain revealed that he was pleased with the option you decided to take. With that, he got slightly more determined and aggressive in his thrusting. Patience was not the virtue that he possessed, so you simply closed your eyes, focused on the grind of your bodies.

‘God, I love you so much,’ he gritted, letting out a curse under his breath.

The words were muffled, but you heard them loud and clear. A pleasant shiver ran down your spine, and you moaned, muscles clenching around his cock. The smooth sensation of his length sliding in and out of you made your legs start to tremble.

‘Dongminie-’ You wailed as his hips kept up the brutal pace that brought you to your release so quickly.

He was still going fast and strong while you yelped, on the verge of pushing him away.

‘I’m there, I’m there… Y/N! Agh-’

Dongmin’s voice reverberated from the walls, not even absorbed by the thickened fog around you that you barely noticed. He groaned loudly as he came, and your pussy quivered while you took all of what he was giving you.

Resting his forehead in the crook of your neck to get a breather, he ran his hands up and down your damp waist. You allowed him a moment to gather his strength, finding his slumped shoulders and stroking them along with his back. There were still butterflies in your stomach – either from your recent orgasm, or from him sneaking in the words you cherished so much, or both.

His hands soon reciprocated.

‘Dammit.’ He cursed, turning his head to kiss your neck that was in close proximity. ‘I feel like I could go again.’

The announcement made you squirm. Going several rounds was more than fine with you, but the bathroom wasn’t really suited for his appetites. You could barely hold your balance on wet tile, and it was also getting too hot and humid for your taste.

‘Are you cold?’ He asked, breaking you out of your thoughts.

You realized his palm was slowly caressing your back, feeling almost scorching against your skin.

‘Not too cold. But I’d still prefer to continue after we finish the shower.’ You suggested, hoping that he wasn’t dead set on milking the bathroom thing further.

‘Noona needs to lie down. I got it.’

You were both grateful and annoyed at his answer.

‘Noona can very well be on top if someone lets her.’

He quickly let you down from the niche you were occupying. Just to remind you how much taller and broader than you he was, for sure.

‘Someone prefers to have noona underneath. Nice and pliable.’

‘It has to be your way, doesn’t it?’

You exchanged naughty chuckles.

‘Come on. Haven’t you been imagining exactly this since the moment you saw the bathroom area? I’m not entirely convinced it was my way just now.’

‘Oh well. I guess I’ll have to convince you once we get to the bedroom.’

‘Who said I wanted to relocate?’ He asked, eyes narrowing at you cunningly.

You were positive that next time you should go for a glass jacuzzi to get the best of both worlds. It’s bigger, warmer, comfier… And still see-though. And hot as hell.

Dongmin snorted, inspecting the pensive expression on your face.

‘I’ll give you a five-second head start to reach the bed. If I catch you on the way… We’re doing it here.’

In any other situation you would’ve called him out for his childishness. This time, however…

You were out the glass door in a heartbeat.

Masterlist

A/N: Thank you for reading!! Please comment and reblog if you'd like to support me ✨ I don't write for fandoms other than EXO often, so feedback is important to me~

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pucksandpower · 8 months ago

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Fashionably Challenged

Max Verstappen x Reader

Summary: you and Max may not exactly be the paddock’s most stylish couple, but you wouldn’t want it any other way

You wake up to the sound of Max rummaging through the closet of your shared hotel suite. Rolling over, you see him laying out two matching outfits — the Red Bull Racing team polos, skinny jeans, and sneakers you’ve grown accustomed to over the years.

One set for him, one set for you.

“Morning, liefje,” he says, catching your gaze. “I have our outfits for the day ready to go.”

You smile sleepily. “Thanks, babe. You know me too well.”

Max grins as he walks over and climbs back into bed, throwing an arm around you. “Of course I do. Can’t have my girlfriend showing up to races looking anything less than perfect.”

You laugh and playfully shove him. “Oh shut up. You know I’d show up in a potato sack if I could.”

“Don’t even joke about that,” he says with mock seriousness. “I would never let you embarrass me like that.”

“Embarrass you?” You scoff. “Please, like you even notice what I’m wearing half the time. You’re just as bad as me when it comes to fashion.”

Max opens his mouth to protest but then shuts it, shrugging in admission. “Okay, fair point. But that’s why I always get you the same thing I’m wearing. So there’s no way we can mess it up.”

You consider this for a moment. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. We make a pretty fashionably challenged couple.”

“The most fashionably challenged,” he agrees with a laugh. He pauses, gaze growing serious. “But I like it that way. I like that we match.”

Warmth blooms in your chest. “Me too.”

The morning passes quickly as you get ready for the race. True to form, you both pull on the matching outfits without a second thought. As you’re walking out to the car, Max stops you.

“Wait,” he says, taking your hand and turning you to face him. He looks you up and down appraisingly. “You look perfect, just like always.”

You can’t help but beam at the compliment. “Have I told you lately how much I love you?”

He grins. “Not nearly enough.”

“Well I do,�� you say, leaning in to kiss him. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too, schatje,” Max murmurs against your lips. “Now let’s go kick some ass today.”

The race goes well, Max taking the checkered flag to the roar of the crowds. As you’re waiting to congratulate him, a podcaster approaches you with a microphone.

“Hi there,” she says brightly. “I’m Lottie from The Racing Line. I was wondering if I could ask you a couple quick questions?”

“Oh, um, sure,” you’re a bit caught off guard.

“Great! So first off, you and Max always seem to be wearing matching outfits to the races. Is that something you two purposely coordinate as a cute couple thing?”

You feel your cheeks flush slightly. “Oh no, not at all actually. The truth is neither of us have much fashion sense at all. So Max just gets me the female version of whatever he’s wearing to make it easy.”

The podcaster looks disappointed. “Oh, I see. So it’s not some adorable couple tradition then?”

“Well, I mean, I guess in a way it kind of is?” You say quickly, feeling guilty. “Neither of us are really into fashion, so we end up matching by default anyway. I think it’s sweet that we always end up coordinating without even trying because we’re just so in sync.”

She perks up at that. “Aww, okay, I can see that! So even though it’s not on purpose, you’ve made your own cute little tradition out of it just by being so aligned. That’s really romantic.”

You nod, smiling softly. “Yeah, I guess you could say that.”

“Well thank you so much for your time,” she shakes your hand. “And congratulations to Max on another win!”

“Thank you,” you reply as she walks away.

A few minutes later Max emerges, helmet under his arm and face lit up in that way you love. You throw your arms around him, pulling him into a tight hug.

“Congratulations baby, you were amazing out there as always.”

“Thank you, schatje,” he says, squeezing you close. He pauses, smile turning teasing. “Did you enjoy chatting with that podcaster earlier?”

You pull back, eyes narrowing. “You saw that, did you?”

He chuckles. “Of course I did. I always notice you.”

“Well then you also saw me have to completely backtrack and come up with some sappy story for why we match when she thought it was a cutesy couple thing,” you say dryly.

Max shrugs. “It kind of is though, isn’t it? Maybe not on purpose, but it’s become our thing.”

“I guess you’re right,” you admit. “I told her it was romantic how in sync we are, always coordinating outfits without even trying.”

“Hmm, I like that,” he says, grinning. “We really are pretty in sync, aren’t we? Two fashionably hopeless peas in a pod.”

You laugh. “That we are.” You look at him fondly. “But I love our way better than being one of those obnoxiously coordinated couples.”

“Me too,” he agrees. “Though I will admit ...” His gaze grows more serious. “Part of the reason I like matching is because it makes me happy to walk around wearing the same thing as you. Like we’re a unit, you know?”

Your heart skips a beat at the soft vulnerability in his voice. “Max Verstappen, you big old romantic,” you tease gently.

He shrugs but you can see the pleased look in his eyes. Sudden understanding washes over you.

“Wait a minute … is that why you got me the same outfit the first time? Not just because you thought it would be easier, but because you wanted us to match?”

Max stays silent for a moment before breaking into a sheepish grin. “You caught me.”

“Oh my god!” You shove his shoulder playfully. “You big sap!”

“What can I say? I like having my girl on my arm looking like the power couple we are,” Max says, pulling you close again. “Fashionably challenged or not.”

“If only everyone out there making you out to be the villain could see the cuddly teddy bear you really are. I absolutely love it,” you murmur, stretching up to kiss him. You can feel him smile against your lips.

As you break apart, Max squeezes your hand. “Come on, let’s go celebrate. In new matching outfits, of course.”

You pretend to roll your eyes exaggeratingly but allow him to lead you towards the exit, your hands intertwined. You truly wouldn’t have it any other way.

***

You and Max are curled up on the couch in your hotel room, his arm draped around you as you lean into his side. It’s a rare quiet moment between races and you’re savoring the feeling of Max’s fingers gently carding through your hair.

“Hey Max?” You say after a few minutes of comfortable silence.

“Hmm?” He hums in response, not looking away from the football match on the TV.

“I got an interesting offer today.”

That piques his interest and he turns his head to look at you. “Oh yeah? What kind of offer?”

You take a deep breath before answering. “A sponsorship deal, actually. From Oscar de la Renta.”

Max raises his eyebrows in surprise. “Wow, that’s … really great, liefje. I’m so happy for you.”

But something in his tone makes you frown slightly. “Are you though? You don’t sound that excited.”

He gives you a half smile. “No, no, I am! That’s a huge opportunity for your career and image. Having that kind of sponsorship deal is amazing.”

“But?” You prod knowingly.

Max lets out a breath, smile fading. “But I guess part of me is a little disappointed and maybe … worried?”

“About what?”

“Well,” he shifts uncomfortably. “I like being the one who picks out your outfits for the races. Our little unintentional matching tradition has kind of become my thing, you know? I’m worried if you get sponsored by some big designer brand you won’t wear the outfits I pick out anymore. That we won’t match.”

His tone is carefully casual but you can hear the undercurrent of vulnerability. Your heart clenches in your chest.

“Oh Max ...” you murmur, reaching up to cup his cheek. “You really like our matching outfits that much?”

He averts his eyes but nods. “Yeah. I know it sounds silly, but I just … I like how in sync we are. How happy it makes me feel when we show up to the races looking like a real team. Like we’re truly partners in everything. I don’t want to lose that.”

The softness in his voice breaks your heart a little. You take his hand and give it a squeeze.

“You have no idea how happy I am to hear you say that,” you tell him gently. “Because I never would have accepted that offer anyway.”

Max blinks in surprise. “You wouldn’t?”

You shake your head. “Not a chance. First of all, they were pressuring me to only wear very high-end stuff, none of which really feels like my personal style. But more importantly ...” You lean in closer, maintaining eye contact. “They don’t have a men’s collection. So they couldn’t sponsor you too.”

Realization lights up his gaze. “Oh ...” he says softly.

You nod. “Exactly. I told them thanks but no thanks. Because no designer wardrobe is worth giving up what we have.”

Max looks stunned. “You … you turned them down? Just to keep matching with me?”

“Of course I did,” you say affectionately, poking his chest. “I would never give that up. How could I say yes to some fancy sponsorship that meant not having my fashionably challenged other half by my side, both looking like total goofballs in the one outfit the world thinks makes up the entirety of our closet?”

A slow smile spreads across his face and he pulls you into his arms, hugging you tightly. “God, I love you,” he murmurs into your hair. “So much.”

You relax into his embrace, overwhelmed by the rush of affection. “I love you too,” you whisper. You pull back slightly to look at him. “Did you really think I’d give up matching with you over that?”

“I don’t know,” he admits, looking a little sheepish. “I guess a small part of me was worried maybe you’d be tempted by the glamor and exposure of being a designer brand ambassador.”

“You know me better than that,” you affirm. “Our matching looks are too special to me. I adore everything about our little tradition — the fact that it started because neither of us cares about fashion, to you always picking out my outfits, and how happy it makes both of us to show up to races coordinating with each other.”

You take Max’s hand, intertwining your fingers. “Don’t you see, my love? It’s not really about the clothes at all, it’s about us. About how perfectly aligned we are in this little part of our lives. And I wouldn’t change that for the world.”

Max’s eyes have gone suspiciously bright, his free hand reaching up to cradle your face. “But liefje … you could have had any designer clothing you wanted.” His voice is thick with emotion. “You turned that down … for me?”

Unable to find the words, you just nod, blinking back your own tears.

“I can’t believe it,” Max breathes out shakily. “You never cease to amaze me.”

You offer him a watery smile. “Well believe it, my love. Because there’s nothing in the world more precious to me than you and our bond. I wouldn’t sacrifice that for anything.”

A single tear escapes to trail down Max’s cheek and you quickly brush it away with your thumb. Seeming at a loss for words, he pulls you into a fierce hug, tucking your head under his chin as you settle into his embrace.

“I love you,” he finally whispers into your hair. “So damn much.”

“I love you too.” You pepper kisses along his neck and jaw until you reach his lips, capturing them in a deep, slow kiss that tries to convey every unspoken word of devotion and adoration.

When you finally break apart, Max gazes at you with an intensity that makes your breath catch.

“God, you really are perfect,” he murmurs, running a hand reverently through your hair. “I’m the luckiest man in the world.”

“No,” you shake your head with a soft smile. “I’m the lucky one. To have someone who loves me so fiercely, someone I love just as much in return.”

Max lets out a watery chuckle. “I think we’re both the lucky ones then.”

You settle back against his chest as he wraps his arms securely around you. For a while neither of you speaks, lost in your own thoughts as you simply bask in each other’s presence. You let your eyes drift shut as Max’s fingers resume their gentle motions through your hair.

Eventually you break the silence.

“You know we’re going to have to get even cuter matching outfits now to make up for it,” you murmur teasingly.

Max’s chest rumbles with laughter against your cheek. “Deal. Anything you want, schatje. I’ll make sure we’re the most adorable fashionably challenged couple at every single race from now on.”

You smile at the warmth and conviction in his voice. “No one could ever call us uncoordinated.”

“Never,” Max affirms, dropping a soft kiss to the top of your head. “We’re perfectly matched in every way that matters.”

You sigh contentedly as you snuggle further into his embrace. In that moment, you know he’s absolutely right. You couldn’t imagine a better match than your Max.

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the-s1lly-corner · 1 month ago

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Wearing their merch (FNAF SB) (part 1/2)

Huuuuuge brain blast while I was writing a fic for sun oooough I am about to get so silly!! Split this into two posts because I don't have the mental strength to make long long posts

Characters: freddy, chica, roxy, monty

Notes: reader is gn, human reader, short post because admin is still not used to writing the glamrocks <3 im more of a DCA writer TToTT

CWs: none

FREDDY

he doesnt let it get to him... or at least he tries not to! but when you clock into your shift ricking lightning earrings hes going to feel a certain way! its almost a prideful feeling!

and they look so nice on you! hes going to let you know that they suit you well!

neither hurt or upset if you only wear them every now and then, its your choice after all!

may get matching earrings! or or or GASP! You give him one of yours and you keep the other! something about it makes him feel soft inside!

CHICA

you cannot tell me that they wouldnt market her bow or leg warmers- or hell even her earrings! but... freddy already for the earring thing... so leg warmers it is!

you clock into work wearing them on a colder day and shes immediately at your side, telling you how stylish you look! you... cant tell if shes being sincere or teasing you... maybe both?

even if they dont fully match with your uniform shes going to be pleased! will think about it for a while... may giggle to herself when shes alone in her room long after youve left to go home

you bought something themed around her and wore it, how can she not?

MONTY

they sell his sunglasses in the shops! so you go ahead and snag yourself a pair to wear during your shift! its... not the best idea to wear shades inside and you kind of look like a douche to some people... but damnit is it not fun!

half hearted vaguely amused snort from his nose when he sees you, tells you you look good in them... but why wear fakes if you can have the real thing?

lets you wear his own shades just to try them... theyre... only slightly more durable and higher quality, but you keep that part to yourself

if youre going to mimic him you better be able to emulate his attitude, this is more of a side headcanon but hes definitely going to try to get you to act tougher if youre a bit softer....

ROXY

a headband with her wolf ears on them! she thinks it looks a little tacky but you get a pass.... for now...! will let you know that there are better options- perhaps a jacket or... oh youre deadset on the headband...

snaps her jaws shut when you tell her you picked the ears specifically because you think theyre cute- you... think her ears are cute by extension, right?

just know her tail is swaying behind her as she tells you that you made a good pick choosing her merch!

....even if she tries to act like its not that big of a deal... i mean dozens of people come in wearing something roxy themed but she tooooooootally doesnt think about it later

#fnaf x reader #fnaf x you #fnaf sb x reader #fnaf sb x you #security breach x reader #security breach x you #glamrock freddy x reader #glamrock chica x reader #monty gator x reader #roxy wolf x reader #roxanne wolf x reader #montgomery gator x reader #canon x reader #canon x you #x reader

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zorrasucia · 10 months ago

Text

Teach Me Tonight - Part 6

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Deleted Scene] [Part 4] [Part 5] Part 6: [Part 7] [Deleted Scene] [Part 8]

Reader x Carmy Berzatto (The Bear FX)

Rating: Explicit (5k)

Tags: Smut, Set sometime after the opening of The Bear, Porn with a little plot, Virgin!Carmy, Jealous!Carmy, SoftDom!Carmy, Fluff, Miscommunication, Make up Sex, Sex Toys, P in V sex, Oral (M and F receiving), Both Carmy and Reader have a bit of a praise kink

Summary:

You were in over your head.

Some fashion vlogger had recorded a video in your store, giving it a glowing review and it had been good for business. Maybe too good. The store was now full of stylish teenagers with baggy jeans and designer bags, you had a new hire to train, and a local journalist had emailed you to ask for an interview.

He showed up a couple of days later, tall with dark hair, and every bit as stylish as you would expect a reporter from a fashion magazine to be. You had shown him around, let him take photos, talked about your favorite brands and decades of fashion, and complimented his printed shirt.

"It's from the seventies," he commented bashfully. "I'm a little obsessed."

And he talked about his ongoing quest for the perfect pair of bell bottoms. You showed him what you had in the store and promised to be on the lookout.

"You know, it's weird," he gestured to the side, where The Bear was. "I used to come here when they did sandwiches."

"They still do!" you beamed. "The fine dining is really good too. Well, I'm biased but-"

"Right! Being their neighbor and all," he concluded. You simply nodded along - no need to let him know the intricacies of your personal life.

"Let me buy you lunch," he offered. You were about to refuse when he added. "I'd love to try their food but I hate eating alone."

You accepted. It seemed harmless and it could be good for the restaurant too - maybe he knew a food critic and would recommend the place too.

Richie guided you both to a table with a smile, quickly catching up with your plan once you mentioned the interview, offering the journalist a sampler of the menu.

It was good - the food, the conversation. It caught you by surprise when Carmy stormed out of the kitchen, something angry in his stride.

"Are you enjoying the food?"

It was a simple enough question, it was the way he said it-

"It's excellent, thank you!" the journalist said earnestly, which only seemed to wind up Carmy even more.

"Good, great," he rasped, then turned towards you. "Can I talk to you?" it was said in that clipped tone that meant he was stressed and he didn't have good news.

You followed him to the back and touched his wrist briefly, trying to convey how important this was.

"Carm?" you asked, your face wrinkling in worry and confusion.

"You mad at me or something?" he asked.

"No! Just nervous, stressed... I don't even know - it's just the interview," you tried to reassure him. "Can we talk later, baby?"

"Sorry to interrupt," the journalist had walked up to you without either of you noticing. "I just wanted to know - are you the chef here?"

"He is, yes!" you smiled, thinking everything was going according to plan.

“Carmen Berzatto,” he said without offering his hand, his frown furrowed and something deadly in his stare.

The journalist gave one look at Carmy and his face shifted from friendly to scared. "I'll give you guys a minute."

Carmy was burning holes on the back of the guy's skull and you couldn't be more embarrassed.

"What's wrong with you?" you whispered.

"That fucking guy."

"He's the fucking journalist! Are you out of your mind, Carmen?" you were losing the last shred of patience you had left. "I was trying to do a nice thing and you- We can talk about this later at home, okay? Now leave, please."

You turned away from him and didn't look back until you had paid for lunch and walked the journalist out the door.

"I'm so sorry about him," you explained. "It wasn't personal."

"Don't worry about it. I worked as a server once. I swear working in a kitchen does things to your brain..." he mimicked a spiral by his temple. You winced.

"Yeah."

"Hope he doesn't bother you again," he said, which made your stomach drop. "I'll send you the article when it's done. And you have my number if you ever find those bell bottoms."

He waved goodbye and you huffed in defeat.

Suddenly, you were being hugged by Nat, her arms around your shoulders.

"Did Carmy send you?" you asked, patting her forearm.

"Kind of," she let go of you with a sigh. "He walked in the kitchen and kind of lost it? I had to get it out of him. And when he explained, I came over."

"Thank you," you said softly.

"He can be an idiot," she said.

"Yeah," you nodded.

"He loves you, though."

"I know," you said, rubbing your temples. It had been a long day. "I'll text him."

You were pacing the carpet, waiting for Carmy to get back from work. You had a list of things you wanted to tell him ready to go: that making a scene like that had been embarrassing and hurtful, that he had probably ruined the whole interview acting that way -

Your train of thought and frantic pacing was interrupted by the key in the door. Carmy walked inside, a defeated look on his face, and every cell in your body wanted to go and hold him but you stood still, arms crossed while he closed the door behind him.

"Hey," you said.

"Hey, I, uh," he stumbled. "What I said... What I did... I mean, even Richie thought that it was fucked up so..."

He let it hang there, in the air between you two, keeping his distance.

"Carm," you took a deep inhale. "I need you to understand the store is just as important to me as the restaurant is to you. It's finally going well. And maybe that means I have less time for you. I need to know that you'll be okay with it - with me being busy sometimes - that whatever that was won't happen again."

"I know, I know," he said looking at the ground. "I'm happy it's working out. I am."

You tilted your head. "Then what the hell happened?"

He rubbed his forehead with the back of his hand.

"It's so stupid," he mumbled, embarrassed. "I got jealous. So fucking jealous. I had never- I didn't know what to do with it."

You uncrossed your arms - you actually hadn’t thought of that.

"No need to be, Carm," you reassured him.

"I just-" he blinked hard like he sometimes did when he was stressed. "This tall as fuck guy, with the fancy fucking shirt, just being charming around you..."

"You think I care about that shit?"

"I don't know, maybe?" Carmy looked at you with wide eyes. "I'm an asshole sometimes, I cancel plans, my family is a fucking mess-"

"Hey, I like Nat!" you interrupted his spiral.

"And I think she likes you better than me."

You stood in silence for a while.

"I'm sorry. I am," he said in the end.

You moved one step closer and pressed your forehead to his. "It's okay if you're jealous, Carm. Just- keep your cool if it happens again. Please," you said softly. "I don't know if I can handle you acting like that again."

He nodded. "Promise."

"I'm coming home to you, baby. No one else," you emphasized, running your hands over his chest.

"Mhmm," he tilted his head, eyes closed, like he wanted to kiss you but needed your permission. You surged forward, trapping him in a tight embrace and a searing kiss.

It got heated quickly.

He cornered you towards the kitchen, grabbing and pressing, until you were sitting on the counter, legs bracketing his hips, hands in his hair.

"Carmy," you gasped, as he kissed your neck like only he knew how. His tongue traced the contour of your collarbone and you moaned.

He undid the first few buttons of your blouse, burying his face between your breasts, kissing and nipping. You carded your fingers through his hair, and crossed your legs behind him, keeping him close. The heat between your thighs was getting more unbearable as time went by. He started kissing down, like he would eat you out, atoning for what happened, but you didn't want that.

You pulled on his hair and made him look up. "I need you inside me," he exhaled shakily. "Now."

He took a condom out of his back pocket while you unbuttoned his slacks, undressing him just enough to free his cock. His hands went under your skirt, eager, and moved your underwear to the side. When Carmy leaned to start fingering you, you grabbed his wrist.

"I need your cock inside me," you clarified.

You didn't want the tenderness of foreplay. You moved to the edge of the counter, taking his cock in hand and putting the condom on yourself. You guided his head to your entrance and felt him fill you out. It hurt a little, your pussy tight and unprepped, and weirdly that was what you wanted now. You whined once he bottomed out and he groaned at the feeling, the sound making you roll your eyes.

"Fuck," you held him close, arms around his shoulders, clinging to him for dear life. Without knowing where it came from, you said to the side of his face: "Show me I'm yours."

He inhaled sharply, his hands shaking where they held your waist. Then his hips moved back and forth in one long, agonizing stroke. You moaned. Again. And you held him tighter, letting drowned out cries pour out from your lips. He kept going for a little while, the pace so slow that it made you wonder whether all his anger had fizzled out by now.

Except he started going hard, hitting that spot that made you dizzy. Your breasts and legs were shaking with every thrust. You covered your mouth to stop from screaming.

"Holy shit, Carmy" you mumbled.

His hands touched all over, scratching your thighs and up, squeezing your hips, tracing your sides, caressing your arms and holding your wrists. You shivered. His cock kept hitting just right, his mouth exhaling on the side of your face. His hand traveled south, finding your clit like it was second nature, thumbing at it in small circles, just the way you liked.

"No one can fuck me like this," you whined. "No one makes me feel this good."

His hips stuttered and he moved so that your foreheads were touching and his eyes were staring right into yours, you could feel the sweat on his brow.

"Yeah?" he asked, his voice hoarse.

"Yeah," you replied, your jaw slack as you kept panting and moaning. His pace was so steady that it felt like Carmy could go on forever. Then, impatient, you started thrusting your hips against his, making it go twice as fast, making him groan into your mouth and start losing control.

"Fuck," he cursed, grabbing your hips, steadying himself. "I'm so crazy about you."

"Carmy," you managed to say, desperate, your voice getting high, and your nails scratching at his scalp.

His free hand squeezed your breast over your bra and you slipped your hands under his shirt, caressing the hair on his navel, and up his chest, pinching one of his nipples hard.

"Fuck, baby," he groaned again.

You were so close you could almost taste it. Just then you grabbed his face with both hands.

"Tell me," you pleaded. "Tell me you'll never do that again. Tell me I'm yours."

"Never. Never, I promise," Carmy breathed into your mouth, little desperate sounds escaping his throat. "You're mine, you're mine, you're mine."

He came with a strong exhale, drowning every other sound into your neck. His thumb on your clit kept moving until you joined him, completely spent, bracing on the edge of the counter to stop yourself from falling back.

He placed gentle kisses on your throat while you both recovered your breath. You clenched your walls around his cock, drawing a satisfied moan out of him.

"Did you get the guy's contact?" he panted against your skin.

"Yeah, why?" you replied ruffling his hair with your exhale.

"Thought I'd send him a cannoli or something," Carmy looked up from his place on your chest. "Make sure what I did doesn't make you look bad."

You ran your fingers through his hair, soothing.

"I don't think that's necessary but I'm sure he'll appreciate it. He said something about wanting to marry whoever made the desserts," you teased.

"Don't think Marcus'll be interested," Carmy inhaled deeply, his nose on the exact place you sprayed perfume every morning, though by now it had probably faded into a saltier scent. "When's the article coming out?"

"Couple of weeks," you hummed, caressing his back under his shirt. "We have time, baby. So much time."

You were leaning on the kitchen door, watching as Carmy and Syd posed against the counter. A photographer was giving them vague instructions about where to stand and where to look. She was also complimenting Carmy and hitting on him like she was getting paid overtime for it.

"Sydney, lean forward, yes, nice! Carmen, hit me with those blue eyes! Gorgeous, what a handsome guy!" she said with a cat-like smile.

The restaurant was going to be featured in Food & Wine, which entailed a photoshoot.

They had both started wearing their chef's whites, going for a more professional approach. Then, to make them more comfortable, the photographer asked them to change into their street clothes. It had done wonders for Syd, who was now showing off one of her mother's beautiful shirts with a proud smile on her face. It hadn't been quite as successful with Carmy - he had a tortured look in his eyes. Now he was standing awkwardly in the middle of the kitchen, even more withdrawn than when they had started, every wink and cheesy one-liner from the photographer making him wince.

"Okay, Sydney, a little to the side. Exactly, chin up, please! And Carmen - why don't you stand this way? Yeah, let's show off those arms."

You bit your bottom lip.

"Carm?" you called him - he turned with wide eyes. "Can I talk to you for a second?"

He nodded. "Sorry, excuse us," he mumbled, leaving the kitchen quickly, trailing behind you. He grabbed your hand and squeezed it. "I'm sorry," he said, his blue eyes pleading.

"What for?"

"All the things she's saying..." he turned briefly, making sure the door was closed. "Fuck, I don't mean to-"

"You're not doing anything wrong, baby," you reassured him, cupping his face gently. "It looked like you needed a break, is all."

"Yeah," he exhaled heavily. "It's a lot."

You nodded. "The kitchen looks really nice," you commented to lighten the mood. They had done a deep clean the day before that had run into midnight.

"Thanks," he smiled. Then added: "This is a fucking nightmare."

You intertwined your fingers with his. "I think-" you paused, "that she wants you to look confident. That's why she keeps saying nice things."

"They don't feel nice," he bit his cheek.

You remembered how hard it had been for him to accept compliments for anything other than his cooking when you had first started dating. He would scoff and dismiss every word. Even now, sometimes it felt like he didn't quite believe them and maybe was just humoring you - which broke your heart. There wasn't enough time to unpack all that, so instead you leaned forward, placing one hand on his hip, whispering to his ear, flirtatious.

"Carm, I want you to go in there and eye fuck that camera like you would if it was me," he took a sharp inhale. "I will make it worth your while. Let you do anything you want to me," you promised.

He gulped. "Jesus," he mumbled, his pupils dilated.

You gave him a brief kiss on the cheek. "I'll tell them you'll be back in a few minutes," you said with a satisfied grin and went back to your place by the kitchen door.

"He went for a quick smoke," you lied to Syd.

When Carmy returned, he was in control, hands on his hips, like he had suddenly remembered he owned the place.

"Okay, guys, let's get this over with," he took his place next to Sydney, leaning on the counter and staring right into the lens, something defiant in his stance.

Your heart started racing. Even the photographer seemed affected by the shift.

"Uh, yes, good," after a few clicks she said: "I think we got it. Mmm, one more from this angle and we'll be good to go."

She led them to the main entrance to The Bear, Sydney crossing her arms and Carmy mirroring that same stance. They looked like they had stepped out of a magazine, modeling some understated and ridiculously expensive brand. Carmy looked in your direction for a second and licked his lips, before he turned back to the camera, unflinching and determined.

Another few clicks.

"Thank you guys, that would be all," the photographer went up to shake their hands and say her goodbyes. You were about to follow her out when Carmy took you by the wrist.

"See you tonight," he drawled and you felt yourself get wet.

"When I said you could do anything you wanted to me, I wasn't expecting this," you panted, your hands buried in Carmy's curls, as he kept kissing and licking every inch of your pussy. He was taking his sweet time too, biting on your thighs and going up to give some attention to your breasts and neck whenever he felt you were getting too close to your release.

"What were you expecting?" he asked, an amused glow to his face while he rested his chin on your hip, his mouth and nose shiny with your arousal.

"I don't know," you sighed, frustrated but so turned on. His hand caressed your pussy gently and you moaned. "Give you a blowjob, wear a silly costume, something like that."

"And are you into that?" he asked.

"I do like to suck your cock," you said honestly. Sometimes, with other guys, it had felt like a chore, not with Carmy, you loved to see him come undone, let go completely.

"See, the thing is," he kissed the curve of your hip, "if you gave me a blowjob it would be over so quickly," he exhaled right on your spread out clit which made you shudder. "And where's the fun in that?"

You giggled giddily when he squeezed your ass, manhandling you closer to his face, keeping his focus on your pussy.

"So you're just going to edge me until I beg?" you asked, half wanting for him to say yes.

"Don't worry," he gave a long lick, from the bottom of your lips to the top, making you arch your back and curse. "You will come," there was something dark in his eyes again, that same determination from the photoshoot back in his face - he was in charge. "When I want you to."

You shivered. "Fuck, Carm."

He started sucking on your clit, his tattooed fingers curling inside of you. You melted under his touch, feeling your pussy squeeze his fingers.

"Please, Carmy..."

He stopped sucking, messing with the rhythm, keeping you hanging by a thread.

"You will come," he repeated, "when I want you to," the speed of his fingers increased. "As many times as I want you to."

You moaned. His mouth latched onto your clit, licking until you were thrashing on the bedsheets, his forearm kept you in place on the mattress.

"Fuck, shit, baby," you mumbled. Your gazes met, his blue eyes fiery. He nodded and you came in a blur, desperately grabbing at anything - his hair, the bedsheets - the feeling all the more intense for the time he had spent working you up. He kept kissing and sucking until you stopped moaning and started chuckling breathily.

"Just like that," he praised, something playful in his voice and you would have teased back if you weren't so completely spent.

He kissed the outside of your folds, staying away from your clit and your entrance, just worshipping the skin around them and you caressed his hair lovingly.

"You make me feel so fucking good," you exhaled.

He climbed up your body and kissed you hard, mouth open, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. His cock, hard inside his jeans, grazed the lower part of your belly, it made you tremble in anticipation. "You gonna fuck me?" you asked between one kiss and the next, your hips lifting up to ground on his.

He clicked his tongue. "Not yet," he got up and opened the drawer of your bedside table, taking out your rabbit vibrator. "This charged?"

You nodded, biting your lip.

"Good girl," he praised and your hand squeezed your breast almost unconsciously; something happened to you whenever he talked to you like that.

He lowered himself next to you, held up by one arm; his hand teased your pussy, his calloused fingers spreading wetness around.

"D'you need lube, baby?" he asked, more out of politeness than anything since he knew the answer very well.

"I think I'm okay, Carm," you laughed and he kissed the side of your face.

"Mhmm. So fucking hot," he whispered and you felt the dildo poking at your entrance.

You placed your hand on the side of Carmy's face, your thumb near the edge of his mouth. He sucked on it thoroughly, then let go with a pop. You whined needily.

"Please, please, please..." it poured out of you.

He bumped your forehead with his, his gaze was intense and hungry.

"Keep looking at me," he ordered, and you obeyed, keeping your eyes open even as the dildo went all the way inside you and filled you up deliciously. The coldness of the toy reminded you it wasn't Carmy's cock - but he was holding it, he was right there next to you. Your face contorted in pleasure.

"Yes, like that," he encouraged you, his words tickling inside your belly. He seemed to be overcome just looking at you - it made you feel wanted, adored, beautiful. You wanted to make him feel that way too.

"Carm," you gasped. "I need you to know- Oh, fuck," he pumped the toy inside you, slow, so slow. "I need you to know," you repeated through the fog of pleasure, "all those things the photographer said. They're true. Oh, my God, baby," his expression softened even as he buried the dildo deep inside you. "Your eyes are beautiful," another thrust, you caressed his face. "Your arms are so hot," you held onto the arm that was fucking you, squeezing the muscle there. "Shit. You're handsome, gorgeous, fucking- oh!" you blurted all at once, turning the compliments into moans. "I swear - fuck!" you held his gaze. "Can't believe you're mine."

He leaned forward, kissing you tenderly, swallowing your moans.

"I love you," he said softly.

"I love you," you replied, a choked out sound leaving your lips.

He turned on the vibration and watched you lose control, becoming desperate with lust, thrusting your hips wildly. He kept you there a bit longer than necessary, torturing you a little with how long he was drawing it out. It was so good, so fucking good.

"Carmy. Please," you begged.

"I know, I know," he soothed. "You're doing so good."

It sent a shiver down your spine and made the very last thread inside you snap.

"Oh," you exhaled, coming harder than you ever had, scratching at his forearm, screaming into the skin of his shoulder.

"Sound so nice," Carmy mumbled, looking as pussy drunk as a man could be without actually fucking one. "Baby, baby, baby."

You stayed there for a while, the dildo still inside you, and Carmy's hands touching your waist tenderly while you kissed.

After a long while of that, he got up from the bed, and started getting undressed while you watched. You bit your lip and put your head on your hand, enjoying the sight. He caught you staring.

"You really meant all those things you said," it began as a statement and ended as a question, Carmy's voice going up slightly.

"Every word," you said, taking out the dildo as Carmy showed you his cock. You licked your lips. "D'you mind? Me saying things like that?"

You wanted him to be confident but you didn't want to make him uncomfortable.

He shook his head. "I liked it," he admitted. He stood right by you, beside the bed, fiddling with the condom he had retrieved from your drawer. "Made me feel good."

"I'm glad, Carm," you reached out to caress his leg, following the line of muscle there. Saying he was beautiful once while you fucked wasn't going to change his mind, but you were willing to keep trying.

In the meantime, you could show him. Even with the exhaustion of everything Carmy had done to you, you wanted him inside you, wanted to see him roll his eyes in ecstasy. You crawled to where he was, kneeling, near the edge of the mattress. His cock was hard, pulsing, and it made your mouth water. He stood still, dropped the condom on the mattress, probably guessing what you were about to do.

When you were an inch away from his cock, he pulled your hair and stopped you.

He gestured at the vibrator. "Put that back inside you," he said in that demanding voice and you rushed to do as he said, only uttering a small moan when you had it inside you. He leaned over, tracing a long line from your neck to your ass, reaching to turn it back on on the lowest setting. You writhed a little but after a moment of adjusting to the feeling you were able to stay still and look at Carmy.

"Good girl," he said again and you keened, leaning forward to suck his dick. The sound he made once your mouth was on him was heavenly. "Holy fuck."

His hands were tangled in your hair and you wished you could deep throat without choking, just to watch him lose his mind completely. You settled for going as far as you could, getting every inch of him slick with saliva, making him groan and sweat. You looked up, his eyes were white and his face was flushed, his Adam's apple bobbing as he tried to breathe. You hummed with satisfaction and that woke up his competitive streak.

He pulled on your hair lightly. "Gimme a second," he panted. You thought he needed a breather, but he actually moved to turn the vibrator up a couple of notches. You trembled and reached for his ass, bracing, leaving red scratch marks on the tender skin.

"Fuck, baby," you said between moans. "Not fucking fair."

"Mhmm," he smirked, caressing your scalp. It took all your willpower and concentration but you moved forward and went back to sucking his cock, feeling a pang of pride as he threw his head back and uttered some curse you couldn't quite decipher.

The vibrator set a pace you could follow, rocking forward as it pulsed, letting you give Carmy pleasure while you were ridiculously close to losing your mind yourself.

"Shit, baby," he gasped, his knees buckling for a second. "Make me feel- Fuck, y're so good, so good," he mumbled.

The steady pace of the vibrator was building up a tense knot inside you - you were close, and so it became a race of making Carmy come before you did. You doubled your efforts, speeding up, hollowing your cheeks, moaning into his skin.

"You're fucking killing me," he growled, pulling on your hair just the way you liked it, making you roll your eyes as you sucked on his length. You were completely overwhelmed; you couldn't help but whine over and over. "Holy fuck."

He stared right onto your eyes as he came. He had told you he didn't mind if you spit his cum but sometimes you felt like drinking it all, consumed with lust - today was one of those times. You stayed there, licking his slit, caressing his balls until he pulled you away.

"Fuck, baby," he sighed, kneeling on the carpet to look at you.

He was completely wrecked: face red and sweaty, hair messier than you had ever seen it and a glazed look in his eyes. He tilted his head to kiss you thoroughly, tasting the cum leftover on your tongue. You could finally let go. You put your hand between your belly and the mattress, maneuvering the vibrator so it hit right where you needed it and you came immediately, kissing Carmy, biting on his lips, and humping on the bed. It was too much and just enough.

Carmy helped you take it out once you started whining from feeling sore. He moved your body to lie comfortably on the bed, your head on the pillow and him next to you.

"Fucking insane," he exhaled. You chuckled in agreement, fucked out senseless. "D'you need anything?" he asked gently after a moment.

You shook your head, raising a hand to caress his face.

"I feel perfect, Carm."

You moved your index finger, tracing the contour of his eyebrows, the line of his nose, and the curve of his cheekbone.

“Pretty,” you managed to say.

He smiled and brought you closer, inhaling the scent of your shampoo, his arms around making you feel safe.

[Part 7]

@th3h0nkz

#me; looking at a calvin klein billboard: how are we feeling ladies?! 🥵#carmy berzatto smut #carmy x reader #carmen berzatto x reader #carmy berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto x you #carmy berzatto x you #carmy x you #carmen berzatto fanfiction

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madridfangirl · 6 months ago

Text

Star crossed lovers (Jude Bellingham fanfic)

Chapter 1

(Series Link)

Jude * female reader. No warnings.

Synopsis: A chance encounter in a tiny Madrid cafe with the newest superstar of her fav club. The two couldn't be more different, yet both feel the pull toward the other. Would this girl be the one he finally falls for? Would she make him change his ways? Even though she resists him every step of the way, would he fight all odds (& her) to have her in his life? Or would life come in the way of these star-crossed lovers?

……………………………………

Madrid was such a beautiful city. Ananya had been here for nearly four months now, yet couldn’t stop marvelling almost daily over some or the other detail she kept discovering. She loved the hustle bustle but also the quaint historical aesthetic that the city provided. That way, it was quite similar to Delhi, the city she was from.

She was practically in a different continent now, far far away from India. To move to another country, with a completely different language and culture, while she was just 20, had been a tough choice. But she was offered a great job in her undergraduate college placements and no career-minded adult would say no to such an opportunity. So, she had managed to convince her overprotective parents to let her move to Madrid, on her own. Her parents thought she would want to return in a few months itself, but she surprised even her own self with how well she was adjusting to the city. Madrid was beautiful, after all.

As she sat in a sweet little cafe on the side of a small road, close to her office in downtown Madrid, on a Friday evening, she smiled to herself on how the last few months had transpired. So much had changed in her life, and she was loving the ride she was on. An independent girl, with a decently fancy job in one of the best European cities. Life was good right now.

This tiny cafe was one of her favourite spots in the city. It was run by an older couple who always greeted her with a smile and the best churros in the galaxy. It was never too crowded, most people just took takeouts. So it was an ideal place to relax, and it was walking distance from her office.

She pulled out her laptop while munching on her plate of churros. It was already Friday evening but she still had a few hours of work left. Investment banking was fun but the hours came with it. Mr. Iglesias (the owner) quietly placed a cup of cappuccino, her usual, next to her plate. She smiled gleefully at his hospitality, then engrossed herself in her work.

30 minutes later, a distinct baritone and accent broke her out of her reverie.

‘A Spanish omelette please?’

Ananya turned around, drawn to the voice. A tall man, wearing stylish all black attire, was standing at the counter. She could only see his back.

Mr. Iglesias drew a blank expression. The tall man tried again.

‘Umm, an omelette, Spanish omelette, por favor?’

‘Un tortilla de patatas, senor.’

Mr. Iglesias nodded happily at the man and signalled 10 mins with his hands.

The man whipped his head in her direction, and smiled gratefully at her.

She had to look away. Immediately. Not just because he had the most infectious smile in the world. But because she recognised who it was and she absolutely would die if she acted crazy at this instant. No, she willed to not make a fool of herself.

But he was walking over to her now.

‘Hey, thanks a ton for that.’

She had taken a few deep breaths by now and was back to her typical poise.

‘No problem at all. I could see you were struggling there.’

He hung his head and laughed sheepishly.

‘I did learn what it was called in Spanish, I swear. But had a long day and completely blanked out. Umm, Spanish is not my first language you see. But I am learning.’

Despite the situation, she somehow managed to smile back genuinely at how he was trying to explain himself to a complete stranger.

‘Well, I am new to the city and the language as well. But my favourite dishes are something I never forget. Can’t go without those, right?’

He smiled at her again. A smile that lit up his whole face. A smile that could light up a black hole. She was amazed at how real, how normal he came across. He was wearing his cap backwards and had glasses on to serve as some disguise she supposed, but she doubted whether those would generally be of any help to him. Not anymore at least.

He played with the back of the chair opposite hers, and looked around.

‘Umm, are you alone? May I join you?’

She channelled all her inner poise before answering.

‘Yeah sure.’

And he flashed her another joyful smile while settling on the small table, opposite her. Man could charge 1000 euros for each smile and people would line up to pay.

He removed the godforsaken glasses, unveiling his big, coffee brown eyes. The hat he just turned backwards, which somehow suited his chiseled face even more.

‘You said you are not from here. May I ask where you are from?’

‘Sure, I am from India.’

‘Wow. I have heard so much about that place. Some of my neighbors back home are also from India. Would love to visit sometime.’

‘You should. There are many flavours to India which you could only experience when you visit.’

He nodded along, agreeing with her wholeheartedly. Mr. Iglesias waved to him from the counter, signalling 5 mins more. He smiled at him as well. Was that his default setting? Not that she was complaining. Oh hell, no.

He suddenly looked back at her.

‘Hey, I didn’t catch your name. So silly of me to not ask earlier.’

She found herself smiling again.

‘Ananya.’

‘A-nan-ya?’

He tried to break down the foreign sounding name in syllables. It was her turn to giggle now, and he rubbed the back of his head sheepishly.

‘Not A as in Ancelloti but A as in Alvaro Morata.’

He leaned back in his chair, still rubbing the back of his head, and looked straight into her eyes.

‘So, you do know who I am?’

She tuned her laptop towards him. The screensaver was her in the trophy room at the Bernabeu, along with the 14 Champions League trophies.

He looked at the photo and her beaming smile. Her love for the club was evident.

‘Been a Madridista since 2009. 15 years. That’s 75% of my life. So yes, I do know who you are Jude.’

Somehow, just somehow she had managed to find her footing amidst all this madness and was having what would appear to be a fairly normal conversation with a global superstar. She felt it was because of him, though. Because how easygoing and grounded he seemed.

‘Wow. That’s awesome. You know, I didn’t even like football at that age? It’s strange, I know. My dad always wondered what was wrong with me. But one day, suddenly, I decided I wanted to play.’

‘I get it. Sometimes god acts in mysterious ways. You won’t even know how or when, it just happens.’

‘I know right.’

They fell into a comfortable silence. Just looking at each other. And smiling. Both couldn’t stop smiling for some reason.

Mr. Iglesias appeared then with the omelette and Jude nearly hugged him in delight.

He stuffed his face with a gigantic bite, moaning at the taste. Then, he ended up coughing vigorously because the bite was almost one third of his plate.

‘Easy. Here, take this.’

Ananya offered her glass of water to him, which he gulped down in three sips. Then rubbed his mouth with the back of his hand as he looked back into her eyes.

‘My mom had once gotten me an omelette from this place. Felt like little drops of heaven. Since then I have been meaning to have this. Sorry for the clumsiness, I got a little carried away.’

He was apologising to her again, which was so endearing. And that accent made everything sound twice as cute.

They went back to their food, and the comfortable silence was back. But she was learning that he couldn’t stay silent for long.

‘Since you already have a head start in knowing about me, would you tell me something about you? What brings you to Madrid?’

‘I work at an investment bank here. Kind of my dream job and my dream firm.’

He leaned forward, tapping his fingers on the table.

‘Ooooh fancy.’

‘Yeah right. Look who is talking.’

‘No, it is fancy. Seems like a smart person thing. I had a feeling you were like that.’

He spent the next 15 mins learning about her job, and by the end he accused her of showing off by using big terms he won’t understand. She neither confirmed nor denied that accusation.

He took another mouthful again, completely ignoring what happened the last time. She couldn’t help but be amused at his antics.

‘So, have you seen any match live?’

Her whole demeanour changed and she was practically bouncing off the chair now. He found that extremely amusing.

‘Oh yes. I was here for internship last year and I managed to watch one game. Vini scored two kickass goals and we won. It was amazing - easily one of the best days of my life.’

‘Um-hmm.’

Something in his tone was off but she was too happy to care.

‘Is he…your favourite player, then?’

‘Oh he’s amazing. Us fans have seen him since he was 17 I guess? And look at the journey. Love the player he has become. But my favourite will only ever be one. I am a Ronaldo fan girl.’

Well, that seemed to cheer him up. He kind of figured that given she had mentioned 2009.

He watched her face fondly for a few seconds as she turned nostalgic and relived the memories in her head.

‘Nothing this season, then?’

‘No luck. The tickets are always sold out. Last year also it was our firm which arranged them for us.’

‘Hmm.’

She hadn’t seen him play, then.

He went back to his last bite and turned it around with his fork a few times, pondering over his next words.

‘Well, there is a home game tomorrow.’

‘A HOME GAME? It’s the first Classico of the season. Ofcourse I know that. God I am so nervous. Hated them winning the league last year. Hate their guts. Jude, you guys better win tomorrow, please. ’

He watched her keenly though her rant, thoroughly amused.

‘Thanks for the order. But, what I meant was, do you want to watch the game tomorrow?

‘But, Classicos get sold out in the beginning of the season right?

She looked confused. Still not getting the point. He realised he would have to spell it out for her.

So smart in her work but not as much in this, which was cute in its own way.

‘Ananya, do you want to watch the match tomorrow from my box? Because you are welcome to do that.’

Oh. Oh.

She stayed still, and he scanned her face for a response.

A volcano erupted inside her. She had been so lost in talking about Madrid and that match that she had completely missed the way he had been looking at her. And what he had asked her just now.

He could tell from her face that something deep was holding her back.

‘Listen, bring your friends / colleagues if you want to. Many of my friends have attended. Plus the boxes are all next to each other so the media / fans can’t really tell who is in whose box, if that’s what’s concerning you. You can just attend as a friend, that’s it.’

She wasn’t buying the last line.

‘That’s it?’

She called his bluff while meeting his gaze. Which he admired. The smart girl was back.

‘Well, after the match, we could grab a bite maybe? Doesn’t have to be a public place, don’t need that drama. So maybe, your place? Or….mine?’

She shook her head sadly.

‘Jude…it’s not that you are not…but…we live in very different worlds and…’

He had an inkling of what was coming and he cut her off before she could finish the sentence. Taking no for an answer was not an acceptable option right now, not when the last 30 mins had been so pleasant and refreshing.

‘What if I score tomorrow? Against the team you detest? How about then?’

She looked at him with her mouth half open. Which made him look down to her lips. But he had the good sense to quickly revert to her eyes.

‘Won’t you want to give me some extra motivation to score against Barca? Or would you rather I be sad and distracted tomorrow?’

She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. He was really doubling down on this.

‘Let me get this straight. You are seriously using my love for Real Madrid to get me to go out with you?’

He leaned back in his chair, smirked that gorgeous smirk, and shrugged casually, with an iota of arrogance, knowing he was going to win this. Even the arrogance suited him, for crying out loud.

But then, he leaned forward and covered her hand with his, expression all sincere. Her breath hitched at his touch.

‘Look. I just want to spend some time with you, and I really would love for you to see me play. I get that my lifestyle comes with a zillion challenges but that’s step 10. Can we please just spend a few hours together, just you and me, where we talk and get to know each other? I promise, that’s all I am asking. And you don’t have to say yes to that now. You can decide tomorrow after the match. How does that sound?’

The earnestness in his silky smooth voice was drawing her in. She believed him, and was on the verge of saying yes.

But he got restless and played his final card, which he always had up his sleeve.

‘Also, Zidane is going to be there. Their box is just two rows down from where you would be.’

She burst out laughing and threw the table napkin in his face, which he caught easily. Then flashed her a million dollar smile.

‘You really are something aren’t you?’

‘Well, I try.’

She had forgotten that his hand was still on top of hers and was reminded of it when he squeezed it briefly, then withdrew it.

He pulled out his phone and slid it in front of her.

‘Gonna need your number to send the passes.’

Her mind was still registering what she had agreed to but her body reacted involuntarily and typed in her number.

He saved it quickly and sent over the passes in seconds.

‘So, I will see you tomorrow then?’

‘Yes. You leave me no choice. And you better win now, after what you just pulled.’

His phone chimed with a reminder then, for an evening home fitness session prior to the match. He had to leave, she could tell.

He stood up, and she got reminded of how tall he was. His lean physique made him look even taller.

He reached out for her hand again, shaking it this time. And lingered for a few seconds.

‘I will have to go thank my mom now for recommending this place.’

He chuckled, while finally getting go of her hand. She couldn’t stop admiring how his eyes crinkled when he smiled.

‘Can I drop you home?’

‘I have some work to finish - you carry on.’

‘Ok. Looks like it’s gonna rain tonight so pls leave soon.’

Gosh, could this guy get any more charming?

‘Yeah, I will.’

Grudgingly, he went towards the door of the small cafe but looked back one final time.

‘Ananya - such a beautiful name.’

He said it perfectly this time and she gave him a hearty smile, exactly what he needed before he made his way out.

She fell back in her chair, buried her face in her hands and tried to make sense of what had just happened. Tomorrow was going to be nuts. She was going to see Zidane, who she loved to bits. She was gonna watch El Classico. And then, if Jude had his way, she was going to go out on a date with him.

………………………………………………………..

Author’s note: This is set in October and pls assume the classicos were reversed :)

Lots more to come, hope you liked the setup.

#jude bellingham #jude fanfic #bellingham x reader #bellingham latest #Bellingham #jb5 #real madrid

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