#probs my phone's camera just doing something

[why-the-heck-not]

food delivery robot, I would die for you

[leclerc-hs]

off the record! - cl16

pairing: charles leclerc x race engineer!reader (fem) summary: in which you and charles don't correct the headlines OR you and charles are fake dating...key word: FAKE...right? warnings: language, some smut, NOT PROOFREAD (there's prob typos sorry), angst??? word count: 9.1k author's note: hiiii angels! I hope you like this one <3 let me know what y'all think!! hearing from you all is what gives me motivation to keep writing. xoxo. HAD THIS ONE SITTING IN THE DRAFTS FOR SOME TIME

Charles is good at pretending. Almost too good.

He’s too swift in front of the cameras, too convincing when his hand always manages to find the small of your back as you both walk through the paddock like it’s second nature. Like you belong there, belong to him. Too natural in the way he leans toward you in interviews, voice low and warm, muttering things that sound and look intimate even when they aren’t.

Except sometimes, when it doesn’t feel like pretending.

Because no one’s watching when it’s just the two of you in the garage after hours, both of you bleary eyed and sore from leaning hunched over the data too long. He’s still like that. Still standing too close. Still reaching for your wrist when you ramble off, his thumb brushing over your pulse like its nothing. Or when he still calls you amour and cherie in that voice, like he doesn’t remember that it’s all fake.

And you let him. You always do.

Because it’s easier than admitting the truth. That you’ve started memorizing the sound of his laugh. Or the shape of the vein in his throat when he’s super focused. That your stomach twists into knots whenever his eyes crinkle from a smile that feellike its just for you. That you’ve memorized the shape of his mouth when he says your name, whether it’s joyful, annoyed, or exhausted, it’s always gentle. Like he cares. Like he means everything.

And that’s what makes it unbearable.

Not the way he touches you when people are watching. Not the photos or the constant headlines.

It’s the way he looks at you when no one else is around.

Like it’s not pretend at all.

-

It starts in the most ridiculous way.

One stupid photo, taken from the wrong angle at the wrong moment, and suddenly you’re everywhere. 

LECLERC’S SECRET FLING???? MYSTERY WOMAN OR HIDING IN PLAIN SIGHT?

You outright groan when you see it. You’re still in the motorhome, alone with the hum of the mini refrigerator behind you and the harsh morning sun streaming through the tinted windows. Your laptop is wide open, untouched, but all you can do is stare at your phone.

Your face is angled slightly toward him. His head tipped just enough to suggest something intimate briefly between FP1 and a strategy meeting, your hand grazing the curve of his back as you both maneuvered through the crowd. He laughed at something you said, probably something dumb, but the photo caught that too. His mouth curved upward, eyes crinkled in your direction. Like something romantic, private, real.

Your stomach churns.

A knock sounds, soft and almost polite, before the door opens anyways. You don’t have to look up to know its him. His scent hits you first. Clean, something warm and familiar that always lingers too long.

“Did you see the news?” Charles asks, closing the motorhome door with a soft click.

You turn the phone screen toward him, “What do you think?”

He glances at the screen for a mere second and huffs out a soft laugh. Not surprised, not even irritated. Just amused, like this is a game.

“Didn’t know you were considered a mystery woman. Let alone my mystery woman,” he says, stepping closer, a towel draped over his shoulder.

“Didn’t know I needed PR clearance to walk beside you,” you reply, brows raised. Your voice is sharp, not in the mood to be flirted with, even if its playful.

His smile dims, just a fraction. “I know it’s annoying.”

“It’s beyond annoying,” you drop the phone beside you. “They don’t even bother to use my name! Just ‘female engineer from inside Ferrari’. Like I’m nothing.”

His gaze softens while he leans against the edge of the couch, elbows on his knees as he sighs, “They’ll get bored anyways.”

“Will they?” You meet his eyes. “Or are they going to spin this until I’m some mystery girlfriend hiding in plain sight?”

Neither of you speak for a few moments.

“It’s not the worst thing in the world, is it?”

You blink. “What?”

He shrugs, not looking at you as he says, “They’re going to write the story either way. Maybe it’s better if we control the narrative.”

You lean back, studying him. “Control?”

Charles finally looks up, and when he does, its with that expression he only wears when he’s working through something dangerous. That soft stillness thats half strategy, half vulnerability.

“They think we’re together already,” he says. “What if we just…let them?”

The silence stretches and you just a stare at him, waiting for the joke, the amused smirk, the cocky laugh. But it doesn’t come.

Because he’s serious.

“You want to fake date me,” You say flatly.

“I want to stop giving them something to chase,” He corrects you, his voice almost a whisper. “If they think we’re together, they might back off.”

You begin to shake your head slowly. “That’s insane.”

He exhales through his nose, not denying it. “Think about it. A few appearances, some hand holding. A smile or two when cameras are around. No one gets hurt.”

You let out a short, humorless laugh. “Right…no one.”

He stands then, crosses the room and leans against the counter next to you, too close like he always is. His gaze skims your face.

“You wouldn’t have to change anything,” his voice is soft. “You’re already next to me most weekends. You’re already in photos. You already…” He pauses. Swallows. Breathes. “You already look at me like it could be true.”

Your heart drops. You open your mouth. Close it again.

He’s not joking. He’s asking.

And the worst part is, part of you wants to say yes.

You study him for a long moment. The way his lashes cast shadows over his cheeks when he blinks. The way his hair falls softly over his forehead, sweaty and messy.

“You’re really serious about this.”

He nods. “Only if you are.”

You reach for your phone again, staring at the photo, before putting it face down.

“When do we start?”

-

You feel him before you see him.

There’s a palpable shift in the air…familiar. And he’s there. Just standing outside the hospitality suite, dressed from head to toe in Ferrari red, with his sunglasses slipping on the bridge of his nose as he gives a small nod to someone you don’t recognize. He doesn’t look at you immediately. He doesn’t have to.

Regardless, your pulse spikes.

Your grip on the tablet in your hands tightens, a poor attempt at grounding yourself. You’ve walked beside him before. Done this dance dozens of times. But never with eyes on you like this. Never with your face wrapped up in headlines and edits that call you something you’re simply not.

Charles falls into step with you as if its the most casual thing in the world. As if the press haven’t been breathing down your necks. His scent hits you first, like always, clean and expensive and something so him that it unsettles something deep in between your ribs.

“Ready?” His voice is smooth, and he still isn’t looking at you.

You nod, forgetting that he isn’t looking at you before you mutter a soft I suppose in his direction.

The paddock is nothing but a storm of noise and motion by the time you step out. The sun is shining blindly, heat simmering off the asphalt while other workers buzz around between the garages. Photographers and fans hover like flies on a horses back. 

Your heart is already fluttering in your throat, but you manage to keep your face composed. Neutral. As if there aren’t dozens of cameras fixed on you. Waiting.

His hand brushes against yours…barely. It seems like nothing at first, just the back of his hand brushing your fingers as you walk side by side.

But then it happens again. This time on purpose.

And then you feel it. His fingers curling, slipping through yours with a care that feels almost too fucking intimate.

You freeze. Not noticeably. Your steps don’t falter. But something inside you, burns. 

The cameras go wild. 

You hear it in the shouts, in the constant click click click as people realize what they’re witnessing. Voices shout from nearly every direction. Some screaming his name, others screaming yours. Your heart thuds like a drum behind your ribs.

And then, he stops.

Right there in the middle of the paddock, with the crowd pressing in, with reporters angling their mics and cameras, he fucking halts. His grip tightens around your hand, not painfully, but enough to make you stop walking too.

You turn, confused and startled. But he’s already facing you.

The sun glints off his sunglasses, casting shadows across his face, but its his stillness that steals your breath more than anything. His thumb brushes once, slow and grounding, along your hand as he speaks.

“You okay?” He asks, voice quiet and nearly lost in all the surrounding noise.

Your throat constricts. “I’m fine.” But it’s not convincing. Not to him at least.

He leans in slightly, and for a second, you think he might say something but instead his hand squeezes yours again, then slowly his fingers move. Like he’s trying to memorize the shape of your knuckles, the exact curve of your wrist, the shape of your hand against his.

And quickly, so quickly that no one but you could catch it, he tilts his head and lowers his sunglasses just enough for his eyes to peek over the top. 

And that is what undoes you. Its not a look for show. His green eyes are dark and searching. He just looks at you like he’s reading his favorite book. Like he wants to consume every single written word of yours.

“You sure?” He says, like the answer actually matters.

You nod.

And within a millisecond his sunglasses slide back into place with one push of his fingers. Mask on again. But his hand never leaves yours.

And you start walking again. Casual, composed, fake.

-

You don’t even bother knocking. Just push the door open with your shoulder and shuffle in like it’s your room. Your shoes are already off before the door fully shuts, mumbling something about your spine being broken as you toss your team jacket over the back of a chair.

Charles doesn’t even look up. He’s on the floor, back against the bed, legs stretched out in front of him.

“You’re late,” He says, voice muffled by the few bites of pasta in his mouth.

“You’re alive,” You shoot back.

“Barely.”

You collapse beside him, shoulder knocking into his as you groan and sink into the carpet as if its the best thing since sliced bread.

“Yeah, well. Next time, try not to scare me half to death on lap 52,” You mutter, pulling your hair out of its pony and letting it fall. “I don’t need to explain to the FIA why I dropped dead.”

He chuckles. It’s low, tired, and warm.

“I’ll  try to keep that in mind. Wouldn’t want to traumatize you.”

You nudge his knee with yours. “You traumatize me daily.”

His head turns towards you, raising an eyebrow as he places his dish onto the ground. “You love it.”

You snort. “I tolerate it.”

“Do you want my pasta?” He pushes the bowl towards you like a peace offering.

You stare at it. “You’re so romantic.”

“Not romantic,” he softly smiles. “Just generous, cherie.”

“You’re luck you’re pretty.”

“You’re lucky I don’t care to fight right now.”

The room is dim, only one lamp on by the bed, casting a warm glow across the room and his face. His hoodie’s rumpled, socks mismatched, and hair still damp from the shower he rushed through.

It’s stupid how at home he looks right now. Not the polished version. Just Charles, the boy who can’t sit still and lets you steal his hoodies whenever your room gets too cold.

“I’d let you win,” You shrug your shoulders.

His brows furrow slightly. “Win what?”

“A fight.”

His grin spreads slowly across his lips. “Oh, so you’re feeling soft tonight, hm?”

“Soft. Exhausted. Whatever you wanna call it.”

“I like you like this,” he says, like it’s nothing. Like it doesn’t make your chest cave in.

“Like what? Emotionally unstable and half-asleep?”

“Exactly.”

You roll your eyes, but your smile breaks through anyway. 

You both fall into an easy silence.

Comfortable.

-

You’re sitting sideways in the too-small balcony chair, legs draped over one arm, glass of wine in hand, with your head tilted back as you laugh. Charles is sitting on the floor beside you, his socked foot nudging the edge of your chair every now and then like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it. 

“You were so fucking smug,” you say, pointing your glass at him. “And the audacity on lap 37?”

He smirks, leaning his head back agains the sliding glass door. “You were on the radio sounding like you were about to reach through the headset and strangle me.”

“I was! You kept ignoring the delta!”

“I did not-“

“You definitely did! You lifted once in turn ten and then just fucking sent it.”

He’s laughing now. Its full bodied and messy, his eyes crinkling at the corners. And in this moment you decide, you love this laugh. This laugh is yours.

“Okay,” he says, catching his breath. “Maybe I did ignore. Just a little.”

“So I was right?”

He takes a long sip of his drink, eyes on yours over the rim of his glass. “Don’t push it.”

You nudge him with your foot. “I’m always right.”

“You’re always loud,” he counters. “I’ve never met someone who could make an entire briefing feel like a personal attack.”

“I’m passionate.”

“You’re terrifying.”

You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling, and he’s still looking at you like there’s something about this moment that he wants to memorize.

-

The room is dark except for the flickering light from the TV, the sound low enough that you have to lean in to catch some of the lines, not that either of you really care.

The rain outside has been tapping against the windows since dinner, soft and steady, with the curtains half-drawn. It smells like shampoo and hotel linen and the candy bar you split earlier, the wrapper still crumpled on top of the nightstand, forgotten beside two water bottles and a single sock that might be his or might be yours.

Your lying on your stomach, head propped up on a pillow, legs bent at the knees with your feet swaying as you scroll through the Netflix menu for, what feels like, the seventh time. Charles is stretched out beside you, one arm tucked behind his head, the other lying between you, fingers brushing the edge of the blanket like he’s unsure if he wants to move them closer.

“Pick something,” he groans, his voice thick with tiredness. “You’ve been scrolling for ten years.”

“I’m feeling out the vibe,” you reply. “You don’t understand.”

“You picked Spaceballs last time.”

“And you loved it.”

He groans, dragging a pillow over his face. You laugh, loud and bright, and Charles turns just enough to look at you. The screen casts you in soft light.

He doesn’t say anything. Just watches you for a second too long. And then like it’s normal, he reaches for the back of your shirt and tugs it down where the fabric has ridden up, his knuckles grazing warm skin as he smooths it into place.

“You’re always doing that,” You mumble, slightly dazed.

He doesn’t deny it.

“It just bugs me when you’re not covered,” he says, almost to himself only.

You want to tease him, want to say something clever, but the way he says it makes your stomach twist in a way you’re not ready to think about.

So instead, you settle on a movie. Some stupid, forgettable rom-com, and throw the remote between you with a sigh.

At some point, maybe around the third scene of the movie, you shift. Not deliberately.

Just a slow, natural thing. One of those absentminded movements made out of comfort and sheer exhaustion. You start leaning into him, just slightly. Your head dipping forward, shoulder brushing against his arm, and your elbow resting a little closer to his ribcage than it was twenty minutes ago. You don’t even realize it at first. It just happens.

Charles, on his end, doesn’t move away.

He doesn’t stiffen. Doesn’t tense. Instead, he shifts too.

It’s not much. The way his body tilts just slightly toward yours. The way his hand, once resting flat agains the mattress, curls upwards so that the back of it now brushes against the edge of your waist whenever you breathe.

You shift again, slower this time, letting your cheek rest against the slope of his shoulder, his cotton hoodie soft beneath your skin, smelling faintly of detergent and something warm. Something you’ve begun to associate with home. 

You don’t move.

He doesn’t either.

You both just let it happen.

-

It starts with a spoonful of cereal to the face. 

Not yours. His.

You’re sitting cross-legged on the bed in a hoodie that’s definitely not yours (it’s his and he’s already made a hoke about it), one hand deep in a box of granola, the other scrolling on your phone, when Charles makes the mistake of saying something smug about your snoring.

“I don’t snore,” You say almost immediately, without looking up.

“Oh, yes you do,” he counters from where he’s standing near the little counter, pouring milk into a bowl. “You sound like a chainsaw.”

You blink at him.

Then, silently, reach for the complimentary spoon, dip it into your bowl of cereal, and flick it directly at his chest.

It splatters against the front of his t-shirt, clinging to the cotton.

He looks down and simply stares at the damage. Then up at you.

“You did not just-“

“I warned you!”

“You did not-“

And then its absolute chaos as he lunges.

You shriek, laughing, cereal long forgotten as you scramble to the far side of the bed, but he’s faster…years of sharp reflexes working unfairly in your favor as he reaches out and grabs your waist, tackling you into the pillows.

“No, Charles…Charles, please!”

“You did this to yourself!”

“Truce! Truce!”

“Too late.”

His hands are gentle, even as he’s tickling you. Even as you flail and laugh and grab at his wrists like you could stop him. Which you can’t, because his grip is ridiculously strong and the room is already echoing with your wheezing.

Eventually, he stops.

Maybe because he’s laughing too hard. Maybe cause he notices the way you’re curled beneath him, face flushed and eyes shining. 

And for one very long moment, he goes still

You both do.

Both frozen. Smiling.

But it fades a little because suddenly there’s this change that feels heavier than it should. A shift in the air that neither of you meant to invite in, but it’s here, demanding.

He clears his throat and rolls off of you with a soft groan.

“You’re the worst person ever ever,” he says, falling onto the mattress beside you.

“You started it.”

He throws the nearest pillow at you. “You cereal bombed me.”

“You deserved it.”

Another moment of silence passes.

Then casually, almost too casually, he says, “You can keep the hoodie, by the way.”

You blink. “Oh?”

“Yeah. Looks better on you.”

You glance at him, but he’s not looking at you.

No. He’s just lying there, arms folded behind his head, with a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth like he didn’t just light a very dangerous fire.

And you don’t say anything. You just tug the hoodie a little closer around you.

-

The paddock is mostly empty by the time you finish up. The sun is low, and you’re walking a few steps ahead of him on the track, laughing at something he said. Not the polite kind of laugh people give him in interviews. But a real, loud laugh.

That’s the first mistake.

Because Charles is watching you. Not in the casual, friendly way he always has, but really watching you. And for the first time since this whole thing started, something in his chest pulls.

You glance back at him, smiling. “What?”

He blinks once, caught. “Nothing,” He starts to shake his head, trying to shake off the feeling. “You’re just…in a good mood.”

You slow down so that you’re walking beside each other again. “What? I can’t be happy?”

“No, you can. You just…” He trails off, lost in his own thoughts, before shrugging his shoulders. “I don’t know. You’re just different today.”

You laugh, softer this time. “Maybe I like being your fake girlfriend.” You say it as a joke. It’s always a joke.

But Charles’s smile falters, just a fraction.

And that’s when it happens. Right there. That’s when he realizes he doesn’t want it to be fake.

You keep walking, your eyes scanning the track like you’re picturing tomorrow’s data in your head already. Charles tries…really, really tries, to slip back into that same rhythm. The one where you’re just his engineer, just his best friend, just the person he trusts most in the world as of lately.

But that’s the problem, isn’t it?

Because you’ve always been that person.

And now there’s a weight in his chest every time you smile at someone else, a hum under his skin every time you say his name, and suddenly your laugh isn’t just nice to hear. It’s necessary. Like a drug. A song he never wants to stop playing.

The breeze picks up a little, carrying the light scent of rubber, and a strand of your hair blows across your face, rubbing against your cheek. You tuck it back without thinking. The motion is small, but it somehow feels intimate. Stupidly intimate. Like something only someone in love would take notice of.

Charles swallows and looks away.

“You good?” You ask, noticing the way his shoulders stiffened slightly.

He nods, almost too quickly. “Yeah, just got a wave of exhaustion.”

You don’t press. You never do. You let him have his silences, even if they stretch too long, like right now. 

You’re talking again, about strategy or the tires, but he’s not really listening anymore. 

He’s thinking about your hands. The way you rested them on his chest during the last media stunt, your fingers spread flat over his heart like you didn’t know what you were touching.

He’s thinking about the fact he didn’t even flinch.

He’s thinking about how he liked it.

You say something funny and laugh, and Charles lets out one too. But it’s small, only half there.

Because it’s not funny anymore.

Because he’s beginning to look at you like he’s already lost you, and you don’t even know that he wants you yet.

And when you reach over to gently tug at his elbow, teasing him about being such a slow walker today, he knows it will only take one moment. One moment to fall completely, stupidly, in love with you.

And you’re just smiling like it’s all a game.

-

It’s late in the afternoon, just after FP2, and the air inside the motorhome has a tired kind of warmth. The kind of energy that once pulsed throughout the room has now dulled into a low murmur. 

You’re curled into he corner of the bench, tablet in hand, thumb swiping purposely through the sector times that begin to blur because you’ve been staring at numbers all day. Your back aches, neck’s tight, and you’ve probably read the same stats of numbers three times while retaining none of it.

All while trying your best to not acknowledge Charles across from you.

Charles. Sitting relaxed, legs stretched out, legs lazily crossed over one another at his ankles. You don’t look at him, not directly at least. But you always feel him.

You can sense his movement more than you see it. The soft pull of gravity as he crosses the room with such ease that no one bothers to notice. His body finds its way beside you, his thighs pressing into yours, his shoulders against your arm.

You don’t look up because you don’t need to.

He leans in until you can feel the warmth of his breath at your temple, his faint scratch of stubble barely grazing your skin.

“What are you changing?” His voice curls its way into the space between your ear and your neck, and it settles there. Warm. Lingering.

You clear your throat, trying to sound casual, something that doesn’t sound like he’s unraveling you. “Playing around with the rear balance,” you say almost too quickly. “That first sector was a mess.”

He hums in agreement, half thoughtful, half amused. And he’s so close that it vibrates through you.

But he doesn’t move. Doesn’t lean back. Doesn’t pretend this was just about data.

He stays close, too close, almost always. His body angled towards you, shoulders brushing against your arms, thighs pressed against yours with ease. Familiar. Like he knows exactly how far he can lean into you.

And then his hand rests on your thigh. It lands softly, just above your knee, the heat of his skin bleeding through the fabric of your pants. His thumb brushes once. Barely.

Then again. 

You don’t flinch. You don’t correct him. You don’t glance around to see if anyone notices because you don’t care. 

It’s normal.

-

He hadn’t said much on the flight back. Hadn’t looked at anyone after the race either. Not to the media, not the engineers, and not even the fans who were leaning over the barricade chanting his name like he hadn’t lost the entire race from a single lock-up.

You watched him in the garage, helmet on too long, gloves clenched in his lap like he didn’t trust his hands to open.

You waited. You always did.

Now it’s past midnight and the hotel is silent. You’re half-asleep when you hear it. A soft knock, barely audible. You lie still, unsure if you’re imagining it.

Then again.

Three quiet knocks.

You pull yourself out of bed slowly, dragging the blanket around your shoulders, padding barefoot to the door with sleep covered eyes.

You peep through the hole before unlocking it.

Open it. And Charles is there. Barefoot.

Sweatpants and a hoodie thrown on like he couldn’t care less what he looked like. His eyes are tired. Not the good kind. The kind of tired that lives behind the eyes.

He doesn’t say anything. He just looks at you. And you don’t ask why he’s here.

You step back wordlessly and let him in, closing the door behind him as he moves past you like he’s on autopilot.

He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t need to.

Because the way he’s looking at you, his eyes heavy and rimmed with pain that he doesn’t let anyone else see, says everything.

He stands in the middle of the room for a second, like he’s unsure if he should sit or speak or leave.

“I fucked it up,” he finally says, voice flat. “We had it all right. All of it. The pace, the tires. I fucking had-“ He stops mid sentence, his jaw locked so tight as if it hurts to talk.

“I saw,” Your voice is soft, soothing.

But he shakes his head once, harshly. “I don’t need you to tell me it wasn’t my fault.”

“I wasn’t going to.”

His eyes flick up then. Guarded. “You weren’t?”

You shake your head.

You cross the room toward him slowly, barefoot, the hotel blanket still draped around you like a gown, and stop just in front of him. Close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating off of his skin, close enough to see the way his throat bobs as he swallows.

“Come here,” you whisper, barely louder than the rain outside.

He hesitates, for a mere second, but then he’s moving. Softly.

He steps into you and lets you fold your arms around him. Lets his forehead press into the skin of your shoulder, lets his hands settle on the dips of your waist that makes your chest ache, because for someone so fierce, Charles has always touched you like you’re something fragile.

You hold him. 

You feel his breath against your neck, feel the way his body is barely trembling beneath your arms.

“You don’t have to say anything,” you murmur, your lips brushing the softness of his hair. “You can just be.”

He nods against your collarbone.

He just stays there, wrapped in your arms. You slide a hand into his hair, fingers combing through the baby hairs at the nape of his neck.

Eventually, he shifts, pulling back just enough to look at you, his eyes glassy. “You’re the only place I don’t have to be anything,” He says quietly. “Just me.”

And even though it makes your heart ache, you just nod.

“You never need to be anything else.” You whisper. “Not with me.”

And when you pull him toward the bed, when he lies down with his face partially hidden in the crook of your neck, neither of you speak. You both lay in the silence. 

-

The mirror is fogged up. 

You’ve both been back for less than five minutes, barely kicked off your shoes, and he’s already standing in the middle of the hotel bathroom with his shirt half off, brows furrowed, rotating his shoulder like he’s pretending it doesn’t ache.

“You’re doing that thing again,” you say from the doorway.

He glances toward you. “What thing?”

“That thing where you pretend it doesn’t hurt.”

He exhales. Stubborn. And looks away.

“You’re a shit liar,” You mutter, brushing past him to grab the icy-hot gel from the counter. “You’ve been favoring your other side since the second stint.”

He shrugs, or tries to at least. Winces instead. “Didn’t want to talk about it.”

You roll your eyes, flicking the cap off and motioning for him to sit on the closed toilet lid. “Sit.”

He does. He knows better than to argue with you…most of the time.

You lean over him and start working the gel into his shoulder with slow, careful fingers. You don’t even think about it. It’s not weird. It’s not intimate.

It’s Charles.

You’re draped in his hoodie. Oversized, soft from too many washes, sleeves falling over your hands, and your breath hitches as he leans forward so you can dig deeper into his muscle.

His skin is hot under your fingers. He groans quietly, head dropped forward, and you laugh.

“So dramatic.”

“It hurts,” he grumbles.

You press harder, just to make him squirm. And he does, a hiss through his teeth, and then he laughs.

Charles’s eyes are fixed on the floor.

You press your fingers into the tight knot just beside his collarbone, and it takes almost everything in him to not lean into you. Not to bury his face into your neck and tell you.

Tell you that your hands feel like home. Tell you that he can’t pretend anymore.

But he doesn’t.

Because you’re just smiling at him like this is nothing.

Because when you finish, you wipe your hands against the nearby towel, and pat him gently on top of the head. “Good as new.”

You move past him, leaving the bathroom with a soft laugh. And he stays there. Seated. Motionless.

Hands gripping his knees like it’s the only thing keeping him from following you and pressing his mouth to yours.

-

The ballroom is gold. Actually gold.

Gold chandeliers, gold trim, light reflecting off champagne glasses and sequined gowns. The kind of place that exudes pretentious luxury. And you can’t help but think just how fucking ridiculous it all is.

You stand near the edge of the room, one hand curled loosely around a glass of wine, the other tucked into Charles’s arm.

You’re both surrounded by easy conversations and polite laughter. But none of it sticks. Because Charles can’t focus on any of it.

Not with you standing beside him like that. Not in that fucking dress.

He hadn’t expected it to hit him so hard, but the minute you stepped out of that car, it was like the air had been sucked out of his lungs.

You in black. Hair pinned up. Shoulders bare. A tiny sliver of skin exposed at the base of your spine whenever you turned.

You’re laughing at something some journalist is saying, not performative, just a soft amused laugh as you bring your wine glass up to your lips.

Charles shifts closer. Not for the cameras. Not for the sponsors. But because he wants to. Because he wants, no needs, to feel your body against his just for a second longer, to press his fingers lightly against your skin in a way that says you’re here, you’re mine, even if you don’t know it.

You don’t move or flinch, you just lean into him with that subtle softness you always do. Like your body knows his.

And that’s what kills him. The ease. The naturalness.

Because this, whatever this is, has bled into nearly everything. This has crept up beneath the edges of what was supposed to be a casual lie, and now he can’t tell where pretending ends and begins.

Still he watches as another man approaches.

Someone older. Wealthy. Someone who looks at you like you’re not already standing beside someone, like you’re available.

Charles sees the way the man’s eyes skim the lines of your body, the curve of your mouth. He watches the moment that man reaches for your hand, presses a kiss to your knuckles, and says something that makes you smile.

And in that exact moment, something sharp and awful coils low in his chest. Hot and unfair, and deeply fucking stupid.

Because he doesn’t have the right. Not actually, at least.

He’s allowed to touch you. Allowed to whisper in your ear. Allowed to look at you. But one thing he isn’t allowed to do, is want you like this.

-

He’d stepped away for barely fifteen minutes.

Just long enough to take a photo with some of the sponsors, shake hands, and exchange polite thank you’s. 

And when he came back, you were laughing. Not at him. Not with him.

Charles’s steps falter as he spots you across the room, standing near one of the tall round tables tucked near the corner, your wine glass cradled in both hands, your smile warm.

And beside you, someone unfamiliar.

Someone tall, in a tailored navy suit, hair too perfectly styled, hand resting on the table like he owns the conversation. Charles watches, as this stranger leans in, says something low near your ear, and you tilt your head back and laugh. That real laugh. The one that makes your nose crinkle.

He feels his stomach twist.

He tries not to show it. Tries to keep walking. Because this isn’t supposed to matter. It’s all pretend.

He doesn’t get to be jealous. 

But that doesn’t stop the voice in his head from seething when he watches the man’s eyes drop to your chest. When he see’s your smile linger just a little too long for his liking.

Charles can feel it in his chest. Tight and bitter. 

And when the man reaches out, whether it was innocent or not, it doesn’t matter. Because Charles is already crossing the room.

He doesn’t rush. No, that would draw attention. But his steps are purposeful and the space between you and him disappears quickly.

You see him first.

“Hey,” you say, easy. “You remember-“

Charles cuts in smoothly. His voice even, just loud enough to interrupt, like he isn’t burning from the inside out. He doesn’t even look at the man standing next to you. Only looks at you.

“They’re asking for us,” he says. “Need more photos or something with the sponsors.”

It’s a lie. And you don’t even need to ask to know.

You can tell by the way he says it. It slips from his mouth like a reflex. Like he didn’t need to think twice before pulling you away from someone else.

But it’s Charles. And you trust him.

So you nod. “Okay. Just give me a sec-”

You don’t even finish the sentence before his hand is at your back, firm and warm. Possessive. 

There’s a pressure to his touch that makes your spine straighten, makes the uncovered skin his fingers graze buzz. Like he’s reminding you, and anyone else watching, that this is his right.

He walks beside you, closer than normal, not speaking as he steers you away from the man.

You glance back over your shoulder, offering an apologetic smile to the man, but it wavers, just slightly, when you feel Charles’s hand tighten.

Not hard. Just enough. Enough to say don’t.

The twist in your chest is unexpected. And when you’re both finally out of an earshot, you nudge him lightly with your elbow. 

“Really?” You say, eyes meeting his. “Photos?”

You try to sound amused. Like it’s all some joke. Like nothing has changed.

But he doesn’t laugh.

Instead, he keeps walking. And you can’t help but notice just how tight his jaw is clenched. And when he finally glances back down at you, you forget how to breathe for a second.

Because there’s something in his gaze that doesn’t belong to the version of Charles you normally know.

It’s too real. Too unguarded.

“I didn’t like the way he looked at you,” His voice quiet. 

You blink, lips parting. “Charles…”

“I know,” he cuts in, eyes dropping to your lips for the briefest moment before he meets your eyes again. “I know I’m not supposed to care. I know what this is.”

He sighs, slow and quiet, as his fingers flex against your back.

“But you’re mine tonight,” He says.

And he doesn’t ask.

He’s warning. And that’s when you notice it for the first time. But you bottle it up, lock it tight, and push it into that imaginary little box of yours.

Because there is no way.

-

You’re sitting, more like slouching, on the bed in your gown, a half-empty bottle of champagne bottle still loosely gripped in your hand. Charles is slouched in the armchair across from you, suit jacket thrown somewhere in the room, white shirt rumpled, top buttons undone. His bowtie is still hanging around his neck…loose, forgotten.

The two of you are flushed. Fuzzy. Not wasted, but tipsy.

Tipsy enough to remember.

Drunk enough to stop pretending.

He gets up slowly, walking over to you with such ease, before dropping down beside you on the bed.

“You’re quiet,” he mutters, his voice edged by too much champagne and restraint.

You glance down at the bottle in your hand, then back up at him, giving him a faint smile. “So are you.”

He lets out a small laugh, almost a huff, “I’m trying not to do something stupid.”

Your heart stutters in your chest, “Like what?”

His eyes fall to your mouth, linger, then look back at your eyes. “Like kiss you.”

The room tilts, just a little bit. You set the bottle down on the bedside table without taking your eyes off of him, fingers trembling slightly. 

And then, you reach for him. Instinctively.

You allow your fingers to curve into the loose knot of his bowtie still hanging on his neck, tugging it as you tilt your chin up. And when your eyes flicker to his again, you whisper, “Then don’t try so hard.”

And he kisses you like the fight is finally over.

His mouth crashes into yours like you’ve both run out of time to lie. It’s heat…pure, consuming, and real.

The kiss is deeper, messier, his lips hungry against yours, your bodies moving in an unspoken urgency from holding back too long.

His hands are everywhere, dragging along your waist, the back of your neck, your ribs, your spine, tugging you closer at any given moment.

You gasp when he pushes you flat to the mattress, hovering over you as he kisses down your throat, tongue flicking against the skin right below your jaw. His teeth dragging like he knows it will make you shiver. And it does.

“Tell me you want this,” His lips brush against your collarbone. “That you want me.”

“I want this. I want you.” 

And that’s all it takes.

He’s undoing the zipper of your dress with shaky fingers, his breath catching as more of your skin is revealed beneath the palm of his hands.

Your bra is gone before you even realize he’s unclasped the back of it, and when his mouth meets your nipple, tongue slow, you arch into him with a soft cry that turns his green eyes, black.

He’s on top of you, mouth crashing into yours again, one hand gripping your thigh and pulling it higher around his waist, the other guiding himself to your slick cunt, shuddering against your folds.

And when he finally presses into you, thick and slow, filling you in a way that makes your head fall back and moan, you swear you never want to stop this from happening again.

“Christ,” he grunts, forehead pressed to yours, trying to feel all of you. “Feel so good.”

You cling to his shoulders, nails digging into the muscle there. “Then fuck me.”

And he does.

Harsh, deep, rhythmic thrusts that make the headboard creak and your breath escape in desperate, broken moans against his mouth. His pace is steady, hips snapping harder whenever your moans start to rise, when your nails claw into his back, when your thighs shake around him.

His mouth finds yours in a kiss that’s more hunger, more like need. He kisses you like he can’t stand not being inside of you in every way.

“Fuck, you feel like you were made for me,” he groans. “Driving me insane.”

You whimper against him, tightening your arms against his neck. “Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”

His pace doesn’t falter. His forehead presses to yours. “You’re all I think about,” he pants. “Every fucking night.”

You’re both close. And he knows it, because his mouth finds yours again in a kiss that’s more teeth than tongue. More claiming than comfort.

And when you come, crying his name out like it’s the only word you’ve ever known, he follows. His hips pounding as he groans into your shoulder, holding you so tightly like you’ll disappear if he didn’t.

-

You’re still in your headset, arms crossed tight over tour chest as Charles climbs out of the car, pulling off his gloves with that sharp, frustrated energy that always festers under his skin when things aren’t working out the way he wants them to.

He tosses the gloves onto the seat, runs a hand through his hair, damp with swear, and gives you a look thats more of a challenge than a greeting.

You glance down at your tablet, even though you’ve looked at the data a dozen times.

“I told you to take more margin in turn six,” you say, voice calm but tight.

Charles laughs. It’s low, humorless, and bitter. “You think I don’t know how to drive my own car?”

You lift your eyes slowly, and the look you give him is sharp. “I think you’re letting your ego get in the way of your brain. Again.”

His jaw tightens and he takes a step closer. Like he wants to rattle your bones.

“You want to talk about my ego?” He asks, words laced with a dangerous edge. “You’ve been walking around like nothing happened. Like I didn’t have my tongue on your skin a few nights ago, like I wasn’t buried deep inside of you while you whispered my name like it meant something. Like I mean something.”

You inhale sharply but don’t flinch. This can’t happen here. Not in the garage.

“And you’ve been walking around like it didn’t mean something.”

He pulls off the top half of his suit, tying it around his waist in jerky, clearly annoyed movements.

“You want me to pretend it didn’t happen?” His voice hoarse now. “Fine. But don’t stand here and act like I’m the only one who did this.”

You blink. 

“I can’t afford to lose you.” You whisper.

And he gets it. And he hates it. Because he knows you’re right.

“Yeah,” his voice is a low whisper. “I know.”

-

The lights are hot.

Not warm. Not pleasant. Hot. In the way that makes your skin feel too tight and causes your eyes to ache from squinting under the glare. 

You’re standing on your mark, back straight, hands at your sides.

Charles is standing right beside you. As always.

Exactly three inches away. At least you counted three.

It’s the closest you can stand without touching him, without the brushing of his arm, without creating that electric, dangerous feeling of his hand on your back, his voice in your ear, you’re mine tonight.

You’re both pretending that it didn’t happen. Neither of you have brought it up today.

Not since he texted you late last night, just one line saying sorry if I crossed a line.

Not since you replied with it’s fine, we were drinking and tired.

It’s not fine.

Now you’re standing under a harsh spotlight with your body angled slightly toward him like always.

You smile when the photographer tells you to. Charles does it too. And he’s good at it.

He turns to you mid-shot, leaning in as if he’s whispering something sweet and private for the camera. You feel the warmth of his breath against the skin of your ear, and you fight the way your heart jumps.

“Are we okay?”

It’s the first time he’s said anything that close to something real in a week.

You keep smiling. Because the sponsor is watching. Because the cameras are still click click clicking.

Because the woman facilitating this shoot looks like she might cry if you didn’t sell this fake love story just a little bit fucking harder.

So you tilt your face toward his, press your hand to the center of his chest, right over his heart…and you nod, like you’re agreeing with some romantic phrase he could’ve said.

“Yeah,” you whisper. “We’re okay.”

The room echoes with praise. “Beautiful, you two.”

Your ears are buzzing and you barely hear the next instruction. Something about posing closer. Hands on waists. More intimacy. 

Charles moves first. He steps forward and wraps his arm around your waist like it hasn’t been a week since he nearly broke you open with one quiet, possessive sentence. 

You place your hand on his chest again. Because thats where it belongs now.

Because this is what you’re good at.

Pretending.

-

The elevator is quiet. And not a comfortable kind. No, this is the kind that makes your tight throat and chest heavy.

The numbers tick upward, each one feeling like a warning.

Charles stands beside you, hands in his pockets, with his shoulders pulled tight. You can feel the tension in the way his foot taps against the floor.

You speak first, voice too light. “Long day, hm?”

It’s pathetic, really. You hate the way it sounds coming out of your mouth, small and weak.

Charles doesn’t look at you, but his jaw clenches.

“You didn’t even look at me once today,” he says, and its not an accusation.

You blink, startled by how hurt he sounds. You open your mouth to respond, but don’t get the chance. 

“You didn’t even laugh,” he looks down at his feet. “Not a real one.”

You glance at him, and he finally shifts to face you. And the look in his eyes makes your stomach turn. Because he doesn’t look angry. No, he looks tired. He looks vulnerable. 

“I didn’t mean to make things complicated,” he says, his voice barely above the sound of the elevator noises.

“It was a long week. We were tired. Drinking.”

“That’s not what I’m saying.”

You lean against the wall, holding your hands in front of you tightly.

“The problem is I didn’t say enough,” he mutters. “I meant what I said. At the gala. In the hallway. In your bed.”

And you flinch.

Not because you don’t remember, but because you do.

Every breath. Every touch.

“Don’t.” You swallow hard.

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t make this harder.”

He laughs, once. But it’s bitter. Hollow. “You think this is me making it hard?”

“We crossed a line.”

His eyes flicker, and his voice is so low when he speaks next.

“Yeah,” he says. “I know. I’ve been standing on it for weeks. Maybe longer. Only difference is I let myself believe I wasn’t alone on it.”

Your stomach is twisted in knots and he takes a step toward you. Not touching, but close enough.

“Tell me you didn’t feel it,” he says. “Tell me it was just sex. That it meant nothing to you.”

You don’t answer. Because the truth is there, dying to be let out. But you can’t.

So you remain still.

And when the elevator doors open on your floor, you step out with your stomach in your throat, your feet hitting the carpet with soft thuds.

You don’t look back.

But you hear it.

The sound of his hand catching the doors before they close, the sudden groan of the elevator stalling. And then, footsteps. Fast. Heavy. Angry.

You stop walking, but don’t turn around until he’s already there. His breath is quick and his jaw is locked tight.

“Are you really just gonna walk away?” He asks, his voice is sharp, but not loud. Not cruel. Just full of emotions he doesn’t know how to say calmly anymore.

You turn halfway, just enough to see the frustration etched on his face. His brows drawn tight, mouth tight, fists clenched at his sides like if he doesn’t, he’ll just reach for you again.

“What do you want me to do, Charles?” Your voice is quiet. “Pretend that night didn’t happen? Or pretend it did, and it meant nothing?”

“I want you to stop pretending it didn’t mean everything,” he snaps, taking another step forward, closing the space between you both. “I want you to stop looking at me like I’m asking you for something that isn’t already yours.”

Your skin buzzes.

“I know you feel this,” his voice is shaking now. “Because I see the way you look at me. I feel the way you hold me. The way you whisper my name.. So…don’t stand here and pretend like it was just sex.”

You feel yourself begin to shake.

And all you can say is, “I can’t afford to need you.”

His eyes flicker, anger giving way to something hollow. “Too late,” he says. “You already do.”

And then he turns. Walks away. And leaves you standing there.

-

The garage is nearly empty. Just you and Charles, still in uniform. Like clockwork. 

The scent of oil and burnt rubber clings to the air while you sit, finishing up your notes. Or at least pretending to.

He’s leaning against the edge of the workbench, arms folded, gaze flicking to you every few seconds. Like he wants to say something. Like it’s burning him alive.

You feel it too. 

So, you set your tablet down. “Are you going to say something, or just keep staring at me?”

His jaw clenches. Then, “I shouldn’t have said what I said.”

You look up at him. “And yet, you keep bringing it up.”

“Because you act like it didn’t matter. Like it was nothing.”

You exhale slowly, “What do you want me to say, Charles?”

And he’s pushing off the bench, taking a few steps closer. “You’re angry because I meant it. And I’m angry that you’re still pretending you don’t feel this.”

Your pulse stutters and he’s close now. So close that you have to crane your neck to meet his eyes.

“Don’t do this again.” You say, quietly, like a whisper in the wind.

“Why?” He tilts his head slightly. “Because if I say it again, you’ll have to admit it’s real?”

He takes another step. “I think about you all the time. Touching you all the time. And not just when we’re in front of people. Especially when we’re alone. I wake up thinking about what it would feel like to kiss you when you’re not performing, when no one is watching, when it’s just us.”

Your hands tighten into fists.

“I want to hold you late in the night and tell you things I’m not allowed to say. I want to call you mine  and it actually be true.”

“And you think this is easy for me?” It’s the first time you’ve broken character.

He blinks, slightly shocked. Like he can’t believe he has you starting to talk.

“I go home at night smelling like you,” you whisper, like it hurts to say. “Wearing your clothes. Curling into bedsheets that still feel like your hands were on me only hours ago. And I pretend him fine.”

You look back up at him then, barely holding it together. He’s wide-eyed, not taking the risk to say one word, not when he finally has you speaking.

“I pretend I don’t notice how every part of me aches when you leave. That I don’t hear your voice even when you’re not around.” You swallow hard.

“I go through the motions. Tell myself that this is all fake, and it’s just something we signed up for. But then I catch you looking at me like that and it feels like my ribs might crack.”

His eyes are slightly glassy now. But you keep going, because there’s no going back from this. No way out of this, not with him being so persistent. Not when your emotions could swallow you whole if you hide them any longer.

“I come back to my room at night, wearing your hoodies, and pretend that it’s just because I’m cold and that they’re comfortable. I pretend I’m not holding it closer to me whenever I miss you.”

Silence.

“I love you. And it’s killing me, because every day I have to pretend that I don’t.”

“Say it again.” 

You blink. “What?”

“Please,” he begs. “Say it again. I didn’t think I’d ever hear it.”

Your throat tightens, but you do it anyways. “I love you.”

He surges forward, pressing his forehead against yours, shaking as he whispers, “I’ve been in love with you for so long that I forgot what it feels like not to be.”

His hand moves to cup your cheek, tilting your face toward his. And then he kisses you. 

Like it’s everything. 

Like he’s finally. Finally, fucking home.

[webbluvrsugar]

HEARTBREAKING TEARS.

ETHAN LANDRY - KINKTOBER 24 — OCT.19TH — M.LIST.

cw: sex tapes, black mail, ghostface!Ethan

a/n: probs my least fav from kinktober but stick with me T-T

You’ve messed up last night, you might’ve just argued with your totally not psycho boyfriend that is totally not going around on a killing spree around the streets, and you’re certainly not fearing for your life when he gets home.

It was a stupid argument, you disagreed on something, he started yelling and you told him to leave, that you didn’t want to see him anymore — that you were breaking up with him. He left, hasn’t came home since.

Until you hear a knock on your door, Ethan is surprisingly out of his ghostface attires, holding his phone in his hand before he barges in through the apartment without even asking you permission to — did he even need it? He lives here.

“Go to the bedroom” he points out, and like a good girlfriend, you obey him.

You don’t know what he’s planning, but it’s best if he lets it out on you instead of making some other unfortunate victim just because he’s angry, it’s best if he fucks you to oblivion instead of stabbing some random girl in the streets, so you walk to the bedroom and lay down on the bed.

Doesn’t take long for you to be stripped off your clothes and underneath him, he makes sure your head is on the pillow as he hammers behind you.

“Tell me you’re gonna be a good girl from now on.” He rubs on your hair to force out an answer, slightly lifts your face so the camera can capture it.

“I — I’ll be a good girl.” You moan, one of your hands clenches on the sheets.

“Yeah? And who’s slut are you?” He teases, smirks through the corner of his lips.

“Yours..” you whimper and it’s then that you finally open your eyes, meeting the scream flash of the phone in your face.

Your brows furrow for a second as if you’re confused, and before you can even understand what he’s doing, he’s pushing your head down again, turning off and tossing his phone away before he turns his attention back to you. You don’t suspect a think — dumb girl, he’s thinking, you’re so addicted to what he’s giving you that you don’t even realise what he just did, whatever, it’ll bite you back one day.

Weeks later, you have another argument and threaten to leave.

Ethan convinces you to stay in an unusual manner.

taglist: @waltzthing @stayonmars @notoakay @fae-of-prey @baileebear @highkeyinlovewithhanjisung @cheeziebeanz

[weeeeeekly]

the world ended when it happened to me – jake sim x chubby fem!reader 

blurb You’ve been in love with Jake Sim since you first met him in elementary school, and he’s been your best friend ever since. Your little duo turned into a trio, and you couldn’t be happier, but you can’t help but feel conflicted after your most recent spring break trip. 

info afab/fem mention, reader is depicted as being chubby/plus size, use of y/n, so much angst, friends to ???, one sided feelings, morally gray!reader, non-idol au, college au, college student!jake, college student!reader. ft jay and sunghoon. everyone in this fic is 21.  

WARNINGS!!! NSFW but reader isn’t the one getting fucked, negative self-image, reader has a shitty relationship with her parents swearing, mention of a family member having cancer, mentions of sex, mention of alcohol, lots swearing, not proofread just pure free flowing thought – can you tell i wrote this in a state of anger 

word count 2.1k 

author’s note !! This is FICTION!!!!! Everything is made up by me. The stuff written out is not meant to be a representation of the people, places, or ideas mentioned. Also, prob not accurate to real life counterparts.  

“i have a feeling you got everything you wanted and you’re not wasting time stuck here like me / you’re just thinking it’s a small thing that happened the world ended when it happened to me” we hug now - sydney rose 

"i despise my jealous eyes and how hard they fell for you" lacy - olivia rodrigo

This was the 12th spring break you’ve spent with Jake and 9th with Cassie. It’s come a long way from switching between traveling with one of your parents as kids to travelling alone as adults with new friends as Jake added Jay and Sunghoon months earlier after becoming roommates.   

The five of you had spent a (somewhat) wonderful time in the mountains upstate as Jake’s uncle allowed free use of his cabin. It wasn’t your first choice for vacation, but who were you to pass up free lodging. You hate to admit it, but the mountain air did feel comforting during the dreaded hike you were forced to take part in.  

It was on the last night of the trip when the 5 of you were sitting in the hot tub, having fun playing a drinking game when Cassie shared with everyone that her mom had gotten diagnosed with breast cancer. You felt defeated as she sobbed into your arms, looking at the guys to help comfort her. The night quickly ended after that, you went off to your own room, Cassie went to the bedroom next door, and Jay, Jake, and Sunghoon went upstairs.  

Waking the day after, you were hit with the aches and pains of sitting in a car for hours on end. Your phone lights up as a video call from Jake comes in.

After accepting it, you listen to Jake talk about staying up until 5 AM – spending more time in the hot tub, finishing the last bit of alcohol, and how cold it was. You’re listening intenetly until his tone shifts, “Can I ask you a question?” 

Your heart feels light for a second as you feel your hopes rise up but part of you already knows the answer. And the answer will crush you. 

“Is this a threat?” You lightly joke but hide your FaceTime screen, so your camera is off. 

Jake sighs, “Y/n.” 

“I’m kidding! Just say it.” 

“How would you feel if something happened between Cassie and I?” 

You love Cassie, you really do. She’s been a wonderful friend to you and it makes you happy to share girlhood together. But she’s different from you in almost every way – you just were hoping that this conversation was never going to happen. 

“I wouldn’t care if anything happened.” Lie. “I just hope you would tell me immediately.” Half lie. You would want to know right away, but it would ruin you if you were told after it happened or months down the road.  

“I had sex with Cassie the last night of the trip.” 

Your heart isn’t so much crushed as it is violently ripped from your chest, sent into outer space, and pulverized.  

A deep breath is needed for you to continue this call without shedding tears. “I knew it.” 

It was bound to happen. Jake had made a few off-hand comments to you about how he wouldn’t mind sleeping with Cassie, that one wet dream about her, or his thoughts during truth or drink. 

Deep down you knew it was never going to be you. You could just see it in his eyes when you asked him “what am I stubborn about that’s making my life miserable?” Frantically searching his mind for answer that wasn’t along the lines of “being more than friends”. His final cop out answer was you not “putting yourself out to into the world” which is true as well.  

“Y/n?” 

You hum in response as you continue scrolling through Pinterest.  

“Do you want a debrief of it?” 

“Um, actually, it’s almost 11 PM and we need to go to sleep.” 

Jake lets out a groan as he realizes that he has to get up in 6 hours for work. And you turn your head up to the ceiling to find your inner strength to not sound bitchy. 

“Talk to you tomorrow?” 

“Yeah, sure.” 

Ending the call, you roll over to the side of your bed to charge your phone and smush your face between your pillows to scream.  

You could barely keep your eyes open as you stare at your email inbox every sentence having be reread multiple times to make sense. 2 hours of sleep was all that you were able to get last night as every time you closed your eyes all you can think about is Jake and Cassie fucking.  

It started off with you dreaming of getting married – you were walking down the aisle in your dream dress with Jake standing at the end of the aisle with the biggest smile on his face. You felt your cheeks starting to hurt from how hard you were smiling. You don’t know how you got there or how it happened, but you were going to enjoy your dream.  

Looking around, it’s exactly how you want it – from your favorite flowers lining the aisle and in a small bouquet in your hands to the rows of everyone you’ve ever cared about watching you with tearful smiles, the lack of your parents, and your bridesmaids wearing your favorite color in different styles of dress. It was perfect. You reach the altar as Jake’s hand extended towards you, you take it and turn to look at the officiant who was your favorite teacher from school.  

As you went to squeeze Jake’s hand, you felt nothing and turn back to see that the place where he once stood was empty and the crowd began cheering. Your head turns back to the aisle to see Jake furiously making out with someone. The bouquet dropped from your hand as the person leaned back to show their face – Cassie. Tears began streaming down your face as they go back to shove their tongues down each other’s throats.  

Jolting awake, you felt the real tears on your face. The nightmares that followed consisted of the same formula, you being happy to see Jake in a romantic scenario and ends with him in some capacity making out with Cassie, him always choosing her. 

It’s healthy to feel negative emotions like jealousy, but probably not in the capacity you feel right now.  

It’s not Jake’s fault that he isn’t interested in you. You just… wish he wouldn’t string you along sometimes, that he would just flat out say “it’s not going to happen ever” or just kiss you once to shut you up. He did share a few times over group calls during “horny hours” (which are every hour) that he was an ass guy. You didn’t really have an ass – you had tits. If you had to use a letter to describe your body type it would be a B, tits and stomach, rather than just a P. But you also don’t think he’s shallow and would only be attracted based on body type, but you just know.  

Maybe it’s other factors like your personality. 

You would like to think that you’re a not a bad person – that everyone has a few traits that are undesirable, but you don’t think you’re a good person either. You hate it when your roommates use your favorite cup, like that’s your favorite cup that you use every day, why would you do that. Or that you would rather stick your hand down an active garbage disposal than visit your parents so they can criticize every aspect of your life – which they had already been doing your entire life.  

But Jake has known your complicated relationship with your parents. He’s witnessed his fair share of arguments when they were responsible of hosting spring break. You’ve confided in him your feelings. You’re just not sure if it caused you to push him away. 

jake <3 are you mad at me? you no jake <3 can you call? you sorry, super busy at work right now

 jay! did jake tell u you about what jay! that during the trip you him & cassie fucked jay! are u upset about it

“What the fuck?” You mumble to yourself. You and Jay weren’t that close. Jake has brought him and Sunghoon out a few times to hangout after they moved in together. They both were attractive and seemed nice enough, but you haven’t spent enough time with either of them without Jake. You didn’t even remember their majors. 

you ??? jay! i see the way u look at jake jay! u like him you no i don't jay! so u are upset jay! if u wanna talk about it jay! my lunch break is in an hour jay! my treat you i'm not upset, but i'll get lunch with you so we can be better friends

“Do you want to talk about it?” 

You put your fork down, “What is there to talk about? They had sex, so what?” 

He smirks as he leans back in his chair. “Stage One. Denial.” 

Scoffing, “Are you my therapist now?” 

“That’s the goal. How about you start with an ‘I feel’ statement.” 

“I feel you’re trying too hard.” 

Jay shrugs as he takes a bite of his sandwich. After chewing he says, “I just want you to know that if you want a neutral, third party to talk to about it that I’m here for you. I do consider us friends, you know.” 

“That’s sweet of you, but if I did want to talk about my feelings, I wouldn’t want to burden you.” 

“It wouldn’t be.” 

“Okay.” You’ll allow yourself to crack a little in the empty restaurant hidden in one of the collection of stores behind your shared college. “Hypothetically, let’s say that I like Jake. That I’ve liked him for a while. That when Cassie came into my life, I wanted her to be just my friend. And that I was a little jealous when Jake and Cassie became friends but got over that when we became a trio. But maybe the jealous never died, that it just buried itself in my heart and resurfaced years later. And maybe it hurt every time either one of them said a flirty remark to the other or when they told me secretly how hot they found the other. And so what if dying a million times over would hurt less than hearing that they fucked.” 

Jay stares at you with a concerned look as you cross your arms. “That’s just a hypothetical situation.” 

“Oh, Y/N...” 

Cutting him off, “It’s fine. I’ll get over it.” 

“What if you told Jake how you feel.” 

The (mostly) quiet restaurant atmosphere is broken from your laughing as you look at him in disbelief. “You think that would change anything? I already know how it will go, he’ll say he doesn’t feel that way, that he only sees me as a friend, and then I’ll be embarrassed and slowly distance myself from him until our years of friendship is lost to time.” 

“Seriously, Y/N? You would rather close yourself off from your feelings than express them? What if Jake feels the same way for you? That the friendship was just a start for your relationship?” 

“What if!? And maybe it’s just meant to be a ‘what if’.” 

“You’re scared of relationships because something happened to you previously and you think you’re protecting yourself from future harm, but it’s damaging you instead.” 

You glare at Jay as you abruptly stand up. Your bag is turned upside down as your wallet falls out. Enough cash to cover your portion of lunch is slammed onto the table as you walk out of the place. 

Yes, Jay did read you to filth, but you will admit that one of the worst traits of both of your parents was stubbornness and you were hardheaded.  

Maybe you are afraid of ending up in a dysfunctional relationship for the rest of your life so you would rather not be in any romantic relationship at all. And you were jealous of Cassie. And that you wanted Jake to see you in the same light as Cassie. And maybe you have a crush on both of them. 

Who fucking knows. You had a lot to deal with right now like how you’ll get yourself to get proper sleep again. 

masterlist

author’s note thank you for reading this. might write a part two who fucking knows anymore. this semester is kicking my ass, but i needed to get this out of my head. 

[shorlinesorrows]

my jean & neil qpr agenda (part 1?)

after Neil orders the hit and Greyson becomes another Former Raven statistic for the media to go wild with, Jean ends up texting Neil. It's definitely not a thank you, but both of them know it kinda is (prob something like "you're an insufferable disease" lol)

They don't have contact for a while, but one day Neil reaches out by sending Jean the most atrocious multilingual French meme with "Kevin doesn't appreciate me or my humor, this is a hate crime"

It's sporadic from there, and maybe at one point they meet up while Neil and Andrew are on their summer road trip. Neil and Andrew end up in Colorado, and Jeremy, Cat, and Laila practically drag Jean there to see them (he'll deny that he had a good time, but he really did)

Andrew and Jean have a bizarre and interesting dynamic where they don't speak to each other often, but they eventually grow a mutual respect and shoot each other Looks about their "I'm Fine" partners. They don't mind just sitting in the same room and sharing space while they do their separate things.

When Jean and Jeremy start their pottery class, Jean takes to it like a fish to water.

He ends up majoring in Ceramics & Multimedia Art. Something about using his hands to create, rather than destroy.

He makes Neil a little exy racket charm for his keychain.

At one point, Jeremy makes a gc with Jean, Neil, Kevin, and Andrew on impulse. Jean "hates" it but doesn't leave the group chat. Andrew only stays in it because he can mute it, and it's useful for when they plan to meet up sometimes. It also makes Neil happy and it's not something he really minds

Jean also takes LOTS of pictures. With his phone, his friends' phones, a polaroid camera he gets as a gift from Cat, anything he can get his hands on. He hangs them up on his half of the room with Jeremy.

Eventually Jeremy and Jean do get separate rooms. They usually still sleep in the same room, but it's an important milestone for Jean and his recovery. Being able to have his own space, and know he's allowed to control who comes in it.

He decorates that room so much it's chaotic and beautiful and there's probably little pencil doodles on the wall next to his bed from when he can't sleep. He tends to draw daffodils :]

It becomes a bit of a tradition to meet Neil and Andrew every summer.

When they go pro, Jean and Neil end up on teams only a few hours' drive from each other. Neil and Andrew start on the same team, but the whole Minyard-Josten Rivalry is still a Thing because they're always shooting heated Russian at each other while "glaring" and no one else seems to realize it's their equivalent of flirting.

Jean thinks it's hilarious. He harasses Neil about it constantly.

Him and Kevin eventually mend their friendship, and they care about each other a lot.

Neil probably made the three of them matching "I survived Castle Evermore" shirts just to be a menace, and then Jean and Kevin have to make him swear that he'll never wear it in public.

Neil has a habit of just. Showing up at Jean's house and crashing sometimes.

Jeremy at one point jokes that he'll have to fight Neil for Jean's time in the future, but he's not really worried. They're happier when they spend time together. Jeremy and Andrew are chill with it.

When they meet up for the first time after a game between their pro teams, none of their teammates have any clue what's going on. Jean and Neil insult each other ferociously, but also can't seem to resist hip-checks and shoulder bumps and almost affectionate shoves.

Neil constantly sidles up to Jean and pretends like he doesn't know what he's doing. Jean usually responds by absently grabbing his hand so he knows where he is.

They are literally a cat and dog. Neil will deny that he's being caring or affectionate towards Jean all day long while actively attempting to be in Jean's space, and Jean practically perks up when Neil enters a room.

When their teams play against each other, they talk in French sometimes. Their checks are always a bit brutal (they know very well how far the other can be pushed before they break) but they help each other up at the end of quarters.

Jean is constantly antagonizing Neil by smiling and complimenting his striker skills while blocking him, and Neil is constantly taunting him with words that are plenty sharp, but never actually aimed for vital spots

Jean gets a service dog and Jeremy decides to name her Mr. Barkbark Flufferpants, following Andrew & Neil's naming scheme for their cats. They usually just call her "Mr."

When they make Court, the two of them practically live in each other's pockets.

Jeremy and Andrew watch both exasperatedly and amusedly (though Andrew just calls it annoyance when asked) as the two of them dance around their Big Queer Platonic Feelings

When they finally manage to actually communicate about it, it goes something like "Idk what's happening, I'm kinda obsessed with you but it is Not Romantic and I don't know what to do with that." And then "Oh thank hell, me too, I thought I was even weirder than I already am. Wanna go harrass the fbi together?" "No."

They become even more attached at the hip after that, can practically finish each other's sentences. It's like they freaking mind melded tbh.

At first Kevin gets worried that they're slipping into old habits from the Nest, especially Jean, but when he brings it up to Andrew and Jeremy, Andrew just goes "No, they're idiots." and Jeremy nods and says "I think they're in a honeymoon phase. If we see them slipping, we'll pull them out."

Kevin decides to wait and watch, and thankfully their relationship ends up being as healthy as Neil and Jean can be. There might be a little codependence going on, but they have other people and other grounding forces to help intervene if it seems to be unbalancing.

They both put each other on their emergency contacts list.

It's a common sight to find the two of them twisted into impossible positions together just doing their own things, Jean drawing, Neil watching reruns of Exy matches, whatever.

Their dynamic just becomes Jean, who genuinely grows up to be a pretty chill dude, and Neil, who's an absolute gremlin. Except they kinda absorb each other's personalities, so they're both little shits together. They fit.

There is definitely all sorts of weird conversations that they have at 2AM in little sleepovers they do together (sometimes with Kevin, Jeremy, or Andrew) because they never got that as kids.

I bet Neil mercilessly teases Jean for being allosexual, especially when he gets flustered (all in good fun, of course)

Jean just snarks back with a "shut up, I literally saw you look at Andrew like a besotted elderly man with his partner of fifty years like five minutes ago." Neil sticks out his tongue at him.

Jean actually can sometimes read the ways that Neil and Andrew show affection for each other because of how much time he spends around them, which leads to him occasionally getting confused when other people don't automatically Get It

Neil takes a while to warm up to Jeremy because he seems Too Nice, but once he does he helps Jeremy plan to absolutely torment Jean with silly little romantic gestures that make him flush all the way down to his neck

At one point Neil tries to get Jean to explain what it feels like to be sexually attracted to someone without knowing them really closely, and it leads to a really surprisingly deep conversation about attraction before it turns into neil making dick jokes.

Cat and Laila still keep in close contact with Jean, as well as Renee. They make sure to meet up as often as they can. Cat and Jean always go for a bike ride together and they all cook dinner as a group.

They're both cuddle monsters when in the right mood. They also have the convenient ability to fall asleep Anywhere when they feel safe. So finding them curled up together in weird places at home is pretty commonplace.

They're forever partners, not in the way that the world and the Nest tried to make them be, but in a way that they created themselves.

It doesn't have to be romantic to be special, and if anyone ever suggested that they should be in a romantic relationship, they would both look at that person with absolute judgement and disgust. This person interrupted their conversation. They were talking shit about someone. Neil is lounging in Jean's lap. Andrew is saying he hates them both, and Jeremy is cackling at it all while taking a low-res picture for Cat and Laila.

idk i have a Lot of thoughts and could keep going. (i might write a fic if anyone wants to read it, and I'll definitely write little snippets for myself if I get the time. )

[custardtartsfan]

Tim Drake headcanons that have accumulated over time

this has been a receptacle for all of my tim thinkings over the past bit..may make another one and publish it when its full enough..

general him ₊⊹

he doesnt like coffee, too bitter. hes a bang energy kinda guy. Black Cherry Vanilla specifically

he has myopia from all the staring at screens in dark rooms like a goblin he does. he has glasses, but will not wear them cause he thinks they look silly. do NOT ask him to read something from more than 5 feet away he cannot do it

he has occasional breakouts. probs from stress. and hes only mildly confused and uncomfortable about his partner slobbering over it

SHRIMP POSTURE 🫵 doctors will end up naming a condition after him. he complains his back hurts like hes not leaning over his laptop at a perfect 90* angle

he genuinely enjoys math. like actually likes it. calculus soothes him, in a way. maybe cause its a problem with a clear answer instead of all the bullshit he’s dealing with day in and day out

does not handle his weed well. he consistently gets too high and then wakes up very sad the next day

hes pale as fuck. he does not tan, he will turn bright red. hes ghastly in the winter

his favorite food is cosmic brownies. i do not have an explanation for this it just feels right

i think he dresses pretty basic. but like in a nice, old money, chillest guy at the school athletics banquet kinda way

this is my vision

however, i do not think hes averse to the occasional ironic t shirt

he fears public bathrooms, really and truly. he cannot piss in a dairy queen, theres poors in there.

i can see him being a bit of a scent bro. like not jeremy fragrance but the people at his local Sephora know him by name

i also think hes a big dill guy. like not necessarily even pickles, the dude just likes dill flavored things. like chips, fries, whatever. big dill guy

romance.. (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶)

big fan of taking pictures. not on the phone though, not only cause he’s paranoid. also cause phone cameras are too damn high quality now WHO NEED TO SEES MY PORES??

anyway, he loves taking candid photos of his partner. on film or his digicam. his favourite is when his lover is conked out on his chest and he gets a photo of their cute sleeping face..hopefully he turned the flash off

he will SHILL the fuck OUT for you like actually. dont take him shopping with you, youre gonna leave with an untouched savings account and anything you spared a glance at

we all know the man has some attachment issues. as in when he is attached he will not un do that. this would also apply to his partner (i am choosing to ignore his choices in the mid to late 90s #notmytim)

hes like an elderly dog. complete with the spinal problems. separation anxiety like youve never seen

just like..sit with him..please. he likes to be sat with

i feel like he can only date someone hes very close with. like youre his best friend, Kon is cool but hes no you

his ideal lover is a bro he can kiss tbh

hes a lip biter. he likes to chew on his lips when hes thinking, which is always. so theyre littered with little cuts and intends. he gets all huffy after you mention you can feel it when you kiss him. you meant it in a nice, its cute way!

hed be a big believer in promise rings. he knows its a little redundant, but the sentiment is sweet and he’ll do why he wants damn it

hello icons! im sorry ive been dead for a few days, my final semester has been an unhappy one so far! i cant wait to be done Ethics im not a fan ϵ( 'Θ' )϶. anywho i hoped you liked and have a good night!

[kittluzbills]

New Nerves j.b.

guys!! Don’t hate me but a lot of my stuff will prob be short since i’m easing back into writing. I love you all endlessly and i am working through the requests i promise!

Based off of these requests:

“hey! Can you write something where the reader and Joe are in a fairly new relationship and she goes to her first game of his, standing in the family area on the sidelines, and this is their first public outing?

THANK YOU!”

and

“Yay welcome back!! What about a Joe burrow one where you go down to the field to see him right before the game? “

…………

New Nerves

j.b.

“come down i wanna see u :)”

Joe had texted me while I was up sitting in the box with the rest of his family waiting for the game to start. We were enjoying a few drinks dressed in our orange when I excused myself. I snuck out of my seat and made my way towards the door when Joe’s mom asked me where I was headed to.

“Y/N where are you headed to?” she asked.

“Joe is begging for me to come down there so you know I have to before he throws a tantrum.” I replied with a slight giggle.

“That boy is so dramatic. Well, if you stop for a snack, grab me one pretty please.” she asked.

“Will do ma.” I let out quickly before turning back around and heading out. 

My nerves were a little wracked since this was the first time Joe and I were gonna be seen in public as a couple. Sure we had been together since our sophomore year of college, but ever since Joe started his professional career, we kept things private.

 I made my way down the steps past all of the seated fans and went over to the ledge where I saw Joe stretching and talking to his other teammates. I wanted to grab his attention but I knew how important it was for him to warm up. I had been waiting for a few minutes when Ja’Marr had pointed me out to Joe. I saw his head snap and we made eye contact as the widest, cheeky grin flooded his face.

He came jogging over to me like the cutest little kid. Not even noticing the photographers on the field pointing their cameras in our direction.

“Hi baby” he said through a grin.

“Hey honey” I replied as I leaned down over the railing to place a kiss on his forehead.

“No lips?” he questioned with his puppy dog eyes.

I bent back down with a huff to place a soft kiss on his lips. Just as our lips connected I felt both of his arms snake under my armpits as he brought me down over the railing with a swift pull.

“Joseph! Everyone is gonna see us!” I yelled as I was laughing.

“Sorry baby, just missed you a little extra. Plus who cares, you’re with me not them. ” He replied with a warm smile and rosey cheeks to match it.

“You’re crazy” I said as he finally placed my feet on the ground and towered over me with all of his gear on. He was always so handsome.

“Can’t keep my girl a secret anymore.” He replied while placing one of his hands on the small of my back, lightly pushing on it to bring me closer to him. I was admiring how pretty he was when his teammates started yelling for him to head over to their huddle since the game was about to begin.

“Joe, you gotta go, come on.” I said sternly.

He placed a few more sloppy kisses on my lips before he placed his hands back on my hips. I turned around to face the ledge again as he helped me jump up to reach it. I stablelized my footing as I propped myself up over the ledge. I turned around to wish him good luck. 

As he was running off I was blowing him kisses and mouthing ‘i love you’ until he turned around and reached his hudled team. 

As I was making my way up the stairs back to the box I noticed fans with their phones out.

Shit.

Realizing that people had seen us being affectionate for the first time was all I could think about. I always told Joe how worried I was about how mean some people on the internet could be. He always reassured me that I was safe with him. God, he was so convincing.

As I reached the box where the rest of his family was sitting, the worries about social media and pda that had previously flooded my mind were washed away when I realized I forgot the most important thing.

His moms snack

I mean she couldn’t be that mad if I didn’t stop to get myself one, right?

………………..

guys why do i kind of hate this lol somebody please invalidate the negative feelings. ANYWAYS, thank you for the absolutely insane support, i can’t thank you guys enough i am so serious. sorry this is so short, i don’t feel super confident yet. regardless of that I LOVE LOVE LOVE YOU!

xx, kitt

masterlist!

requests!

[femme333]

ᡣ𐭩 : zimmer 483 smut - female first person (sounds like a diary entry) , oral stuff , dirty talk , soft , nipple play . also this is kinda long. this is my first smut fic EVER so this is probs rlly weird

i went to a tokio hotel concert in 2008. once the concert ended, i waited outside of the venue, hoping to meet the band members. i was lucky enough to meet tom. i walked up to him as he was walking back to the tour bus and asked for his autograph. “tom, can you sign my cd?” i asked him nicely. “yeah, of course i can,” he replied. words couldn’t explain how much i wanted to scream, but i kept it in figuring he would think i was weird. i decided to pull out my camera because who would believe me if i just got a signature, i thought. “can we please take a picture?” i asked him again. “sure,” he said as i pressed my cheek against his. i noticed the heat in his cheeks; he must be so hot! i snapped the picture and hugged him, when i heard him whisper something to me. “you know, you’re really hot. you should come to my hotel room.” seriously? this felt like something in a dream. “yeah, sure, just write down your number and message me the info.” i replied. a couple minutes after he left the venue, he finally messaged me. i turned on my phone and looked at the message. room 483? i felt like the girl in reden! i drove to the hotels address and walked up the flight of stairs to his hotel room. it was long. i could seriously tell this hotel was luxury. i knocked on his door, and after a couple minutes of waiting; he finally answered. “hey there schatz, come on in,” he said softly. i walked into the room and looked around. there was a faint smell of aerosol deodorant along with the heavy smell of his cologne. “this looks nice,” i said softly. “does it now?” he replied as he hugged me from behind. i swear i could feel the butterflies in my stomach. tom kaulitz, the boy that almost every girl had a crush on, invited me to his hotel room? no way. i rubbed my eyes and looked around again. there he was. “what do you feel like doing? we can take things slow if that’s what you need.” he said sweetly. “can i kiss you?” i asked him softly. this was the moment of truth. he nodded and smiled softly before leaning down to kiss me passionately. i felt so dizzy; no way this was happening to me! i kissed him back just as passionately and wrapped my arms around his neck. he was the best kisser in the world, but his lip piercing was so cold. i moaned softly into the kiss on accident, and he did too. “close your eyes, schatz.” he commanded softly. i did as i was told, and i closed my eyes. i heard him opening the nightstand, rummaging through it, and then finally closing it. “open now,” he said. i looked down at his hands in front of me and saw him holding a condom. even better? it was extra large! i blushed softly and looked up at him. i slowly took off my tank top, revealing my black lace bra and my skull belly button piercing. i looked up at him and smiled as he winked at me. i could feel the blush creeping up on my cheeks. i stood up and hastily unbuttoned my jean shorts, which revealed my smooth, blank panties with dark red lace trim. i bent over the bed, my ass now fully visible to tom. “read it,” i said softly, pointing to the words on the back of my panties.

“ ‘i’m a slut’ “ he read out loud. “good choice of panties… i mean you’re gonna be my slut tonight, right?” he said cheekily. how could someone be so funny yet so seductive? suddenly, i felt his soft fingertips brush my hair away from my back before gently unclasping my bra. no fucking way; i thought. hastily but gently, tom flipped me over onto my back and pulled my bra straps off my shoulders, revealing my perky tits to him. he smiled softly at me before reaching down and squeezing them softly. before i knew it, he was crawling on top of me and sucking my nipples. “mmph..” i moaned softly. “you like that?” he said as he pulled his lips away from my nipple, only to take off his belt and pull it down along with his baggy jeans, revealing his black boxers. this man is seriously so hot, i thought. he pulled off his baggy shirt, which revealed his toned, but slender abs. i immediately sat up and pulled his boxers down. his cock was the biggest i’ve ever seen. i slowly began to suck his cock, also while maintaining eye contact with him. “nngh, y-yes schatz… oh yeah.” he moaned out. it was loud. after a few minutes of sucking him off slowly but surely, he came. in my mouth. i softly gagged but quickly regained my composure and looked up at him. i swallowed it down eagerly as he smiled down at me. “you did really great, you know that? now, time for the main event.” he said huskily. he bent me over the bed, with my ass in the air. i took a deep breath, preparing for what was to come. i heard him rip open the condom wrapper before gasping softly as he slid it onto his rock hard cock. after a moment, he plunged his cock deep inside of me which made me moan loudly. “mmph, that feels so good tom!” i moaned softly. “good girl…” he groaned out with a soft gasp of pleasure. he continued to thrust into me, which made loud squelching wet sounds. i loudly moaned his name over and over again as he increased his pace. i could feel my orgasm coming on. “oh yeah, you’re gonna let me fuck you like a good girl, right?” he moaned out. “yesss…” i groaned out. tom continued moaning and groaning as he thrusted faster into my tight pussy. suddenly, he reached down and began to roughly rub my clit, adding on to the stimulation. i moaned his name loudly as i squirted all over his cock. he groaned and his eyes widened in surprise. that was enough for him, i guess. he came with a loud, husky groan as he came inside of the condom. i collapsed onto my side and looked up at him, only to see him smiling down at me and softly kissing my ass cheek. he pulled off the condom from his cock and threw it in the trash can. “schatz, do you want me to eat your pussy?” he asked softly. holy shit, he just asked if he could eat my pussy. “yes…” i moaned out quietly. he lowered his head down to my dripping wet pussy and gently pushed my thighs apart. i moaned as i felt his soft, wet, warm lips touch my pussy for the first time. he began sucking on my clit while fingering me at the same time. “yeahh…” i moaned out. his lip piercing felt so cold and good on my clit. after a few minutes of him eating and fingering my cunt, i squirted all over his face and also inside his mouth. he let out a soft, muffled moan against my pussy before pulling away and laying down beside me. “sleep with me tonight, okay?” he asked. “sure.” i whispered into his neck. he tied his dreadlocks up into a loose bun at the top of his head before spooning me from behind and turning the lamp off. “you did so good tonight, you know that?” he whispered sweetly into my ear. i nodded softly as he kissed the top of my head, before we both drifted off to sleep. this was the best hookup ever.

[popponn]

notes: soulmate au!isagi is interesting because while i know this boy will treat his soulmate right, getting into a relationship with him is prob 6 manga arcs worth if you are not in soccer world or someone he knew since he was 4. more on this. someday. but he is a soccer maniac and wouldn't give someone false hope. so. for now here, a brainrot product. no warning, just fall harder & down bad yoichi, the usual.

Isagi Yoichi knew and understood the concept of soulmates as well as the next person do. But, he didn’t actually really spent time mulling over it. For someone who spent most of his youth building his career in soccer whilst enjoying every second of it, Yoichi didn’t really put much thought into the name written circling his wrist. He remembered to cover it before every match to avoid unnecessary publications after he went pro, but it was also something that became a mere one time locker room conversation topic before it was never brought up again.

The name in his wrist belonged to a stranger whose path might or might not cross with him. The one who owns that name still had the possibility of not being ‘the one’ for him despite the public's popular belief, said the rational thought he had. Yoichi was neither deluded nor hateful towards his mark, it was simply there, just like his name was probably on someone’s wrist. He was fully ready for a life where he wouldn't know more than their name.

Then, he met you—a coffee shop, Saturday, 13.23 or so his watch said—then, suddenly a year full of your presence and affections passed in a flash.

And when it hit during the celebration party, a part of him started screaming at him the way it usually screams when he felt he lacks practicing in a middle of a match while also winning it. It was almost embarrassing how he realized he had since months ago returned your feelings—some of his friends said "What's with him now?", some said "About time!", and one shouted "Watch where you walk!" when he tripped over them because you were laughing from somewhere across the room. Nonetheless, Yoichi is a happy embarrassing man who thought he might have the best soulmate in the world.

For him who never thought of thanking fate of his soulmate, 264 days after your first official 'couple date' date, when you smiled at him his thought was, “I’m glad you are my soulmate.” He also embarrassingly blurted it out loud in front of his friends. Bachira and Chigiri had a field day on that one. Kunigami at least had the decency to keep in the group chat.

Then another 150 days passed and when he tied your shoelaces on the way home, he looked up to your face and see you gave him your smile. For a moment, he felt like he wasn't crouching to tie your shoes but to propose to you. Yoichi was either bashfully silent or stupidly jumpy for the rest of the day. Thankfully, there was no practice or match that day.

And before he knew it, everyday blurred with the happiness and unhappiness alike. Once Yoichi remembered what sort of sounds your steps made and what embarrassing stories you tried to hid from your middle school years, once he looked at you with promises waiting to be fulfilled and you looked at him like he was everything—Yoichi knew that he really was a lucky one for having this with you.

“Hey, you don’t have to wait for me and sleep here, you know?” Yoichi said to you, who were dozing off on his shoulder. It was midnight and the match he was rewatching in his phone screen was far from ending. As the camera flew towards the audience whilst another kick off was being prepared, Yoichi took the moment to avert his eyes away from the screen and looked at you,

“Hm?” you replied, less than half awake. With whatever strength you had left, you decided to snuggle closer towards him, murmuring, “I know. And…?”

Yoichi had long knew he was smitten since long ago, yet his eyes still couldn’t help but soften at the sight of you—eyes a bit swollen, face scrunched up in drowsiness, and yet it was still you. He looked at you and saw a future, which he wished you would accept once the moment for him to voice it out come. But, at that moment, he simply smiled and nuzzled his head towards yours, “Nothing. Just, lie down, okay? Here, use my lap."

[jocelynscrazyideas]

I NEED MORE QUINN CONTENT

Hurts | Quinn Hughes x Reader🫶

NOT PROOD READ

🚨‼️none of my blurbs are ever proof read‼️🚨

Summary: Quinn gets defensive in his take of having kids, in order to be happy in a successful relationship, you feel that you need to have a partner that values having their own family. Quinn disagrees and decides to focus on his career, which you agreee and support, but you bring up having to split. Quinn makes a decision…

Warnings: physical contact, no abuse, argument if kids?

A:N- Ik you prob meant some smut, but I’m in a mood and I decided to write something else🫶 Quinn smut coming next after a Jack smut!

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

I told myself that I would stand up for myself, I would never let a man tell me what to do. I’m an independent woman, who occasionally lets herself have fun with her boyfriend. It’s difficult trying to fulfill your childhood dreams, but this isn’t a dream. This is a full on goal, I know I can keep up to it, it’s just Quinn makes me want to disrespect myself.

He literally screams out my name, he listens, he helps me understand things that I don’t get, he supports me, and most importantly, he gives me respect, and true loyalty and honesty, he fully trusts me. He would give me anything I want.

“Lovie?” Quinn breaks the silence from our previous argument. He places his hand on my inner thigh. I feel a pulse in my pelvis.

“Hm.” I responded, just letting him know I’m listening, but still upset about our disagreement. Early on in the morning, Wuinn and I disagreed about the love for our jobs and our future together. I wnat kids, he doesn’t. I know, I said he would give me anything that makes me happy. This is one thing he doesn’t agree upon.

Quinn had previously mentioned that kids isn’t in his future, just because he’s so focused on his career. Do I agree with his story? Yes. I understand where he’s coming from, but I’m truly curious when we can have babies.

“I know some people break up from not agreeing in a future family. But that’s not us.” Quinn stated.

I’m disappointed. I really am, I thought he would understand where I’m coming at.

“Well, just saying… when you get the handle of being Captain, maybe we could fit in having a child, or more.” I insist. I know it’s hard, you know being Captain, but after a few years of Captain.

I mean we’re at the perfect age to start considering kids. Mid-20s, that way when our kids are about 10, we’ll be 30, and when they’re 18… well we would be about early late 40s. I think it’s perfectly reasonable to wait a few years to have kids, especially Quinn story.

I’m staring out the window, I know it’s hard for Quinn to feel so left out of my thinking, but I’m truly horrified. I’m scared that this will split us apart. Maybe this is a sign from God. Maybe I’m getting signals by the universe, “this is what’s best for us.” Quinn says as he looks over at me.

Suddenly the trees look so beautiful. Maybe I should just jump out of this car, the ride home is taking to long.

We’re driving home from a party at Peteys house to kick off the season. Our first game is next week and the roster is finalized, the letters are printed on the jerseys. Everything is ready.

“We have to finish this.” Quinn says, not letting this go.

“fine.” I say making it clear I don’t want to finish this “debate” and this so called “problem” of mine. I pull out my phone and call Ellen.

“Hey Mama Bear!” I say, Ellen can’t know that Quinn and I are going through something. This “debate” isn’t just happening, it’s been brought up about four times.

“What’s up Y/n? Something wrong?” Ellen askes, she gets up from her kitchen table and walks into her bedroom, where Jim lays on his computer finishing some work.

She points the camera at them both and Quinn speaks up, “no mom. Nothings wrong, I’m not sure why Y/n keeps calling.” Quinn motions to put the phone down. I obviously don’t do as he says.

“Yes, actually. I’m just wondering-“ I imply, but Quinn cuts me off.

“No. Nothing is wrong.” And he takes my phone and turns off the video call. He chucks the phone in the back. He pulls into the driveway of our home.

“We can fix this ourselves.” Quin eyes my belly. He climbs over the panel that separates my seat and Quinn’s.

“no, I don’t think we can.” I say as I pull away from Quinn’s request to kiss me. I see the look in Quinn’s eyes as he sees my pain.

My voice cracks, I sure I can’t be with someone that doesn’t wnat the life Ive fancied since I was a girl.

“Lovie. Come back.” Quinn slams his car door, and he locks the vehicle. He storms behind me as I run into our bathroom.

“Unlock the door.” Quinn pounds not once but twice and his feet trail off to our garage.

“Unlock it before I wreck it.” Quinn says as he grunts as if he picked something heavy off the ground.

“I don’t want to have makeup sex, or talk about it. Just let me live, or let me think this through. Because Quinn, right now it sounds like you want me to give up my dreams of being a mom.” I know hate is a sin. I just- I’m not sure if I can even think about leaving my childhood goal behind.

“Okay. If that’s what you need, I’ll leave.” And I hear a crack and a boom from above me.

I look up from the ground and I see Quinn has stabbed the door with a hatchet. I didn’t even know we had that in our home.

I stand up from the ground and back up towards our shower. I hit our wall that’s parallel to our wood door.

“I love you.” Quinn says as I see the door bang. The door is about to give up. Quinn runs into the door once more and I see him fall to the ground with our door. I’m stuck inside our shower. Quinn is on the door that had fallen. The wind was knocked iut if him.

“Baby?” I say as I step carefully out of the bathroom and into our room. I grab a first aid kit.

Quinn is bleeding from his head.

“Why did you do it?” I say in a frantic tone. I pick Quinn’s head up and I clean his wound.

“I’m fine. And I want kids.” Quinn says as he smiles.

Quinn gets up and sticks a bandaid on his cut. He takes his pants off and followed by his boxers. He throws his shirt off. He’s bare skinned and he jumps into bed.

I do the same. I throw my shirt off, leaving my bra on, and I slide my jeans off. Taking my thong off and sliding it onto if Quinn’s pile of clothing, I snap my bralette off and I throw it elsewhere. I jump into bed as Quinn hold me. The lights are off, doors are locked. We’re exhausted.

Quinn holds me in his arms, legs wrapped over me. Dick pricked up looking at me. My boobs hang to the side as I’m laying on my side as well. Quinn pulls me in, kisses my shoulder, and he whispers a name.

“Vada.” Quinn kissed my forehead and sets his head in my breasts. He falls asleep, not a care in the world about our broken door that he had slammed down.

This argument is settled, we’re having kids.

[brklnnvv]

𝙰 𝚃𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚏 𝙷𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜

this is the prequel to this matt smith c.ai bot on my account. will probs turn this into a series idk. me on c.ai

cw: fem!reader!singer, mattx reader, age gap. reader will be in her 20s and matt is 35 so if it bothers you this is your warning :)

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

Your pumps echoed through the marble floors of the lux apartment you were staying in. Your hair down your back in light blowout curls, the color of it perfectly complimenting your backless dress. You grabbed your earrings putting them on as your mom talked on facetime.

''I know ma, but I'm really gonna be late.'' you said putting an incredulous amount of your favorite perfume before popping a gum and placing everything in your clutch.

''Alright baby, just show me how you look and I'll hang up.''

You placed the phone down taking steps back to show your mom how you looked. A few compliments and a very repetitive request for you to be careful later, you finally managed to leave the apartment to go outside to the car waiting for you.

The event was months in the planning with you as the main performer. In all truth, it was something you felt proud of. It'd be more of a benefit, celebrities and socialites gathering and rich men donating to charity to feel like they deserved the money they had in their possession, even if it felt uncountable. Yet you'd be the one performing, the face of the charity, making sure you'd donated more than your voice felt good.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

In the mean time, cameras flashed and clicked at the small carpet the led to the entrance of the building, big black cars stopping, celebrities walking out for the paps and the fans, posing, signing and entering. One of them being no other than Matthew Smith. He posed with his hand in his pocket before a little bit of talking and then entering the building.

"I swear flashes in New York are radioactive...'' The man said holding his eyes walking in by his manager, Michael handing him a bottle of water.

''Now, Claire is inside, you'll find her somewhere, and no comments with anyone about the-"

''Yeah, I know, don't worry. How long do we have to stay?''

''Three hours mandatory. and then more if you want to stay so.''

Matt laughed at the last part of Michael's sentence both of them knowing that wouldn't be happening. Mandatory only. Though both men averted their attention at the people outside getting louder at someone's arrival and when they looked back they realized why.

''Diva?''

''Marketing? Yes, haven't heard anything about her being difficult in truth though.'' Michael informed his client on the girl walking the carpet before they turned back around to walk in the main hall.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

You walked out of the car, momentarily keeping your head turned in the car's direction, avoiding the screaming of the paparazzi, who seemed to turn into animals ready to pounce whenever a young woman graced the small carpet. A few deep breaths and a polite smile, waves and signatures, some joking with fans and taking pictures with them before you found refuge behind the doors, hoping for a moment to gather yourself from all the commotion.

You walk in by your assistant blinking repeatedly, your eyes adjusting to the different lightings compared to outside.

''You'll have to talk for a video article by Vogue, Anna also sent you flowers in the room back there, it's like a makeshift backstage from what I was told. And the camera will be primarily on the left side of the stage, so have that in mind.''

''Why the fuck would the camera not be from the front if they'll be tables from left and right and none from the front?''

You and you assistant look at each both of you confused because Carla shrugs.

''You want me to go bitch?''

''No, it's fine, what is it with cameramen and making their lives miserable.''

''It's part of the tortured artist.''

Both of you chuckled walked to the back from the secluded part of the closed off venue. What you had believed to be a lighthearted night, started turning into full on work gigging, the number on your check that you just had to insist on being donated suddenly making sense. Video segments, singing and finally, after two hours of running around, champagne.

You walked around with your glass in your hand as Carla left to use a much needed break in the back for a smoke. You smiled politely at whoever did so, when finally, a face not only familiar, but one you'd talked to in the past.

''Oh my god, thank god you're here, I feel like I've been floating on my own.'' You awkwardly and with a very stressed and dry sense of humor hugged Claire Foy.

''Oh you were incredible up there, the little glance I got you looked good too.'' She laughs lightheartedly.

''They put you on the left tables didn't they?''

''Yes they did, why didn't they film from center front, the whole space was empty...?''

''I know! That's literally what I said!''

Matt and Michael held their own drinks in their hands, looking each other knowing glances from their commentary on you from earlier before Michael cleared his throat and extended his hand using your last name. You shook his hand with a smile.

''Michael Duff, agent, and this-''

''Matt.'' Matt cut Michael off as he looked you with his usual look of smugness as he shook your hand.

''Oh Prince Phillip, right. You did a wonderful job.''

''Thank you, dear.''

There were a few seconds of uncomfortable silence before Carla showed back up slightly flushed, evidently having smoked a little bit of something other than simple cigarettes outside, though of course that would not be a topic of conversation.

The night continued into a sort of uncomfortable silence until you and Carla started roaming the room on your own again. It was wonderful having someone around you at such places always, she was trained to basically be your emotional support therapist best friend that helped you through such situations. And that being said, Carla was a very attentive person, meaning she knew what you were thinking almost always.

''Who?'' She asks sipping her glass of water unbothered as you sat by a bar set up.

''Who what?''

''Who did it for you?'' She said looking at you expectantly, of course she knew. She somehow- miraculously even- always knew when you liked someone.

''Prince Phillip...'' You whispered sipping your drink, trying to look as if you weren't talking about the subject.

''He's 15 years older. Daddy will go bald.'' She chuckled to herself.

''Are you serious?''

''I'm just saying... but if you like him...'' Carla left her words to linger in the air clearly holding info from you. You sat up a little straighter, as if your ears were perking up to locate the noise, which was what she hid behind her words.

''What? What do you know?"

''Michael asked for your number.'' You slouched almost immediately huffing in your glass before the liquid touched your lips. "Michael's gay dummy.'' Carla looked at you amused, allowing you a moment of silence for you to piece the puzzle in your head. You furrowed your brows looking at her, before they raised, sound of the cogs working in your head basically audible. She held her glass towards you, knowing smiles on both your faces before you clang the rims of your glasses together and sipped.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

''So, you got it?'' Michael handed his client a small paper in his hand under the table.

''Hopefully. What will you do?''

Matt pulled a cigarette out of his blazer tapping it on the box before they walked outside for a smoke and leave.

''I don't know..'' he lit the cigarette ''Text her?''

''That'll do it. Oh let me text the international popstar to come over my place for a good shag and the leave.''

''I won't do that.'' Matt said, his tone almost defensive earning a knowing 'cut the bullshit' look from Michael. ''I'll ask her for some coffee, she'll be in London working you heard her. She'll need someone to show her around.''

''Her team will.''

''Only a proper Englishman can show around Blighty properly.''

''Your ego is larger than you, you know that.''

''That's why I get the ladies Michael. I believe in me and they do too.''

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

[brighter-by-the-daly]

Prompts

Updated: 24/01/23

Here you will find any prompts that have been sent to me. I do not accept requests but I love prompts/ideas/brain storming together and if I like your idea you will find it here. This isn’t a guarantee that it will be written and you’re more than welcome to send your prompt to other people because idk when my brain will want to cooperate with writing these, which is exactly why I don’t take requests; prompts and ideas are a lot less daunting to me 🫶

Rachel daly x Reader ~ angst to fluff where they have an argument and they are both screaming and rachel says something that takes it too far but then a few days later Rachel apologises - @wosoobsessed

Rachel Daly x Reader ~ girlfriend Rach is finally done with her bullshit and is ready to let herself love someone and its for keeps - @hernightsky (in progress - Can’t Keep Up)

Millie x Reader ~ Autistic reader who’s special interest is photographing womans football, Millie notices reader at matches and training and tries to talk to her - @kayls93

Anons

Rachel x Reader ~ Could you do one where we are really like tough and dont show emotions or really smile but we are soft for rachel and the lionesses realise that and start to question it

Add on from @woso-scotland ~ R could be a boxer, and they either meet while Rach is at Houston or at Villa through someone like Ruesha on a team game night.

Millie Bright x Reader ~ I hate conflict so much but I’d be getting into fights just for Mills to protect me 😂

Millie Bright x Rachel Daly x Reader ~ Rach and Millie being separated in a meeting for talking and being too loud (in progress - Odd One Out)

Millie Bright x Reader ~ We need possessive Millie with golden retriever gf 🫶🏻

Rachel Daly x Reader ~ You meet while walking your dogs every morning (in progress)

Sequels

These are sequels that have been requested by readers, I encourage anyone with ideas of how to continue these stories to send them to me otherwise they probs won’t get written 😘

Lucy Bronze - Camera Doesn’t Lie

Maybe they embark on a secret relationship and it’s all fun and games keeping the secret until Lucy gets super jealous and decides she needs to officially stake her claim! - @lostintimeandmusic

Millie Bright - Big Mouth

Lauren Hemp - Crazy for You

Millie Bright - Around if you Need Me

My Ideas

Somewhere to store the ideas I’ve had but are yet to come into fruition ~ feel free to message if you have any further ideas for these!

Reader’s ex calls to ask for free match tickets and is really rude on the phone, overheard by Mills/Rach/Leah who immediately go into protection mode and puts them in their place (in progress - X)

Another player coming on to Rach at a party right in front of reader

Rach x Reader series add on of ‘where are they now’ short stories (in progress)

Your gf won’t buy you a giant squishmallow but someone surprises you (in progress - Cheat You Better)

Beth McCarthy song series addition with her new song ‘idk how to talk to girls’ with ✨someone✨ I haven’t written for yet, maybe Jess Carter or Georgia Stanway 🤷🏻‍♀️

Erin Cuthburt fic because this site needs more Erin - ideas welcome!

Collection of New Years blurbs

Falling in love with Ruesha

[god-has-entered-my-body]

𝙻𝚎𝚗𝚊'𝚜 𝚍𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚖 𝚕𝚘𝚐: 𝚒 𝚐𝚎𝚝 𝚔𝚒𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚍 𝙰𝙽𝙳 𝚒 𝚔𝚒𝚜𝚜 𝚝𝚛𝚘𝚢𝚎 𝚜𝚒𝚟𝚊𝚗

second instalment (tw: death and violence)

Right so i'm basically just in my house ad i leave for some reason? I walk down this little road and suddenly i see my (extremely religious) next door neighbors on this weird car platform thing but its driving nonetheless.

She litch just starts charging at me screaming about faith and god and how i'm going to hell and she's like two feet behind me when i leg it back into my house and NOW she's got a full gun but my windows are semi-bulletproof so im okay (literally like. okay queen pleek calm DOWN)

I'm like genuinely fearful for my life and this absolute CUNT breaks into my room and just shoots me in the face and like. fully kills me for some reason but thats okay whatever. I'm still watching this unfold from a weird third person perspective and she starts praying over my body and its super like. uhm. okay whatever moving on

Then im just randomly in an airport yay im wearing green and jeans which i vividly remember and also on the phone with my partner? At some point we board but we don't actually we kind of go down this massive ramp onto a field thing that reminds me of Rock am Ring? Whatever so i'm just walking with my (empty) suitcase and around the corner of this weird tent thing that's also a food shop i see a few people just standing around.

This is when said previously mentioned weird tent thing turns into a festival stage and i recognise none other than troye sivan in his slutty little black top he always wears (i don't even listen to troye i just think he's fit).

So i see him and obviously i'm like let me get a picture with this absolute specimen to show to the little people in my phone (you lot) and i go up to him only to be literally thrown back by some security guy who looked a lot like tim healy but we don't talk about that. I make it to troye and he's being a bit of a cunt but i ignore it because he's prob nervous to perform or something.

We take the pictures and the flash is really dizzying for some reason and i turn to hug him goodbye and he's just like "okay now giz a smooch for the camera" and i DO and it felt weird because his hair was in my face and also the camera is STILL going off but im happy nonetheless.

To understand the vividity of this dream i need to mention that when i woke up, first i checked my pulse to see i was alive and second i flicked through my camera roll fully expecting to see me and troye sivan making out.

i need to start doing these more they get weird and i feel like i should MAYBE get this checked out because i'm still semi convinced the first bit was real and i'm just dreaming writing this which is only a bit freakish

[all-the-things-2020]

Late Night Talking - Chapter Ten

Summary: The aftermath of the movie premiere.

Word Count: 3150+

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: mentions of parent death, issues with body image

Tag list: @rhoorl @avastrasposts @readingiskeepingmegoing @runningmom94 @gwendibleywrites

We slept late the next morning. It was after nine when I crawled out of bed to use the bathroom. Dieter was still passed out cold, lying face down with his face crammed into a pillow, his bare ass poking out from under the covers. I took a look at myself in the mirror and wished I hadn’t. My hair was sticking up in all directions and there were bags under my eyes. It was a far cry from my red carpet look.

I decided to take a shower and start over with my hair, rather than try to tame it the way it was. When I got out, I slipped into a pair of leggings and a t-shirt, deciding to forgo a bra, at least for the time being. It was going to be a lazy day, after all.

Dieter was still asleep. I leaned over the bed to cover him up and he grunted. “Why are you so obsessed with my butt?,” he mumbled.

”I’m not obsessed with your butt,” I told him. “I just didn’t want it to catch cold.” I tucked the comforter around him and patted his bottom. “Go back to sleep, Deet. You’ve earned it.”

”What time?”

”Doesn’t matter. Go to sleep.”

He didn’t argue with me. I knew the press junket had been stressful and tiring. He deserved to get some rest. 

I found my purse in the living room and pulled out my phone. I’d managed to remember to turn it off last night, so the battery was still at 65% when I powered it on. All my apps were lit up with notifications, but I went first to my texts. 

SAM: You look GORGEOUS!!!!

ME: Aw, thanks. It’s all thanks to the stylists. Did my hair and makeup and everything. Felt like a giant Barbie doll. LOL

It was close to midday back East, so I knew she was probably at work and wouldn’t respond right away, so I jumped over to Instagram. I followed the studio’s page and I knew they would have posted photos from last night. 

There were several pics from the red carpet, including one of me and Dieter. It was weird seeing myself all glammed up, standing beside him as he posed effortlessly for the camera. I could see that I was a bit stiff and awkward, despite the elegant dress and high heels. Still, I looked nice. Not bad for a first time, I thought. Then I started reading the comments.

She’s OLD.

Come on, girl, at least dye that gray hair. Woof.

Thought Bravo had better taste than that. 

Def a publicity stunt. Prob trying to hide that he’s gay AF.

If they think we’ll fall for that, he needs a new publicist. Lots of actresses they could have hired to help his image. Barf.

I think she looks nice. For a middle aged woman. 

There were positive comments, of course, many of them, but my eye went right to the negative ones. After all, most of the positive comments were simple heart emojis or “they look so cute” or other generic messages. The negative ones were more pointed.

I closed Instagram. Twitter would be even worse — there were so many trolls on there that I hardly ever posted anything anymore. Maybe tumblr would be kinder. I was wrong.

There were several posts under the hashtag “dieter bravo” that displayed one of the Getty photos from the night before and had commentary along the lines of “I’m glad he’s so happy” and “Aww, they made it red carpet official” but there was also lots that claimed to be insanely jealous of me for being beside him.

Oof, not to be that girl, but I could pull off a red carpet look better than that, just saying.

Not sure what he sees in her, but you do you, Dieter.

He looks AMAZING as always. Wish she’d worn something better.

She looks like she doesn’t want to be there. I’m sure it’s overwhelming and all but at least look happy to be next to him. I’d kill to be on the red carpet with him.

Ugh, I hate her, lol. Seriously, does anyone else think he’ll be back on the market soon? She is so not his type. Dieter fucking Bravo is a party boi.

I could feel tears stinging at the back of my eyes. It was silly — I knew they were making the comments out of jealousy or sheer assholery — but it was like being teased or excluded on the playground in elementary school. It still hurt.

Fortunately, my phone pinged with an incoming text.

SAM: Those stylists couldn’t have done it without something amazing to start with — YOU! I am so proud of you, chickie! You rocked that red carpet. And Dieter 🥵Don’t know how you manage to survive around him without spontaneously combusting. Dude is HOT.

ME: You don’t know how badly I needed that, chickie! Been looking at comments on social and people are brutal.

SAM: Fuck them. I’ve been bragging on you all day. Everyone thinks you look fabulous. Trolls gonna troll.

I smiled. Leave it to Sam to cheer me up. Then another text came in, this time from Simone.

SIMONE: Girl! You were on fire 🔥 last night. Your pic is all over campus. Kids are all planning to go see the movie with Miss Emily’s boyfriend this weekend. Eileen had such a sourpuss when I saw her, lol. 

ME: Thanks! Been seeing some haters online so glad the kiddos got my back. And I’m ROTFL over Eileen 🤣

SIMONE: One of my kids was IRATE over some of the stuff people were saying about you. She was going OFF! I didn’t even know she knew where the library was, lol. If a 15yo can see through their b.s., so can you.

“Hey.” Dieter came stumbling out of the bedroom with his hair sticking straight up and one hand in his boxer shorts scratching his ass. If only the fans could see him now!

”Hey yourself,” I said. “You need coffee?”

He nodded as he shuffled toward the kitchen island. “I got it,” he said. “You looking at photos from last night?”

”I was, but people are mean. Then I got a couple of texts that cheered me up.”

”People are fucking assholes online,” he said as he dumped water and coffee grounds into the machine. He slopped water onto the counter but didn’t wipe it up. He was messier than usual when he was only half awake. “First thing Carmen told me when she signed on was never read the comments.”

While the coffee was brewing, he fished his phone out of his pants, which were draped over one of the dining room chairs. He slumped onto a stool at the island and started swiping. “You looked so good last night,” he said. Then he yawned and scratched his head. “Anyone who says different has their head up their own ass or is just jealous. Or both.” 

The scent of coffee wafted through the air and a shaft of sunlight lanced through a gap in the vertical blinds. The kitchen was illuminated with golden light and Dieter’s hair became a halo of fire around his head, just for a second. Who gives a fuck what Prissy McDickface on Instragram thinks? I’m the one here with Dieter, watching him smile at pictures of us while he’s waiting for his coffee. And if Dieter could smile before his first infusion of caffeine of the day, I knew he was truly happy. Because of me.

*******************************************

The movie was a hit. It was number one at the box office that weekend, and Dieter spent most of Saturday afternoon fielding phone calls and texts from Carmen and his agent. He looked every inch a Hollywood star as he sat on a lounge chair beside the pool with his Ray-Ban sunglasses on and his phone up to his ear. 

“Yeah, set it up,” he said. “Can’t hurt to meet with them.” He looked at me over the tops of his shades and winked.

”Shit, I can’t believe all this,” he said when he’d hung up. “Carmen has ten journalists lined up to interview me. And half of them are from legit outlets, not just bloggers.” He laughed. “Who knew a twenty minute part would get so much attention?”

We had skimmed some of the reviews online and most of them had been positive. Many of them mentioned Dieter’s performance as one of the highlights of the film; several had used the phrase “Bravo’s back.”  

“And David has two meetings booked with producers this week,” Dieter continued. “I don’t want to get ahead of myself but this might be the thing to get the ball rolling again.”

“I hope so,” I said. I knew that Dieter really wanted to get back to the level he’d enjoyed earlier in his career, where he was taken seriously as an actor. He’d taken just about any part the last few years, just to keep the money flowing but while movies like Cliff Beasts might be popular with fans they weren’t taken seriously by critics. And he admitted he’d been phoning it in before he’d gone to rehab. This film was the first project he’d worked on since and apparently he’s done a very good job. 

“Just don’t get too famous and forget about the little people like me,” I added.

“I will never forget about you,” he said seriously. “And you are definitely not one of the ‘little people’ in my life. You’re huge, baby.”

“Yeah, that’s what some of the trolls online are saying,” I joked.

“Fuck them. I’ve been with skinny women and it’s like hugging a skeleton. You’re real, Em. Nothing fake about you. Which is one of the many, many reasons that I love you.”

******************************************

We had finally finished off the leftover Chinese food, so we decided to go out for dinner Saturday night. Nothing fancy, just a little hole in the wall Mexican place that Dieter was fond of, and not just because the food was good. The owners were very protective of his privacy and didn’t laugh at his clumsy attempts at Spanish. His father’s parents had been born in Ecuador, and he still had some distant cousins in South America, but Dieter and his family had only ever spoke English.

”My dad can get by pretty well,” he’d explained to me once. “He does business with one of his cousins who lives in Buenos Aires, and he sometimes visits his aunt in Santiago, but Freddy and I never learned. Hell, I took French in high school just to fuck with everyone. Freddy took German, of course.”

Although they’d come from Ecuador, Dieter’s grandparents were descended from German and Italian immigrants. “My dad’s grandpa Antonio Bravo married one of the Diefenbach girls,” Dieter had explained. “Huge Romeo and Juliet vibes there. The two families were rivals in the button business.”

My own skill in Spanish was limited to the Spanglish I’d picked up by osmosis from living in Southern California (like Dieter, I’d take French in school, because I thought it sounded fancy). But everyone at Ramon’s was friendly and very patient with our attempts to do more than just ask for what was on the menu.

”Buenos noches,” our waiter said as we sat down at our table, tucked away in the back. ”El jefe said you get free margaritas because the movie is doing so well.”

”Gracias,” said Dieter. “Um, dos platos de empanadas, por favor. Y los margaritas.”

”Muy bien! And my sister in law saw the movie last night. She said tell you she really liked it if I saw you.”

”Tell her thanks, man,” Dieter had exhausted his capacity for Spanish already. He was still running on fumes from the press junket. I could see it in his eyes.

After a delicious dinner of empanadas and enchiladas — not to mention two extremely generous margaritas — we went back to Dieter’s place and collapsed on the couch.

”If I went there too often, I’d gain thirty pounds,” Dieter said, unbuttoning his pants. 

“The food is amazing,” I agreed, glad I was wearing stretchy pants. “You want to put a movie on before we succumb to the food coma?”

”You read my mind.” He grabbed the remote off the coffee table. We were only about twenty minutes into Jurassic Park when I felt his head slump onto my shoulder. He was out. I maneuvered him into a more comfortable position so he wouldn’t wake up with a stiff neck. I never saw the end of the movie. I was tired, too.

**************************************************************

We lay in bed, both of us wide awake at two a.m. after our nap on the couch. “Whatcha thinking about?” Dieter asked, his hand idly playing with my hair.

”Not much. Just feeling cozy. How about you?”

”I’m thinking how I could get used to this,” he said. “Dinner, falling asleep on the couch, lying in bed talking about stuff … I wish you didn’t have to go back home tomorrow.” He kissed my forehead. “You know you can move in any time you want.”

”It’s tempting but it would be a hell of a commute.” 

“Quit your job. Get a new one. There are plenty of schools. You’d still be in the same union, right? Still get your pension?”

I rolled onto my back. “Deet, it’s not that easy. There aren’t all that many school library positions out there and they pay well enough that people don’t leave. Or they’re part-time at elementary schools. And other positions … yeah, I could do other stuff, but your retirement is based off of your final two years salary. If I took a pay cut, I’d get less so I’d have to work longer.”

“Jeez, you sound like my dad and Freddy. ‘Be practical, Deiter. Plan ahead, Dieter. Invest wisely, Dieter’,” he grumbled.

”I have to be,” I said. “I only have myself to rely on. You know my parents didn’t leave me anything.”

Dieter sighed. “You aren’t alone, Em. You have me.”

”For now,” I said. “I want to believe this is forever, Deet, I really do, but I just can’t jump off the cliff yet.” I sat up, hugging my knees. “I know you think I’m being too cautious, and I know it probably hurts you to hear me say stuff like ‘for now’ when you want to hear ‘forever’ but …”

He sat up and put his arm around me. “I get it,” he said quietly. “I get you. And you’re probably right. I’m too much like my mom. I need you to balance me out.”

”You don’t talk about her much,” I prompted. I knew she had passed away not long after he’d won his Oscar, but that was public knowledge.

He scrubbed a hand over his face. “Yeah, I’m still working through some shit in therapy,” he said. “My mom … she was an artist. Painting, sculpture, stuff like that. And that was the love of her life. Art. Creating. And once she created something, she moved on. She wasn’t interested anymore once a piece was done.”

I kissed his shoulder. “You don’t have to talk about her if you don’t want to,” I said. 

“When she and Dad got divorced, she moved to New York City,” he said. “That’s why I went there for college. But about two months after I got there, she moved to Europe. So I went there after I graduated. She was in Italy, so I went to Milan. Then she moved to Madrid, then Stockholm — god, Stockholm was so freaking cold — and then I got tired of following her and came to L.A.” He laid his head on my shoulder. “I was going to visit her in Switzerland after I won the Oscar. She’d actually called me and said she was proud of me. But I had a movie to do first and … it was a car accident in the Alps. She and her latest guy were on their way to Venice and a dude in a Maserati blew a turn and crashed into them.”

”Oh, Deet, I’m so sorry,” My own parents had been ill before they passed, so I’d had some warning, at least. 

He shook his head. “Hey, we’re supposed to be celebrating this weekend, not confessing our darkest moments. So let’s talk about something happy. Like my bank account after the movie earns out and I start getting some checks. We should go somewhere. Romantic getaway.”

”I do have a week off for Thanksgiving,” I said. My aunt always invited me up to her place for Thanksgiving and I always declined and ended up at some friend or co-worker’s Thanksgiving dinner. It was not my favorite holiday.

”Hey, see, making plans for the future.” He nudged me with his shoulder.

”It’s like two months away,” I reminded him. “Not that far in the future.”

”Baby steps, Em. Baby steps.” Then he kissed me and we stopped talking for a while.

******************************************

As I was driving home on Sunday afternoon, my phone rang. I usually don't like to use the Bluetooth, because it distracts me from the road, but I recognized the number. It was Sam.

”Hey, Sam, what’s up?” She rarely called; we both preferred to text. Our grown up version of passing notes in class.

“Just checking that you’re still alive after spending three whole days with Dieter,” she said. Her tone was joking, so I knew nothing serious had prompted the call. “Really, I just wanted to hear your voice. I saw the movie and it just doesn’t seem real that you and Dieter are … I mean, it sounds stupid, but I had to make sure you were still you.”

”I get it,” I said. “Hey, I’m on the freeway right now. Can I call you back when I get home? We can have a good talk. I’ll tell you all about the dress and the red carpet and … maybe you can give me some advice?”

”You better not be thinking of breaking up with him, Em. He’s the best thing that’s happened to you in a long time.”

”No, no, kind of the opposite. Shit, use your signal, you asshole! Sorry, some dude in a Tesla just cut me off. I’ve got to hang up. Talk to you when I get home, chickie.”

”Stay safe, chickie.”

I ended the call and tried to concentrate on the traffic. It was an incredibly long and tedious drive to make every day. There was no way I could keep my job and be with Dieter more than just on the weekends. And I would be foolish to quit for a guy I’d only known for a few months. Right? 

I shoved the thought to the back of my mind. Sam would help me figure it all out. She always did. 

[sk8termikey]

Chapter 9 of 21 Questions

better interface on wattpad

Lily loml🌻

Bro

The triplets 1st podcast is today

I’m so excited

It seemed awesome already from the trailer last week

I knooow

Kinda mad if it's every monday bc it’s my closing day

Sucks to be you

I love my day off even more now💃🏻💃🏻

Jk i’ll wait for you to watch it tonight like you do for the other vids

Thanks bestie😞

<33

Also the fact they’re gonna have guests is really cool

I really can’t wait to watch the first one

I know they probs have a few episodes recorded

But i hope it won’t be too much work for them now

Ye

3 vids a week

Esp nick who has to edit

Nick our king >>

Fact

Btw i might be home a bit earlier bc the café is kinda dead rn

Just the old couple that comes weekly and they’re almost done

So you won't wait much for me to watch the podcast

Yayy

The one together for 50 years?

I love those old ladies, they’re so cute

Fr and they always leave a huge tip

We don’t deserve them😞

Anyways see you in an hour or so ig

See you soon🫶🏻

When Alex put her phone back in her pocket, the “old ladies” as described by Lily were getting ready to leave. When they reached the counter, they both gave the blonde a sweet smile as one of them pulled out a bill from her wallet.

“The chocolate cake was delicious as always, but did you guys change anything?” One of the ladies asked.

“Yeah Lily did!” Alex knew that her friend would be excited to know that someone had noticed. “She tried adding some chocolate shavings before putting the cake in the oven.”

“Now I’m going to have a hard time deciding which one I like most, but it was as good as the usual recipe. You'll tell her that it reminds me of how my mum would make it”.

Alex couldn’t help the smile growing on her face. The couple had never once been rude to her and her other coworkers when they would come. Lily was always glad when they would compliment her food and it helped improve her self-confidence as chocolate desserts were basically the only thing Lily had mastered. Alex was really happy that she would be able to pass on the message to her friend.

Alex was finally able to close the café after the happy couple left and because the day had been a slow one, she had had time to clean little by little so that she didn’t have much left to do now.

~~~

When Alex arrived home, Lily was waiting for her on the couch. The TV was already set up on the Cut the Camera YouTube channel and some snacks were waiting for the two girls on the table. Alex told Lily to start the podcast as she would just be grabbing a can of Dr. Pepper in the fridge. As Lily did so and clicked on the video, the first out of many “Good morning Campers” from Nick Sturniolo could be heard in the house.

The podcast first started with Nick, Matt and Chris talking about looking alike, which is something that never bothered them much as they know that their viewers are easily able to differentiate them – even Lily could do it without problem by now.

As they then mentioned the fact that some pairs of best friends sometimes looked more alike than them, Lily and Alex exchanged a quick glance before laughing. Even though they had been friends since middle school, they had barely anything in common regarding their physical appearance.

The podcast kept dwelling on growing up as triplets, regarding the impact it could have on their friends but also the annoying comments they would always get from people. However, as they were mostly talking about the negative outcomes, they decided to start listing the positive aspects of growing up with two other people. Nick, Matt and Chris all agreed that being a triplet was the same as having built-in friends who were here for you at all times.

A couple of minutes later, Chris highlighted the support he always felt from his brothers and that the three of them being on the same page is something they all feel lucky about.

Then, as the topic of constant comparison was being tackled, Lily and Alex were quietly listening. The two girls felt very close to the triplets in the way that they were learning about their struggles. Them being so open about it was an opportunity to understand how the Life as Triplets was. What hit the hardest was the moment when Matt summarised the small conversation by explaining that no matter if it's about similarities or differences, people still find a way to compare them.

The podcast eventually finished on a more light-hearted tone as Nick, Matt and Chris were laughing about their high school experience when someone would meet one of them without knowing that they were a triplet. This would lead to them pretending to be one another just for a two seconds conversation in the hallways – and then at the end of the day, debriefing who came up to talk to each of them.

“I just loved it so much, oh my god!” Alex exclaimed as the video ended.

“Me too, like– I absolutely adore the Wednesday and Friday videos but this type of content is so refreshing I don't know”, Lily agreed with her friend. “I feel closer to them, make it make sense I guess”.

“I get you don’t worry, I know we’re gonna have another perspective of their lives and they’re gonna enjoy giving it to us as much as we’re gonna enjoy learning about it.”

“Exactly like…” Lily thought for a few seconds, “an inside point of view of not only the Sturniolo Triplets but simply Nick, Matt and Chris as people, just individuals. This is what they're trying to make people realise, they're not only triplets – even though that's a bit of their brand I guess – but they are also their own person.”

The two girls were just really excited to see more of this new project from the triplets, although Alex had to share some semi bad news:

“However, I have no idea if I’ll have the motivation to watch an hour of podcast every Monday when I come home from work”.

“Oh yeah, I understand”. Lily put a comforting hand on Alex’s shoulder while trying to find a solution. “Just pick a day and we’ll catch up at that time!”

“I mean, I might not even watch it weekly if I’m honest so– I won’t mind and it might actually be best that you watch them whenever you want like when they come out if that’s what you prefer and I’ll postpone my ‘watch podcast sessions’ until I have enough attention span to listen to them for a whole hour”, Alex explained.

“If that’s okay with you yeah I’m fine with that”, Lily let out a smile. “We’ll still have to discuss it obviously”.

“Of course”, Alex immediately agreed. “Lots of new info we’ll have to talk about!”

What they didn’t know yet is that watching the next podcasts on their own would finally enable Lily to choose her favourite triplet as she would realise that one of them might be a bit too relatable for her taste, and maybe a tiny bit too attractive on camera.

Thank you for reading. Votes and comments are always appreciated if you like this story :) The story is co-written w @/little_grapejuice on wattpad

[megan-loves-surveys]

Yo.

Do you know anybody who is ambidextrous? Not that I know of.

Have you ever been 4-wheeling? No.

What’s the weather been like today? So far, it's a mixed bag - it's rained, but it's also been sunny. I'm hoping that rains goes away altogether before I have to go out.

What was the last exam you sat for? One for uni.

Will you be attending any weddings in the near future? Not that I'm aware of.

Do you currently have any unread text messages, and who from? No.

Speaking of text messages, what colour is your cell phone? Red.

Do you live anywhere near the woods? We don't really have 'woods' so to speak.

Would you ever consider a career in the tourism industry? Maybe? I did take Tourism at school haha.

Do you have any important anniversaries you celebrate? Oh yeah. My boyfriend and I's anniversary is in June, and I always celebrate Shield related anniversaries - like their debut and when Seth turned on them etc.

When was the last time you used q-tips? Dunno.

How does your hair react to humid weather or rain? It goes all weird and big haha.

What’s your favourite flavour of iced tea? Don't drink it.

Do you understand music theory? No.

How many hours of sleep did you get last night? 6 hours and 40 mins according to my FitBit.

Are you expected to act professionally at your job? Yes, cos I work in an office. But we're more casual with the clients we deal with a lot.

Infomercials: entertaining or stupid? Stupid.

What’s your favourite brand of energy drink? Red Bull and V are both good.

Do you have (or have you ever had) acne? Oh yeah.

When was the last time you got pins-and-needles? The other day.

Why did you click to take this survey? Cos I miss Bzoink and I just like taking them.

If you have glasses, have you ever smashed them? No, thank god lol.

How do you get new music? Buy or download or what? I use Spotify.

Have you ever sent someone an abusive text message? No?

Do you require a lot of time to do things or are you quick? Depends what it is. If it's typing or something like that, I'm super fast.

What will be the next concert you attend? I'm seeing Five tonight!!!!! <3

Turn the nearest television on, what’s on? I don't want to turn it on cos my Mum's still in bed.

How often do you “wake up on the wrong side of the bed”? Not that often, I'm usually fine once I actually get up and get moving.

Can you rap? No xD

What do you usually order when you’re at McDonald’s? Chicken nuggets, I don't like their burgers cos they cook onions in the patties now. Blegh.

Are there any textbooks near where you are right now? No.

What’s the time? 11:19am.

Do you know how to use a DSLR camera? No.

How’s your body temperature right now? My FitBit says my body temp was down 1C last night, so that's good.

Do you use Celsius or Fahrenheit? Celsius.

What was the last thing you got a really good deal on? Converse, pair was worth $160, I got them for 100.

Have you ever studied any ancient societies? No.

Do you like to wear long, dangling earrings? My ears aren't even pierced, lol.

What was the last reason you took medicine? Migraine.

Do you exercise regularly? Yep, I go to the gym 3 times a week and walk a lot in general.

What is your coffee of choice? (flat white, cappuccino, etc.) Mocha.

Do you pay any attention to your country’s politics? I keep a general eye on it, but I don't really like talking about it.

Are you feeling worried about anything right now? Not really.

Are you a gossipy type of person? I like to read gossip xD

When will your next meal be, and do you know what it will consist of? Lunch, prob a sandwich or crackers.

Tell me about the sickest you’ve ever felt. 2019 - it was the flu and it was so awful.

What’s your opinion on your in-laws, if you have any? Both of my boyfriend's parents have passed away, so that isn't a thing I have to deal with.

Do you make excuses often, or do you just get things done? Depends.

Have you seen your best friend today? No, I'll see her on Thursday at the gym probably.

What can you smell right now? Nothing in particular.

Any important birthdays coming up? Not really soon, but my boyfriend's is the next one.

Fireworks: yay or nay? Yay for proper organized displays, nay for personal use, waste of money.

Do you have any plans for the rest of the day? Yep, going to a concert tonight and meeting the band too <3

How about tomorrow? Any plans? I'm working. Yay...

Do you know how to do your own laundry or does someone else do it? My Mum does it, but I can do it too.

If you could eat or drink anything right now, what would it be? I'm fine for now, lunch is in about an hour.

What colour are your headphones? White, cos I have Airpods.

Think of the last long car trip you had, where did you go? Hmm... Helensville for the APW show? We left Auckland, it was that far away.

Do you have a Twitter account that you use regularly? I have one, but I haven't tweeted since 2022 lol.

Have you ever seen a horseshoe crab? They’re scary, right?! No.

What was the last movie you saw at the theatres? Bob's Burgers Movie lol, in 2022.

Are there any new movies that you’d really like to see? No.

If you could play one instrument flawlessly, what would it be? Guitar.

Do you overthink a lot of things? I can do.

Is there anybody you miss but can’t see again? Yes.

When was the last time you had a hangover? I don't really get hungover.

Do you remember much from high school? Loads.

Where would you go for the ultimate honeymoon? I don't want to get married, but if I did... I'd love to go to Japan or the USA.

Can you access the roof of the building you live in? No.

Do you know anyone who has a strong accent that is hard to understand? Not personally, but I do deal with people with thick accents at work on occasion. The best was this guy with a super strong Scottish accent, I could barely understand him but he sounded so nice haha.

If you had to get a tattoo tomorrow, what would you get? Mox's logo.

What was the last podcast you listened to? Do you listen to it regularly? I don't listen to them.

Are you more of an optimist or a pessimist, and why do you think this is? Optimist.

When was the last time you moved houses? 2016.

Have you ever held a gun? Did you fire it? No.

Do you like simple questions or deep questions that make you think? Depends.

How long have you been using Bzoink? I had it since 2009. Shame it's gone :(

When was the last time you threw up? Why were you sick? Dunno tbh.

Are you on a first-name basis with your boss? (or last boss if unemployed) I call him by his last name at work, but on the occasion we've all gone out for a drink, I call him Oliver xD

What brand is your laptop or computer? MSI.

Would you ever wear a bright orange shirt? Maybe. Would clash horribly with my hair though xD

What was the last thing you wrote in a word document? Something at work yesterday.

Who do you miss and what do you miss about them? Hmm.

What were the best and worst costumes you’ve ever worn? I don't really do costumes, but for Halloween last year my boyfriend and I went to his work Halloween party, the theme was uniforms xD I dressed as a schoolgirl haha.

Do you know anybody who is gay and married? Not personally.

What did you last take painkillers for? Migraine.

Are there any hobbies you want to get back into? Hmm, not really.

Have you ever shared a home with a friend? No.

What’s the craziest or weirdest place you’ve ever slept? A kitchen floor of a scout hall after a 21st birthday party LOL.

What did you have for lunch today and who made it? I haven't had lunch yet.

Do you believe in anything supernatural like ghosts or ghouls? Nah.

How many hours of sleep did you get last night? 6 hours and 40 mins.

Are you allergic to anything? How did you find out? Yep - some antibiotics, parmesan cheese, plums, all berries except strawberries and nickel.

What’s your favourite Thai dish? Dunno.

Do you have any alarms set? What time and what for? Not today, but I will have one set for tomorrow cos I'm working.

What are you going to do when this survey is over? Do another one.

Have you ever been on a date with someone you met online? How was it? Yes, it was fine, we went out for a few months.

What colour is the rug in your living area? We don't have one.

Do you call it a couch, sofa, lounge or something else entirely? Couch.

Who is your favourite character on Friends? Always and forever will be Chandler. RIP Matthew Perry. Runner up is Rachel.

When was the last time you used a pair of headphones and what for? I used my Airpods yesterday on my commute to work.

Describe the temperature of the area you’re in right now. It's actually a bit chilly, it's 18C, when it's usually in the mid 20s by now.

Who was the last very physically attractive person you saw? Jon Moxley, in a photo xD In person, my boyfriend <3

Have you ever had teppanyaki? Dunno.

How long does it take you to get ready before you go somewhere? Usually around 15 mins or so.

Do you find it difficult to get rid of material possessions? Yes.

What sort of games do you like to play? Pokemon, adventure games, strategy games, visual novels etc.

What was the last candy you ate? Good question tbh.

Have you ever been hit in the face? What’s the story? No.

Do you know anyone who is deaf? Yep.

Name one thing on your bucket list. Attend a Royal Rumble.

1 - When was the last time it snowed where you live? Do you like snowy weather or is it just a pain? It doesn't snow in my city, it's far too warm.

2 - Are you expecting any parcels in the mail right now? Not at the moment, surprisingly xD

3 - How long is it until your birthday? Do you have any plans for the day? It's not for almost five months (thank god).

4 - What was the last thing you had to drink? Water.

5 - Do you need to do any laundry right now? No, we did laundry yesterday.

6 - Who was the last person you got a notification from on social media? Is this person a close friend of yours? Lynnette, and she's my stepmum!

7 - Do you regularly buy things on credit? If so, how much do you owe on credit cards right now? I don't have a credit card, only a debit card.

8 - When was the last time you got a call from an unknown number? Did you answer or call them back? I don't answer unknown numbers. You want me to talk to you, reveal your number lol.

9 - When was the last time you got off work early? What was the reason and did you do anything fun with your extra free time? Last week when I was on data entry and finished up everything on my list, my boss told me I could leave an hour early, which ruled. I went to the gym and got it done earlier than normal.

10 - What do you typically eat for Christmas Dinner? Are you the one who cooks or does a family member do the cooking? My Mum cooks, and we usually have ham, chicken, roast potatoes, salad, cheese, pineapple, eggs and bread rolls, then for dessert a cheesecake or pie.

11 - What time did you wake up this morning? Did you get out of bed right away? 9am or so, and I got up to pee lol then went back to bed for a bit.

12 - Do you have any plans for the weekend? Are these plans typical for a weekend or are you doing something different? I'm going to a wrestling show with a bunch of people. I go to shows quite frequently, so this is normal lol.

13 - Would you like to work a job that involves going in and out of other people’s homes all day? (Like care work, painter, decorated etc.) No thanks. The office is fine lol.

.14 - When was the last time you had an injury? Was it a minor cut/scrape or something more serious? What happened? I hurt my hip last year while working out, I had to cut back on my workouts for a few weeks to let it heal.

15 - Do you ever watch movies or TV shows that require you to read subtitles? Oh yeah.

16 - What accents are your favourite? Scottish is the best!!! Also Irish is nice too.

17 - How many people have you texted today? Are these people friends, family members or something else? Just my boyfriend so far.

18 - Are you any good at DIY? What was the last DIY project you finished? Not my thing.

19 - When was the last time you had a haircut? When was the last time you dyed your hair (if you ever have)? I don't cut my hair lol. I dye it loads though - last time was in December cos it's expensive and lasts ages.

20 - Do you prefer wearing tight-fitting or loose-fitting clothes? I don't like baggy clothes, so tight please!

21 - Are you currently warm, cold or just right? Is the heating or air conditioning on to contribute to that feeling? I'm a tad cold, but it's not too bad.

22 - What was the last piece of good news you received? Was it expected? I got my VIP details for the Five concert tonight, I was getting worried it wouldn't show up cos other people said they got theirs.

23 - What colour socks are you wearing right now? None.

24 - Do you prefer hot coffee or iced coffee? What about hot tea or iced tea? I don't drink tea, and hot coffee.

25 - What are some of your favourite Christmas songs? What time of year do you start listening to Christmas music? Girls Aloud's Christmas EP is my favourite, it's half original tracks half covers. I start at the end of November or so.

26 - If you see cats wandering about in the street, do you stop and fuss them? Definitely! I love talking to cats xD

27 - Speaking of cats, do you own a cat? Are they a particular breed or just a moggie? Would you ever want a specific breed of cat at all? I wish.

28 - When was the last time you moved furniture around to clean behind or underneath it? Do you need someone’s help in order to do that? Hmm.

29 - Do you have any medications that you need to take daily? Is this something you’re going to have to do for the rest of your life? Not daily.

30 - Do you know how to start an open fire and keep it burning without using loads of wood? Is this a skill you use on a regular basis at all? No, never had to even think about that.